Another new year prompts us to look up from the daily grind to the yearly one and ask what it’s all about, what beyond surviving the moment we hope to accomplish worth carving onto something more permanent than a Twitter feed. And while everyone who saw COVID and Russia’s invasion of Ukraine coming can foretell 2023’s surprises, the rest of us must either wait until things happen to explain why they were predictable, or else discuss what should happen and how to make it slightly more likely.
I hasten to add that surviving the moment is not itself an unworthy ambition. Without it there’s no long run, just a short fall. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, and in significant measure the “long run” consists of a series of short sprints. Especially given that Damon Runyon’s “all life is six to five against” appears to have been optimistic.
If you’re planning to improve your health in the coming year, it’s going to involve a lot of small snacks not eaten, individual workouts, and adequate nights’ sleep, not one giant act of renunciation or resolve. If you’re going to be a nicer person, it requires many petty cracks unuttered and small acts of kindness performed, not one giant bouquet.
For instance, to attract youth who crave money, “the Right can be the party of technological development and conservation, as opposed to the grim self-denial of the progressive degrowthers.” And I’m going to say “up to a point, Lord Copper” and hope some potentially conservative youth still get book references.
The author goes on, “A vision of nuclear power stations, replanted forests and efficient urban density is far more appealing than eating bugs and living in pods.” And yes, if you’re struggling to outsell grub porridge your approach needs revising. But “efficient urban density” sounds like living in pods to me, just as “an expansive view of the family” sounds a lot like its dissolution.
It’s just one essay, and by a “corporate strategist” at that. But it’s a familiar and familiarly unsound approach, right down to his summary “duty, service, community, and prosperity” that, untethered, slides easily into collectivist materialism.
Conservatism is about eternal truths. And it will survive 2023 because truths stay true even if few believe them or dare speak them aloud. Indeed, they become more obviously true the more people try to ignore them.
The most important practical truth is Thomas Sowell’s “reality is tricky.” So 2023 will disappoint our utopian hopes crushingly. And conservatives wishing to position themselves as trustworthy should consistently criticize schemes for free lunches, material or social, as incompatible with reality, and insist that public policy like private life involves tradeoffs.
Just as losing weight requires not swallowing enticing snacks and being nicer means swallowing clever putdowns, prosperity requires hard work and “social justice,” and personal fulfillment means standing resolutely against the rising tide of chaos in international affairs, domestic law, and social institutions. Which is why conservatism will survive even if it lacks competent champions.
If someone burned every copy of Hayek, Locke, and the Bible, truth would still be discoverable by reason, especially amid the debris of utopian schemes viciously enforced. As another important conservative maxim warns, knowledge may be painful, but ignorance is dangerous.
The coming year will see the familiar human mix of kindness and cruelty, truth and delusion. And reforming public policy will see the familiar requirement to start with reforming ourselves, which sounds awful. But if we resolve never to speak words we do not consider true, or keep complicit silence when others do, and instead to face difficulties bravely in theory and then in practice, we may see a 2023 worthy of celebration.