The Art of Living
“Little Gidding” by Makoto Fujimura, 2007.
Ignorance is the source of knowledge, silence is the source of noise, and stillness is the source of change. The emptiness of the future provides the possibility for movement. This is the principle of conservatism: preserving not only possibility, but the very possibility of possibilities. This impulse is conservative, but never at the expense of future generations. Conservatism is the art of living.
“The best people have a nature like that of water. They’re like mist or dew in the sky, like a stream or a spring on land. Most people hate moist or muddy places, places where water alone dwells. . . . As water empties, it gives life to others. It reflects without being impure, and there is nothing it cannot wash clean. Water can take any shape, and it is never out of touch with the seasons. How could anyone malign something with such qualities as this.”
— Ho-Shang Kung in Red Pine’s translation of the Tao Te Ching.
Why the example of water? Water is inherently conservative, conforming to its conditions yet remaining essentially the same. Water prefers stillness. If it is a stream, it runs downhill until it finds a resting place; but it is always in the process of changing, yet it is always only water. In the same way, the essence of conservatism is always the same, even though its conditions constantly change. Were conditions to cease their perpetual flux, conservatism comes to rest as a tranquil pond. The goal of conservatism is tranquility.
In itself, conservatism is tranquil. In relation to the ever-changing human condition, conservatism is always adapting. Conservatism is “formless” like water: it takes the shape of its conditions, but always remains the same. This is why Russell Kirk calls conservatism the “negation of ideology” in The Politics of Prudence. It is precisely the formlessness of conservatism which gives it its vitality. Left alone, the spirit of conservatism is essentially what T.S. Eliot calls the “stillness between two waves of the sea” in “Little Gidding” of his Four Quartets. Conservatism is both like water and the stillness between the waves—the waves are not the water acting, but being acted upon; stillness is the default state of conservatism:
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
Like the Greek concept of kairos—acting in the right way, for the right reasons, at the right moment—this sort of waiting is simply careful conservatism. Conservatism is responsive, reactionary, reserved. Conservatism waits. Perhaps this is why conservatism is most needed in the modern age of mobility. Being careful, and above all patient is crucial to doing something right. Realizing that one does not know the best way of doing anything guarantees not that one will find the best way, but that one might not find the worst way. The same principle applies to knowledge: conservatism (hopefully) does not pretend to know the definitive way, but rather professes the virtue of ignorance with the quiet hope of finding knowledge.
Which is purer? Claiming to know when one does not, or claiming not to know when one does? True knowledge is ignorance—like Socrates’ maxim, “I know nothing except the fact of my ignorance.” To proclaim one’s ignorance sincerely is to remain open to one’s historical, cultural, and cosmological place. Admitting one’s indebtedness requires a healthy dose of humility. As my father says, “Humility is in short supply and has a short shelf life.” To merit anything, we must first exist; therefore, existence is wholly unmerited grace. Accepting the gift of one’s place and giving it to others is humble graciousness. The knowledge we receive is a gift, not something we have merited. The default state of all human beings is ignorance. We are born into the world ignorant and only after that find knowledge. As C.G. Jung observes in Man and His Symbols, with the birth of consciousness come the faults of knowledge. It is no coincidence that the Fall came when Adam and Eve ate of the Tree of Knowledge. Was the acquisition of this knowledge itself sin? The first sin was more likely what John Milton says in Book III of Paradise Lost: ingratitude.
Since the aboriginal catastrophe, our knowledge has expanded and we have become more conscious of ourselves, for better or worse. The conscious life is definite and directed. Everything of which we are ignorant is indefinite and undirected. But our ignorance is the source of our knowledge. The conscious life remains a static ecstasy, a perpetual process always adapting to the environment. If done well, this is the art of life.
According to Okakura Kakuzo’s short work, The Book of Tea, this conservative impulse is the “art of being in the world.” Isn’t this “art of life” precisely the virtue Alasdair MacIntyre claims we have lost in his After Virtue? Humility, gratitude, and the pursuit of virtue affirm nature as normative not because it dictates morality but because it is a gift. Nature surely does not mean to us what it did to the Scholastics, but I wish we could rediscover the earth as our home. The loss of a normative sense of nature has set up the world against the earth in a destructive manner. We can thank the likes of William of Occam, Francis Bacon, and Descartes for the loss of nature and the birth of modern science. It used to be that nature was seen as the artwork of God, as an acheiropoieta (an icon “not made by human hands”). But no longer do we see nature as an icon, giving glimpses of God; instead, we see nature as blocking us from God. Instead of seeing truth through the physical world, fideism sees truth in spite of the physical world and its natural counterpart, atheism, limits truth to the physical world. Speaking of the spiritual realm as “supernatural” is only a step away from speaking of the “unnatural” realm. The natural-supernatural divide has cut off access to God. The death of God followed the death of nature. Before, creation was seen as the art of God; now, creation is dead and so is its Creator.
Much has been attempted to restore the meaning of creation. Ironically, in a post-mythological era, the religious name “Gaia” has reached the height of its mythological significance. The environmentalism of this epoch is a desperate attempt to recover the lost “art of being in the world.” Some of this comes out in the absurd religious impulses such as neo-paganism which try to recreate the mythical value of the cosmos. I fear none of these attempts to “go back” will succeed. The more technology separates us from nature, the more separated we will feel from God. But we cannot spontaneously return to the “simple life.” In fact, calling any life “simple” means that we no longer live it. In the same way, calling something “unconscious” means that we are no longer unconscious. The simple life will always remain the goal, but attempts to force it destroy simplicity. There is something enviable in those quiet lives which are never trespassed by questions of “place” or “limits” or “liberty.” None of us live simple lives, and certainly none of us who write about simplicity. If someone writes about something, he considers it a problem. Aristotle and Plato wrote about politics not because politics worked, but because politics didn’t work. If something were not first a problem, I doubt whether there would even be a word for it. I write about the “art of life” because it is a problem and because I do not grasp it. The people who best live the “art of life” have probably never heard of it.
Technology and art are at odds like never before. We have lost sight of the truth. Technologically, we are more advanced than we have ever been. But what about artistically? There are few artists today who consider the ontological bearing of art, and even fewer who use art to communicate grace. As tools are necessary for art—brushes, pigments, canvas—so technology is simply a tool for the art of living. Technology is in its essence incomplete, waiting to be fulfilled by its use as part of art. Today the technology of living, which focuses on youth, longevity, and pleasure subverts the art of living which focuses on maturity, sustainability, and truth. The art of living has been replaced with the technology of living. I do not know how we can return to the art of living.
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An excellent perspective. I have often seen conservatism and liberalism as a dichotomy between the organic and the mechanistic but I never considered as one of art v. technology. This mechanization and systematizing of the natural world has definitely born some bitter fruit, we would all do well to remember our humanity rather than affirming our divinity.
As you say, if we could begin to keep in mind that our “existence is wholly unmerited grace” then perhaps we could also learn to use our gifts to “communicate grace.” A lovely thought and worthy of reflection, Stewart.
I fear we too often equate conservatism as earth–eroding, absolutely static, misshapen. People incorrectly ask, “What does conservatism look like today?” I could go on with the analogy, but you get the point.
I appreciate your mixture of Eastern and Western thought. It makes human thought with its mixture of immanence and trascendance.
We forget the _tendencies_ (could we even say essence?) of conservatism which you so vividly captured. Instead, we always want to know the shape, that we may engrave images. The Puritans were right in their concern with idolatry. The modernist wants to build, while the post-modernist and nihilist wants to destroy. However, that sort of language neglects the nature of conservatism (water).
interesting thoughts–i particularly find your last thought engaging: “the art of living has been replaced by the technology of living.” i hope you follow up this essay with another that pulls each of the thoughts in this one together to some sort of conclusion…or at least an arrow pointing in a direction to look. good stuff. btw, since you used his painting, you should know that fujimura has a new book out called refractions. he deals with similar themes as you.
Bart, the problem with liberalism is a sort of rigidity which refuses to evolve much in the same way that modern conservatism is rigid to the point of refusing to adapt. There is a natural error to fall into a dogmatic approach and fail to exhibit the conservative virtues of adaptation, humility, or stillness. Conservatism these days seems cold and hard–hardly the ecstatic stasis which characterizes a disposition ready to preserve permanent things in an ever-changing environment. Conservatism today is more dogmatic than liberalism.
Caleb, I’m glad you mentioned Fujimura’s book Refractions. I recently purchased this myself. I am a fan of his blog, too. But as to your thought about a definite point in the right direction, I cannot quickly agree. Is conservatism a “negation of ideology”? If so, then it is apophatic politics, not unlike apophatic theology. Political thinkers often focus too much on what they know and not enough on what they don’t. But with every bit of increased knowledge, questions multiply exponentially. It is not just a question of X, Y, and Z but of the relationship of X and Y, Y and Z, X and Z, and finally altogether: X and Y and Z. If you add one more variable, the questions of a particular fact’s place multiply–always faster than we can answer. Because of this, it is important to catalog not only things we know, but more importantly things we do NOT know.
I do plan on writing a follow-up article, but is the definiteness you’re looking for more than a conservatism as a disposition? If so, what are your thoughts as to how we can return to a definite path?
thanks for the reply stewart. actually, what i’m looking for is some kind of clarity to your writing and something to “hang my hat on”, not necessarily an answer either way. i tend to stand on the margins of both conservatism and liberalism, so i’m not looking for a defense of either one. i guess my problem is that, frankly, i’m not really sure what your saying. probably it’s because i’m not smart enough to tie all the threads together myself and translate into plainer english, so if you could help me, that’d be awesome. you have plenty of good thoughts to share, plenty of pithy and thoughtful one-liners, that it would be a shame to have readers pass you by because they don’t understand! know wut i’m sayin’, vern?
Well, to draw from Augustine, we are restless until we rest in God. Water is restless–it always flows downward. Stewart is arguing that a conservative restlessly seeks peace or stillness–which, Augustine argued, was found in God. In other words, God is sea level, if you will.
“Modern conservatism” and liberalism are solid and cold (the ancient and medieval conception of elements), like a rock. Men try to sculp, chisel, and shape their own supposed creations. These ideologies are arrogantly benumbed, breaking violently when they finally meet excessive stress.
Caleb,
I think what Stewart’s basically trying to say is that conservatism is more evolutionarily flexible than liberalism. As long as we’re examining evolution from the old organic model (technological evolution may well be much faster, and possibly more self-destructive – that remains to be seen), that seems to be true simply from the basic social structures of the two groups.
In liberalism, one tends to have united groups of very active people, with plans and programs and systems. Communism was perhaps the most extreme form of this, but for the sake of comparison let’s take the French revolution as our example. Sweeping change, egalitarian but conformity-requiring social structure, belief in a basic “system” or “method” to bring about the best possible form of society.
Conservatism, on the other hand, is paranoid, independent, and stubborn (virtues Stewart creatively calls “adaptation, humility, [and] stillness”). Its stubbornness results in tenacity, which gives it an increased capacity for survival. Its paranoia and independence are what truly give it its flexibility, however. Individual conservatives may be very rigid, like grains of sand. But liberalism has rigid structure between particles, like a piece of sandstone.
The evolutionary importance of that comes into play when conditions change. Strike a pile of sand with a sledgehammer, and then use the same hammer to strike a formation of sandstone, and you’ll see the difference for yourself.
The body of this writing is not anatomically obvious. That would be obscene.
If Stewart had explicitly identified his conclusions and rigidly categorized his analysis, he would be engaging in contemplation mechanistically. Sometimes that approach is necessary, but it would be grotesque here. He is standing back and trying to make sense of what he sees, moving from universal to particular and back again.
His intention was not to proclaim a manifesto or execute a coordinated attack. That would be pedestrian. The territory he is exploring is uncharted, but far from unfamiliar.
“Nature surely does not mean to us what it did to the Scholastics, but I wish we could rediscover the earth as our home. The loss of a normative sense of nature has set up the world against the earth in a destructive manner. We can thank the likes of William of Occam, Francis Bacon, and Descartes for the loss of nature and the birth of modern science.”
The loss of nature of which you write is, I think, fundamentally the loss of recognizing the Good as a principle of being. This principle, central to the understanding of nature in Plato and Aristotle, and affirmed in the first chapter of Genesis, simply gets “cropped out” of the picture (when the world becomes present to us as a picture), especially by Ockham. If we refuse to accept this obfuscation, then nature can and does mean to us what it did to the Scholastics.
The centrality of love of the good is central to understanding the caution of conservatism. Conservatism is the attempt to conserve the ways in which the good has been made available to us in practices of the art of living. It is humble about our capacity to devise more perfect appropriations of the good, because it knows we are prone to distortion and self-deception, to convincing ourselves we can have it all and ending up losing most of it in the utopian effort.
Without the emphasis on the presence to us of the good in the natural world and our world of practices, an aesthetic conservatism runs the risk of nihilism–the love of form as a bulwark against chaos, rather than as the manifestation of divine goodness.
Mark,
For much of what you say, I agree. While I have few sympathies with Plato these days, I do agree with the positive quality of Being. While most of my sympathies lie closer to Heidegger than Plato, I do agree with the inherent goodness of existence. As Erazim Kohak in The Embers and the Stars paraphrases Augustine: esse qua esse bonum est (“to be is to be good”). I think nature can mean more than it mean to the Scholastics, but it is difficult these days.
The bifurcation of physical and spiritual (natural and super-natural) leads to the so-called “Naturalistic Fallacy” where no “should” can be teased out of “is.”
While I would not use the term “the Good”, I don’t think we’re far apart at least in the sense of seeking what you called “more perfect appropriations” of the right path. Of course, the human condition is always changing, so the attempts to find the Way or the Good are always adapting to environmental shifts.
Conservatism constantly evolves towards its goal. Were circumstances never to change, perfect tranquility is (only in speculation) possible.
I think you might be right about “aesthetic conservatism” if you mean aesthetics as a kind of sensory pleasure. While conservatism cannot be reduced to pleasure-based art, at the heart of conservatism is the art of living. How far is Good from Beauty? What about καλὸκαγαθός (kalokagathos)? Or the etymology of Beauty (beau “good”, L. dim. of bonus “good”)? Of course, reducing “Good” to “pleasure” (if that’s what you mean by “aesthetic”) is a lowering of our sights. Shouldn’t that which is truly Good also be truly beautiful? Shouldn’t what is truly beautiful also be truly pleasant?
In our postmodern era, how else can conservatism be marketed to others? For example, would anyone really visit this website were it not first pleasant? How should faith (or politics for that matter) be conveyed to others? Somewhat related, have you read The Beauty Of The Infinite: The Aesthetics Of Christian Truth?
The goodness of existence is affirmed practically universally. The desire of human beings is the calm rest of Innocent Being, which can never be obtained in this life. The paradisaical myths affirm the goodness of beginnings, but as we have become demythologized, it is harder to see the goodness of nature, not to mention Being. The New Year, the new moon, even the new week are each microcosms of history of creation, its beginning (archon) and its end (eschaton). Each transition marks a regeneration preceded by degeneration. For example, Mardi Gras, New Year’s Eve parties, bachelor’s parties–even “Saturday” which is most commonly attributed to the god Saturn, but according to Jacob Grimm arises instead from Saeteres-day, “the day of the insidiator.” This is a title of Loki, trapped until Ragnarök when he is freed and the world is consumed in fire. Thus, Saturday is the “mischievous” day of the week, even though modern man has forgotten the meaning of Saturday. The habit is maintained without the mythological context, even though “It’s a new week” is still very much employed. The Beginning is innocent, pure, good.
All this to say, the Innocence of Being is affirmed still by modern man, even in his degeneracy. Being is inherently Innocent, and thus Good.
Yes, I agree that we’re not far apart. But don’t believe everything Heidegger says about Plato.
It is not innocence per se that is good (that is Rousseau’s reduction of the meaning of goodness). Each being’s nature is the good that it seeks to perfect and sustain; the goodness of innocence lies in the non-corruption of the good nature of a being (Augustine’s view). So I would reverse your formulation: being is good, therefore innocence is good.
By aestheticism I mean the love of beautiful forms (artistic or ritual). I agree that aesthetics should be central to a conservative vision — this is one of the great and important strengths of what you have written here. The question I am raising is what lies at the heart of that love. The good is what is worthy of love, what we recognize as worthy of love independent of our projects of will. Beauty radiantly manifests the good, because the experience of beauty is the experience of simply desiring that something continue to exist as what it is independently of the question of my own existence.
If love of art’s revelatory and sustaining power revolves around love of the good that it mediates, that is altogether good. This is the stillness of love and beatitude. But there is another way of loving form as a refuge of stillness that is defensive, fearful and distrustful (or merely disgusted) with the ugliness or emptiness of worldly existence. This is the sterile and nihilistic version, that some of the older libertarian aesthetes (like Nock and Viereck, who are Nietzscheans at heart) adhere to.
On the separation of the “physical” and “spiritual” there is too much to say. I think it is a near-total misconception, to which the older (especially Aristotelian) philosophical tradition was not prone.
Thanks for turning us on to the art of Makoto Fujimura!
“I would reverse your formulation: being is good, therefore innocence is good.”
I would say both are only possible with each other. But I do agree that good is and therefore innocence is good.
“Beauty radiantly manifests the good, because the experience of beauty is the experience of simply desiring that something continue to exist as what it is independently of the question of my own existence.”
I think I would agree with this, which is why I don’t think Beauty is the real point of art. I think it is holding open a world, a perpetual invitation. If existence is a gift and the proper return-gift is graciousness (according to Louis-Marie Chauvet’s wonderful Symbol and Sacrament: A Sacramental Reinterpretation of Christian Existence), then this provides an entirely different basis for ethics: gratitude. “Rights” are the commoditized version of gifts. We are owed nothing, but to someone’s graciousness we say “Gimme!” and have turned gifts into entitlements.
Authentic art itself is a gift (according to Lewis Hyde’s The Gift, always inviting the subject to complete its world and question his own existence. Art as mere imitation or re-presentation (as Plato saw it) really has died (as Hegel predicted) but it has opened up the question once more of the ontological bearing of art.
“On the separation of the “physical” and “spiritual” there is too much to say. I think it is a near-total misconception, to which the older (especially Aristotelian) philosophical tradition was not prone.”
I’m glad someone else thinks this too. I am most uncomfortable with the separation of body and soul which tends towards a sort of Gnosticism–self-indulgent or the opposite, self-denying. We are not embodied souls. No, the body operates in a “liminal position” (Chauvet) and is always meant to be. The incarnation of Christ is the affirmation of God and man. A proper anthropology or theology will not begin with one or the other, but with both–what Karl Barth calls “theanthropology” in The Humanity of God. The God-man is the center of proper theology and anthropology, affirming eternity and time, body and spirit. This is where I agree most strongly with T.S. Eliot’s quasi-Buddhist “Only through time time is conquered.” Buddhism, with its attempt to escape Becoming, tries to rid itself of the world of Time and attain to perfect Being. Much of the desperate attempt to “escape” the world of incompletion is seen in Plato and Aristotle’s writings–their discomfort with the indefinite (“infinite”) state of Becoming. I recommend Ananda Coomaraswamy on the intimate Platonic-Buddhist relationship here. But teleology tends only to affirm something once it is dead–like a happy life for Aristotle. It can only be called happy once it is dead and turned into an object. Once something has fulfilled its telos, it disappears. Only as entelechy can something be affirmed as somewhat good–but this is the unending process of Becoming. We never attain to Being in this life.
This piece reminded me of Rush Limbaugh’s self-serving paean to conservatives in his recent CPAC speech.
Conservatism is like water? When an analogy gets so extended it loses any real relevance other than to serve as a canvas for the writer’s own prejudices.
In Lakoff’s terms, Conservatism is ultimately about self-serving stasis. Liberalism is about community-serving change. Both can try to place a dewey-eyed sentimental veneer on their positions (although until now, Liberals have tended to do it more than Conservatives.) And doing so is probably good politics, which is why Limbaugh and others engage in it. The disturbing possibility is that those that do this are deluding themselves too.
I have been enjoying this essay and the discussion it has engendered. I must admit, however, that I am utterly mystified by the previous comment. On several levels.
In response to Mr. Brooks: just as it would be unfair to characterize all liberals as “big government spenders who want to steal from the rich and give to the poor,” it is uncharitable to lump all conservatives under the moniker of “self-serving.” All humans are self-serving, whatever their political or ideological stripe. One of the recurring problems faced by political leaders is how to persuade the citizenry to do good by other citizens, especially when such actions do not directly benefit the actor. This is why even more “liberal” philosophers such as Kant and Mill were preoccupied with how to formulate an imperative or standard by which to compel men to good action and justify government intervention when encountered with bad action.
Further, it is inaccurate to a) equate republicans and conservatives, and b) to deny any differentiation within conservatism. Limbaugh’s CPAC speech was very republican – he extracted certain conservative principles that also fit with his conception of a party platform and glorified these instances without highlighting the foundations out of which such principles grow.
Stewart, in contrast, focused on the metaphysical basis of conservatism – what it is in nature and man’s nature that hearkens to connection with a living, but powerfully established, tradition. Conservatism as Stewart actually defined it is “static ecstasy,” not self-serving stasis. In fact, in that conservatism requires a profound recognition of and respect for truth, experience, and meaning outside of oneself, it is decidedly not self-serving.
Geoff,
I don’t think we disagree, but when you say “conservatism” you mean “rigid traditionalism that prevents change at the expense of the community.” I dislike that “conservatism” too! I criticize the same unmoving conservatism of which you speak. But a dogmatic liberalism is little better. If you are looking for something other than an unevolving conservatism, that is what I’ve offered.
Water is no bad metaphor. Evolution adapts, but is inherently conservative. It always moves towards better adapting to its environment, but resists unseemly change. For example, conservatism resists radical change pragmatically: we have evolved to this point and know how things work now. Second-guessing thousands of years of human evolution should be a gradual process.
You are right that Limbaugh’s sort of conservatism is individualistic and shows little care for the community. Better adapting to help humanity is not that rigid conservatism or an abstract liberalism.
What I spoke of is clearly not what you mean when you say “conservatism.” How does water resist change? That’s the entire point–it doesn’t. The art of living evolves naturally and changes to best fit the needs of its environment.
Did you read my post?
If conservatism is like water, the universal solvent, perhaps it’s fullest expression is in the constant wearing down of the capricious terrain of the World Improver, beating improvements into everything and everywhere, whether they need it or not.
No mere reactionary Luddite here because it FLOWS. I’ll take a spot on the beach, at the foot of a mountain because its scenic.
I come from a background in organizational studies. One of the canonical problems in organizations is the tension between stasis and flux. An organization that changes too much or too quickly runs the risk of failing to serve the needs of its existing customers efficiently, and in a competitive environment, it may not survive the short run. An organization that focuses too much on preserving the status quo may be effective in the short run, but without new organizational capabilities in place, will likely not survive in the long run as the environment changes. Effective leadership of an organization attempts to solve both problems simultaneously. It’s very difficult to do, and is seldom done well. The translation of this to the philosophical/political tension between conservatism and liberalism is obvious, although it clearly captures only a part of the distinction between the two.
Stewart, I do find your description a little squishy – meaning that as an organizational scientist, I’m predisposed to be skeptical of a abstract framing that that evokes primarily an emotional response in describing a construct that has, and is intended to have far-reaching practical consequences. As I said, I’ve seen this from Liberals much more than from conservatives in the past. I’ve also seen it in organizations. Pharmaceutical companies, for example, spend a good deal of time at corporate retreats talking about how their purpose and mission is to serve humanity by eradicating disease and transforming lives for the better, while the realities of making money drive them to shape or distort research results, cover up adverse or deadly effects of their products, coopt regulators, bribe doctors and misinform consumers. Which is not to say that all pharmaceutical companies do this or that any do it all the time, but certainly, in some cases the disconnect between their high-flown retreat rhetoric and their actions is stunning.
I would argue that conservatism is presently at such a point. There is no question that an idealistic, morally-sound, even exhilarating case can be made for conservatism. But there’s also no question that the actions that have been and continue to be taken in the name of conservatism in recent years bear little relationship to that case. Just as the pharmaceutical company ultimately has to answer for its actions and not its ideals, conservatism has to answer for the things done in its name. It’s no good saying, as Rachel does, that it’s inaccurate to equate Republicans and Conservatives. Almost all elected Republicans say vehemently that they are conservatives, and they are the ones supposedly acting on conservative principles. I’m sure we can all put together a long list of things done in the name of conservatism that are at odds with our conception of it. But that doesn’t change the fact that whatever we may say in retreat-like settings such as Stewart’s blog, conservatism is as conservatism does.
My comment that conservatism is necessarily self-serving is inaccurate, although that is, I believe, George Lakoff’s conclusion. The retreat version of conservatism is, I agree, misrepresented by saying it’s self-serving. The action version less so, I think. Actions have tended to preserve power and wealth, and have in my view done great injustice to the values. But as I said, conservatism is as conservatism does.
My reference to Limbaugh is unfair, and I apologize, Stewart. It was a visceral response to the feeling that Conservatism is the Art of Living evokes in me that we are fiddling while the city burns.
It’s interesting that you would bring in the word “organization” to the discussion. Organization comes from the Latin “organum,” which means organ or instrument. The very idea of organization has the idea of life or the body.
Regardless, the community as a body is beautiful and perhaps dangerous. Both Paul’s description of the Church and Hobbes’ Leviathon come to mind. We ought to be wary of how we define and use the word “organization.” It ought to be by no means a dead thing.
In any case, life is still the question at hand–why are there even politics if there are no living people? So, living and espousing conservatism as an answer and guide to help us live is by no means fiddling as Rome blazes. Unguided action is foolishness. If I may pick up the metaphor again: water extinguishes fire.
Geoff,
You have a good point about conservatism. I’d hoped to avoid that kind of conservatism by redefining it. Instead of having it be “the art of life is conseratism” I’d hoped to talk merely about “the art of life.”
Take away the word “conservative” from the post and it should seem more sensible, I hope. I understand the rigidity of conservatism these days (as what you said) by what it does.
To Geoff’s point: I think we can agree that it is pretty common in political life for those in power or hoping to be in power to claim they are what they are not. Not every self-proclaimed liberator is such; not every “democratically elected president” is such; not every “conservative” is such. Conservatism has a meaning that derives mainly from a certain type of response to the impulse set into motion by the French Revolution, an impulse to “liberate” rights-bearing individuals from all institutions mediating their direct relationship to the state and to undermine all tradition-embodied forms of authority in the name of reshaping human society on the basis of the will of its constituents and a very minimalistic definition of what it is to be human. One of the key moves of this minimalizing view of humanity is the replacement of virtue by rights as the guiding principle of institutions, and replacing moral relations by contractual relations. Conservatism opposes this reconfiguration of human order on the basis of bare will and reason.
Most Americans think libertarianism is conservatism. It simply is not, though the two have had common ground in wanting to limit the activist state and opposing communism. Libertarians also used to argue that you need virtue to attain true freedom, but they’ve largely given up on that as libertarianism has come to serve most commonly as an ideology for the simple-minded and truculent.
Delicious. Of course the rabid radicals and outraged blowhards (like Rush et al) won’t understand it.
By what mechanism is conservatism lifted to the mountain tops so it can run back down to the sea?
What is the conservative equivalent of surface tension?
Does conservatism expand and become rigid when cooled past a certain threshold?
Conversely, does conservatism become vaporous when heated beyond a particular point?
What is the behavior of conservatism under pressure? Can it be compressed?
I have more questions, but it’s Sunday, and there’s a parade in town today.
If ever there were fools to conflate Conservatism (whatever that might be) with the essential teachings of Buddha (Zen, Hinayana, Mananyana, Vapasasnna, or the Nyingma school of Tibetan Buddhism) is truly living in the world of Samsara. They have been reading too much Rod McKuen Or Richard Brautigan. Reading this opinion piece makes me choke on my dinner. They suggestion that Conservativism shares the profound teaching of the Buddha is truly a abomination of very small and far too simple minds to even grasp at what they are saying. A heavy sense of pathos hangs over the author of such stuporific assertsions. I an indeed deeply saddened at the ignorance set forward. And a sense of deep shame that we live amongst such fools. They indeed keep us from our destiny with your studid foolishness.
Michael Canfield
Mickster,
There is not a single reference to Buddha, Buddhism, or Zen. In fact, I would agree with you. I assume you got to this article from Rod Dreher’s site which unfortunately labeled this the Zen of Conservatism, which is an unfortunate misnomer. If you’ve read the teachings of Lao Tzu of Chuang Tzu, you will find the concepts of spontaneous order, adaptation, inaction, stillness, minimalism, and conservation.
This is not Buddhist. Do not read it as Buddhist.
[...] an essay by Stewart Lundy: Ignorance is the source of knowledge, silence is the source of noise, and stillness is the source [...]
The analogy of water is apt when one is discussing traditional, “organic” cultural conservatism. Both require natural elements to sustain and purify them. Both have a natural equilibrium.
A cultural conservative sees him/herself as a component of church (spiritual), community, family and tradition. The connections reinforce the sense of the individual being rooted within the components of the culture. Conservatism can not exist without appreciation and knowledge of the past; and how it relates to the present.
Conservatism thrives in agricultural areas that are not subjected to social upheaval. In urban areas, it survives within stable enclaves. It can’t survive in an area of rapid influx/turnover of people, a barrage of new ideas or the embrace of “alternative” or “multiple” values. Like liberty and freedom; conservatism needs the stability of a core set of values, common to all the participants. Globalism, a military stationed all over the world, meddling in foreign countries’ affairs, and a centralized government are anathema to cultural conservatism.
Rush is a “political conservative” in the sense that he opposes the welfare state. However, he has embraced the warfare state. Rush and “Darth” Cheney are certainly appropriate poster boys for the current GOP! That’s the problem with the Republican party; it claims to be “conservative” but its track record is anything but culturally conservative!
[...] Stewart Lundy on conservatism and the art of living. [...]
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From the Porch:
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Here’s what really makes that a sign of the times: the movement is online.
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Let’s just go all the way, folks.
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