The Vibe Shift

Richard Hanania writes:

“In 2024, 13.4% of faculty job ads required a dedicated DEI statement. By 2025, that figure had fallen to just 2.5%.”

I told you it all came down to civil rights law.

Nathan Cofnas responds:

Where’s the graph showing all the non-wokesters who were actually hired? Oh wait, it doesn’t exist.

Forcing universities to tone down DEI rhetoric at gunpoint didn’t change anyone’s ideology.

The “vibe shift” exists only in the minds of rightists who live in an X bubble. According to a survey that ran from Aug 2025-Feb 2026, young American men age 18-29 are more liberal than ever (39% lib vs 25% con).

Kamala “stay woke” Harris won voters with advanced degrees by 21 points. If anything, elites are now even more committed to wokism, having seen that the alternative is DEI for hillbillies, economic illiteracy, and defunding cancer research.

The only elite community that is permanently de-wokified are the tech bros, because they are hereditarians. Everyone else is quietly seething and plotting their revenge, which they will probably exact in 2028.

Cofnas and Hanania agree more than Cofnas admits. Hanania’s claim is narrow: civil rights law drove the DEI statement requirement, and when the legal exposure shifted, the requirement collapsed. That says nothing about faculty ideology. Cofnas treats the tweet as a claim about vibe shift and elite conversion, then refutes something Hanania did not assert.
The coalition point cuts against Cofnas, not for him. Academic hiring committees dropped DEI statements because the cost of including them rose faster than the cost of dropping them. Behavior under coalition pressure is the phenomenon. Private belief runs downstream, often invented to rationalize the behavior after it shifts. A collapse from 13.4 to 2.5 percent in one year shows how thin the commitment ran.
Cofnas wants to locate the variable in private belief. He then measures that variable by survey answers and voting behavior, which are themselves coalition signals. Young men calling themselves liberal on a 2026 survey tells you which answer feels safe to give, not what they think when no one watches. Harris winning advanced-degree voters by 21 points tells you credentialed professionals share a coalition, which no one disputes.
Two claims in the tweet sit badly together. Elites are more committed to wokism than before. Also, elites are seething and plotting revenge for 2028. Pick one. If the second claim holds, the first is wrong, and the DEI collapse is an early indicator. If the first holds, no revenge is coming.
The “tech bros are hereditarians” line flatters Cofnas’s coalition. Most tech workers care about shipping code and stock prices. The hereditarian subculture is loud on X and small everywhere else. Treating tech as a unified hereditarian bloc confuses a vocal subset for the industry.
“At gunpoint” is inflated. No one went to prison over a DEI statement. Civil rights law shifted the cost structure of hiring, and the market responded. That story covers a lot of institutional behavior, and it does not require anyone to change what he thinks at the kitchen table.
The strongest version of Cofnas’s argument runs like this. Coalition signals retract faster than coalition commitments change, so we should not mistake the retraction for conversion. Hanania would grant that. But Cofnas then concludes nothing has changed, which does not follow. Coalitions held together by cheap public signaling fracture when the signaling gets expensive, even if individual members keep their private views. The question worth asking is whether the DEI coalition can reconstitute around a different signal or whether the retreat cascades. Cofnas waves that question away by predicting revenge in 2028, which is prediction as coalition prayer.

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Matt Welch: A Life Against the Emergency State

Matthew Lee Welch is born July 31, 1968 in Bellflower, California, and grows up in Long Beach. He attends UC Santa Barbara and leaves without a degree. Through his mother, Mary Bobbitt Townsend, he descends from Rear Admiral Hugo Osterhaus.
In the early 1990s Welch moves to Central Europe and stays five years. In Prague he co-founds Prognosis, an early English-language paper in the post-communist region. He reports from Slovakia for UPI. He manages the Budapest Business Journal. These countries are emerging from forty years of party discipline, press control, and official fiction. Welch watches how state rhetoric and lived conditions diverge. He sees an entire intellectual class servicing a consensus that turns out rotten. He sees how ordinary people read between the lines of public speech.
Where most American commentators treat official language literally, Welch keeps a second channel open. He listens for the gap between what a policy claims and what it does, between the emergency justification and the permanent apparatus the emergency creates. He arrives at libertarianism as a reflex learned in countries where deference to authority had cost too much.
He returns to the United States in the late 1990s. He writes for Tabloid.Net alongside Tim Blair and Ken Layne. He contributes to the Online Journalism Review. He researches the humanitarian toll of UN sanctions on Iraq, an early sign of his interest in the hidden costs of moral foreign policy. From 2006 to 2007 he serves as assistant editorial pages editor at the Los Angeles Times. By temperament he belongs to the first cohort of American writers who hope the web might loosen legacy control over opinion. That hope shapes his voice: conversational, cross-linked, skeptical of professional decorum, at home with argument rather than pronouncement.
His first book appears in 2007. McCain: The Myth of a Maverick takes apart the central claim of John McCain’s public identity, that McCain stands apart from party orthodoxy as a principled independent. Welch reads McCain as a coherent statist, a believer in “national greatness” politics who wants to use federal power to discipline American life into virtue. Welch sees a tendency the Republican party rarely admits to itself, a love of state power when the state performs honor and muscle. When Trumpism arrives in 2016, the libertarians who had watched the McCain side of the GOP with unease recognize the earlier diagnosis.
In 2008 Welch joins Reason magazine. He serves as editor-in-chief until 2016 and continues as editor-at-large and columnist. Reason gives him the rarest resource an American opinion writer can find, a stable institution built for people misaligned with both coalitions. He edits a magazine that prints arguments against the drug war, against foreign intervention, against licensing regimes, against moral panics on the right and bureaucratic overreach on the left. He writes cover essays on Rand Paul, Gary Johnson, Hillary Clinton, and Donald Trump. In 2011 he co-authors The Declaration of Independents: How Libertarian Politics Can Fix What’s Wrong With America with Nick Gillespie. This book argues the two-party system has calcified into a duopoly that serves neither liberty nor competence, and that the new political energy lives outside party loyalty.
After joining Reason, Welch drops rhetorical heat. He treats issues as tradeoffs rather than moral emergencies. He assumes his reader can handle complexity without cues telling him how to feel. Most political writers of the period rely on escalation to produce engagement. Moral urgency drives reach. A writer who makes readers feel implicated and righteous builds mass. A writer who makes readers feel informed and slightly amused builds something smaller and more durable.
During the Covid years Welch writes against emergency powers, shifting public health guidance, school closures, vaccine mandates, and the suppression of dissenting scientific voices. He does so without endorsing the populist countermove, the claim that Covid was a hoax or that vaccines were poison. He tracks how temporary authority hardens into permanent apparatus, how expert consensus enforces itself through social punishment rather than argument, how the administrative state expands under cover of crisis. His Covid writing belongs to an older liberal tradition more interested in procedure than in outcomes. Welch wants to know who is deciding, on what authority, with what sunset, reviewable by whom.
Since 2016 Welch co-hosts The Fifth Column with Kmele Foster and Michael Moynihan. The podcast gives him a format print cannot offer. Long, discursive conversations let him connect media criticism, foreign policy, historical reference, and cultural observation across a single evening. The show also places him inside a small heterodox circuit, a set of writers and broadcasters who fit poorly in progressive or MAGA lanes and who talk to each other partly because they have fewer other homes.
Welch’s libertarianism is urban, cosmopolitan, antiwar. It is hostile to police power, to nationalism, to bureaucratic expansion, and to the use of the state for socially conservative ends. It sits uneasily with Chamber of Commerce libertarianism, which often cares more about tax rates than civil liberties. It sits equally uneasily with right-populist anti-statism, which critiques the administrative state while cheering executive power exercised by the right team. Welch’s version draws from his Central European decade, from Cold War liberal anti-totalitarianism, and from the early-web culture of procedural open argument.
He respects Orwell’s attention to political language. He carries a journalist’s loyalty to Mencken and Liebling. He shares the Cold War liberal tradition of Isaiah Berlin and Karl Popper without quoting them often. His intellectual kin inside contemporary libertarianism include Nick Gillespie, Virginia Postrel, and Katherine Mangu-Ward.
The dry tone signals that political judgment requires distance from tribal emotion. Reliance on tradeoffs rather than denunciations assumes most public questions have real costs on both sides. The irony implies that anyone too certain has stopped thinking.
Welch corrects errors. He punctures inflation. He supplies counter-evidence. He has no movement and leads no faction. In a media system that rewards mobilization, this caps his power while stabilizing his credibility. He has a long career, a stable institutional home, a recognizable voice, and a readership of readers rather than followers.

Constitutional Dictatorship

Levinson and Balkin give Welch’s Covid and war-on-terror writing a constitutional architecture he rarely spells out. Welch writes case by case against AUMF creep, emergency public health orders, surveillance authorities, and the administrative state’s habit of converting temporary powers into permanent apparatus. Levinson and Balkin show this is the American pattern since Lincoln. Presidents ask for emergency powers during a crisis. Congress hands them over. The powers never expire. Lawyers later read them broadly. A subsequent president inherits the expanded toolkit and adds to it. The authors call this “constitutional dictatorship” and argue the United States has been building it steadily since the 1940s. The paper supplies the depth Welch cannot.
Their concept of “governing through emergency” explains Welch’s target. Presidents use crisis framing to route around ordinary political resistance. When the first crisis fades, they find another. Levinson and Balkin call this a presidential Ponzi scheme. Welch spends his career documenting individual instances of it: the sanctions regime against Iraq, the Patriot Act, the surveillance statutes, the lockdown machinery, the bank bailouts.
The paper’s account of distributed dictatorship sharpens another Welch preoccupation. Unreviewable discretion no longer sits with a single strongman. It sits with the Federal Reserve chair, the CDC director, the NSA head, and a network of agencies staffed by career officials who answer to almost no one between elections. Welch’s procedural liberalism, his preoccupation with who decides and under what rules, follows from this structural fact.
Stephen Turner on Carl Friedrich supplies the sociology Welch needs. Friedrich, a Harvard power broker, built a career arguing that bureaucratic elites were different from old elites because they shared “the instinct of workmanship” with the common man. Turner shows this was a rhetorical trick. The bureaucracy Friedrich championed governed through what he called the “rule of anticipated reactions,” that is, through discretion exercised quietly, with attention only to which moves might provoke pushback. Welch writes about official class behavior all the time. He rarely names the move Turner identifies. The priestly class calls itself democratic because its instincts align with progress, expertise, and public health. It then runs the country through discretionary measures that require no consent.
Turner also explains why Welch keeps running into a wall. Friedrich’s successors set the terms of respectable opinion. Those terms treat procedural skepticism toward administrative power as cynicism, bad faith, or populist contamination. Welch’s dry tone and refusal of moral theater read as unseriousness inside that tradition.
Pareto argued that ideologies (derivations) shift constantly while the sentiments (residues) beneath them stay stable. When you meet an ideology, you look for the underlying sentiment and the group that shares it. This is close to Welch’s working method, learned the hard way in post-communist Prague and Budapest. The words “freedom,” “safety,” “public health,” and “democracy” travel in his columns as derivations whose stability he distrusts. He looks for the sentiment underneath, usually coalition interest or class self-protection.
Pareto’s circulation of elites also places Welch in his niche. He is not a lion. He cannot mobilize force. He is also not quite a fox, because foxes rise inside the governing class. He is outside talent of a kind Pareto thought elites must absorb if they want to survive. The late-Roman foxes who rule American media and policy will not absorb him. His Central European schooling, his anti-war instincts, his refusal of moral intensity, and his dry style all make him the wrong shape for the governing class. Such figures remain visible and ignored. History vindicates them when the current elite falls.
Under-theorized, Welch fills the gap with convenient beliefs. He diagnoses individual episodes. The papers supply the frameworks that would let him diagnose the system producing the episodes. He never reaches for those frameworks.
Welch writes as if exposing the gap between official rhetoric and lived reality were the central task of political journalism. Pareto showed a century ago that the gap is permanent, that derivations shift while residues stay stable, that coalitions generate the ideological cover they need and discard it when fashions change. A Paretian would not be surprised that “freedom” served the left in 2024 and the right in 2016, that public health became a loyalty test, that free speech migrated across coalitions. A Paretian would treat these as normal. Welch treats them as betrayals of principle. Principles play a big role in political rhetoric and almost no role in political reality.
The Fifth Column format amplifies the problem. Three hosts drinking and talking produces camaraderie, not inquiry. The show rewards the quick diagnosis and the witty framing, not the sustained theoretical read that would require silence, disagreement, and boredom. Welch has the raw intelligence and discipline for deeper work but the format does not ask it of him and the audience does not demand it.
Welch belongs to a heterodox professional-managerial circuit that includes Moynihan, Foster, Bari Weiss, the Free Press orbit, and the adjacent Substackers. The circuit rewards procedural liberalism, cosmopolitan taste, hostility to both MAGA and progressive excess, and a careful distance from anyone who names groups as groups. Welch does not write about tribalism as a permanent feature of human behavior. He does not write about group differences in outcomes. He does not write about the class interests of his own circle.
The Central European decade gave Welch better instincts than most American journalists of his generation. He saw up close what bureaucratic lying does to a society. Those instincts carry him a long way. They do not carry him as far as sustained theoretical reading would. He uses his biography as a substitute for the reading.

The Naked State

Matt Welch spent the pandemic tracking the collapse of expertise into authority. He logged the reversals on masks, the selective exemption of lockdown rules for the George Floyd protests, the retracted Lancet paper on hydroxychloroquine, the demonization of anyone who asked a question.
Most of what Welch said about expert reversals, selective enforcement, and media credulity turned out correct. The framework asks a different question. What does it cost him to say those things, and what would it cost him to say the opposite?
Turner writes as an academic, using Schmitt and Agamben and Habermas to frame the pandemic as a revelation of the naked state. Welch writes as a reporter, using discrepancy and hypocrisy as his tools. Neither man gets a view from nowhere. Turner acknowledges this more than Welch does. The academic form gives Turner the grammar to describe his own position. The podcast form does not give Welch the same grammar, and the libertarian coalition does not reward its use.
Welch saw the pandemic because his coalition rewarded seeing the pandemic. On topics where the coalition rewards not seeing, Welch sees less. The libertarian ecosystem he inhabits has its own convenient beliefs, its own hero system, its own tacit codes, its own status hierarchy.

Democracy Against Bureaucracy

Welch writes as if he stands outside the bureaucratic apparatus and describes it. Weber’s framework treats him as an agent inside a different principal-agent structure. Reason Foundation is his principal. Fifth Column subscribers are his principal. The libertarian donor class is his principal. He operates under Friedrich’s rule of anticipated reaction like any bureaucrat. He avoids positions that cost him status, income, or protection within his coalition.
The skittle boy image captures something the earlier framework missed. The Tsar could knock down all nine pins, but then had to set them up again himself. Welch spends his career knocking down nine. The administrative state. The public health apparatus. The progressive cultural machine. The drug warriors. The hawks. The media establishment. The tenured priesthood. The regulatory commissions. The NGO-governmental complex. He does not want to set them up again. He does not want Trump to set them up again.
Turner and Mazur call this position untenable. There is no practical alternative to setting them up again, which appears to the critic class as a new tyranny. The choice falls between a bureaucratic status group that cannot reform from inside, and a populist the coalition-maintaining elite will call a tyrant. Welch calls Trump a tyrant. He has done so for years. He does so while documenting the pseudo-constitutional apparatus that produced Trump.
The heterodox libertarian position after 2016 is the critique without the remedy. You can have the critique or you can have the populist correction. You cannot have the critique while a majority of voters pick the remedy you find distasteful.
The pseudo-constitutionalism concept names what Welch has been criticizing for twenty years. The 1905 Russian settlement created councils with vague powers and diverse membership that obscured responsibility. American governance through delegation to commissions, NGOs, academic expert panels, scientific advisory bodies, and quasi-private accrediting organizations follows the same logic. Welch sees this. What he sees less is that his own side runs on the same template. Reason Foundation is a 501(c)(3). The Fifth Column is a Patreon network. The heterodox podcast ecosystem functions as an NGO apparatus by another name. Donors fund it. Elections do not check it. It produces expert-style commentary that serves its coalition’s interests.

The Four Questions

Who does Welch rely on for status, income, and protection?
The Reason Foundation sits at the base. Reason magazine pays him as editor at large. The foundation runs on donor money, with Koch-network money prominent in its history alongside smaller libertarian funders and reader contributions. Welch edited the magazine from 2008 to 2016 and stayed on as a continuing presence after stepping down.
The Fifth Column is the second pillar. The podcast runs on Patreon subscriptions and advertising. Kmele Foster and Michael Moynihan share the income stream and the audience. The three men cross-promote each other’s work, appear on each other’s platforms, and vouch for each other in the broader heterodox media ecosystem.
The speaking circuit rewards the same voice. Reason events, libertarian conferences, free-speech organizations, heterodox intellectual gatherings. Book royalties for his past work on McCain and on the Obama administration. Guest appearances on other podcasts in the adjacent network. Bari Weiss’s Free Press. Glenn Loury. Coleman Hughes. Yascha Mounk. Nick Gillespie.
Protection runs through the same channels. Reason defends its own. The Fifth Column hosts defend each other. The broader heterodox network closes ranks when one of its members comes under attack from either the progressive left or the populist right.
Who does Welch need to attract or retain as allies?
The libertarian donor class. The Reason Foundation’s continued health depends on men and women who write checks because they want Reason to exist. Welch does not fundraise. He produces the product that justifies the fundraising.
The Fifth Column audience. Heterodox liberals, libertarian-curious readers, lapsed progressives, free-speech absolutists, anti-woke moderates, drug-policy reformers. The audience pays monthly. The audience can leave monthly.
The adjacent heterodox network. Weiss, Loury, Hughes, Taibbi, Greenwald, Moynihan, Foster, Gillespie, Welch. Mutual citation, mutual guesting, mutual defense. A writer who loses standing in this network loses access to the cross-promotion that sustains small-audience media work. The network polices itself through invitation and disinvitation.
The legacy press contacts from his earlier career. Welch has worked in mainstream journalism. He has contacts at major outlets. He can still place columns and get quoted. This access depends on remaining a recognizable type of commentator. A heterodox libertarian who still sounds like a journalist. Not a MAGA partisan. Not a progressive true believer.
What beliefs and signals mark membership in his coalition?
Free speech absolutism. Drug legalization as a foundational commitment. Skepticism of the administrative state. Opposition to foreign wars, with the Iraq War as settled case and subsequent wars as ongoing scandal. Anti-woke without being conservative on culture. Pro-immigration. Cosmopolitan rather than nationalist. Mockery of both party establishments, with the proportions adjusting by month. Hostility to the pandemic response. Hostility to media credulity. Hostility to academic orthodoxy.
The cultural signals matter as much as the positions. Brooklyn. Punk rock. Jazz. Czech-language credibility from his Prague years. References to figures the coalition respects. Hitchens. Orwell. Mencken. Thomas Szasz. Friedrich Hayek at arm’s length. The signals mark him as not-MAGA, not-progressive, not-conservative, not-establishment.
The tonal signals matter too. Exasperated amusement. The raised eyebrow. The dry aside. The refusal to sound sincere about anything except free speech and drug policy. Earnestness is suspect. Irony is the house voice. A writer who started sounding earnest about Trump’s virtues or progressive policies would sound wrong in the room.
The tacit codes run deeper. Do not endorse candidates. Treat Trump as a threat to liberal order while documenting the apparatus that produced him. Treat progressive excesses as the more immediate cultural danger without quite saying so. Never sound like you are rooting for either party. Keep the drug war central. Treat every speech-suppression case as a canary. Mock the bien pensants but do not join the populists.
What would Welch have to give up if he changed his public position?
Suppose Welch began writing that the pandemic response was roughly correct, that the experts did their best under uncertainty, that the media got the big picture right, that Trump is the larger threat to the republic than the administrative state, and that libertarianism has been a dead letter since 2008. The costs come in stages.
The Fifth Column audience would leave in waves. Subscribers pay for a voice. The voice includes positions. Changing the voice ends the subscription relationship. Foster and Moynihan would face a choice. Either follow Welch or part from him. Most likely they would part from him. The show would continue without him or with him diminished.
Reason would face an awkward internal conversation. An editor at large who no longer holds recognizably Reason positions is no longer useful to Reason. The foundation does not fire people for thinking. It does quietly let relationships lapse. The byline would appear less. The title might persist for a while as a courtesy. The income stream would thin.
The heterodox network would cool. Weiss, Taibbi, Greenwald, Loury, Hughes. The invitations would decline. Not through exclusion exactly. Through the slow loss of relevance to the conversations the network wants to have. A man who sounds like The Atlantic does not get booked on the shows that define themselves against The Atlantic.
The legacy press contacts would not make up the difference. A former Reason editor who has come around to mainstream liberal positions is a modest addition to a crowded field. The New York Times already has David French and Michelle Goldberg. The Atlantic already has its stable. There is no premium slot waiting.
The status loss would hurt most. Welch occupies a specific position in the heterodox intellectual hierarchy. He is a respected elder. He has been doing this longer than most. He has the books. He has the shows. He has the contacts. The position comes from being the heterodox libertarian he is. The position does not transfer to a different identity. A sixty-year-old journalist restarting from a new coalition position does not arrive at an equivalent status in the new coalition. He arrives as a newcomer with a suspect history.
Belonging is the quiet cost. Welch’s professional life is built around men who share his frame. The meals, the green rooms, the conferences, the text threads, the casual citation of shared premises. These relationships run on the shared frame. Changing the frame strains the relationships. Some survive. Most thin.

A Big Misunderstanding

Welch’s career runs on the premise that exposing hypocrisy, documenting reversals, and holding up better evidence produces political change. The premise does not survive Pinsof’s essay intact.
Take Welch’s pandemic work. His columns and podcast segments treat the expert failures as things the public should see through once the reversals are laid out in sequence. The mask guidance changed. The Floyd-protest exemption contradicted the lockdown logic. The hydroxychloroquine studies got retracted. Fauci shifted positions. Welch documents these with care and wit. The implicit theory is that a sufficiently clear record produces political correction. This fails. The public health apparatus did not act out of confusion. It acted out of coalition interest. Its defenders did not misunderstand the contradictions. They accepted the contradictions because accepting them was the price of coalition membership.
The drug war case shows the pattern over longer time. Reason has been producing evidence against drug prohibition for fifty years. The evidence is overwhelming and has been overwhelming for decades. Prohibition persists. Pinsof’s framework says this persistence is the expected outcome. Prohibition serves the interests of the coalitions that benefit from it: police unions, prison systems, pharmaceutical lobbies, moral-conservative voters, parents who want a legal hammer against their children’s drug use. None of these groups holds its position because it has not yet read the Reason archives.
The Fifth Column format embodies the myth at its purest. Three men with different political starting points sit around microphones and work through contested questions by talking. The show’s premise is that careful dialogue across difference produces clarity. The audience pays for this performance. What the performance delivers is coalition maintenance for a specific subculture: heterodox liberals, drifting libertarians, anti-woke moderates. The three hosts do not arrive at clarity through dialogue. They arrive at the positions their shared coalition already holds. The dialogue is the theater. The coalition is the structure.
The heterodox positioning that sustains Welch’s career depends on the misunderstanding myth in a sharper way. The whole premise of heterodox media is that partisans on left and right are trapped in coalition confusion, and only the heterodox see. Pinsof denies the premise. Neither side is confused. Both pursue their coalition interests with adequate self-knowledge. The heterodox media class is its own coalition with its own interests, its own donors, its own audience, its own status hierarchy. Its members pretend to occupy a view from nowhere. The pretense is the product.
The irony tone reinforces the myth. Welch’s characteristic exasperated amusement assumes the audience recognizes what he is pointing out. The affect says: can you believe these people are doing this? The question presumes the viewer shares his frame and is not the target of the critique. The tone is a coalition filter. Outsiders hear smugness. Insiders hear the pleasure of shared recognition. The work signals membership in a coalition that flatters itself on seeing through the confusions of lesser coalitions, while remaining unable to see its own position as a coalition at all.
What does Welch gets from holding the myth? Welch gets a career. He gets the Fifth Column audience. He gets Reason’s continued patronage. He gets the adjacent heterodox network. He gets the sense of himself as a man who sees what others miss. All of this rests on the premise that careful communication across coalition lines matters. Abandon the premise and the career has no justification.

‘Arguing is BS’

Welch’s career is built on the fiction that careful reasoning about AUMFs, surveillance authorities, and emergency powers might persuade someone. Persuasion is not what arguing is for. People argue to recruit allies, signal loyalty, lower rivals, and cover the coalition work underneath. If that is right, Welch is the man who shows up to a knife fight carrying an annotated bibliography. He brings the wrong tool because he believes the tool works.
Welch watched post-communist societies dismantle state lies and assumed the lesson was that careful public reasoning could prevent the return of official fiction. Not exactly. The Soviet cover stories collapsed because the coalition enforcing them collapsed, not because someone out-argued them. When the new American coalitions hardened after 9/11 and again during Covid, Welch’s careful arguments did almost nothing to slow them. The arguments were not the mechanism. Coalition strength was.
The public break with Megyn Kelly now reads as pseudoargument. The hosts did not engage Kelly’s positions. They announced that her positions had become embarrassing to be associated with. This is what arguing is, most of the time. A status move that lowers the target and raises the speaker, dressed up in the language of principle. The Fifth Column did not out-argue Kelly. They moved her from the coalition of respectable people to the coalition of people who must be kept at distance. The move protects their own status inside the prestige-adjacent heterodox circuit. The “disappointment” language is the cover story. Naked coalition management looks ugly. Principled disappointment looks dignified.
This also explains why Welch has made peace with high credibility and low power. Pinsof says to be persuaded is to concede intellectual inferiority, which is why arguments in coalition fights are designed to prevent persuasion rather than enable it. Welch’s opponents have no incentive to let his arguments land. Landing his argument would lower their coalition’s standing. They are not going to do that, no matter how careful his reasoning is.
Welch writes columns. Columns present themselves as mini-arguments. Pinsof says arguing is mostly bullshit. If he is right, then the column form is a bullshit form, no matter how honest the columnist. The form requires the writer to pretend that reasoning in public is the mechanism by which public affairs adjust. It is not the mechanism. Coalitions are the mechanism. A columnist who understood this would either stop writing columns, switch to coalition analysis, or keep writing columns while knowing that the visible activity is a cover story for the coalition work the columns perform.
Welch cannot go deeper without losing his career. To descend from the level of argument to the level of coalition analysis would require Welch to say, in public, that his friends and allies are doing coalition work rather than careful reasoning, and that he is too. That move would cost him his standing inside his own coalition. People never make this move unless they have already exited the coalition that would punish them for it. Welch has not exited. The Fifth Column, Reason, the heterodox circuit, the Substack-adjacent audience, all of them reward the careful-reasoning pose and punish the coalition-analysis move. Welch stays inside the frame his readers require.

Convenient Beliefs

Welch presents as the man who pays the cost of inconvenient belief and survives. He sits outside the major coalitions. He criticizes wars Republicans want and surveillance Democrats want. He writes against lockdowns without joining the hoax caucus.
Welch holds the convenient beliefs of a specific coalition. The coalition is smaller than the two majors, which lets him feel like an outsider. The coalition is the cosmopolitan professional-managerial heterodox circuit that includes Reason, the Free Press orbit, the Fifth Column listenership, and the Substack-adjacent commentariat. Inside that coalition, Welch’s positions are not costly. They are the price of admission. Suspicion of state power, contempt for moral panics, irritation with progressive enforcement, wariness of populist enthusiasm, procedural liberalism, cultural permissiveness, antiwar instincts, skepticism toward public health overreach. Every one of these is the correct view inside his circuit. Holding them earns him standing. Holding them lets him appear on the right podcasts, publish in the right places, and receive the right invitations. Welch’s beliefs are exactly what his coalition wants him to hold.
The test of an inconvenient belief is whether holding it would cost you your coalition. Apply the test to Welch. What belief would he have to adopt that would cost him the Fifth Column, Reason, and the heterodox circuit? The list is short. Tribalism is a permanent feature of human life rather than a mistake to be educated away. Groups differ in outcomes because groups differ in traits, not only because of environments and injustices. American assimilation is partial and uneven rather than inevitable and complete. Cosmopolitan procedural liberalism is a local product of a Protestant-derived culture rather than a universal default. Immigration policy has biological as well as economic implications. The professional-managerial class is a class with interests rather than a meritocratic assemblage of competent individuals. Civil-libertarian proceduralism may have structural limits when dealing with coordinated asymmetric threats. Welch does not write about any of these. Not because he has examined them and rejected them. Because the coalition that sustains him cannot afford him to.
Welch’s intellectual map is a map of what his coalition can pay for, not a map of what the evidence supports. The blank-slate-adjacent assumptions his writing rests on are load-bearing for his circuit. If he dropped them, he would lose the circuit.
The Central European decade looks different through this frame. Welch watched one coalition’s convenient beliefs collapse and be replaced by another coalition’s convenient beliefs. Post-communist societies did not move from falsehood to truth. They moved from one set of coordination devices to another. Welch read the lesson as vindication of his proto-libertarian instincts. Turner would read it as an ordinary cycle. The institutional collapse briefly lowered the price of deviation. A new coalition formed. The new coalition generated its own convenient beliefs, built its own institutions, and raised the price of deviation again. Welch mistook a cyclical reset for progress toward truth.
Welch believes his libertarianism because he reasoned his way to it. The Reason coalition around him believes the same thing about its own positions. Every member of the coalition experiences coalition-maintained belief as independent reasoning.
Welch’s style makes this worse rather than better. The dry skeptical voice, the refusal of moral theater, the ironic distance from hysteria, all of it performs the buffered self more convincingly than the hotter voices around him. Moynihan gets excited. Foster gets didactic. Welch keeps the ironic temperature low. The effect is to signal that he is reasoning rather than performing loyalty. Inside Turner’s frame, this is the most effective form of loyalty performance available. The coalition that rewards apparent independence rewards Welch more than it rewards his co-hosts.
The expert-led social engineering taboo catches Welch partially. He is better than most mainstream commentators on this question. He notices administrative state overreach. He writes about the failures of technocratic confidence. He is willing to say that complex systems defeat top-down control. This is one place where his circuit’s convenient beliefs happen to align with evidence. But notice what he does not do. He does not extend the insight to his own class. He does not write about how the cosmopolitan professional-managerial class generates failure as a structural byproduct of overreach. He criticizes the administrative state without criticizing the class that staffs and populates it, which is his own.
The biological variation taboo catches Welch completely. He does not touch it. Reason does not touch it seriously. The Fifth Column does not touch it. The heterodox professional-managerial circuit does not touch it, with rare exceptions that are quickly punished. Welch has spent forty years arguing about policy questions whose answers depend heavily on empirical claims about human variation, and he has never seriously engaged the empirical literature on human variation. The silence is coalition-enforced.
The private man is more thoughtful than the public performer. Welch knows better than to say the cliches he utters publicly.
Truth becomes briefly less expensive during institutional failure. The current American moment is one of partial institutional collapse. Major newspapers are losing their grip. Academic credentialing is losing its prestige. Public health authorities are losing trust. Intelligence agencies are losing legitimacy. The cost of deviation from elite convenient beliefs has dropped. A writer with Welch’s training could use the window to push further than his coalition has previously permitted. The question is whether he will. The new coalition forming in the wreckage will have its own convenient beliefs. Welch will attach to the version of the new coalition closest to his existing one. The prestige-adjacent heterodox circuit, now rebranded, will continue to reward him for holding the beliefs it already rewards him for holding.

Alliance Theory

Welch sorts the world into enemies. The public health establishment. The cancellation apparatus. The drug warriors. The hawks. The regulatory state. The tenured academic orthodoxy. The credulous establishment press. The populist right and its tariff-friendly economic program. The coalition coheres around shared hostility to these targets. Shared enemies as more load-bearing than shared positive programs. The Fifth Column audience does not agree on what to build. It agrees on what to oppose. The agreement on opposition is what holds the coalition together. A listener who stopped hating the right set of targets would stop being the show’s listener.
The enemies within the adjacent coalitions sharpen the point. Welch’s network has internal fights. Libertarians who went MAGA. Libertarians who went full anti-Trump. Heterodox liberals who drifted back to mainstream progressivism. Free-speech absolutists who softened on specific cases. Each of these defections produces commentary inside the coalition about who is still inside and who has left. The commentary is coalition maintenance. It tells remaining members where the boundaries run. Welch participates in these boundary-policing conversations on the Fifth Column and elsewhere. The participation is normal coalition behavior.
The moral vocabulary Welch uses carries the coalition’s signature. Words like authoritarianism, moral panic, moral entrepreneurship, censorship-industrial complex, expert failure, credentialism, rent-seeking, regulatory capture, status anxiety. Using the vocabulary marks the speaker as inside the coalition. Welch uses it fluently because he has been using it for thirty years.
Alliance Theory predicts the shape of Welch’s blind spots. He sees coalition behavior when other coalitions do it. He sees the progressive cultural coalition enforcing orthodoxy. He sees the MAGA coalition enforcing loyalty to Trump. He sees the public health coalition defending its members against criticism. He does not see, with anything like the same clarity, his own coalition doing the same work. The Fifth Column enforces its own orthodoxies. Reason enforces its own orthodoxies. The heterodox media network enforces its own orthodoxies.
The theory also predicts which of Welch’s positions will hold and which might bend. Positions the coalition rewards will hold even when evidence shifts. Positions the coalition is indifferent to might bend with evidence. Positions the coalition penalizes will not develop even when evidence supports them. Welch’s free-speech absolutism is load-bearing for the coalition. It will not bend. His drug legalization is load-bearing. It will not bend. His anti-tariff commitments align with the libertarian donor class. They will not bend. His positions on topics the coalition is less invested in will prove more mobile.
Welch lived for years in Czechoslovakia and Slovakia. His wife is French. He has spoken publicly about using French healthcare and finding it adequate or better than American alternatives. His position on healthcare is not derived from libertarian principle applied to the healthcare sector. It is derived from his life experience.
The belief system is not a unified philosophy that a man works out and then applies to each policy question. The belief system is a package of positions a coalition holds, and members absorb the package because the package is what the coalition pays them to hold. The package has internal contradictions because it was not built by a logician. It was built by the accumulated preferences of the men and women the coalition needs to retain. The contradictions are invisible from inside because coalition members do not inspect their own package.
The convenience is the coalition fit. The shallowness is the absence of any underlying system that would require the positions to cohere. Welch is not shallow as a man. He is well-read, seasoned, and sharp in his observation of rival coalitions. The belief system does not have depth because it does not need depth to do its work. It needs only to mark membership, signal enemies, and reward allies. Depth would be a luxury the coalition does not require and might not survive. A worked-out libertarianism would strip out the positions the coalition depends on for its class coherence. The worked-out version would be unpopular inside the coalition. The package version is what the coalition wants. The package version is what Welch supplies.
The same framework applies to most of Welch’s adjacent network. Glenn Greenwald the civil libertarian who supports Lula. Matt Taibbi the populist critic who keeps his Vermont distance from the populists. Bari Weiss the heterodox journalist who runs CBS News and the Free Press, a venture-funded institution with an ideological shape. Michael Moynihan the anti-extremist who keeps specific extremists off-limits from his mockery. Each case shows the package rather than the philosophy. Humans do not hold philosophies. Humans hold packages.

Niche Construction

Thinkers do not just occupy intellectual environments. They build them. The environment rewards certain traits. Those traits build more of that environment. Later entrants are selected for fitness inside the constructed niche. The niche hardens. The thinkers inside it become specialists. They lose the ability to survive outside it because they have been shaped by and have shaped the niche.
Welch’s niche is the cosmopolitan heterodox-libertarian professional-managerial circuit. It was constructed over several decades by a small set of institutions and personalities. Reason magazine anchors it. The Cato Institute provides its policy wing. The libertarian-adjacent wing of the legal academy gives it credentialed support. The Fifth Column provides conversation. The Free Press and parts of Substack give it a newer media layer. Adjacent figures at places like the Atlantic, New York magazine, and the New York Times op-ed page provide permeable boundaries with prestige media. The niche has its own vocabulary, its own reference points, its own inside jokes, its own enemies, its own pantheon.
Welch did not simply enter this niche. He helped build it. The McCain book, the Declaration of Independents, the editorship of Reason, the co-hosting of the Fifth Column, the relationships with Gillespie and Mangu-Ward and Suderman, all of it is niche construction work. Every essay he wrote made the niche a little more hospitable to writers like him. Every podcast episode reinforced the conversational norms the niche would reward. Every hire at Reason selected for the traits the niche needed.
Welch’s traits fit his niche almost perfectly. The dry style, the irreverent tone, the procedural liberalism, the antiwar instincts, the suspicion of panic, the cosmopolitan references, the Central European seasoning, the irony-forward stance. Every one of these traits is exactly what the niche rewards. This is co-construction. Welch’s traits made the niche. The niche then selected for more writers with those traits. The writers who joined reinforced the traits Welch already had. Over time Welch and the niche became so tightly matched that no other habitat could sustain him.
Niche construction also explains the niche’s durability and its limits. The niche is durable because it has been built out across multiple institutions, audiences, and formats. It has its own reproduction system. Young writers enter Reason as interns, absorb the niche’s norms, move to adjacent outlets, bring new readers into the niche, and eventually take editorial positions where they hire more writers with the same traits. The niche reproduces itself the way any constructed environment reproduces itself, by shaping the organisms that depend on it so that they continue to maintain it.
The niche has limits because it was constructed to solve certain problems at a certain moment. It was built in the 1990s and early 2000s to house writers who were too antiwar for the right and too anti-state for the left, too cosmopolitan for the Chamber of Commerce libertarians and too procedural for the populists. The niche solved the homelessness problem for a particular generation of writers. It was never designed to handle the problems that became central after 2015. Tribalism as a permanent feature of human behavior. Group differences in outcomes. The limits of assimilation. The biological basis of variation. The class interests of the professional-managerial stratum. The structural rather than ideological sources of elite failure. The niche did not evolve to process any of these. It was built to fight the last war, which was the war against post-Cold War technocratic confidence and post-9/11 emergency-state expansion.
Constructed niches can become traps. Beavers are magnificent inside their ponds and helpless outside them. If the pond drains, the beaver does not adapt. The beaver dies. Welch’s niche is draining. Reason is smaller than it used to be. The Fifth Column exists but does not grow the way it once did. The heterodox circuit has fractured as younger writers moved toward either the post-liberal right or the populist left. The prestige-media outlets that used to treat the niche as an interesting sidebar now treat it as a relic. The audiences that used to listen for sophistication now listen for heat. Welch’s traits are still excellent inside the niche he built. Outside the niche, those traits do not travel well. He cannot go to Tucker Carlson’s audience. He cannot go to the progressive academy. He cannot go to the populist-right magazines.
The frame also illuminates the relationship between Welch and the broader American political ecology. Niches interact. One organism’s construction affects the selection pressures on others. The libertarian heterodox niche that Welch helped build contributed to the construction of adjacent niches that now threaten it. The Free Press emerged partly from the same construction materials and has largely absorbed the audience. The Substack heterodoxy scene has taken over functions Reason used to perform. The podcast-first political commentary genre has taken over functions magazine journalism used to perform. Each of these niches was built partly out of materials Welch and his collaborators laid down. Each of them now out-competes the niche Welch lives in for attention, money, and talent. He helped construct the adaptive landscape that his own niche now loses on.
What Welch helped build is what now gets inherited by younger writers. Virginia Heyer Young, Peter Suderman, Katherine Mangu-Ward, Matt Welch’s podcasting circle, the younger Reason staff, the Free Press young writers who came through adjacent training, all of them inherit an environment that was constructed by a small number of people over roughly twenty-five years. They experience it as the natural habitat of principled heterodox writing. It is not natural. It is constructed.
Welch’s eventual obsolescence is the ordinary fate of niche constructors. The dam gets built. The dam holds for a generation. The water finds another course. The beaver that built the dam cannot build a new one in a new place at the end of its life. The next generation of beavers builds somewhere else, using different materials, for different water. Welch built well. His dam held. The water is moving. The dam will be a feature of the landscape that later writers grew up in and partly shaped them, and also an artifact of a period that has ended.

Hybrid Vigor

Welch’s Central European decade is the crossing event. He took an American libertarian inheritance and ran it through Prague, Bratislava, and Budapest at the moment those societies were metabolizing the collapse of one imposed ideology and the construction of another. The crossing produced a version of libertarianism with traits the native American strains lacked. Suspicion of emergency rhetoric, allergy to official language, instinct for the gap between stated purpose and institutional function, comfort with the view that ideologies are mostly cover stories. These traits did not come from Rothbard or Hayek. They came from watching a society try to rebuild while everyone involved knew that everyone else was partly lying. The Babylonian Talmud analogy is not forced. Welch’s sensibility is a diaspora product. His American contemporaries who stayed home and read the same books produced thinner work.
Then the hybrid vigor stopped. Welch returned to the United States in the late 1990s and entered Reason. Reason is a closed breeding population. The staff recruit from a narrow pipeline. The readers self-select for a narrow set of priors. The intellectual inputs are broadly shared across the staff. For twenty-five years Welch has not crossed his formation. He has refined it, polished it, deployed it across new subjects, and transmitted it to younger writers. What he has not done is force it into contact with traditions that would stress it. He has not engaged biological frames. He has not engaged the sociology of knowledge. He has not seriously left critique of capital. He has not engaged right critique of cosmopolitanism. The diaspora sage stopped traveling, got married, reproduced, and stayed safe. The tradition he brought back became a closed system. Inbreeding depression has set in. The deleterious recessives are now expressing themselves. The work is predictable. A reader can guess Welch’s view on any new issue within ten seconds.
The life history theory frame reads Welch’s career strategy. He runs a slow life history inside a fast-life-history industry. Long tenure at a single publication. Deep investment in a small set of professional relationships. Incremental accumulation of craft. Careful maintenance of reputation over decades. Low risk tolerance for the moves that could have expanded his range. Columnists with faster strategies published the incendiary book, took the cable gig, swung for the viral moment, and either flamed out or broke through. Welch did none of this. He stayed at Reason. He co-hosted the Fifth Column. He waited. The slow strategy paid off in credibility and durability. It did not pay off in influence, which is what fast strategies purchase.
The Red Queen hypothesis reads the Fifth Column‘s endless argumentative labor. The show produces weekly episodes in which the hosts run to stay in the same place. The targets change, the takes update, the outrage gets processed, and the coalition’s position inside the heterodox circuit is maintained. Nothing gets built. No theoretical apparatus accumulates. No institutional power gets captured. The labor is defensive. It maintains relative standing against rival podcasts, rival outlets, rival voices in the same audience. The audience listens partly because it also has to run to stay in place. Everyone expends energy to not fall behind. Welch’s columnist labor is the same at a slower frequency. The Red Queen frame explains why forty years of good work has produced so little influence. The work was not designed to accumulate. It was designed to maintain position against competitors who were also maintaining position.
The immune system frame reads Welch’s Covid writing. The American public health apparatus had immune memory of certain historical pathogens: epidemics, quarantine failures, under-regulation of drugs. The memory persisted. When a new pathogen arrived, the immune system mounted a response calibrated to the historical exposures. Welch saw the response as disproportionate, which it was in many particulars. What Welch missed is that disproportionate immune responses are what immune systems do. They are not a failure of reasoning. They are the predictable output of a system shaped by selection to minimize Type I errors at the cost of Type II errors. Welch wrote as if better reasoning could have produced proportionate response. The biological frame predicts that no amount of reasoning would have produced it, because the system is not a reasoning system. It is an immune system with memory.
The superorganism frame reads Welch’s relationship to the administrative state. Welch writes about bureaucratic overreach as if it were a correctable deviation from properly limited government. The frame suggests the administrative state is not a deviation. It is a superorganism performing the functions that superorganisms perform. It maintains homeostasis. It constructs niches. It engages in horizontal gene transfer through the revolving door. It calibrates its immune system to identify threats that justify its continued expansion. Welch’s critique treats the organism as if it could be disciplined through better rules and more public scrutiny. Better rules produce more sophisticated superorganism behavior, because the organism adapts. Welch has been writing variations on the same critique for thirty years while the organism has grown.

The Tacit

Welch has tacit knowledge as a journalist. He has read press releases, watched press conferences, interviewed politicians, edited copy, and written columns for over thirty years. He knows when a story is managed. He knows which officials are lying and which are merely confused. He knows which retractions matter and which do not. He knows how the Washington press pool works because he has worked inside it. Much of what he notices in his pandemic coverage, his media criticism, and his political commentary comes from this accumulated sense. He cannot write it down as a set of rules. A twenty-five-year-old cannot read Welch’s columns and acquire what Welch has. The knowledge lives in him as practice.
The targets of Welch’s criticism run on tacit knowledge too, and Welch often treats their tacit knowledge as if it were something else. The CDC’s pandemic advisories were not mechanical applications of a rulebook. They were the product of committee judgments, informal risk assessments, bureaucratic accommodations, and professional instincts accumulated over careers. Turner’s work on public health describes these documents as boundary objects built through tacit processes. They are not “the science” in the literal sense. They are the negotiated output of a community of practice. Welch sees the failures: the reversals on masks, the selective lockdowns, the retracted Lancet paper. He presents the failures as if they prove the whole enterprise is fraudulent or the whole class of experts incompetent. Turner would say the failures are what tacit expertise looks like when its object is uncertain. The tacit knowledge was operating. The object was too novel for the tacit knowledge to handle. The result was the mess Welch documents. Welch is right about the mess. He is less right when he treats the mess as evidence that the tacit expertise was always a con.
Welch’s own coalition runs on tacit knowledge, and the tacit knowledge is invisible to him. The heterodox media class has a vast body of unwritten rules about what can be said, what tone is permitted, which alliances are acceptable, which guests are welcome, which positions mark the speaker as still inside and which mark him as outside. None of this is in any Reason editorial guide. None of it is in the Fifth Column‘s Patreon page. It lives in the practice of the men and women who produce the work. Welch knows the code so thoroughly that he does not experience it as a code. He experiences it as reasonable judgment about what serves the audience and what does not.
The tacit code of the heterodox class governs. Guests on the Fifth Column are selected by a standard no one has written down. Some heterodox figures are welcome. Some are not. The line is clear to insiders and opaque to outsiders. Coleman Hughes yes, Curtis Yarvin no. Glenn Greenwald yes, Tucker Carlson conditional. Bari Weiss yes in most eras, less so when she strays too farn. The topics that get sustained attention follow a similar code. Drug policy reliably. Speech suppression reliably. Lab-leak origins with appropriate tone. Specific foreign policy questions with the coalition’s preferred framing. Other topics get avoided or handled with care. The tacit knowledge tells Welch and his collaborators where the lines are without requiring them to articulate the lines.
The tacit code also governs tone. The Fifth Column voice is exasperated amusement. It is ironic. It is knowing. It refuses earnestness except about a small set of topics where earnestness is permitted. A guest who comes on and speaks earnestly about, for example, the positive case for progressive institutional reform will be handled differently than a guest who comes on and speaks earnestly about the harms of cancellation. The hosts have internalized which topics take which tone. They do not consult a manual. They operate on sense.
Who checks this tacit knowledge? The answer is no one easily, because tacit knowledge resists external scrutiny. The heterodox media class claims to be the outside check on the expert class. It presents itself as the readers’ corrective to institutional authority. Turner’s framework notes that the heterodox class has its own tacit authority, its own unwritten rules, its own insiders and outsiders, its own way of closing ranks against criticism. A reader who tries to evaluate the Fifth Column from the outside faces the same problem a citizen faces when trying to evaluate the CDC. The tacit knowledge of the practitioners is not fully legible. The reader trusts the heterodox class or rejects it.
Citizens can learn to distrust certain expert claims, support rival centers of expertise, and refuse the collapse of science into authority. Turner supports this modest project. Welch is part of the modest project in practice. He just does not see that his own work runs on the same tacit structure he criticizes in others.

Randall Collins’s Interaction Ritual Chains

The Fifth Column podcast fits Collins’s ritual model. Welch, Foster, and Moynihan gather in a studio. They focus on shared targets. They share a mood of irreverent skepticism. Listeners eavesdrop across a barrier, which heightens the intimacy of the core ritual. The podcast produces emotional energy (EE) for the three hosts and for the listeners who share their sensibility. It charges sacred symbols: free speech, heterodox journalism, skepticism of moral panics, contempt for legacy media piety. The Reason Roundtable with Suderman, Mangu-Ward, Gillespie, and Welch does the same work for libertarian policy symbols on a weekly schedule.
Collins’s concept of emotional energy explains Welch’s career arc better than ideological biography. Welch has moved among ritual venues. LA Times editorial page, Reason print magazine, Fox Business cable show, Twitter, now mostly podcasts. People gravitate toward higher-EE venues and away from lower-EE ones. Welch’s move from cable TV and Twitter toward long-form podcasts tracks this. Cable produces short-burst EE with low sustainability. Twitter produces micro-hits with rapid burnout. Podcasts sustain a richer ritual because they restore mutual focus and extended co-presence.
Deflationary criticism cannot produce high-EE rituals at scale. Collins’s model requires shared sacred symbols for solidarity. The Fifth Column charges symbols of skeptical independence, but the content of those symbols runs anti-ritual. Mockery and irony work well for niche solidarity and badly for mass politics.
Welch’s McCain book shows the problem in compact form. McCain as maverick was a symbol charged by decades of rituals. Sunday show appearances, Senate floor moments, town halls, POW narrative invocations at every campaign stop. Welch’s book was one deflationary intervention against a vast ritual apparatus. It circulated in libertarian circles and shifted nothing in the mainstream charge on the McCain symbol. Only his 2008 loss, his late turn against Trump, and his death drained that symbol, and the draining came from inside the civil religion rather than from outside critique.
Welch lived in Prague and Budapest for eight years starting in the early 1990s. He watched a whole symbolic economy collapse and a new one try to take shape. Communism’s sacred symbols went flat when the rituals that charged them, party meetings, parades, mandatory ideological study, stopped. Market democracy’s symbols tried to acquire charge through new rituals, NATO accession ceremonies, EU negotiations, IMF press conferences, but stayed thin. Welch watched this at close range. His later skepticism about symbolic construction has an empirical basis in that decade.
Welch critiques macro-rituals like Russiagate while building micro-rituals like the podcast. The micro-rituals give him the EE to sustain the macro-critique. The sustainability of his project depends on whether his podcast ritual chain can keep charging the symbols of skeptical independence faster than mainstream rituals can ignore them.
Symbols go flat without regular ritual recharging. The libertarian canon has this problem. Hayek, Friedman, Rand, Nozick. These names once carried high charge for young intellectuals because they circulated through campus rituals, YAF meetings, Cato internships, IHS seminars. The IR density has thinned. The symbols are fading. Welch’s work tries to recharge a smaller set, free speech, procedural fairness, anti-panic skepticism, through podcast rituals.

Charisma and Social Paradoxes

Welch presents as a journalist documenting what he sees. The presentation conceals an enormous selection operation. Welch’s coalition determines which stories deserve sustained attention. Pandemic reversals yes. Hunter Biden laptop yes. Defense spending with appropriate framing yes. Tariff policy with libertarian framing yes. Other stories get less attention or different framing. The selection is tacit. Welch does not consciously think, “This story fits my coalition’s needs.” He thinks, “This story matters.” What makes a story matter is a coalition judgment he has internalized so thoroughly that he experiences it as perception. The paradox works because he experiences his selection as attention to reality. His audience experiences his selection as attention to reality. The symbiotic deception requires the shared experience.
The unambitious careerist. Welch performs as a man who stumbled into journalism through Prague, kept writing because the work interested him, and ended up at Reason because Reason was where he fit. The performance conceals a substantial career. He has edited a national magazine. He has co-founded one of the more successful opinion podcasts in a crowded field. He has written several books. He has accumulated influence in a professional class. The career is real. The performance of non-ambition makes the career possible. A man who openly pursued a national opinion platform would have had a harder time reaching one. The man who presents as indifferent to the prize gets the prize in his niche.
The sincere cynic. Welch’s tone is exasperated amusement. The voice is ironic, world-weary, knowing. The ironic distance conceals a set of sincere commitments. Free speech. Drug legalization. Opposition to specific wars. The sincerity underneath gives the irony its weight. A purely cynical commentator reads as a troll. A purely earnest commentator reads as a crusader. Welch sits in the spot where the ironic surface protects the earnest core. Both the performer and the audience need both layers at once. If Welch dropped the irony, the sincerity would sound preachy. If he dropped the sincerity, the irony would sound empty.
The individualist who needs a team. Libertarian individualism is the official creed. Welch’s work runs on collective structures. The Fifth Column is a three-man operation. Reason is an institution with donors and editors. The heterodox network is a mutual-defense coalition. The libertarian who preaches self-reliance depends on his collaborators, his employer, his donor base, and his adjacent allies. The dependence is invisible inside the individualist frame. A man who said openly, “My individualism is produced and sustained by a coalition of people who make it possible,” would break the frame. No one in the coalition says this. The frame stays intact because all the members protect it together.
The Prague authenticity. Welch’s biography carries weight inside his coalition. He did not take the Harvard-to-NYT path. He learned Czech. He lived in Central Europe during the post-communist transition. He built a writing career through unusual channels. The biography is real. The biography also functions as a status signal inside the heterodox class, which values the self-made-man narrative and distrusts the Ivy-League-to-elite-media pipeline. Welch’s audience pays partly for the biography.
The coalition-relative character of the charisma matters. Welch reads as charismatic inside the heterodox liberal and libertarian-curious audience. His tone lands. His references connect. His pacing on the podcast rewards attention. The same performance reads differently to MAGA listeners, who see a fake libertarian selling out to the cosmopolitan class. It reads differently to progressives, who see a reactionary with a journalist’s cover. It reads differently to establishment libertarians, who see a man who has softened on healthcare and drifted on economic policy. The charisma is not a property of Welch’s voice. It is a property of the match between his voice and the coalition that listens to it. Pinsof’s framework insists on this relativity. Welch inside his niche is charismatic. Welch outside his niche is not.
The failure modes are instructive. Occasionally critics try to make Welch’s paradoxes visible. The libertarian-who-supports-socialized-medicine attack tries to force the paradox into the open. The you-always-attack-the-right-more attack tries the same move from a different angle. The you-select-your-evidence attack targets the reporter-following-the-evidence pose. These attacks land differently inside different coalitions. Inside Welch’s coalition, they bounce. The audience does not want the paradox exposed. The defenses close around Welch. Inside rival coalitions, the attacks land and stick. The MAGA audience sees Welch through the attacks. The progressive audience sees him through different attacks.
Welch is the man who is exactly what he seems to be and, at the same time, exactly what his coalition needs him to be.

Watergate as Democratic Ritual & Cultural Trauma

Chris Kavanagh runs a trauma construction operation against charismatic anti-institutional figures. Welch runs the opposite operation. He spends his career watching trauma constructions unfold and pushing back against them. He is not a carrier group producing cultural trauma. He is closer to the sociologist analyzing carrier groups from outside, except he does the work in real time and without the academic distance Alexander maintains. The application reveals both what Welch sees and what he cannot see from his position.
Welch’s journalistic career has been largely devoted to the work Alexander’s framework describes as necessary for seeing trauma construction. He watches events move from the profane level of ordinary politics to the sacred level of civic crisis. He pushes back when the movement outruns the evidence. He tracks the carrier groups making the claims. He notices when the claims serve the carrier groups’ interests. He applies the skeptical tools Alexander’s framework formalizes, without naming them in Alexander’s language.
McCain: The Myth of a Maverick (2007) is the clean case. McCain by 2007 had been converted into a civil religion figure. His POW suffering, his willingness to break with his party on specific issues, his personal courage, had been assembled by a specific carrier group into a sacred biography. The carrier group included the legacy press (David Brooks, Jonathan Chait, the New York Times editorial page), the political class that valued McCain’s bipartisan gestures, and the foreign policy establishment that valued his hawkishness. The carrier group had material interests in McCain’s sacred status. Their continued cultural authority depended on having sacred figures whose consensus views they could translate into policy.
Welch’s book performed the opposite of trauma construction. Alexander would call it desacralization. Welch treated McCain as an ordinary political actor pursuing ordinary interests. The POW years got handled with respect but without sacralization. The maverick positioning got treated as political strategy rather than as spiritual testimony. The hawkish foreign policy got examined for its consequences rather than absorbed as heroic commitment. The book refused the ritual frame. It insisted on the profane level of goals, interests, and normal politics, which is the level Alexander identifies as the starting point that trauma construction has to leave behind.
The book was effective at what it attempted. McCain’s 2008 presidential campaign collapsed partly because the sacred biography could not sustain the pressure of an electoral contest. Welch’s desacralizing work contributed to the collapse by making the sacred biography harder to sustain among readers who encountered the book’s arguments. The contribution was not decisive. The campaign had other problems. But the contribution was real, and it was the contribution Alexander’s framework would recognize as the opposite of what carrier groups do.
Welch spent the Russiagate years tracking the claims and how they evolved when evidence failed to materialize. He noticed when the construction required increasingly elaborate theoretical scaffolding to absorb the inconvenient findings. He applied the symmetric-application test: the same evidentiary standard would have produced different conclusions if applied to Democratic figures. He noted the material interests of the carrier group members who were producing the construction. He identified the ritual elements in the coverage that substituted for evidence as the story unfolded.
The work was effective. Welch’s columns and podcast commentary across these years constitute a sustained record that looks better in retrospect than most of the legacy press coverage does. The Steele dossier got treated with skepticism that proved warranted. The FBI’s investigation got examined for its internal problems that later inspector general reports confirmed. The claim that Trump was a Russian agent, or that collusion had been proved, got held to standards the claim could not meet.
Welch refused the carrier group’s representational work. He was insisting on the profane level of goals, interests, and normal politics against the carrier group’s effort to generalize upward to sacred values the construction required to land. He was noticing, in real time, the symbolic work the carrier group was performing and treating that work as what it was rather than accepting its products as natural descriptions of reality.

COVID as Alexander Template

The COVID-era coverage provides a parallel case. A different carrier group operated. The public health establishment, the academic-medical complex, the legacy press, and the Democratic political class assembled claims (the virus required unprecedented response, certain interventions were proven effective, alternative views were dangerous misinformation) into a sacred civic framework. Dissent from the framework got classified as pollution. Adherence got sacralized.
Welch spent these years doing analogous work. He tracked the claims and how they evolved as evidence accumulated. He noticed when the framework required increasing theoretical scaffolding to absorb the inconvenient findings. He noted the material interests of the carrier group. He identified the ritual elements (masking requirements that exceeded the evidence, school closures that the evidence did not support, treatment of lab-leak hypotheses as taboo). He applied the symmetric-application test.
The work was effective. Welch’s COVID coverage looks substantially better in retrospect than the coverage of most legacy outlets. Specific predictions he made have been vindicated. Specific criticisms have been absorbed into the mainstream consensus. The lab-leak hypothesis moved from conspiracy theory to official possibility. The school-closure evidence got reassessed. The masking evidence got qualified.
Welch successfully desacralized many specific claims. He made the carrier group’s construction harder to sustain in its original form. He did not prevent the construction. The ritual continued through his criticism and produced its effects regardless of the criticism. The construction succeeds through the specific mechanisms Alexander identifies, and no amount of external criticism can block those mechanisms if the carrier group has sufficient institutional power. Welch’s criticism made the construction’s eventual unwinding happen somewhat faster than it would have happened without the criticism. It could not make the construction not happen at all.

The Carrier Group Welch Cannot Be

Trauma construction requires a carrier group. The group needs universities, legacy press, judiciary, and regulatory bureaucracies. It needs the capacity to reach the public at the level of civic ritual. It needs the ability to mobilize social control institutions. It needs elite countercenters that can legitimate its claims against the center it is attacking.
Welch’s libertarian-heterodox niche lacks these resources. Reason magazine is small. The Fifth Column podcast has an audience but not the scale of civic reach the legacy press still commands. The libertarian academy exists but does not possess the cultural authority of the institutions that produced Russiagate or COVID expertise. The libertarian judiciary includes specific figures but does not operate as an elite countercenter in Alexander’s sense. The libertarian regulatory presence is approximately nonexistent.
This means Welch can deconstruct trauma constructions but cannot construct his own. The tax revolt, which Alexander mentions as part of the post-Watergate aftershock, remains one of the rare cases where libertarian-adjacent forces successfully constructed a sacred civic claim. It succeeded because it borrowed antiauthoritarian energy from the larger Watergate effervescence. The borrowing was temporary. The libertarian position does not command the institutional resources that would allow it to sustain its own trauma constructions across time.
Alexander’s framework identifies this asymmetry as structural. Carrier groups that possess the institutional resources Alexander names can construct traumas that reorganize symbolic classification systems. Carrier groups that lack these resources can only respond to constructions produced by groups that have them. The response can be effective at local levels, in specific cases, over specific time frames. It cannot produce equivalent constructions running in the opposite direction. Welch can deflate. He cannot inflate. The position is the structural position of the critic rather than the carrier group.
This is where Alexander’s framework adds something the earlier frameworks did not quite reach. It specifies that Welch’s inability to construct sacred civic claims is not a personal limitation or a strategic choice. It is the structural condition of operating from his niche. The niche produces critics, not carriers. The critics perform real work but cannot produce the cultural effects the carrier groups produce. The asymmetry between what the carrier groups can build and what the critics can unbuild determines the long-term trajectory of specific civic arguments.

The Style the Position Requires

Welch’s style is deflationary, ironic, procedural. It does not sacralize. It does not build mythic narratives. It does not mobilize moral outrage in the register that trauma construction requires. The style corresponds to the work the position enables.
The Watergate essay describes how the senators and committee staff built sacred time through specific techniques: the hushed voices, the formal procedures, the invocation of founding documents, the dramatic juxtaposition of villains and heroes, the refusal of ordinary political framing. The hearings operated in a liminal register that required participants to maintain the sacred frame. Any participant who broke the frame by treating the hearings as ordinary politics would have undermined the construction.
Welch’s style refuses the sacred frame constantly. His columns do not invoke founding documents in the register that sacralizes them. His podcast conversations treat civic crises as occasions for analysis rather than as sacred time. His book on McCain refused the heroic biography and treated McCain as ordinary. The consistent refusal of sacred framing is the style’s organizing principle.

The Watergate Paradox

Watergate produced reforms that libertarians should have supported. It punished executive overreach. It strengthened institutional checks. It created social control mechanisms that reduced the presidency’s capacity for abuse. It constrained the imperial presidency that libertarians had criticized for decades.
Watergate also produced reforms Welch’s position should complicate. The special prosecutor’s office became a permanent feature of American government. The media gained authorities that it had not previously claimed. The congressional committees developed powers that later expanded beyond their Watergate origins. The legacy press solidified its position as the civic-religious authority translating institutional knowledge into public deference. Each of these developments created institutional structures that later produced the carrier group operations Welch has spent his career critiquing.
Watergate’s rituals built the infrastructure for subsequent ritual operations. The carrier groups that produced Russiagate, COVID-era sacralizations, and Trump-era trauma constructions learned their moves from Watergate. The hearings as liminal space. The media as civic-religious translator. The bipartisan committee as sacred authority. The slow accretion of polluting associations around the target. The eventual purification through expulsion. These techniques, developed during Watergate, became the standard repertoire of elite carrier group operations.
Welch’s position should make him ambivalent about Watergate. He benefits from the constraints on executive power that Watergate produced. He suffers from the institutional apparatus that Watergate established for subsequent ritual operations. The ambivalence is structurally required. It does not typically appear in Welch’s work because libertarian conventional wisdom treats Watergate as a success.

Hero System

Matt Welch chases a specific immortality: the reputation of the journalist who saw through the cant of his age and wrote it down while his contemporaries got swept up. Left cant, right cant, establishment cant, populist cant. He earns standing by documenting other men’s capitulations.
Welch made his name in post-Communist Central Europe during the 1990s, reporting from Prague and Budapest through the transition. That period gave him a memory of state power and of what censorship produces. His libertarianism draws on witness more than theory.
Reason magazine supplies the coalition. The free-minds-and-free-markets network rewards contrarianism against both parties, anti-war commitments, drug-war skepticism, immigration liberalism, and free-trade loyalty. Reason pays him, publishes him, and gives him a readership that validates the posture. The Reason Foundation and its adjacent donor world supply the material base.
The Fifth Column podcast extends the script. Three journalists of different politics talk across tribal lines and refuse team discipline. The show rests on the promise that these men will say the true thing even when their side does not want to hear it. Welch’s project on the podcast is to serve as honest broker and archivist of elite hypocrisy, the man who keeps his notebook open when others close theirs.
The heroism requires symmetry. He must be hard on Trump and hard on the progressive left, document COVID-era civil liberties violations and MAGA authoritarian impulses, call the cancellers on campus and the book-banners in Florida. Tilt too far toward either side and the hero collapses into just another partisan.
Coalition signals stack up in a recognizable pattern: suspicion of state power in all forms, civil liberties maximalism, cosmopolitan immigration commitments, free trade, dismissal of tribal partisans, and a particular vocabulary of classical liberal, heterodox, independent journalism, adults in the room. He signals membership by naming the right enemies on both sides.
The costs of breaking ranks are real. A populist-right turn on immigration or trade alienates Reason and the libertarian donor world. A woke-left turn on speech or policing alienates The Fifth Column audience and the Bari Weiss-adjacent independent-media network that absorbs heterodox journalism refugees. Full conversion to either tribe costs him the platform that the coalition underwrites.
The contrarian needs an orthodoxy to oppose. When the center collapses, there is no fixed position from which to dissent, and the pose of the unfooled one looks different when partisans on both sides claim the same pose for themselves. Libertarianism has also aged. Reason’s cultural footprint is smaller than it was between 2005 and 2015. Koch institutional support has shifted. The ecosystem that rewarded the heterodox magazine journalist has been hollowed out by podcasts and Substacks. Welch has adapted by moving into those formats, but the hero system was built for a magazine world that no longer exists in the same form.

The Great Delusion

In his 2018 book, The Great Delusion: Liberal Dreams and International Realities, John J. Mearsheimer wrote:

My view is that we are profoundly social beings from the start to the finish of our lives and that individualism is of secondary importance… Liberalism downplays the social nature of human beings to the point of almost ignoring it, instead treating people largely as atomistic actors… Political liberalism… is an ideology that is individualistic at its core and assigns great importance to the concept of inalienable rights. This concern for rights is the basis of its universalism—everyone on the planet has the same inherent set of rights—and this is what motivates liberal states to pursue ambitious foreign policies. The public and scholarly discourse about liberalism since World War II has placed enormous emphasis on what are commonly called human rights. This is true all around the world, not just in the West. “Human rights,” Samuel Moyn notes, “have come to define the most elevated aspirations of both social movements and political entities—state and interstate. They evoke hope and provoke action.”
[Humans] do not operate as lone wolves but are born into social groups or societies that shape their identities well before they can assert their individualism. Moreover, individuals usually develop strong attachments to their group and are sometimes willing to make great sacrifices for their fellow members. Humans are often said to be tribal at their core. The main reason for our social nature is that the best way for a person to survive is to be embedded in a society and to cooperate with fellow members rather than act alone… Despite its elevated ranking, reason is the least important of the three ways we determine our preferences. It certainly is less important than socialization. The main reason socialization matters so much is that humans have a long childhood in which they are protected and nurtured by their families and the surrounding society, and meanwhile exposed to intense socialization. At the same time, they are only beginning to develop their critical faculties, so they are not equipped to think for themselves. By the time an individual reaches the point where his reasoning skills are well developed, his family and society have already imposed an enormous value infusion on him. Moreover, that individual is born with innate sentiments that also strongly influence how he thinks about the world around him. All of this means that people have limited choice in formulating a moral code, because so much of their thinking about right and wrong comes from inborn attitudes and socialization.

Reason magazine stands for individualism, inalienable rights, universalism. These are the tenets of political liberalism Mearsheimer identifies. Welch’s output reads differently once you see him as a committed political liberal rather than a generic skeptic of state power. His anti-emergency-state writing, his anti-war writing, his concern with speech protections, his evaluations of Hungarian and Israeli politics by universalist standards, all coalesce around the inalienable-rights frame.
Welch professes atomism. His career demonstrates coalitional embeddedness. He lived in Prague with a peer group. He moved through a small libertarian ecosystem funded by a small donor network. He cohosts a podcast with two men who share his instincts. The beliefs that mark his coalition, skepticism of state power, pro-free-trade, anti-tariff, pro-speech, anti-war, suspicious of technocratic expertise, feel to him like conclusions he earned by looking at the world. Mearsheimer names them a value infusion. Pinsof reaches this by a different route. Mearsheimer targets the content of the ideology, not just the coalitional form.
Welch presents his views as earned through reporting, through the Central European decade, through the pandemic reversals. Mearsheimer reminds us that Welch’s reasoning faculty developed inside a value infusion set before he could assess it. The Prague experience did not teach him liberalism. It confirmed a liberalism he inherited. His family, his American Cold War upbringing, the journalistic culture he moved into, put the infusion in place.
Reason magazine cannot describe Orbán’s Hungary, Netanyahu’s Israel, Xi’s China, or Trump’s America except through universalist categories that miss what matters in those places. Welch treats illiberal politics as a departure from a baseline. Mearsheimer treats illiberal politics as the baseline and liberal politics as the brief anomaly.
Socialization infuses values before reason can evaluate them. Welch inherited his liberalism. If he is not just the product of his socialization and coalition, he has to demonstrate his reasoning. His reading list suggests he has not.

Welch Under Hugo Mercier & John M. Doris

Hans Freyer and his Weimar cohort were smart people who lost inherited faith and substituted faith in history, community, decision. They placed more load on their substitutes than the substitutes could bear. The catastrophic political consequences followed from the overload. Welch operates in a different structural position. He inherited no particular faith to lose. He did inherit an American civic vocabulary (small-r republican, procedural, constitutional) and has spent his career defending it against the accelerating pressures of emergency-governance, expert-deference, and tribal polarization. The question the Freyer parallel raises is whether Welch’s civic vocabulary can bear the load he places on it. Procedural libertarianism asks readers to accept the legitimacy of outcomes produced by fair processes even when the outcomes are bad. This is hard under current conditions. When the processes themselves are contested, when expert authority has collapsed, when tribal emotional energy has intensified, the procedural vocabulary Welch deploys may be asking more than most people can deliver.
Humans are tribal. The need for belonging, coherent in-group narrative, and shared purpose is real and evolved. Welch’s deflationary procedural skepticism asks readers to suspend tribal satisfaction in favor of proceduralist virtue. The ask is substantial. It may succeed with readers whose life circumstances make procedural virtue feel safer than tribal commitment. It fails with readers for whom tribal commitment feels like the only available meaning. This is not Welch’s failure. It is the structural limit of the procedural libertarian project under conditions of tribal intensification.
The Fifth Column audience is self-selected. Listeners arrive already disposed toward skepticism of institutional authority, free speech absolutism, opposition to forever wars, drug legalization. Welch’s documentation of expert reversals, selective enforcement, and media credulity lands with receptive readers whose vigilance is already deployed against the targets Welch attacks.
Every successful commentator operates under the same constraint. The question is what Welch’s project can accomplish given the constraint. Mercier’s answer might be modest. Welch reinforces existing commitments in his coalition. He provides language and evidence for positions readers already hold.
Welch’s coherence measures his success at finding a situational niche that allows his commitments to persist. The niche is narrow. Most journalists who held Welch’s 2003 positions on the Iraq war could not sustain them through the career pressures of subsequent decades. Welch could because he moved to Reason, because he co-founded the Fifth Column, because he built an audience that rewards the positions.
Welch’s commentary addresses low-stakes domains for most of his readers. Foreign policy decisions affect readers indirectly and diffusely. Pandemic restrictions affected them directly but are now in the rearview. Media credibility disputes are status contests for elites that most readers consume as entertainment rather than as practical guidance. The low stakes mean readers’ vigilance is relaxed. They accept Welch’s framings more readily than they might accept similar framings from commentators they disagreed with on topics of higher personal stakes.
This is structurally identical to what Myers does with his progressive Jewish audience on Israel-Palestine questions. The stakes for American Jewish readers are low in immediate practical terms. What Israel does is remote. The commentary is consumed as meaning-making rather than as practical guidance. Vigilance is relaxed because the stakes are low. Myers’s audience accepts his framings readily. Myers’s critics’ audiences accept their framings readily. Both audiences are doing what Mercier predicts. Vigilance proportional to stakes produces low-vigilance consumption of distant political commentary. The frameworks consumed are selected for coalition fit rather than for accuracy. Welch’s readership and Myers’s readership operate under the same general constraint. Both consume commentary at the level of vigilance the stakes warrant. Neither is engaged in rigorous truth-tracking. Both are engaged in coalition-maintaining sense-making.
Welch’s readers might believe Welch has character traits (contrarian, skeptical, fair-minded, procedurally committed). Doris might argue this belief is mostly a narrative construction readers impose on behavior that is substantially situationally determined. The provocative implication is that if readers met Welch in a different situation, they might not recognize the character they currently attribute to him. The Welch they experience is the Welch Reason and Fifth Column produce. A Welch without those institutional homes would be a different professional self.
The persona a professional commentator maintains across decades is constructed and sustained by his situations. Remove the situations and the persona does not survive unchanged. This is not hypocrisy on the commentator’s part. It is the structural condition of professional voice. The voice exists as situationally sustained performance. The person exists as whatever the person is when the voice is not on. Readers confuse the voice with the person. The confusion is inevitable given the medium. It is also misleading about what readers know about the commentators they consume.
In his Not Born Yesterday book, Mercier argued that we did not evolve to be gullible with regard to our vital interests. Welch does not make explicit claims about human gullibility as evolved psychology. He works at the level of institutional failures and instances of public credulity. His documentary mode is journalistic rather than theoretical. He does not cite Mercier or Doris or evolutionary psychology. What he does is document cases where the public accepted official claims that turned out to be wrong. The pattern of his cases implies a view of the public even though he does not theorize that view.
Welch’s repeated documentation of public acceptance of wrong official narratives (WMD in Iraq, initial mask guidance, Russiagate certainty, lockdown efficacy claims, Hunter Biden laptop dismissals as disinformation) implies that the public does accept false official claims with regularity. This is closer to a gullibility thesis than Welch typically acknowledges. If the public routinely accepts false official narratives on matters affecting their lives, the public is failing to deploy vigilance proportional to stakes. Mercier might say this is unusual and requires explanation. The Mercier framework holds that vigilance is deployed well on vital interests. Welch’s documentary record suggests vigilance is deployed poorly on vital interests. One of the two is wrong.
Welch’s cases are not quite what they appear. The public that accepted WMD claims was not a public whose vital interests were directly at stake. Iraq War was distant. Most Americans did not have sons or daughters deploying. The stakes were low enough that vigilance was relaxed. Mercier’s framework predicts this. Low stakes produce low vigilance. The public that accepted initial mask guidance did update when guidance changed. The updating was what Mercier predicts. People track epistemic authority. When authority shifts, they shift with it. This does not show gullibility. It shows responsiveness to expert consensus, which is adaptive under most conditions. Welch reads the shifting as failure. Mercier might read it as normal epistemic operation. The public that accepted lockdown efficacy claims had little capacity to independently assess the claims. Accepting expert consensus under uncertainty is what reasonable people do. The claims turned out to be more mixed than initial consensus suggested. The public’s acceptance was not gullible. It was conditional on the authority of the source, and the source’s authority has deteriorated since.
Does Welch treat the public as capable of the procedural-skeptical vigilance his commentary models? His writing implies that they should be so capable. His frustration implies that they are not. The combination suggests Welch holds a prescriptive rather than descriptive view of public cognition. He writes as if readers might be more like him if they tried, and as if their failure to be more like him is a moral failure on their part. This is not quite the Mercier view. Mercier might say the public is cognitively competent but deploys competence proportional to stakes. Welch writes as if the public’s deployment is systematically inadequate. The difference matters. Mercier treats current behavior as mostly adaptive. Welch treats it as mostly failing.
Libertarianism as a political philosophy depends on citizens capable of certain kinds of judgment. Self-government requires civic competence. Market operation requires consumer rationality. Voluntary institutions require associational competence. Welch’s commentary documents that citizens do not display the competencies libertarianism requires. If citizens can be this readily manipulated by institutional narrative construction, libertarianism’s assumptions about citizen capacity are wrong. This is the uncomfortable implication of Welch’s documentary record for his political commitments.
Welch has not quite resolved this tension in his writing. He continues to hold libertarian positions and continues to document facts that undermine libertarianism’s premises about citizen competence. The tension is visible in the gap between his descriptive reporting and his prescriptive politics. The descriptive reporting shows a public that fails its libertarian role. The prescriptive politics continues to assume the role is achievable. Either the public’s failures are contingent and correctable, in which case libertarianism remains viable with better information ecology, or the failures are structural and permanent, in which case libertarianism is unrealistic about human capacity.
Mercier might say Welch is partly wrong about the public’s gullibility. The public is not gullible. It is selective in where vigilance gets deployed. The public deploys high vigilance on face-to-face encounters, on immediate family matters, on direct financial transactions, on personal health decisions they can assess. The public deploys low vigilance on remote political events, on expert claims about complex systems, on media narratives about distant conflicts. This is not gullibility. It is rational allocation of cognitive resources. The public cannot afford to deploy high vigilance on every topic it encounters. It saves vigilance for topics where vigilance can produce useful action.
Welch’s project is about topics where vigilance cannot produce useful action for most readers. Whether the Iraq War was justified does not depend on the reader’s vigilance. The war happened regardless. Whether lockdowns were efficient does not depend on the reader’s vigilance. The lockdowns happened regardless. Welch’s commentary asks readers to deploy vigilance on topics where vigilance cannot produce action. Mercier might predict that most readers will not do this. The reason is not gullibility. The reason is that vigilance without the capacity for action is cognitively expensive and behaviorally unrewarding.
Under the Mercier framework, Welch is not informing a public that might otherwise be gullible. He is producing satisfying content for a subpopulation that has already decided to deploy high vigilance on political topics regardless of whether vigilance produces action. This subpopulation exists for reasons that are not rational. Some readers enjoy political vigilance as cognitive entertainment. Some readers find coalition belonging through shared vigilance with their preferred commentators. Some readers use political commentary as identity material. Welch serves this self-selected population. He does not rescue gullible masses from institutional manipulation. He supplies cognitive content to a niche audience that consumes political commentary for non-political reasons.
Welch probably does treat the public as disposed toward gullibility about vital interests, though he does not theorize this. His commentary implies it. The implication is partly correct (the public does accept many false official narratives) and partly misleading (the public’s acceptance is not gullibility but is appropriate epistemic deference under conditions where independent assessment is unavailable). Mercier might correct Welch here. The public is not gullible. The public is operating within the modest capacities that human cognition has. Welch expects more than the capacities permit. The expectation drives his frustration. The frustration animates his commentary. The commentary reaches an audience that shares the expectation and therefore shares the frustration. The audience is not representative of the public Welch thinks he is addressing. The public Welch addresses does not read him. The audience that reads him is the audience that already agrees with him. The gap between addressed public and audience is characteristic of deflationary political journalism.
Welch’s implicit anthropology is wrong. He treats gullibility as the public’s failure. Mercier might treat the same behavior as the public’s rational allocation of limited cognitive resources. The interesting consequence is that Welch’s commentary cannot achieve what his anthropology implies it should achieve. It cannot make citizens less gullible because citizens are not gullible. It cannot produce more vigilant public deliberation because the public is not underdeploying vigilance. It can reinforce the vigilance of readers who already deploy vigilance for non-political reasons. This is a smaller achievement than Welch’s commentary implies is possible. The smaller achievement is still valuable. It is just different from what the commentary rhetorically promises.
Freyer placed more load on history as a source of community than history could bear. Welch places more load on procedural vigilance as a source of civic virtue than procedural vigilance can bear. Both projects overestimate the human capacity for the cognitive operation the project requires. Freyer’s overestimate led to political catastrophe. Welch’s overestimate leads to a narrow audience rather than catastrophe. The difference is that Welch operates in a political ecology that makes his overestimate inconsequential. His audience is too small to matter politically. This is a feature of his niche rather than a criticism of his project. But the structural parallel holds. Both men ask more of human cognition than human cognition can consistently deliver. Both men therefore produce work that satisfies audiences who are already disposed to meet the cognitive demands the work makes. Neither man converts the uncommitted. Neither man produces the civic transformation the work’s premises imply is achievable.
Welch’s work is valuable within its audience. Its audience is smaller than Welch’s commentary implies is the public. The gap between actual audience and implied audience is unbridgeable because human cognition does not work the way Welch’s commentary implies it should work. The public is not gullible about its vital interests. The public is appropriately selective about where to deploy vigilance.

Buffered & Porous Selves

Welch is further along the buffered spectrum than David Myers. His commentary operates within buffered assumptions. Politics is procedural. Truth is empirical. Institutions are accountable or they are not. Meaning is individually constructed through choices about what to value and how to live. The enchanted cosmos that animated pre-modern political life (kingly legitimacy as divine appointment, national community as organic spiritual unity, political authority as partaking in transcendent order) is absent from Welch’s vocabulary. He does not argue against enchanted politics. He does not register it as an available option. His commentary assumes buffered readers engaging buffered political questions through buffered analytical methods.
This is standard for modern journalism. Most political commentary operates within buffered assumptions. Welch’s opponents increasingly do not share the buffered assumptions. The porous return in contemporary American politics is visible on multiple fronts. Trump’s appeal operates partly through porous categories (the nation as organic entity, the leader as charismatic vehicle of popular will, the enemies as contaminating agents). The integralist and post-liberal right operates explicitly through porous categories (natural law as metaphysical order, common good as transcendent rather than aggregate, authority as legitimate through its relation to truth rather than through procedural fairness). The progressive activist left operates through porous categories that its buffered adherents often do not recognize as porous (Whiteness as spiritual contamination requiring confession and purgation, structural racism as supernatural causal force affecting interior disposition, social justice work as redemptive activity).
Welch responds to these developments with buffered analytical tools. He treats Trump as bad procedure rather than as re-enchantment. He treats the integralist project as bad constitutional theory rather than as porous metaphysical commitment. He treats social justice discourse as bad epistemics rather than as religious phenomenology. The buffered analytical response registers what buffered tools can register. It cannot register what porous categories do phenomenologically for porous adherents.
Welch’s commentary is unable to reach the porous populations that are reshaping American politics. He addresses them as if they were buffered selves making bad buffered arguments. They are not buffered selves making bad buffered arguments. They are porous selves operating within enchanted frameworks that buffered critique cannot touch. The buffered critique lands with buffered readers who already share Welch’s buffered orientation. It does not land with porous readers for whom the buffered critique is irrelevant to what they care about.
This is the structural condition of buffered commentary engaging porous political formations. Buffered tools cannot disenchant the enchanted because the enchanted have already rejected buffered epistemics. The buffered tools work only on other buffered selves who have not yet traveled as far into re-enchantment as the populations Welch addresses. The audience that reads Welch is the audience that has not gone porous in the current American ways. This audience is shrinking as American politics becomes more porous across left and right.
Libertarianism is a buffered political philosophy. It assumes buffered selves making buffered choices within procedural institutions. Every libertarian premise requires buffered selfhood. Consent requires the buffered self capable of real choice rather than the porous self acted upon by forces outside itself. Property requires the buffered self capable of ownership as extension of interior sovereignty rather than the porous self embedded in webs of obligation that predate its individual existence. Procedural justice requires the buffered self capable of abstracting from particular claims to universal rules rather than the porous self whose justice is contextual and relational.
Welch’s sustained libertarian commentary presupposes buffered selfhood as the normal human condition. The commentary fails to account for the return of porous selfhood in contemporary American politics. When Welch documents that readers believe official narratives despite evidence of narrative manipulation, he reads their belief as cognitive failure. Taylor might read at least some of the belief as porous experience. The reader who accepts the expert narrative is not necessarily making a buffered decision to defer to authority. The reader may be experiencing the expert narrative as authoritative in the porous sense that buffered commentary cannot quite address. The authority is not chosen. It is felt. Buffered argument against it does not dislodge it because the experience is not subject to buffered argument.
Welch’s buffered commentary serves the small subset of Americans who maintain buffered political engagement against increasing porous pressures from multiple directions. The Fifth Column listeners are buffered selves seeking buffered company. They find it in the podcast. The podcast sustains their buffered orientation through buffered ritual (the three men performing analytical distance, empirical fidelity, and procedural skepticism together). The emotional energy Collins identified in the podcast is the emotional energy of buffered solidarity in an increasingly porous environment. The buffered selves feel less isolated when three successful buffered commentators perform buffered analysis together. The feeling is real. The political efficacy is limited to what buffered solidarity can accomplish, which is sustaining buffered orientation against porous drift, not reversing porous drift in others.
Welch’s project defends a historical moment that may have been brief. The American civic republican tradition Welch defends had a limited historical run. It depended on buffered selves of a particular kind (educated, property-holding, procedurally-minded, commercially engaged). This population was never universal. It was concentrated in certain classes and regions. The expansion of this population during the twentieth century may have been exceptional rather than normal. The current contraction of this population may be returning American politics to its historical baseline of substantially porous political engagement with buffered elites operating within porous majorities.
Welch writes as if the buffered political self is the normal American political self and current porous developments are aberrant departures from normality. Taylor’s framework suggests this may be wrong. The buffered political self may be the achievement of conditions that no longer obtain. Defending the buffered political self against porous return may be defending a historical formation rather than defending political normality. This is not a criticism of the defense. The buffered political self is valuable and worth defending. But the defense is harder than Welch’s commentary implies because it is defending a historical achievement rather than correcting recent deviations from a normal state.
If porous political formations are returning as the normal condition of American politics, libertarianism as a political philosophy is operating on assumptions that the relevant population no longer shares. The libertarian citizen is buffered. The contemporary American citizen is drifting porous. The gap between libertarianism’s assumed citizen and the actual citizen is widening. Welch’s project is aimed at readers who still fit the buffered citizen description. This population is shrinking as both left and right drift porous. Welch’s shrinking audience is what Taylor’s framework might predict. It is not that Welch has lost his touch or that his commentary has deteriorated. It is that the population capable of receiving his commentary has shrunk.
The buffered self Welch addresses and presupposes is not the dominant American self. The audience that reads Welch is the audience that has not yet drifted porous or that resists porous drift. This audience is shrinking because the conditions that produced buffered American selves are eroding. Welch is one of the last practitioners of a buffered political journalism that depends on a buffered readership that is decreasing.
This is poignant rather than tragic.
Welch’s commentary implicitly assumes that the public could be buffered if only the information environment were better. Taylor’s framework suggests this is wrong. The public is not becoming porous because of bad information. The public is becoming porous because modern conditions that produced buffered selves are weakening. Economic precarity. Community dissolution. Institutional distrust. Digital immersion in affective rather than analytical content. Class polarization. These conditions produce porous selves as the available psychological configuration for most people. Bad information does not produce this. The conditions produce this, and bad information is one of the symptoms rather than the cause.
Welch addresses symptoms. He cannot address causes because the causes are structural features of contemporary life that commentary cannot touch. His commentary is sometimes valuable for naming the symptoms. It is unable to address the conditions producing the symptoms.

Posted in David N. Myers, Libertarian, Matt Welch | Comments Off on Matt Welch: A Life Against the Emergency State

Resisting Defeat: Naturalism and Its Discontents in Contemporary Orthodox Thought

We need a 2026 version of David N. Myers’ 2003 book, Resisting History: Historicism and Its Discontents in German-Jewish Thought.

First, the specific analytical framework Myers deployed in Resisting History. His four thinkers (Cohen, Rosenzweig, Strauss, Breuer) were not rejecting modernity wholesale. They were operating from within modernity to carve out specific domains that historicism could not colonize. Each made a specific jurisdictional claim. Cohen preserved neo-Kantian ethics from historicist dissolution. Rosenzweig preserved revelation as meta-historical event. Strauss preserved pre-modern political philosophy as accessing truths historicist method could not access. Breuer preserved Halakhic existence as Metageschichte, outside ordinary historical time.

The 2026 equivalent would ask: who now does this work against what contemporary defeaters of Orthodox Jewish epistemics? The defeaters have shifted. In 1900 the defeater was historicism — critical historical scholarship undermining traditional claims about revelation, Mosaic authorship, historical reliability of Biblical narrative. In 2026 the defeaters include biblical criticism matured and now mainstream, evolutionary biology and cognitive science producing naturalistic explanations of religious experience, archaeological consensus that challenges Biblical historical claims, the general authority of scientific method in educated discourse, and the contemporary challenge of gender, sexuality, and egalitarian claims against traditional halakhic categories.

Who provides the most coherent rebuttals now. Let me think through several candidates.

Jonathan Sacks (died 2020). Sacks’s major move was engaging modern science, political philosophy, and ethics on their own terms while arguing that Jewish tradition contains resources that contemporary discourse lacks. The Great Partnership argues that science and religion answer different questions and need each other. Not in God’s Name addresses religious violence from within religious tradition. Sacks never rejected the findings of modern scholarship but argued that the meaning-making and ethical tradition Judaism offers cannot be derived from scientific method. This is parallel to Cohen’s move — preserve a domain scientific rationalism cannot access, but do not reject scientific rationalism within its domain.

Meir Soloveichik operates differently. He is explicit about Jewish particularism, critical of liberal accommodationism, willing to make theological claims in public forums. His First Things essays and his work as rabbi of Shearith Israel position him as a confident Orthodox intellectual engaging contemporary American conservative political philosophy. Soloveichik’s move is closer to Strauss — locate resources in pre-modern Jewish thought that can critique modern assumptions rather than requiring accommodation to them. The rebuttal he offers to historicist and naturalist defeaters is that they operate with their own unexamined metaphysical commitments that Jewish tradition exposes.

Chaim Saiman offers a different move. His Halakhah: The Rabbinic Idea of Law argues that Halakhah is not primarily a legal system in the Western sense but a comprehensive mode of thinking about reality. This reframes the conversation. Modern critiques of Halakhah often assume it functions as Western legal systems function and then find it wanting by those standards. Saiman argues the standards misapply. Halakhah has epistemic and ontological commitments that cannot be evaluated within secular legal theory’s framework. This is a Breuer-style move — Metageschichte as different domain not reducible to the categories that would defeat it.

Yoram Hazony presents a different case. His Philosophy of Hebrew Scripture argues that the Hebrew Bible is a philosophical work and that Western philosophy has systematically misread it by imposing Greek categories. His Conservatism: A Rediscovery argues for a conservative political philosophy grounded partly in Biblical and rabbinic sources. Hazony’s move is more expansive than the others — he wants Jewish sources to compete directly with Western philosophical tradition rather than retreating to Jewish domains. Whether this succeeds is contested. Critics argue he overstates the philosophical coherence of Biblical texts. But the jurisdictional claim is clear: Hebrew Scripture has standing as philosophy, not only as religious literature or historical document.

Shai Held operates on the liberal Orthodox edge or Conservative-Orthodox border. His Judaism Is About Love and The Heart of Torah make theological claims about divine love and human obligation that engage contemporary ethical discourse without retreating to particularism. Held’s move is to argue that Jewish theological tradition has resources for contemporary ethical problems that secular ethics lacks. He engages thinkers like Martha Nussbaum and Charles Taylor on their ground rather than claiming separate jurisdiction. This is a Cohen-style move — Jewish resources for ethical work that can compete within modern ethical discourse without requiring that readers accept metaphysical Jewish commitments.

Joshua Berman works on the historicist challenge from within. His Inconsistency in the Torah engages the documentary hypothesis directly, arguing that apparent textual inconsistencies that historical-critical scholars treat as evidence of multiple sources can be explained by ancient Near Eastern literary conventions. He does not reject the scholarly methods. He applies them with different assumptions and reaches different conclusions. This is the closest contemporary equivalent to Orthodox engagement with biblical criticism on criticism’s own ground.

David Weiss Halivni died in 2022 but his Peshat and Derash and Revelation Restored remain central. Halivni was Conservative but his work was taken seriously by Orthodox thinkers. He argued for theological frameworks that could accommodate the documentary hypothesis’s textual findings while preserving Jewish theological commitments about revelation. His move was to say that the Torah was “maculate” — imperfect in its transmitted form — but that this did not defeat the claim of Sinaitic revelation properly understood. This is Rosenzweig-like — preserve revelation as event while accommodating what historical scholarship requires about texts.

Menachem Kellner writes from Haifa, working on Maimonides. His Must a Jew Believe Anything? argues that Jewish tradition requires practice more than belief and that dogmatic commitments are more contested within tradition than Orthodox polemics admit. This is a different move. Rather than defending Orthodox epistemics against defeaters, Kellner argues that Orthodoxy itself has traditionally been less dogmatic than current Orthodox discourse claims. The defeaters defeat a hardened version of Orthodoxy but not the tradition in its fuller range.

Moshe Koppel engages contemporary questions. His Judaism Straight Up defends traditional Jewish life against both Reform-progressive Judaism and secular Western values using a combination of game theory, evolutionary psychology, and Jewish tradition. This is a Strauss-like move — turn the tools of modernity (here evolutionary social science) against the modern assumption that traditional life is irrational or outdated. Koppel argues that traditional Jewish community structures produce social goods that contemporary alternatives fail to deliver.

Tamar Ross writes from within Modern Orthodoxy on gender and feminism. Her Expanding the Palace of Torah engages feminist challenges to Orthodox Jewish life by developing a theory of progressive revelation that can accommodate changing moral understanding while maintaining commitment to Torah. This is perhaps the most Rosenzweig-like move in the contemporary context — preserve revelation while accommodating what moral seriousness requires about women’s standing.

Lawrence Kaplan works on Joseph Soloveitchik’s legacy. The Rav’s own work (especially Halakhic Man and The Lonely Man of Faith) remains central to Modern Orthodox intellectual self-understanding. Kaplan’s scholarly work on Soloveitchik continues this tradition. Soloveitchik himself was the great Modern Orthodox engagement with twentieth-century philosophy — neo-Kantian, Kierkegaardian, phenomenological — while maintaining halakhic commitment. Current Soloveitchik reception is doing work Myers’s original project would recognize.

The 2026 question is what has changed since Myers wrote. The historicist challenge Myers addressed has matured. Biblical criticism is no longer edge-of-scholarship provocation. It is mainstream. The Orthodox response has therefore matured too. Berman, Halivni, and others work within the scholarly apparatus rather than outside it. Meanwhile new defeaters have emerged. Evolutionary psychology, cognitive science of religion, archaeological minimalism about Israelite origins, and contemporary moral challenges around gender and sexuality have created new fronts.

The structure an updated Resisting History might take. Chapter on Sacks as engagement with science and secular ethics from within tradition. Chapter on Soloveichik-Halivni lineage preserving revelation while accommodating textual criticism. Chapter on Saiman as Breuer-equivalent preserving Halakhah as distinct domain. Chapter on Ross as engagement with feminist challenge through progressive revelation theory. Chapter on Hazony as expansive claim for Hebrew Scripture as competing philosophical tradition. Perhaps chapter on Held or Koppel as engagement with contemporary ethical and social-scientific challenges.

Each thinker makes a jurisdictional claim analogous to what Myers’s four made in their period. Each does so in contemporary idiom responding to contemporary defeaters. The question whether their moves are coherent rebuttals or sophisticated special pleading is exactly the question Myers asked about his original four. Rosenzweig’s move to preserve revelation was contested. Strauss’s move to preserve pre-modern political philosophy was contested. Breuer’s Metageschichte was contested. The contemporary equivalents face equivalent contestation.

The most coherent rebuttals probably come from those who engage the defeaters on the defeaters’ own ground rather than retreating to separate domains. Berman’s work on biblical inconsistencies is powerful because he accepts scholarly method and reaches different conclusions through more careful application. Sacks’s engagement with science is powerful because he accepts science’s findings and argues for domains science cannot address by its own methods. Saiman’s work on Halakhah is powerful because he engages legal theory rigorously and argues for distinctions legal theory has missed.

Less coherent rebuttals retreat to claims that Orthodox epistemics need only be coherent within Orthodox commitments. This is the move that does not satisfy defeaters because defeaters precisely question whether Orthodox commitments should be adopted. Rebuttals that require the rebuttal’s audience to already have accepted the position the rebuttal defends are not rebuttals to the defeaters. They are statements of commitment that the defeater has already questioned.

The 2026 observation is that Orthodox epistemic defeat is now not primarily at the scholarly level. The scholarly defeaters have been there for over a century and Orthodox intellectuals have developed responses. The current defeat is more social and experiential. Young Orthodox Jews are exposed to secular education, to social media, to peer groups that question traditional claims. The question is not primarily “can Orthodox epistemics survive historical criticism” but “can Orthodox life survive the social conditions contemporary life imposes.” The intellectual rebuttals may be coherent while still failing to prevent communal attrition. This is a distinction the original Myers project did not need to make as sharply.

Who works on this social-experiential problem. Moshe Koppel’s game-theoretic argument for traditional community structures is one answer. Haredi intellectuals like Aaron Lopiansky or Aharon Feldman do different work — they address their own communities rather than engaging the broader intellectual marketplace. The divergence between Modern Orthodox and Haredi intellectual responses is important for the 2026 project. Modern Orthodox thinkers generally accept the burden of engaging the defeaters. Haredi thinkers generally reject the burden, arguing that engagement concedes too much. The question of which approach produces more resilient Orthodox communities is empirical and contested.

One important thing Myers’s original project did that the 2026 update would need to preserve. Myers took his subjects seriously as thinkers even when he disagreed with their conclusions. He did not treat Cohen, Rosenzweig, Strauss, and Breuer as specimens to be analyzed from outside but as interlocutors whose arguments deserve substantive engagement. A 2026 update would need the same posture. The contemporary thinkers I have named deserve engagement, not dismissal or condescension. Their arguments might succeed or fail but they must be evaluated on the arguments.

Each thinker is making a claim about what domain belongs to Jewish authority, what domain belongs to general scientific or scholarly method, and where the boundary should fall. The contest is ongoing. Different thinkers draw the boundary differently. The 2026 landscape has more thinkers making more varied moves than the 1900-1934 landscape Myers mapped. The pluralism is itself a feature of the contemporary situation.

Myers’s original project was sympathetic to anti-historicism in a way the rest of his scholarly work sometimes was not. Resisting History showed him engaging positions he did not fully share with real intellectual generosity. A 2026 update would need the same generosity directed at contemporary Orthodox thinkers whose political and social positions are frequently at odds with Myers’s own. Whether current Myers could write such a book is an open question. The Myers of 2003 could. The Myers of 2026 may or may not be able to bracket his political commitments enough to engage, say, Hazony or Soloveichik with the generosity he extended to Strauss and Breuer.

If someone were going to write the book, the thinkers most deserving of serious treatment in my assessment would be Berman (on biblical criticism), Sacks (on science and ethics), Saiman (on halakhah as distinct mode), Ross (on gender and progressive revelation), Koppel (on social-scientific challenges), and the ongoing Soloveitchik legacy through Kaplan and others. Each addresses a defeater. Each proposes a strategy for maintaining Orthodox intellectual coherence. The book would work by showing what each strategy accomplishes and where each strategy runs into difficulty. The result would be the same textured picture Myers produced in 2003 — neither triumphalist defense of Orthodox epistemics nor dismissive critique of their project, but careful engagement with attempts to carry the tradition through contemporary challenges.

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Rony Guldmann: Philosopher at the Gates

Rony Hugo Guldmann trains as a Continental philosopher. He earns a law degree at Stanford and holds a research fellowship there. He leaves academic life, joins a consumer-protection firm in New York, and keeps publishing philosophical work from outside the university.
Born in France, raised in part in Israel, fluent in French and Hebrew, he clears nine Israeli legal equivalency exams on top of his American credentials. The transnational background shapes his work. He writes about American culture from a vantage that does not take American categories as self-evident. The result reads less like domestic political commentary and more like field notes from a country he entered by choice.
His philosophical training begins at the University of Michigan, where he takes a bachelor’s degree in philosophy, then moves to Indiana University for a doctorate he completes in 2005. Indiana has a respectable philosophy department. It sits below the small cluster of programs that place graduates into faculty posts at flagship research universities. He teaches at Indiana, then at Iona, Hofstra, and Fordham. These are teaching-heavy appointments. They fall outside the tenure-track route a career in academic philosophy requires.
Two Orientations Toward Human Nature by Rony Guldmann, first published by Ashgate in 2007 and reissued by Routledge in 2016, contrasts two broad pictures of human agency in Western thought. The first treats man as a calculating egoist whose motivations reduce to self-interest and whose good consists in rational satisfaction of preference. The second, drawn from Continental sources and including Nietzsche, treats man as a creature who requires a story about heroism, transcendence, or meaning above prudential calculation. Guldmann traces how these two orientations produce different accounts of morality, responsibility, and social order. The Review of Metaphysics praised the book for synthetic range and clear argument. The work introduces the preoccupation that runs through everything Guldmann writes later: how cultures encode assumptions about human nature, and what happens when those assumptions collide.
The second act begins at Stanford Law School. He enters in the mid-2000s and takes courses with Joseph Bankman and Barbara Fried, both established figures in legal theory. A term paper for one of their seminars, titled “Conservative Claims of Cultural Oppression,” catches their attention. After graduation they help arrange his appointment as the James C. Gaither Fellow at Stanford Law, a two-year research position that looks like a soft launch into the legal academy. He uses the fellowship to work on First Amendment questions and to expand the term paper into a longer manuscript.
Something goes wrong. He does not secure a faculty position. He does not transition into a clerkship pipeline that loops back to academia. He leaves. Fifteen years later he publishes The Star Chamber of Stanford: On the Secret Trial and Invisible Persecution of a Stanford Law Fellow, a memoir that describes his fellowship experience as an exercise in gaslighting. He alleges that his mentors communicated disapproval through hints and silences rather than explicit criticism. He alleges that the criteria for his advancement shifted without acknowledgment. He alleges that they showed him the door through a sequence of small signals rather than any stated decision. He calls this the invisible tribunal. Whatever one makes of the account, its publication in April 2022 coincides with the Sam Bankman-Fried scandal, which draws uncomfortable attention to Stanford Law and to the household of Guldmann’s former mentors, whose son stood at the center of the FTX collapse.
The manuscript begun at Stanford grows over the following years into Conservative Claims of Cultural Oppression, a multi-volume work that remains Guldmann’s central project. Guldmann’s argument runs as follows. American conservatives say that liberal elites oppress them culturally, that they face marginalization in universities, media, and corporate life, and that this marginalization amounts to more than ordinary political disagreement. Progressives and academic observers dismiss these claims. They read the feeling of oppression as false consciousness, projection, white grievance, or fragility. Guldmann argues that this dismissal rests on a philosophical sleight. The liberal academic apparatus does not answer the conservative claim on its merits. It rules the claim out in advance by coding it as symptom rather than argument. Any position that challenges the secular, rationalist, egalitarian consensus of elite institutions arrives pre-classified as pathology. The conservative finds himself in a double bind. His objections to elite culture read as further evidence of his need for enlightenment by that culture.
The argument targets the form of the liberal response rather than the content of any particular conservative position. Guldmann holds no brief for conservatives across the full range of topics he covers: vaccine skepticism, fat acceptance, religion, gender, race. He argues that the liberal response, as it operates in elite spaces, replaces argument with diagnosis.
The legal career begins after the academic exit. Admitted to the New York bar in 2013, he joins Lee Litigation Group in Manhattan and builds a practice in consumer fraud and Telephone Consumer Protection Act litigation. The cases concern product mislabeling, adulterated manuka honey, diluted olive oil, deceptive packaging, unsolicited robocalls, and text messages sent without consent. The practice runs as class-action work with a commercial edge. It departs from the constitutional or appellate track his early First Amendment research suggested. The subject matter has its own coherence. These cases turn on deception. They turn on the gap between what a product or a caller claims and what it delivers, on the question of when a consumer can trust a label, on the legal and cultural rules that govern honest communication.
The through-line from the philosophy to the law runs on the surface, visible once noticed. His philosophical books ask how social orders police truth claims and discipline deviations from shared pictures of human nature. His legal cases ask how courts police commercial truth claims and discipline deviations from honest representation. The philosopher who writes about how elite academic culture manages dissent from its consensus becomes the attorney who sues companies that manage consumer expectations through misrepresentation.
He publishes independently. His website ronyguldmann.com hosts drafts, essays, and links to his academic output. He maintains a presence on Academia.edu and contributes to outlets such as Daily Philosophy. He holds no university post. He sits on no editorial boards. He chairs no conference panels. Mainstream academic philosophy gives him modest attention. Legal academia treats him as a practitioner rather than a scholar. His audience clusters in heterodox and conservative-adjacent spaces where skepticism of elite consensus finds ready reception.
He runs long distances. He travels. He spends his professional hours on commercial litigation and his remaining hours musing about the manuscript he has worked on for nearly two decades but has never bothered to work into publication shape.
The career admits several readings. One treats Guldmann as a philosopher who could not find an academic post and turned to writing from the margin. Another treats him as a lawyer whose philosophical work supplies the range pure practice could not provide. A third treats him as a critic whose key insight came from direct exposure to the informal rules of elite academic life, followed by years of translating that exposure into theory.

Alliance Theory

Rony Guldmann is a Continental-trained philosopher with a Stanford law degree who works as a consumer-protection litigator in Manhattan. His Conservative Claims of Cultural Oppression manuscript has expanded for close to two decades. His Star Chamber memoir describes his Stanford Law fellowship as a covert expulsion. Alliance Theory applies to him, but in a specific way that must account for his position outside the normal coalition structures the paper uses as its primary examples.

The paper’s central claim about alliance structures is that they produce the specific content of political beliefs. Guldmann’s central theoretical project, Conservative Claims of Cultural Oppression, is a claim about alliance operations without using the paper’s vocabulary. Guldmann argues that American liberal elite culture operates a specific apparatus that dismisses conservative cultural complaint by coding the complaint as pathology rather than as argument. The framework the paper supplies lets this be restated in its own terms. The liberal elite coalition Guldmann describes applies perpetrator biases to its allies by framing structural rather than individual blame. It applies victim biases that elevate the coalition’s preferred victim categories while minimizing grievances the coalition does not recognize. It applies attributional biases that attribute coalition allies’ successes to virtue and opponents’ grievances to character defect. The coding of conservative complaint as pathology, which Guldmann’s project identifies, is in the paper’s terms an application of perpetrator bias that protects the coalition’s own rhetorical operations from being recognized as the operations they are.

Guldmann’s work is therefore compatible with the paper’s framework without deploying the framework directly. He is describing from one side of a coalition conflict what the paper describes from the analytical distance the framework is designed to produce. The paper’s framework predicts that Guldmann’s own work will display the same biases in the opposite direction. The prediction holds.

The paper’s treatment of similarity, transitivity, interdependence, and stochasticity applies to Guldmann in a specific form because he is not embedded in a stable alliance structure. The criteria describe how alliances form. Guldmann’s case shows what happens when the criteria fail to produce alliance formation in the expected way.

Similarity failed to produce coalition absorption for Guldmann because his profile combines markers that do not map cleanly onto any single American intellectual coalition. The Michigan undergraduate degree, the Indiana PhD, the Stanford Law degree, the Continental philosophical training, the Israeli and French background, the transnational language fluency, and the eventual consumer-protection litigation practice produce a profile that partial-matches multiple coalitions but fully matches none. The paper predicts that coalitions form around clusters of similarity markers. Guldmann’s markers cluster in a pattern that did not match any available coalition’s cluster at the time he was available for absorption.

Transitivity failed to operate because the mentor relationships that would have carried Guldmann into a stable alliance structure broke at Stanford. Bankman and Fried would have been his transitive connection to the broader coalition of legal theorists and philosophers of law. The failure of his fellowship to produce a faculty appointment meant that the transitive connection did not form in the way the paper predicts such connections usually form. Guldmann became a node without the chains the paper identifies as the mechanism by which alliance structures reproduce themselves.

Interdependence did not develop because the coalitions that might have used Guldmann’s work did not receive the benefits from him that would have produced mutual dependence. Without faculty appointment, he did not supply graduate training, journal refereeing, department governance, or the specific forms of institutional labor that generate interdependence inside academic coalitions. His work was available to coalitions that might have used it, but the coalitions did not take it up at a level that produced interdependence. The Conservative Claims project circulates in peripheral venues rather than being absorbed into any coalition’s core infrastructure.

Stochasticity operates with particular visibility in Guldmann’s case because the paper explicitly addresses how small variations in initial conditions produce divergent alliance structures. The paper notes that “small variations in initial social conditions can feed on one another and snowball into seemingly arbitrary alliance structures.” Guldmann’s Stanford experience was the small variation. Whatever happened in the Bankman-Fried relationships produced a sequence of consequences the paper’s framework predicts will snowball. The non-appointment produced non-entry into the legal academy. Non-entry produced non-access to the ritual chains that sustain academic production at high volume. Non-access produced the specific shape of the Conservative Claims project, which has expanded without the editorial pressure that would have completed it.
The three propagandistic biases the paper identifies appear in Guldmann’s work in the form the framework predicts from a writer whose work is adjacent to, but not fully absorbed by, a specific coalition.

Perpetrator biases in Guldmann’s work direct attention at liberal elite institutional actors. The Conservative Claims project identifies specific rhetorical operations by liberal academics, media figures, and public intellectuals, and frames these operations as coalition work rather than philosophical engagement. The framing is often accurate in its specifics. The paper’s framework predicts that a writer whose work serves the rival coalition will apply perpetrator biases that protect that rival coalition’s own rhetorical operations from comparable scrutiny. Guldmann’s work does less to identify conservative rhetorical operations with comparable rigor. Where he acknowledges conservative propaganda, the acknowledgments are less developed than the liberal-side analyses. The asymmetry is the pattern the paper predicts.

The Star Chamber memoir shows the bias directed at the specific actors Guldmann identifies as his persecutors. The paper predicts that writers applying perpetrator biases rationalize their allies’ conduct while emphasizing the responsibility of rivals for mitigating circumstances. Guldmann’s memoir emphasizes Bankman and Fried’s responsibility for his non-advancement while giving less analytical weight to mitigating circumstances on their side or to his own possible contributions to the outcome. A symmetric account would apply comparable analytical pressure to both sides. The memoir does not supply the symmetric account. The framework predicts it will not.

Victim biases saturate the Conservative Claims project. The project is about conservative victimhood in elite American cultural spaces. The paper’s framework observes that “victim biases, which call attention to one’s critical disadvantages, are difficult to reconcile with the function of enhancing one’s self-image. They make better sense as tactics for mobilizing support.” Guldmann’s project mobilizes support for the coalition-adjacent position that elite liberal culture has operated as oppressor against conservative culture. The mobilization function is what the paper’s framework predicts victim narratives to perform. The narrative points at real phenomena. The paper’s framework does not claim the phenomena identified are unreal. It claims the deployment of victim narratives serves mobilization rather than description, with intensity calibrated to coalition needs rather than to specific evidence.

The paper identifies competitive victimhood as a pattern in which “groups strive to establish that their in-group was subjected to more injustice at the hands of the out-group than the other way around.” Guldmann’s project operates inside the competitive victimhood pattern between American liberal and conservative coalitions. Each side narrates the other as oppressor. Guldmann’s work provides philosophical apparatus for the conservative side of this competitive victimhood. The paper’s framework predicts that both sides produce work structured this way and that the work on each side will display comparable patterns of bias. Guldmann’s work displays the patterns on his side.

Attributional biases appear in Guldmann’s treatment of liberal versus conservative intellectual production. The paper identifies this pattern: “people assume their social and material advantages derive from internal dispositions (talent, hard work) rather than external causes (luck, circumstances). Worse-off people exhibit the opposite bias.” The paper extends the observation to coalition application: “people also apply this attributional bias to their allies, attributing their allies’ advantages to internal causes and their disadvantages to external causes.”

Guldmann’s work attributes liberal coalition institutional dominance to specific coalition operations rather than to the intellectual merits of liberal work. He attributes conservative institutional marginalization to the operations of the liberal coalition rather than to any possible weaknesses in conservative intellectual production. The paper’s framework predicts this attributional pattern from a writer whose work serves a rival coalition’s interests. The attributions may be partly accurate. Liberal institutional dominance does reflect coalition operations. Conservative marginalization does reflect those operations too. The framework’s observation is that the attributions are applied asymmetrically. Guldmann does not apply comparable scrutiny to conservative failures, which in the symmetric treatment the framework prescribes would include internal causes alongside external ones.

The paper’s predictions about strange bedfellows apply to the coalition-adjacent formation Guldmann’s work serves rather than to his own specific position. The adjacent formation combines religious traditionalists who want philosophical backing for cultural complaint, specific libertarian figures whose critique of elite institutions overlaps with Guldmann’s analysis, heterodox academics who have moved away from the mainstream for various reasons, and the broader readership of venues like Quillette, First Things, and Daily Philosophy. The paper predicts that the combinations will be internally inconsistent because coalitions form around shared opposition rather than around coherent positive principles. The coalition-adjacent formation Guldmann’s work serves displays the predicted inconsistency. Religious traditionalists and libertarian individualists hold substantially different views about many questions but cooperate on opposing elite liberal culture. Heterodox academics and cultural conservatives differ on many questions but cooperate on the specific critique Guldmann’s project supports.

The paper’s claim that the same biases operate symmetrically across rival coalitions applies to Guldmann and his subjects simultaneously. Guldmann identifies coalition-serving biases in his liberal targets. The paper’s framework predicts he will display the same biases in the opposite direction. His work does. The paper does not treat this as a reason to dismiss the work he produces. The paper’s point throughout is that all coalition-engaged writers produce work shaped by the biases the framework identifies, and that the appropriate response is symmetric application of the framework to all sides rather than selective application to one side.

Guldmann’s work is useful for the analytical project the paper advances because he documents from inside a coalition conflict what the paper describes from outside. His specific identifications of how liberal elite culture operates against conservative complaint are partially correct as description. The descriptions are limited by the asymmetric application of the framework his coalition-adjacent position encourages. A reader who holds Guldmann’s descriptions alongside the paper’s framework gets a fuller picture than either source supplies alone. Guldmann sees the operations of one side with the specific clarity that adjacency produces. Pinsof’s framework supplies the symmetric analytical apparatus that lets the operations of the other side be identified in the same terms.

The paper’s framework does not predict that Guldmann will acknowledge the symmetry. The framework predicts that coalition-engaged writers do not apply the framework to their own positions. The paper’s stochasticity observation implies that Guldmann’s current position reflects specific contingent events that produced his trajectory outside the standard coalition structures. The position permits him specific analytical freedoms that coalition-embedded writers do not have. The position also produces specific limitations. The Conservative Claims project continues to expand without completing. The Star Chamber memoir ossified before publication. The work circulates in peripheral venues. The paper’s framework does not predict these specific outcomes as necessary consequences of any one coalition position. It predicts that writers will produce work shaped by the coalition pressures that operate on them, whether those pressures include or exclude them from stable alliance structures.

What the paper’s framework can do with Guldmann’s case is establish that his work documents real phenomena while also displaying the coalition-adjacent biases the framework predicts. The two observations coexist. The paper’s framework is designed to hold them together. Guldmann’s descriptions of liberal elite coalition operations are substantially accurate. His selection of emphasis, his distribution of analytical attention, and his treatment of his own side’s operations all display the asymmetries the framework predicts from work that operates inside a coalition conflict rather than from outside it. A reader using the paper’s framework to read Guldmann receives both what his work gets right about its subjects and what it leaves uninspected about its own operations.

The paper closes with the observation that “if Alliance Theory is correct, then we need a radically different approach to political psychology, one in which belief systems arise not from deep-seated moral values, but from ever-shifting alliances and rivalries.” Applied to Guldmann, this implies that his Conservative Claims project will be more productively read as the articulation of a specific coalition position’s philosophical vocabulary than as an account of the philosophical truth about elite culture. The project’s real content includes both. Separating the two is the specific analytical work the paper’s framework permits. Guldmann’s work supplies material the framework can analyze. The framework supplies tools his work lacks. Together they produce what neither supplies alone.

Interaction Ritual Chains

Randall Collins builds his theory of intellectual life on a simple claim. Ideas do not propagate through isolated brilliance. They propagate through chains of face-to-face encounters charged with emotional energy, and those encounters happen in specific physical and institutional spaces. The seminar room, the conference, the faculty lounge, the dinner after the lecture. Participants leave these rituals either charged up or depleted. The charged ones produce work. The depleted ones fall silent, repeat themselves, or drift to the edges of the conversation.
Collins calls the charge emotional energy. He treats it as the fuel of intellectual production. A scholar who sits at the center of active networks, who argues with peers operating at comparable levels, who attracts students and collaborators, runs on high emotional energy. His work gets sharper. His output increases. His confidence holds. A scholar cut off from those networks, no matter how gifted, loses the charge. The work thins. The arguments repeat. The tone turns bitter or resigned.
Collins adds a second claim. Intellectual networks have a tight structure. A small number of nodes produce most of the consequential work in any generation. These nodes cluster around a handful of institutions, connect to each other through teacher-student lineages, and meet in person at regular intervals. Exclusion from the network does not just mean lower status. It means loss of the encounters that generate emotional energy. A scholar can have the right training and the right ideas and still produce nothing if he sits outside the rooms where the chains run.
Apply this to Guldmann. His fellowship at Stanford Law placed him briefly inside a high-density network. Bankman and Fried occupied central positions in legal theory. The seminars he attended ran on high emotional energy. The term paper that became his central project emerged from that environment. Then the connection broke. He did not secure a faculty post. He did not join a clerkship track that loops back to academia. He moved to New York and took up consumer-protection litigation. The ritual chains that produced Conservative Claims of Cultural Oppression went quiet.
What followed fits Collins’s prediction for a scholar severed from his network. The manuscript that grew out of the Stanford term paper has expanded for close to two decades without reaching publication. The memoir arrived in 2022, fifteen years after the events it describes, and rehearsed grievances that had ossified through long rumination. The website, the Academia.edu page, the pieces in Daily Philosophy, these are the output of a man writing without interlocutors at his level. The work keeps its analytical care. It loses the sharpness that comes from argument with peers who push back in real time.
The bitter tone in the memoir signals the same condition. Collins notes that scholars cut off from emotional energy often reframe their exclusion as persecution. The reframe makes sense of the silence around their work. It also locks them into a posture that makes re-entry harder. Guldmann’s invisible tribunal frame does intellectual work, and it also performs the function Collins describes. It explains why the calls did not come.
Amy Wax presents a harder case because she holds the Robert Mundheim Chair at Penn Law, a position that should place her inside dense ritual chains. The formal title misleads. Wax lost her teaching assignment in the mandatory first-year curriculum years ago. Her colleagues sanctioned her. Her public appearances happen mostly on conservative podcasts and in outlets outside the legal academy. The Penn Law faculty workshop, the Federalist Society panel at a top law school, the American Law and Economics Association meeting, these rooms do not run her arguments through the chains that would sharpen them.
Her recent output shows the effect. The claims grow broader and less qualified. The citations thin out. The register shifts from legal scholarship toward cultural commentary of the kind that fills opinion pages rather than law reviews. The work she produced before the controversies, including her articles on welfare policy and family structure, carried the marks of dense engagement with economists and sociologists working on the same questions. The recent work carries the marks of a scholar talking mostly to sympathizers and to hostile outsiders who caricature her positions rather than engaging them.
Collins would note that Wax retains her formal position, and the formal position still generates some emotional energy through media attention. Media attention differs from the peer ritual chain. A hostile profile in the Washington Post charges a scholar with energy of a sort, but the energy comes from conflict rather than intellectual exchange. Scholars running on conflict energy produce polemic rather than theory. The polemic satisfies the audience that already agrees. It does not generate the corrections and refinements that peer engagement produces.
Richard Spencer presents the clearest case of the three. He briefly occupied a node in a network of self-described dissident intellectuals in the mid-2010s. The network had low institutional density but high emotional energy for a short period. Charlottesville collapsed the network. Spencer lost his platforms, his allies turned on him, his funding sources dried up, his personal life fell apart in public. The ritual chains that had charged his work broke completely.
What Spencer produces now, when he produces anything, reads as the work of a man running on fumes. The podcasts draw small audiences. The writing has lost the provocative energy that briefly made him a figure of press attention. He oscillates between moderated positions that alienate his former allies and reiterations of old themes that interest no one new. Collins’s model predicts this pattern. A scholar, or in Spencer’s case a polemicist, cut off from all ritual chains drifts toward silence. The emotional energy required to produce work at pitch has no source.
The three cases differ in their particulars. Guldmann left academia, Wax remains formally inside, Spencer operated at the edge of intellectual life before his expulsion. Collins’s framework picks out what they share. Each lost access to the dense peer ritual chains that generate sustained intellectual output. Each compensates through channels that supply weaker forms of energy. Guldmann writes for heterodox web outlets. Wax appears on podcasts and in conservative press. Spencer streams to dwindling audiences. None of these channels supply what the seminar room and the conference supplied. None produce the corrections that peer engagement produces.
The pattern suggests a general observation about dissident intellectuals. The initial rupture from the central networks often produces a burst of energy. The dissident has grievances to air, insights that the mainstream missed, an audience hungry for heterodox content. The burst lasts a few years. Then the absence of peer ritual chains begins to tell. The work thins. The tone hardens. The dissident either finds a new network dense enough to sustain production, which happens rarely, or drifts toward the condition Collins describes as low emotional energy and diminished output.
Guldmann may complete his manuscript. Wax may produce further articles. Spencer may find another platform. The ceiling on what each can produce now sits lower than it sat when each operated closer to the networks that once charged their work. Collins does not say that exclusion silences dissidents because their ideas are wrong. He says that intellectual production requires a specific kind of social charge, and that the rooms which generate that charge have limited seats.

The Buffered Self

Buffered modernity produces particular exclusions. The exclusions fall disproportionately on populations that have not made the transition to thoroughly buffered selfhood. These populations experience the exclusions as loss of something real that buffered institutions cannot recognize as real because the institutions operate from within the buffered framework that has already bracketed what the populations are losing.
Guldmann’s project is to describe this experience from the perspective of those who suffer it. The description is unusually sustained. The 725 pages of the main book are largely a careful phenomenological account of what conservative cultural experience feels like from within, why progressive institutions cannot recognize it as valid, and what philosophical moves are required to take the conservative experience seriously without dismissing it as unconscious hostility, primitive irascibility, or psychological deficit.
This is the kind of analytical work Taylor’s framework might predict to be valuable. The buffered position cannot easily see what porous engagement provides. Scholars operating from buffered positions typically cannot write adequate phenomenological accounts of porous experience because they do not share the phenomenology they are trying to describe. Guldmann writes from a position that preserves enough access to what conservative populations experience that he can describe it with considerable fidelity. His own position is not quite straightforwardly porous. He is a legal theorist with philosophical training. He operates in academic discourse. But he has maintained enough distance from the progressive-cosmopolitan buffered default to see what that default excludes.
Guldmann is neither thoroughly buffered (like Dworkin or Gelman) nor thoroughly porous (like an observant Haredi Jew or traditional Catholic). He operates in a middle position that lets him see both sides. He can produce sophisticated philosophical analysis that meets academic standards. He can also take seriously the content of conservative experience that academic philosophy typically dismisses. The combination is unusual and valuable. Most philosophers who could write at his analytical level have made the buffered transition and can no longer see what he sees. Most people who retain the porous sensibilities he describes lack the philosophical training to articulate their experience in terms academic discourse can engage with.
Guldmann comes from a secular Jewish background but has engaged seriously with conservative Christian intellectual traditions in his work. He studied law at Stanford, where he experienced what his memoir describes as systematic exclusion for his analytical interest in conservative perspectives. The experience at Stanford gave him firsthand evidence of the tacit operations through which progressive institutions exclude conservative thought. The background gave him the analytical tools to describe what he experienced. The combination produced an angle of vision uncommon in academic work.
The central insight of the book is that conservative grievances about progressive cultural power are not primarily about particular policy disagreements. They are about the loss of standing as full participants in public discourse. Conservative views are not defeated in argument. They are excluded from the set of views that count as reasonable positions deserving engagement. The exclusion operates through the tacit norms of institutions that present themselves as neutral. The institutions do not say conservatives are unwelcome. They simply organize their discourse in ways that systematically cannot recognize conservative thought as serious thought.
The buffered institutional space operates through norms that presuppose buffered cognition. Populations that have not made the full buffered transition find their thought treated as inadequate to the standards the institution enforces. The inadequacy is not rational defeat. It is phenomenological mismatch between what the population brings and what the institution recognizes. The institution experiences itself as neutral because its norms are invisible to it. The population experiences itself as excluded because its thought does not register within the invisible norms. Both experiences are accurate from their respective positions. Neither can be resolved from within its own framework alone.
Guldmann’s conservaphobia names this asymmetric exclusion. The term captures that the exclusion is not incidental or regrettable but structural to how progressive institutions operate. The institutions cannot simply adjust to include conservative thought because the inclusion would require modifying the buffered norms that define institutional identity. Modifying the norms would require acknowledging that they are norms rather than neutral standards of reason. The acknowledgment would require buffered institutions to see themselves as one position rather than as the universal standpoint from which all positions can be evaluated. This is exactly what Taylor’s framework shows buffered institutions cannot do without undoing themselves.
Turner shows that all formations enforce their tacit standards as neutral rationality. This is true of progressive formations and also of conservative formations. The symmetry is important. It prevents Guldmann’s argument from becoming a special pleading that conservative formations have privileged access to truth while progressive formations are ideologically distorted. Taylor adds that the position from which contemporary progressive institutions operate (thoroughgoing buffered selfhood with analytical distance from porous commitment) is historically unusual and phenomenologically distinctive. Most human societies have not operated from this position. Most human beings have not occupied it. The position has its achievements and its exclusions. Conservative populations who have not made the full buffered transition are not failing to understand the neutral rationality. They operate from different phenomenological starting points that buffered institutions cannot recognize as legitimate without ceasing to be buffered institutions.
This is what Guldmann’s meta-equal protection problem names. The categories through which progressive institutions define fairness, tolerance, diversity, and inclusion have been constructed in ways that systematically exclude populations operating from porous phenomenology. The construction is not accidental. It is what happens when the institutional framework is buffered. The categories reflect the framework. The framework produces the categories. The populations excluded by the categories are populations whose phenomenology the framework does not engage.
Guldmann’s work is not a defense of particular conservative positions. It is a structural critique of how institutions operating from buffered positions exclude populations operating from different positions. The critique applies even when particular conservative positions are wrong on their merits. The exclusion is not primarily about particular positions being right or wrong. It is about kinds of cognition recognized or unrecognized within institutional frameworks. Taylor’s framework names this distinction. Guldmann’s work enacts it.
Guldmann’s 725-page book is not widely known outside particular conservative intellectual circles. He is largely unpublished in the prestigious venues of academic philosophy and political theory. His memoir describes how this marginalization happens. The framework he uses to analyze the marginalization predicts it. The prediction is self-confirming. If Guldmann’s analysis is correct, his work might be marginalized by the institutions his analysis critiques. The marginalization operates through tacit means that cannot be formally contested. The work is read by populations that share his phenomenological starting point (conservatives who experience the marginalization he describes) and not read by populations whose institutional framework produces the marginalization.
Guldmann’s primary audience consists of readers who have themselves felt what he describes. The readers experience his work as validation of what they already knew from lived experience but could not articulate with philosophical rigor. The readers who might most benefit from having their institutional assumptions questioned, the progressive intellectuals who staff the institutions Guldmann critiques, are structurally prevented from engaging his work because engagement would require recognizing that their institutional framework is itself a framework rather than the neutral standpoint they experience it as.
Taylor’s framework shows why this pattern is structural rather than contingent. Buffered institutions cannot easily engage critiques of buffered selfhood because engaging the critique would require suspending the buffered position long enough to see it as one position among others. The suspension is what buffered selfhood prevents. The buffered self experiences itself as the neutral observer, not as one phenomenological formation. Critiques that work from outside the buffered position cannot be received from within the position without the position temporarily collapsing, which the position is organized to prevent. The result is the reception pattern Guldmann has experienced. His work is legible to those who share his position and structurally illegible to those whose institutional framework he critiques.
The illuminating Guldmann-Hughes contrast. Hughes operates from a thoroughly buffered position in the academic study of religion. His work deconstructs what look like porous claims and shows them to be scholarly constructions. Guldmann operates from a hybrid position that retains enough access to porous phenomenology to describe it sympathetically. His work critiques the buffered position that Hughes occupies. The two scholars are in some sense on opposite sides of the axis Taylor identifies. Hughes is further toward the buffered pole. Guldmann is further toward the hybrid middle that maintains sympathy with porous commitments even without fully sharing them.
The contrast is instructive. Hughes is institutionally successful within the academic study of religion. His books are published by major presses. He holds a named chair at Rochester. He is a recognized authority in his field. Guldmann is institutionally marginal. His major work circulates primarily through his website and conservative intellectual networks rather than through prestigious academic venues. The contrast reflects their relative positions on the buffered-porous axis. The institutional infrastructure of the contemporary humanities rewards scholars who operate from thoroughly buffered positions and marginalizes scholars whose work sympathetically engages porous commitments.
This is not a neutral institutional preference. It is what Taylor’s framework might predict. Institutions organized around buffered norms reward work that extends those norms and marginalize work that questions them. The marginalization is not conscious discrimination. It is the tacit operation of norms that define what counts as rigorous scholarship within the institution. Guldmann’s work is not treated as unrigorous because his critics have engaged it and found it wanting. It is treated as unrigorous because its engagement with conservative phenomenology is the kind of engagement the institution’s tacit norms do not recognize as producing rigorous work.
Taylor’s framework also identifies the limits of what Guldmann’s project can achieve. Even sympathetic engagement with conservative phenomenology from a hybrid position cannot substitute for the porous phenomenology itself. Guldmann can describe what conservatives experience. He cannot produce conservative experience in readers who lack the porous framework that makes the experience possible. His work can reach readers who already share the porous framework, giving them philosophical resources for articulating what they already know from lived experience. It cannot reach readers who operate from thoroughly buffered positions because they cannot receive phenomenological description of experiences they do not and cannot have.
Phenomenological description does not cross the buffered-porous divide. It provides tools for those on the same side of the divide. It provides ammunition for those who want to criticize the other side. It does not convert across the divide. Taylor’s framework makes this visible. The divide is not primarily epistemic. It is phenomenological. Epistemic tools do not address phenomenological differences. Different phenomenological starting points produce different patterns of recognition and different standards for what counts as valid argument.
Guldmann’s work cannot realistically hope to persuade his institutional critics. The work can only sustain the morale of populations that already share his phenomenological starting point. The sustaining is valuable. It is also limited. The limitation is structural rather than personal. Guldmann does what work from his position can do. The work cannot do what no work from any position can do, which is cross the buffered-porous divide through argument alone.
Guldmann writes as if his philosophical rigor should secure him institutional recognition. His Stanford memoir documents his sense that the exclusion he experienced was unjust by standards the institution itself claimed to uphold. The sense is understandable. It is also what Taylor’s framework predicts the conservative in buffered institutions experiences. The institution claims neutral standards. The claim is part of how buffered institutions present themselves. The standards in operation are not neutral but particular to the buffered framework. The claimant who expects the institution to live up to its self-presentation encounters the gap between self-presentation and operation and experiences the gap as injustice.
The experience of injustice is accurate as description of what the claimant goes through. It is also what buffered institutions produce in those who engage them while holding expectations shaped by the institutions’ self-presentation. Guldmann understands this at the level of theory. He has written the book about it. He also continues to be affected by it at the level of experience. The gap between theoretical understanding and experiential susceptibility is what Taylor’s framework might predict. Theoretical understanding of buffered operation does not inoculate against the emotional costs of being subjected to it. The emotional costs are real. They are what the system produces. The theoretical understanding just names what is happening without dissolving the pain of its happening.
Taylor’s framework adds identification of the phenomenological condition that his work engages. Guldmann operates from a hybrid position that can sympathetically describe porous experience without fully sharing it. His work critiques thoroughly buffered institutions that cannot recognize porous experience as valid. The position and the critique together produce the contribution and the limitation of his work. The contribution is rigorous philosophical articulation of what populations outside the buffered mainstream experience. The limitation is inability to cross the phenomenological divide through argument alone.
The work is not about defending conservatives. It is about describing what happens to populations when institutional frameworks cannot recognize their phenomenological starting points. This is a question that applies beyond conservative politics. It applies to any population operating from phenomenological positions that buffered institutions exclude. Religious minorities, working-class populations, indigenous communities, traditional cultures under modernizing pressure all face versions of what Guldmann describes. His analysis of the conservative case provides resources for understanding these other cases as well. The resources are what Taylor’s framework might predict his hybrid position can generate.
Guldmann has been largely excluded from institutional academic life despite producing work of considerable philosophical sophistication. The exclusion has been sustained across decades. He has written his major work outside the traditional academic apparatus. He publishes through his own website and small presses rather than through Harvard University Press or Princeton University Press. His memoir documents the Stanford exclusion that shaped his trajectory.
The exclusion is what his analysis predicts. Institutions operating on buffered norms exclude work that critiques the buffered framework. The exclusion is not formal or explicit. It operates through the tacit norms that govern what counts as serious scholarship, where it can be published, and who will engage it. Guldmann’s career is the career his framework predicts. The prediction is self-confirming. The self-confirmation does not refute the framework. It shows the framework operating on the framework’s own author.
The buffered institutional space cannot easily make room for sustained critique of its buffered foundations. Such critique appears within the institutional framework as inadequate scholarship, as insufficiently rigorous, as politically motivated, as philosophically confused. These appearances are not neutral evaluations. They are what the buffered framework produces when it encounters work that questions it. The work can be dismissed within the framework. The dismissal does not refute the work. The work speaks from a position the framework cannot recognize, and the framework’s inability to recognize it is one of the things the work is describing. The circularity is structural. The work’s exclusion is evidence for the work’s thesis. The evidence does not persuade those whose institutional position depends on not seeing it.
Guldmann represents the possibility that phenomenological description of conservative experience can be conducted with philosophical rigor and that the buffered-porous divide has political and institutional consequences that deserve analytical attention.

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Brian Leiter: The Naturalist’s Program

Brian Leiter was born in 1963 in Manhattan, into a Jewish family. He went to Princeton and graduated with a philosophy degree in 1984. He then went to Michigan, where he took a law degree in 1987 and finished a doctorate in philosophy in 1995. The dissertation, on Nietzsche and the critique of morality, was directed by Peter Railton, with Elizabeth Anderson, Frithjof Bergmann, and Don Herzog on the committee. Raymond Geuss, Richard Rorty, and Stephen Darwall appear among his other formative influences.
Railton stands as a central figure in naturalistic moral philosophy. Anderson writes across political philosophy and epistemology with a strong empirical streak. Bergmann teaches Nietzsche as a philosopher serious about human flourishing. Leiter takes from them an orientation: philosophy answers to facts about persons and institutions, and the sharpest philosophical questions live at the seam between conceptual analysis and empirical inquiry. That orientation becomes the through-line of the career.
After a short period at the University of San Diego School of Law and a visiting philosophy post at UC San Diego, Leiter joined the University of Texas School of Law in 1995 and founded its Law and Philosophy Program. In 2008 he moved to the University of Chicago Law School as Karl N. Llewellyn Professor of Jurisprudence. At Chicago he founded the Center for Law, Philosophy and Human Values, which he still directs. He has edited the journal Legal Theory, the Routledge Philosophers book series, and with Leslie Green the annual Oxford Studies in Philosophy of Law. He has held visiting appointments at Yale, Oxford, University College London, and Paris X-Nanterre.
His first major project rehabilitates American Legal Realism. Before Leiter, most philosophers treated the Realists of the 1920s and 1930s as legal skeptics who reduced judicial decision to politics or personality. H.L.A. Hart dismissed them as confused about the nature of rules. Ronald Dworkin treated them as theoretically unserious. Leiter reads them differently. In a series of essays collected as Naturalizing Jurisprudence (2007), he argues that thinkers like Karl Llewellyn, Jerome Frank, and Felix Cohen offered a serious empirical claim about adjudication: formal legal doctrines underdetermine judicial outcomes in hard cases, so any adequate theory of law has to describe what in fact moves judges. Realism, read this way, is an early naturalist program within jurisprudence, continuous with the naturalism Quine and later philosophers brought to epistemology.
Naturalizing Jurisprudence by Brian Leiter. This book rereads American Legal Realism as the first serious attempt to bring empirical social science into general jurisprudence and defends a naturalized approach on which legal theory answers to facts about how courts decide cases. It also includes Leiter’s critique of Dworkin’s interpretivism and his version of methodological positivism about the concept of law.
The argument has two edges. One cuts against Dworkin’s interpretivism, which holds that legal theory must construct the best moral reading of a legal practice. Leiter rejects that picture. Legal concepts can be analyzed without importing moral justification into every claim about what the law is. The other edge cuts against crude Realism. Leiter accepts that formal doctrine does not predict outcomes in hard cases, but he pairs that empirical claim with a conceptual defense of positivism: the criteria for legal validity in any legal system are fixed by social facts about official practice, not by moral truth. The pairing lets him keep Hart’s core conceptual point while dropping Hart’s discomfort with Realism.
The Nietzsche work runs on parallel tracks. In Nietzsche on Morality (2002, second edition 2015), Leiter makes the case that Nietzsche offers a philosophical psychology of moral judgment. Nietzsche’s target is what Leiter calls Morality in the Pejorative Sense, MPS for short, the cluster of Christian and post-Christian ideas about pity, guilt, equality, and disinterested benevolence that treats these values as universally binding. Nietzsche’s critique, on this reading, is naturalistic: moral beliefs have causes, those causes often have little to do with moral truth, and the high valuations of MPS serve the interests of one type of person rather than the interests of higher types. The book reframes decades of Anglophone Nietzsche scholarship. It treats Nietzsche as a philosopher with empirical commitments and testable claims about human psychology.
Nietzsche on Morality presents Nietzsche as a philosophical naturalist whose genealogical critique of Christian morality rests on empirical claims about moral psychology and the social origins of value. It also develops Leiter’s reading of Nietzsche’s determinism and his rejection of free will.
Moral Psychology with Nietzsche (2019) extends the project. Leiter argues that Nietzsche anticipates findings in contemporary empirical moral psychology about the sources of moral judgment, the limits of rational deliberation, and the role of drives and affects. He separates Nietzsche’s best supported claims from the speculative ones. The book also treats free will, which Leiter thinks Nietzsche rejects on grounds close to those that motivate contemporary skepticism about libertarian agency.
The Marx book, co-authored with Jaime Edwards and published in 2025, completes a triangle implicit in the work for a long time. Marx, Nietzsche, and Freud share a stance toward moral claims: they treat them as surface effects of deeper causes, whether class interest, drive and affect, or unconscious conflict. Leiter has called these three the naturalistic tradition in Continental philosophy, against the neo-Kantian and phenomenological strands. The Marx book defends a philosophical reading of Marx that emphasizes realism about ideology, skepticism about moral appeals in political argument, and attention to the material conditions that shape what people come to believe.
Marx presents Marx as a philosopher whose critique of capitalism rests on realism about human nature, skepticism about moralized political discourse, and a theory of ideology as belief shaped by class position. It treats Marx’s ethical claims as instrumental to a broader empirical analysis.
Why Tolerate Religion? (2013) is the most politically exposed book Leiter has written. The argument starts with a simple question. Most liberal democracies give religious belief special legal protection beyond what they give to other beliefs of conscience. What justifies that asymmetry? Leiter examines the main candidate answers: that religious beliefs hold great importance to believers, that they rest on clear claims to truth, that they deserve respect because they shape identity. He finds each answer inadequate. Religious beliefs often rest on poor evidence and demand insulation from revision, which on his view makes them a weak candidate for special legal treatment. He concludes that a principled liberalism should protect liberty of conscience across the board and drop the preferential treatment of religion. The book angered legal scholars who defend robust religious exemptions and philosophers who want a richer account of religious experience. It pushed the debate into sharper focus.
Why Tolerate Religion? by Brian Leiter. This book argues that liberal democracies have no principled basis for giving religious conviction more legal protection than other beliefs of conscience and that general liberty of conscience should replace special religious accommodation.
A single philosophical program runs through these books. Leiter is a naturalist in ethics, in philosophy of law, in political theory, and in Nietzsche interpretation. He treats moral and legal concepts as tools of human practice, traces their origins to empirical facts about human beings and institutions, and resists attempts to read moral truths into the structure of concepts. He pairs this with methodological positivism in jurisprudence, which holds that law and morality are distinct objects of analysis, and with a realist temperament in political philosophy, which treats moralized political argument with suspicion.
The next book, From a Realist Point of View, is forthcoming from Oxford in 2026. Recent papers around it, including “What the Realists Got Right” and work on free speech and epistemic authority on the internet, suggest Leiter might push the realist impulse outward from jurisprudence into political theory and democratic epistemology. He argues that current anxiety about free speech online overstates the value of broad expressive liberty under conditions where epistemic institutions have lost credibility. The argument sits comfortably with neither of the dominant camps in the free speech debate.
A few traits show up across the work. Leiter prefers small questions with clear answers to large questions with grand answers. He cites evidence. He takes empirical psychology seriously and checks philosophical claims against it. He writes clean prose, unusual for a philosopher working across jurisprudence and Nietzsche. He picks fights, including with Dworkin, with moral realists, with religious accommodationists, and with parts of analytic philosophy he views as evasive. The fights serve the underlying commitment. Naturalism in philosophy treats inquiry as a continuous human activity, not an isolated conceptual exercise, and it expects philosophers to say where the evidence lies and what might change their minds.
Leiter has also done a great deal of editorial work. The Routledge Philosophers series brings shorter, rigorous books on major thinkers into print across languages. Oxford Studies in Philosophy of Law, co-edited with Leslie Green, publishes work in general jurisprudence. The Oxford Handbook of Continental Philosophy (2007), co-edited with Michael Rosen, presses against the analytic-Continental divide that Leiter has treated as a historical accident. His own work on Nietzsche, Marx, and Freud is the clearest instance of that practice.
The Philosophical Gourmet Report, which Leiter founded in 1989 as a graduate student and edited for twenty-five years before turning it over to Berit Brogaard and Christopher Pynes, sits alongside the scholarship. He has said that he took it on because the field lacked decent public information about where strong work happens. A separate set of law school rankings focuses on scholarly impact by citation.
What holds the intellectual life together is a distrust of moralized self-descriptions and a preference for causal ones. Naturalism in Leiter’s hands is less a technical doctrine about supervenience or reduction than a stance. It says that law, morality, religion, and politics are human activities with histories, and that the philosopher’s job is to describe them as they are before rendering verdicts. He applies that stance to Nietzsche, to the Legal Realists, to Marx, to contemporary liberal theories of religious tolerance, and to current debates about speech and epistemic authority.

Alliance Theory aka Strange Bedfellows

Leiter operates as a public intellectual whose influence inside academic philosophy exceeds what his scholarly output alone might produce. The combination of scholarly production, institutional gatekeeping through the Gourmet Report, and public-facing commentary through the blog gives him a coalition function unusually legible because all three operations show in the public record.
The standard treatments read him variously. Admirers treat him as a rigorous scholar who has built valuable institutional infrastructure and who says on his blog what colleagues think but will not say themselves. Critics treat him as a philosophical enforcer whose influence rests on intimidation, whose Gourmet Report has coalition-shaped biases, and whose blog’s combative style has damaged professional discourse. The Alliance Theory reading does not pick between these descriptions. Both capture real features. The framework asks a different question: what coalition does Leiter serve, how does his combination of activities reinforce coalition interests, and what coalition-rational silences and asymmetries does his output display?
The primary coalition Leiter serves is the analytically-trained philosophical left, a formation inside academic philosophy that has become institutionally dominant at elite departments over the last four decades. The coalition is not identical to academic philosophy as a whole. Academic philosophy contains multiple coalitions with distinct interests: the analytically-trained philosophical left Leiter serves, the more conservative-adjacent analytic tradition that produced figures like Peter van Inwagen and Alvin Plantinga, the continental philosophy community Leiter has targeted for decline, the experimental philosophy coalition analyzed in the Doris essay, the history of philosophy specialists, the feminist philosophy and philosophy of race communities that have carved out their own coalition territory, and traditionalist formations in ethics and political philosophy that resist the dominant coalition’s methods.
Leiter’s coalition has substantive commitments. A broadly left-liberal political orientation, in Leiter’s case Marxist-adjacent, which distinguishes him from most of his coalition allies. Commitment to naturalism in philosophy, meaning resistance to supernatural or non-naturalistic metaphysical claims. Secularism in public life, including opposition to religious exemptions from anti-discrimination law and skepticism toward religious reasoning in public policy. Opposition to what the coalition considers pseudo-philosophical traditions: most continental philosophy from Heidegger forward, most postmodern theory, most figures whose work the coalition treats as obscurantist. Commitments in moral philosophy that align with evolutionary and psychological naturalism. Commitments in legal philosophy that align with legal realism and skepticism toward natural law approaches. Commitments in philosophy of mind that align with physicalism against dualism and against stronger versions of representationalism. The coalition’s substantive positions cohere internally in ways that map onto Leiter’s published work across his career.
Pinsof’s four criteria describe the coalition with precision.
Similarity operates through markers. PhD from a top-ranked analytic philosophy program, increasingly concentrated at Michigan, Princeton, NYU, Rutgers, Pittsburgh, MIT, Harvard, Berkeley, and a short list of allied departments. Publication in the top philosophy journals: Philosophical Review, Mind, Noûs, Journal of Philosophy, Ethics, and the sub-field journals that mark membership. Fluency in the vocabulary the coalition uses: naturalistic, explanatory, empirically constrained, philosophically serious, rigorous, continental as an epithet. Hostility toward rival traditions: analytic philosophy of religion with theological commitments, most continental philosophy, much of the history of philosophy as practiced outside analytic reconstruction. Comfort with the aesthetic and cultural markers of secular academic professionalism. Willingness to engage with empirical work from cognitive science, evolutionary biology, and psychology as sources of philosophical constraint. Leiter displays all these markers at the senior level. His coalition recognizes him through them.
Transitivity clusters him with allies. Philip Kitcher at Columbia, an older senior figure whose naturalist commitments parallel Leiter’s. Kwame Anthony Appiah at NYU, though the relationship is more complicated. Susan Haack at Miami, an ally on methodological questions. Peter Railton at Michigan, on moral naturalism. Jerry Fodor before his death, on philosophy of mind naturalism. Daniel Dennett before his decline and death, on evolution and consciousness. The cluster has rivals whose reputations Leiter has worked to diminish: Martha Nussbaum at Chicago (complicated because she is his departmental colleague, but their intellectual traditions stand in tension), Slavoj Žižek across multiple appointments, the broader continental philosophy community, John Searle before Searle’s professional collapse (Leiter was critical of Searle’s work before the sexual misconduct allegations), figures in analytic philosophy of religion like Plantinga, Richard Swinburne, and their students. The rivalry patterns hold consistent across the cluster.
Interdependence runs through Leiter’s multiple activities in ways that illuminate how a coalition rewards a senior figure who serves multiple functions. Chicago provides the senior tenured chair that makes everything else possible. The coalition provides the graduate students, the co-authors, the journal placements, the conference invitations, and the broader infrastructure that sustains his scholarly career. The Philosophical Gourmet Report has provided coalition-amplifying influence: Leiter’s rankings have shaped which departments graduate students apply to, which faculty searches succeed at attracting top candidates, and which sub-fields are treated as central versus peripheral. The Gourmet Report’s effects on the profession are real and substantial. They reflect and reinforce the coalition’s preferences about what counts as good philosophy. The blog, Leiter Reports, provides a platform for coalition policing that operates faster than journal publication and reaches a wider audience than academic writing typically reaches. The three activities reinforce each other. Each amplifies the others. The combination gives Leiter more coalition-effective influence than any single activity might produce.
Stochasticity applies. The coalition Leiter serves consolidated during a period when analytic philosophy expanded its institutional position against continental and traditional rivals. Had the expansion happened differently, had certain departments taken different directions during the 1980s and 1990s when the current coalition consolidated, had the combination of methodological and political commitments that defines the coalition not formed when it did, Leiter’s career opportunities might have been different. The Philosophical Gourmet Report is a contingent institutional development. Rankings existed before it. The form Leiter’s rankings took, and the influence they achieved, reflected a historical opportunity the coalition needed filled. Leiter filled it. A different figure with different methods might have filled it differently. The retrospective appearance that Leiter’s rise was natural reflects the coalition’s success, not some intrinsic inevitability of his trajectory.
The three propagandistic biases run through Leiter’s work in identifiable ways, though the operation is unusually visible because Leiter’s combative style makes his coalition commitments explicit in places where more diplomatic figures keep them implicit.
Perpetrator biases protect coalition allies and direct scrutiny at rivals. When senior figures in Leiter’s coalition face professional problems or public controversies, his blog’s treatment tends toward the protective: the allegations are exaggerated, the context has been misunderstood, the critics have coalition-rival motivations. When figures in rival coalitions face similar problems, the treatment amplifies rather than minimizes: the allegations are taken seriously, the problems are seen as revealing of larger patterns, the rival is held to standards the coalition does not consistently apply to its own members. The asymmetry is not total. Leiter has been willing to criticize coalition members when criticism was unavoidable, and he has occasionally defended figures in rival coalitions when allegations seemed unfounded. The pattern across many cases reveals the direction of drift the framework predicts.
Philosophical sexual misconduct cases illustrate the pattern. When allegations have surfaced against senior analytic philosophers with coalition-aligned positions, Leiter’s treatment has often emphasized procedural concerns, the rights of the accused, and the damage that unsubstantiated allegations do to academic careers. When allegations have surfaced against figures in rival traditions (continental, religious, conservative), the same concerns have received less emphasis and the allegations have received more credulous treatment. This is not evidence of misconduct by Leiter or of bad faith in his treatment of any individual case. It is evidence of the coalition-rational pattern Pinsof’s framework predicts: cases of allies get protective framings, cases of rivals get damaging framings. The pattern shows across dozens of cases Leiter has addressed over twenty years of blogging.
The bias also protects Leiter from self-audit. He has been criticized repeatedly for the Gourmet Report’s methodology, for the blog’s tone, and for interventions critics have treated as coalition enforcement. The responses to these criticisms have not produced substantial methodological revision. The Gourmet Report’s general structure has remained stable across editions. The blog’s tone has remained recognizable. The interventions that produced controversy have been defended rather than retracted. A figure operating with openness to criticism might produce more methodological change in response to sustained criticism than Leiter has produced. The resistance to change is coalition-rational because the coalition benefits from the structures the criticisms target. Changing the structures might weaken the coalition’s position. Maintaining them preserves the coalition’s influence. Pinsof’s framework predicts the maintenance and Leiter’s trajectory supplies it.
Trivers’s self-deception finding applies. Leiter probably experiences his judgments as following philosophical merit and the evidence where it leads. The experience is the coalition’s asset. A figure who consciously performed coalition work might be less effective at it because the awareness might alter the output in detectable ways. Leiter’s work shows no marks of conscious coalition performance. It shows the marks of sincere intellectual commitment that happens to produce coalition-serving conclusions with high reliability.
Victim biases operate across registers. Academic philosophy’s left coalition narrates as besieged from multiple directions. Conservative pressure from state legislatures threatens public universities. The Religious Right continues to press for accommodations that might compromise academic naturalism. Administrative bureaucracy has expanded at the expense of faculty governance. Corporate capture of universities threatens traditional faculty protections. The public has lost interest in philosophy as a serious discipline. The humanities are in crisis, philosophy included. Leiter’s blog deploys these narratives at various points, sometimes with accuracy, sometimes with the mobilization-serving intensity Pinsof’s framework predicts.
The narrative is not empty. Pressures on academic philosophy are real. The humanities have faced real institutional challenges. But the coalition’s position within academic philosophy remains dominant at elite departments, well-funded relative to most humanities fields, and capable of directing significant resources toward its preferred projects. The beleaguered framing captures real concerns but miscounts the coalition’s institutional position. The coalition uses the framing to mobilize support from members who might otherwise not recognize how much they have to lose. Leiter’s blog amplifies the framing at rates appropriate to its coalition function.
Competitive victimhood operates cross-coalition in the standard way. Conservative philosophers narrate their marginalization by Leiter and the coalition he represents. Religious philosophers narrate their exclusion from the top departments Leiter’s rankings favor. Continental philosophers narrate their displacement by the analytic tradition Leiter defends. Each rival coalition points at real phenomena. Each exceeds the evidence in ways that serve coalition mobilization. The cross-coalition symmetry the framework predicts appears across the philosophical landscape.
Attributional biases govern the treatment of philosophical work inside and outside the coalition. Work by coalition members that succeeds receives internal attributions: the work reflects the author’s rigor, methodological seriousness, and commitment to philosophical excellence. Work by rivals that succeeds despite coalition opposition receives external attributions: the success reflects factors other than philosophical merit, like marketing, celebrity, or the credulity of audiences who have not been trained to recognize philosophical quality. Work by coalition members that fails receives external attributions: the work faced unfair reviewers, the field has not yet caught up to the approach, the institutional constraints on publication limited what the author could do. Work by rivals that fails receives internal attributions: the failure reflects the approach’s fundamental problems, the author’s methodological limitations, the tradition’s inability to produce rigorous results.
This attributional pattern shapes the Gourmet Report’s rankings. Departments strong in coalition-favored sub-fields (philosophy of mind, epistemology, philosophy of language, moral philosophy as the coalition does it, legal philosophy in Leiter’s naturalist vein) receive rankings that emphasize their strength. Departments strong in coalition-disfavored sub-fields (philosophy of religion, continental philosophy, history of philosophy as traditionally practiced) receive rankings that reflect the lower weight the coalition assigns to these areas. The rankings are not arbitrary. They reflect coalition judgments about what counts as important philosophical work. Graduate students who follow the rankings end up sorted into departments where the coalition’s priorities shape their training. The coalition reproduces through the ranking apparatus. Leiter’s design choices structure the reproduction.
The strange bedfellows inside Leiter’s coalition deserve attention. The coalition contains philosophical naturalists whose commitments include a secular worldview alongside figures whose personal religious observance continues despite professional commitments that sit in tension with it. It contains left-liberal political philosophers alongside figures whose politics are more explicitly Marxist, including Leiter whose Marxism distinguishes him from most coalition allies. It contains feminist philosophers who have carved out their own sub-coalition with its own commitments, alongside figures whose engagement with feminist philosophy has been limited or critical. It contains critical race theorists and philosophers of race alongside figures whose work in these areas has been peripheral. It contains figures drawn to experimental philosophy alongside figures who have resisted the experimental turn. It contains figures who treat philosophy as continuous with cognitive science alongside figures who maintain traditional philosophical methods despite the coalition’s broader naturalistic commitments.
No consistent principle unites these positions. Shared opposition to rival coalitions (religious philosophy, continental philosophy, conservative political philosophy, traditional metaphysics with dualist or theological commitments) holds the coalition together. The coalition manages its internal tensions through the standard Pinsof methods: emphasis on external rivals as the basis for unity, downplay of internal disagreements about methodological and substantive positions, and maintenance of a broad coalition vocabulary that permits members to hold their positions without requiring explicit coalition positions on the disagreements. Leiter’s work contributes to the management by producing blog content that addresses shared concerns, attacks shared rivals, and leaves the internal coalition tensions largely unaddressed. The contribution is coalition-rational and the coalition rewards it.
The fourth Pinsof question: what truths might Leiter have to give up if his current coalition shifted? The answer is substantial. His Chicago chair depends on continued recognition by his coalition that his work merits the position. The Gourmet Report depends on continued coalition trust that his rankings are legitimate rather than coalition infrastructure. The blog depends on continued coalition willingness to treat his interventions as authoritative rather than partisan. His scholarly positions depend on continued coalition acceptance of naturalist and secularist premises that underwrite his work. If the coalition shifted, or if Leiter shifted against it, multiple pillars of his influence might erode at once. The costs of coalition defection are substantial. Pinsof’s model predicts he will not incur them. Coalition intellectuals do not audit the coalitions that make their careers possible, regardless of their self-image as independent thinkers.
The truths Leiter cannot say, without damaging his coalition position, include that the Gourmet Report’s methodology reflects coalition preferences. He cannot say that the blog’s treatment of figures has applied asymmetric standards across coalition lines. He cannot say that senior coalition figures whose work he has defended have produced work whose quality his treatment has overstated. He cannot say that rival coalition figures whose work he has attacked have produced work whose quality his treatment has understated. He cannot say that his Marxist political commitments sit in tension with aspects of the coalition he serves, which is not Marxist and whose broader liberal orientation has absorbed Marxist-inflected work selectively. He cannot say that the Gourmet Report’s influence on graduate student career choices has contributed to coalition-serving patterns in the reproduction of the profession that he benefits from. He cannot say that the blog’s combative style has become coalition infrastructure that protects the coalition from criticism the coalition might otherwise have to address more seriously. Writers do not tell these truths. Leiter does not tell them.
Leiter’s Marxism complicates the analysis. Most of the coalition he serves is not Marxist. The coalition is broadly left-liberal, socially progressive, methodologically naturalist, and substantively aligned with the broader Rawlsian tradition the last essay examined. Leiter’s Marxism sits uncomfortably inside this coalition. His work on Nietzsche, which treats Nietzsche as a thinker worth taking seriously despite his political implications, his work on Marxist legal theory, and his willingness to defend Marxist positions place him on one edge of the coalition. The edge position serves the coalition in several ways. It gives the coalition a senior figure who can speak to left-Marxist positions without the coalition as a whole having to adopt them. It gives the coalition intellectual range that a more uniformly Rawlsian-analytic lineup might not display. It lets the coalition claim methodological pluralism while maintaining its dominant institutional position.
The edge position also produces tensions. Leiter’s more explicitly Marxist positions do not travel well with all coalition members. His defenses of Marxist figures, his critiques of liberal positions from a Marxist angle, and his willingness to engage with continental Marxist traditions place him at a different point on the coalition spectrum than most of his senior allies. The coalition manages these tensions. Leiter emphasizes the naturalism and secularism that unite the coalition rather than the Marxism that distinguishes him. The coalition accepts his edge position because the other functions he performs (Gourmet Report, blog, scholarly work) outweigh the marginal tension the Marxism creates. The arrangement is stable. Pinsof’s framework predicts this kind of edge-accommodating coalition structure and Leiter’s position inside his coalition illustrates it.
The blog performs multiple coalition functions. It identifies rivals for coalition members to oppose. It surfaces coalition positions in real time across evolving controversies. It provides coalition members with talking points and framings for their own use. It disciplines figures who violate coalition expectations, through attention that amplifies their critics and sidelines their defenders. It serves as a reputation-management site where coalition-favored figures receive protective treatment and coalition-rival figures receive damaging treatment. These functions are coalition work performed at high intensity. The blog’s readership inside academic philosophy exceeds any other single venue for professional news and commentary. The concentration of attention on a single coalition-aligned blog has given Leiter a coalition-enforcement capacity that no previous figure in academic philosophy has possessed.
Graduate students calibrate their public statements against what Leiter might blog about them. Faculty calibrate their public positions against potential Leiter attention. Departments calibrate their hiring and tenure decisions against coalition reactions Leiter’s blog both reflects and shapes. The calibration is rational given the capacity. Pinsof’s framework predicts that a single coalition-aligned figure with concentrated attention will produce this calibration in the population that depends on the coalition’s continued favor. Leiter has produced the predicted effect. The effect reflects the coalition’s power and his position as its most concentrated amplifier.
Leiter entered legal academia and then philosophy during the 1990s. His career has tracked the consolidation of the analytic philosophy coalition at elite departments and the institutional position it now occupies. The junior generation of philosophers has been shaped by a landscape where Leiter’s rankings, the blog, and the broader coalition infrastructure have been the background conditions of professional life. The junior philosophers have been more coalition-shaped than Leiter was, because the coalition’s institutional dominance was less complete when Leiter was a junior scholar. The trajectory matters because it suggests the coalition’s influence runs deeper in younger scholars than in the senior figures who built it. Pinsof’s framework predicts this deepening of coalition effect across generations and the predictions hold in the philosophy profession as in the legal academy and in international relations.
Jason Stanley at Yale occupies a parallel position inside a partially distinct coalition formation, one that has moved further toward explicit political engagement than the coalition Leiter serves. His work on propaganda, epistemology, and political philosophy has produced public-facing books that travel well in coalition-aligned venues. Stanley and Leiter have had public disagreements on various questions, which illustrates the framework’s expectation that coalition allies will sometimes differ while remaining inside the same broader coalition.
Elizabeth Anderson at Michigan occupies another parallel position. Her work on political philosophy, economic justice, and the ethics of workplaces has made her a major figure in the same broad coalition. Her style differs from Leiter’s substantially, with less combative engagement and more constructive theoretical work. She serves the coalition differently than Leiter does but serves the same broader coalition. The different styles reflect different coalition functions. The coalition benefits from having multiple figures who serve different functions at different registers.
Kwame Anthony Appiah, though his relationship with Leiter has been strained at points, occupies another position in the broader coalition. His work on cosmopolitanism, identity, and the ethics of race has made him a central public voice. His more diplomatic style contrasts with Leiter’s. The contrast illustrates the coalition’s capacity to include figures with different temperaments as long as they serve coalition interests.
Amia Srinivasan at Oxford represents a younger generation that has taken the coalition’s commitments in directions Leiter has sometimes been uncomfortable with. Her work on sex, politics, and philosophy has achieved substantial public reach through venues the coalition values. Her position illustrates how the coalition absorbs younger figures whose emphases differ from senior figures’ while the broader coalition commitments remain consistent.

Leiter Under Hugo Mercier and John M. Doris

Mercier’s core claim is that humans are not gullible. Applied to Leiter’s audience, this means philosophers reading Leiter Reports or using the PGR are not manipulated into positions they did not already hold. They are not dupes absorbing Leiter’s framings because he is a charismatic gatekeeper. Whatever the PGR does, it does not create beliefs about program quality in philosophers who might otherwise have held different beliefs. It organizes and coordinates beliefs that already exist in the profession about the strengths of various programs.
Critics of the PGR were not claiming that Leiter was brainwashing philosophers into believing the wrong things about program quality. They were claiming that the metric, operating with Leiter’s editorial control, amplified and stabilized one coalitional position within analytic philosophy and made it harder for alternatives to get traction. This is a coordination claim, not a persuasion claim. It fits Mercier’s framework because it does not require assuming the audience is gullible. The audience runs its own vigilance on its own views; the PGR affects which views get coordinated visibility and institutional reinforcement.
The September 2014 open letter asking Leiter to step down from the PGR was signed by hundreds of philosophers. These were not dupes waking up from his influence. They were philosophers whose prior views made them ready to challenge the ranking when a triggering incident produced an opening. The incident, Leiter’s hostile email to Carrie Jenkins, gave the existing critical coalition something to organize around. The coalition had been building through prior episodes. The 2014 moment was when it reached sufficient organization to act collectively. Mercier’s framework predicts this pattern. Coalitions with aligned commitments coordinate when triggering events give them organizational opportunity, not when arguments persuade them into new positions.
Leiter’s position depended on the absence of such coordination among his critics. Individual critics faced coordination problems. Nobody wanted to be the first to publicly oppose him, because the cost to anyone acting alone was high while the benefit depended on others also acting. The 2014 letter solved the coordination problem by providing a focal point around which many philosophers could declare their positions at once. Once the coordination happened, Leiter’s influence shifted because the dispersed criticism he had previously faced became concentrated collective action.
The influence does not rest on successful persuasion of neutral audiences. It rests on coordination advantages the platform provides to coalitions. When the coordination advantages flip to the critical coalition, as happened with the open letter, the platform’s influence shifts. Leiter’s diminished role with PGR after 2014 reflects this shift, not any change in the philosophical arguments about ranking methodology.
Now Doris.
Leiter’s documented behavior across many incidents has a particular pattern. Public aggression toward philosophers over perceived slights. Aggressive response to criticism. Willingness to expend reputational capital on disputes. This pattern is sometimes described dispositionally: Leiter is combative, Leiter has a difficult personality, Leiter cannot let things go. The dispositional framing treats the pattern as expressing a stable Leiter-character.
Doris complicates this. Situations that reward certain behaviors produce the pattern. Leiter’s blog platform rewards combative posts because they generate engagement. His institutional security at Chicago absorbs reputational costs that might damage philosophers without comparable security. His network of allies provides support that sustains him through disputes that might isolate others. His scholarly reputation gives him credibility to deploy in attacks that scholars without that reputation could not make. The combination of situational features produces the behavior pattern.
A Leiter without the blog might not produce blog-shaped behavior. A Leiter without Chicago tenure might not have produced the behavior pattern at the same volume because the costs might have been higher. A Leiter in a different coalitional moment within philosophy might have faced different incentives. The pattern we observe is the product of situational features operating on whatever capacities Leiter brings to them. Other philosophers with similar capacities in similar situations might produce broadly similar patterns. Leiter in different situations might produce different patterns.
Take the Carrie Jenkins episode that triggered the 2014 letter. The email was not simply an expression of Leiter’s character. The situation produced the behavior: a perceived slight, an audience context, a state of Leiter’s relationships with PGR critics, a moment when his habitual modes of response did not track the shifting coalitional ground beneath him. The email was miscalibrated for the situation. The miscalibration reveals something about how situational assessment can fail when the assessor’s habitual patterns track prior situations that no longer apply.
Behaviors that served situational purposes during an earlier period do not always serve the same purposes as situations shift. A Leiter whose aggressive responses had intimidated critics during one period might continue producing aggressive responses after the coalitional situation had shifted enough that the responses produced coordination. The same behavior produces different effects as situations change.

The Great Delusion

In his 2018 book, The Great Delusion: Liberal Dreams and International Realities, John J. Mearsheimer wrote:

My view is that we are profoundly social beings from the start to the finish of our lives and that individualism is of secondary importance… Liberalism downplays the social nature of human beings to the point of almost ignoring it, instead treating people largely as atomistic actors… Political liberalism… is an ideology that is individualistic at its core and assigns great importance to the concept of inalienable rights. This concern for rights is the basis of its universalism—everyone on the planet has the same inherent set of rights—and this is what motivates liberal states to pursue ambitious foreign policies. The public and scholarly discourse about liberalism since World War II has placed enormous emphasis on what are commonly called human rights. This is true all around the world, not just in the West. “Human rights,” Samuel Moyn notes, “have come to define the most elevated aspirations of both social movements and political entities—state and interstate. They evoke hope and provoke action.”
[Humans] do not operate as lone wolves but are born into social groups or societies that shape their identities well before they can assert their individualism. Moreover, individuals usually develop strong attachments to their group and are sometimes willing to make great sacrifices for their fellow members. Humans are often said to be tribal at their core. The main reason for our social nature is that the best way for a person to survive is to be embedded in a society and to cooperate with fellow members rather than act alone… Despite its elevated ranking, reason is the least important of the three ways we determine our preferences. It certainly is less important than socialization. The main reason socialization matters so much is that humans have a long childhood in which they are protected and nurtured by their families and the surrounding society, and meanwhile exposed to intense socialization. At the same time, they are only beginning to develop their critical faculties, so they are not equipped to think for themselves. By the time an individual reaches the point where his reasoning skills are well developed, his family and society have already imposed an enormous value infusion on him. Moreover, that individual is born with innate sentiments that also strongly influence how he thinks about the world around him. All of this means that people have limited choice in formulating a moral code, because so much of their thinking about right and wrong comes from inborn attitudes and socialization.

If Mearsheimer (b. 1947) has the better picture of man, Brian Leiter’s project faces several problems.
Leiter calls himself a naturalist about law. He reads Nietzsche (1844-1900) as a moral psychologist who sees moral judgments as expressions of psychological type. On that score Leiter and Mearsheimer overlap. Both reject the picture of man as a sovereign rational chooser who selects his values from a menu. Both treat moral life as something deeper than argument, something rooted in temperament and inheritance. A Leiter who stayed close to that descriptive line could absorb Mearsheimer without too much pain.
The trouble starts when Leiter moves from descriptive naturalism to political prescription.
Leiter’s Why Tolerate Religion? argues that religious belief deserves no special legal accommodation because it has no special epistemic standing. The argument operates within liberal premises. Citizens are individuals. Their commitments are claims they bring to a neutral state. The state weighs claims by their merits. Religion, on Leiter’s account, brings nothing that earns extra weight.
If Mearsheimer is right, this framing collapses. Citizens are not individuals first. They are tribesmen first, citizens second. Their religious commitments are not preferences they have selected but inheritances that form them before they can think. The state is not a neutral arbiter weighing claims. It is an arena where coalitions push their visions of the good. Liberal proceduralism becomes a coalition posture, the posture of a post-Enlightenment Western intellectual class that treats its own sentiments as universal. Leiter’s case against religious accommodation then loses its footing. He needs the liberal frame to make the argument work. Once you grant Mearsheimer’s premise, the secular case looks like one tribe trying to displace another tribe’s claims, not reason correcting superstition.
A second problem hits Leiter’s broader stance toward religious belief. Leiter treats religious claims as epistemically deficient. He thinks religion gets a free pass secular ideologies do not get. But if reason plays the small role Mearsheimer assigns it, secular liberal commitments stand on the same kind of ground religious commitments stand on. Both come from socialization. Both rest on innate sentiment shaped by tribal belonging. The asymmetry Leiter assumes between religion and secularism dissolves. The professor reading Hume to undergraduates and the rabbi reading Torah to his congregation are doing the same thing under different costumes. Each transmits the moral sense of a coalition. Each speaks with the voice of his tribe.
A third problem reaches further. Leiter writes as a philosopher who can stand outside his tribe and reason about law and morality. His tone presupposes a critical distance the philosopher takes from the tribal commitments of the populace. Mearsheimer’s picture says this distance is fictive. The philosopher sits inside a tribe of his own, the modern research university, with its rituals, hierarchies, and creeds. His critiques of religion and traditional authority track the interests of that tribe. His sense that he is reasoning while others are believing is the standard self-image any tribe gives its priests.
Leiter’s naturalized jurisprudence survives better. He thinks law is what social practice makes it. He draws on empirical work. Mearsheimer’s picture fits inside that frame. It reorients which social facts deserve weight. Coalition belonging, tribal sentiment, the long childhood of value infusion, these become primary data for the legal naturalist. The descriptive part of Leiter’s project can absorb Mearsheimer.
Leiter’s political voice runs liberal. He defends academic freedom, free speech, secular public reason. Mearsheimer’s picture says these commitments rest on a false anthropology. Men are not the rational individuals liberalism imagines. The liberal project might still be defended on other grounds, that it produces good outcomes, that it suits modern complex societies, that the alternatives produce worse outcomes, but it loses its claim to flow from the nature of man.
Liberalism in its classical form draws strength from a picture of man as rational, autonomous, rights-bearing. Strip that picture away and liberalism becomes one tribal arrangement among others, defensible perhaps on consequentialist grounds but no longer the natural condition reason discovers when it clears away superstition. Leiter’s work, like much of liberal legal philosophy, has carried on as if the older picture still held. Mearsheimer’s challenge runs to that whole inheritance, not to Leiter alone.
Leiter’s Nietzsche should have prepared him for Mearsheimer. Nietzsche treats herd morality, tribal sentiment, the smallness of the rationalist self-image as standing themes. A Nietzschean ought to find Mearsheimer congenial. That Leiter still writes within a liberal frame suggests the frame holds him more tightly than his theoretical commitments admit. The socialization Mearsheimer describes catches even philosophers who think they have seen through it.

Watergate as Democratic Ritual & Cultural Trauma

Analytic philosophy in the second half of the twentieth century built its own civil religion. Its sacred values were rigor, argumentative transparency, technical competence, conceptual clarity, and the willingness to follow the argument where it leads. Its profane categories were sloppiness, obscurantism, posturing, ad hominem, and the substitution of literary performance for argument. The boundary between the two was patrolled by senior figures at elite departments who decided who belonged and who did not. By the 1990s the boundary had a name in Leiter’s vocabulary: the line between philosophy and what he called party tricks.
Leiter takes up this priestly office and modernizes it. The Philosophical Gourmet Report, which he founded in 1989 and ran for decades, is a ritual instrument. It publishes a ranked list of philosophy PhD programs that fixes the symbolic order of the discipline at any given moment. Departments rise and fall on the list. The list shapes who applies where, who hires whom, who reads whose work. Alexander’s category of symbolic classification fits the PGR with no translation. The list sorts the pure from the impure at the level of institutions. The blog Leiter Reports sorts at the level of individuals. Together the two instruments perform the same function the Senate hearings performed in 1973: they declare in public who stands inside the sacred order and who has been touched by pollution.
The vocabulary Leiter uses on the blog is the giveaway. Charlatan. Fraud. Crank. Hack. Pseudo-philosopher. Intellectually dishonest. Not a serious thinker. These are not analytical terms. They are ritual terms. They mark the target as belonging to the profane category, outside the sacred boundary, contaminating to anyone who treats him as a peer. Alexander’s pollution logic states the rule: contact with a polluting source transfers pollution. Leiter’s blog enforces the rule by making the contact visible. To cite the named figure approvingly, to invite him to a conference, to publish him in a respectable venue, is to risk pollution transfer. The blog’s readership consists in part of younger philosophers who treat the marks as warnings about whom to keep distance from.
The ritual function explains a feature of the blog that puzzles outsiders. The same handful of figures get attacked across many years, with no apparent argumentative escalation, no concession, no willingness to reopen the question. Alexander’s frame explains the pattern. Once a pollution mark is placed it must be maintained. To stop attacking the figure is to risk the suggestion that the contamination has cleared. The repetition is liturgical, not argumentative.
Alexander’s first question asks what the pain is. Leiter’s body of work supplies a sustained answer. The pain is the decline of philosophical standards under pressure from cultural forces hostile to argumentative rigor. The pain has several named sources. Continental philosophy as practiced by careless readers of Heidegger, Derrida, Foucault, and Lacan. Religious philosophy as practiced by figures who treat revelation as a source of philosophical authority. Pop philosophy that exchanges argument for branding. Identity-based scholarship that substitutes biographical authority for analysis. The professional philosophical community itself when it tolerates these moves to keep peace.
The pain is not vague. Leiter names it with care. Naturalizing Jurisprudence (2007) names the pain of legal theory’s drift away from empirical inquiry into adjudication. Nietzsche on Morality (2002, second edition 2015) names the pain of decades of literary Nietzsche scholarship that read him as a postmodern aestheticist. Why Tolerate Religion? (2012) names the pain of religious belief receiving epistemic deference it has not earned. Each book performs the same operation. It identifies a category that has accumulated symbolic prestige without the supporting argument, and it forces the category to face the test analytic philosophy applies to its own claims.
The discursive skills Alexander says carrier groups bring to trauma construction map onto Leiter with precision. He writes prose that argues. He uses no jargon he cannot defend. He cites primary sources. He concedes points his opponents have made. He rebuilds positions stronger than their proponents stated them before knocking them down. The skills are real and they are the conditions of his standing as a carrier-group entrepreneur. A philosopher who could not do this work could not occupy the priestly office. Leiter can, and the office runs on the fact.
The victim in Leiter’s trauma construction is layered. At the surface the victim is the discipline of philosophy, harmed by frauds who take up space that should belong to serious thinkers. Beneath that the victim is the graduate student, the prospective hire, the young scholar, who depends on the discipline being honest about who can teach him to think. Beneath that the victim is reason itself, the human capacity for following arguments where they lead, threatened by every move that substitutes authority, charisma, or moral posturing for evidence.
The escalation matters. Alexander notes that successful trauma claims widen the victim category to include audiences who would not otherwise feel implicated. Leiter does this work. A reader who has no career stake in academic philosophy can still feel implicated by the suggestion that public discourse depends on philosophical standards holding somewhere, and that if they collapse in the academy they collapse everywhere. Why Tolerate Religion? performs the widening at the level of policy. The book argues that legal regimes give religious belief a special exemption from neutral laws that no other category of belief receives, and that the exemption rests on philosophical confusion. The victim widens from the philosopher harmed by bad colleagues to the citizen harmed by laws that privilege belief categories that cannot defend themselves on neutral grounds.
The third question asks how the victim connects to a wider audience. Leiter’s blog is the answer in operational form. Leiter Reports is read by philosophers, by graduate students, by law professors, by educated readers outside the academy who have an interest in academic culture wars, and by journalists looking for quotable academic voices on philosophical disputes. The audience composition matters. It places Leiter in a position no purely academic philosopher occupies. He is read by his own discipline, by adjacent disciplines, and by an educated public, and he speaks to all three at once.
The blog’s tonal register is calibrated for this audience. He writes with sharp clarity, no in-group jargon, frequent humor, and a willingness to name names. The register makes the trauma narrative legible to readers who would not pick up Naturalizing Jurisprudence. A reader who never reads the philosophical work still receives the trauma narrative, in compressed form, several times a week. The narrative is: standards exist, they are being violated, here is who is violating them, here is what the violation costs.
Alexander’s spiral of signification runs through specific arenas. Religious arena: Leiter reaches readers who care about secularism and the place of religion in public life. Aesthetic arena: he reaches readers interested in the sociology of taste and prestige in the humanities. Legal arena: his jurisprudential work reaches law professors, judges, and law students. Scientific arena: his naturalism aligns him with a wider movement in philosophy that takes empirical findings as constraints on philosophical theory. Mass-media arena: his blog and his occasional public-facing pieces reach beyond the academy. Each arena receives a version of the trauma narrative tuned to the arena’s idiom. The carrier group of one reaches what no one carrier group could reach if the carrier worked in only one register.
The fourth question is where Leiter’s work shows its sharpest edge and its most contested moves. Alexander says responsibility attribution must be specific enough to be credible and sweeping enough to feel total. Leiter does both at once.
He names individuals. He names departments. He names institutions. He names tendencies. The named individuals form a roster maintained over years on the blog. The named departments are the ones whose ranking he believes overstates their actual contribution to the discipline. The named institutions include religious universities he holds to a different evidentiary standard than secular ones. The named tendencies include identity-based scholarship he reads as substituting moral authority for argument.
A reader who disagrees with Leiter about a particular case can still feel the structure of the claim because the claim is not vague. It is not a complaint about the academy in general. It is a complaint about specifically this person doing specifically this thing in specifically this venue. That structure is what Alexander predicts will produce durable trauma claims. Vagueness fails. Naming works.
Carrier groups that attribute responsibility specifically generate enemies who attribute responsibility back to them. The 2014 controversy over the Philosophical Gourmet Report is the case study. After Leiter sent emails to Carrie Jenkins (b. 1979), then a philosopher at the University of British Columbia, that she and many others read as harassment, the September Statement gathered signatures from senior philosophers asking him to step back from the PGR. The statement did not argue the merits of the rankings. It argued that Leiter had become a polluting figure whose continued control of the rankings would contaminate them.
The carrier-group entrepreneur of analytic philosophy’s trauma narrative became the target of a counter-trauma narrative built on his own categories. The pain was harassment. The victim was a named philosopher who carried the wider category of women in philosophy. The connection to wider audience ran through the visible pattern of Leiter’s blog conduct over years. The responsibility was attributed specifically to him. The rituals of removal followed: the open letter, the public statements, the negotiated handoff of the PGR to a co-editor structure, the eventual shift of the rankings infrastructure away from him as sole author.
The September Statement is Leiter’s Saturday Night Massacre in the Alexander frame. It is the moment where the pollution he had spent decades projecting outward attached to him at the structural center of his own ritual office. The PGR survived but it never recovered the singular authority it had possessed when Leiter alone curated it. The blog continues but its standing as the priestly office of the discipline is contested in a way it was not before 2014.
Leiter is the most prominent contemporary defender of philosophical naturalism in the broad Quinean sense, the view that philosophy answers to facts about persons and institutions and that there is no special philosophical method standing apart from empirical inquiry. The civil-religious office he occupies sits in tension with this naturalism. Civil religion treats some categories as sacred and some as profane. Naturalism treats both as objects of empirical inquiry on the same terms. The blog’s pollution marks are not naturalist findings. They are sacred boundary markers.
Leiter is sophisticated enough to feel this tension. Nietzsche on Morality contains the resources to diagnose his own practice. Nietzsche’s critique of Morality in the Pejorative Sense applies to any practice that presents contingent coalition values as universally binding sacred truths. The Leiter Reports vocabulary of charlatan, fraud, and crank is exactly the vocabulary Nietzsche would have analyzed as a status game projected as a metaphysical judgment. The carrier group of one for analytic naturalism is also the most reliable practitioner of moralized boundary-marking in the contemporary academy. The two roles do not contradict but they sit together uncomfortably, and the uncomfortable seam is where Alexander’s frame sees deepest into the work.
The intellectual has to perform the priestly office to maintain the trauma narrative. The priestly office requires sacred-profane boundary work. The naturalist commitments inside the trauma narrative undermine the boundary work the office requires. The strain is the cost of the role, and the most effective carrier groups are the ones whose intellectuals are willing to pay it.
Leiter pays it.

The Set

His circle includes several layers. In legal philosophy: Scott Shapiro (b. 1966) at Yale, Frederick Schauer (b. 1946) at Virginia, Andrei Marmor (b. 1959) at Cornell, Leslie Green (b. 1956) at Oxford, Mark Greenberg at UCLA, Liam Murphy (b. 1960) at NYU, Stephen Perry (b. 1948) at Penn, Jules Coleman (b. 1947) emeritus at Yale, Will Baude (b. 1981) at Chicago, and Sandy Levinson (b. 1941) at Texas. Behind them stand Joseph Raz (1939-2022) as elder, John Gardner (1965-2019) as the close friend whose early death was a major loss, with Ronald Dworkin (1931-2013) and H.L.A. Hart (1907-1992) as the framing figures of the field. Chicago Law colleagues: Geoffrey Stone (b. 1946), David Strauss (b. 1951), Eric Posner (b. 1965), Aziz Huq, Adam Chilton, Tom Ginsburg, Lior Strahilevitz, with Richard Posner (b. 1939) as the retired-but-present presence and Martha Nussbaum (b. 1947) at the law school as senior figure. Chicago philosophy: Robert Pippin (b. 1948), Anton Ford, Michael Forster, and Daniel Brudney. Cass Sunstein (b. 1954) at Harvard sits in adjacent orbit.

In Nietzsche studies the set is small and known to each other: Maudemarie Clark (b. 1947), Ken Gemes, Christopher Janaway, Bernard Reginster (b. 1962), John Richardson, and R. Lanier Anderson at Stanford, with Alexander Nehamas (b. 1946) as senior figure and Robert Pippin as Chicago colleague who works on Nietzsche from a different angle. In Marx studies and the analytic Marxist tradition: G.A. Cohen (1941-2009) as the founding figure, Allen Wood (b. 1942), Raymond Geuss (b. 1946), and Jonathan Wolff, with Vivek Chibber (b. 1965) at NYU as the generationally younger figure Leiter has engaged. Schopenhauer scholarship: Christopher Janaway, David Cartwright, Julian Young (b. 1949), and Bernard Reginster again.

Analytic philosophy more broadly. Leiter cites and engages: Peter Railton at Michigan on moral naturalism, Elizabeth Anderson at Michigan, Stephen Darwall (b. 1946) at Yale on ethics, Daniel Dennett (1942-2024) as model naturalist, Philip Kitcher (b. 1947) at Columbia, Susan Haack (b. 1945) at Miami, Bernard Williams (1929-2003) as the philosopher whose moral psychology and historical sensibility Leiter most respects, Thomas Nagel (b. 1937), Frank Jackson (b. 1943), David Chalmers (b. 1966), Tim Williamson (b. 1955), Saul Kripke (1940-2022) and Hilary Putnam (1926-2016) as ancestors, John Searle (b. 1932), Jerry Fodor (1935-2017) before his death, and Kwame Anthony Appiah (b. 1954) at NYU in a more complicated relationship. In philosophy of religion done atheistically: Graham Oppy (b. 1960), Paul Draper, and J.L. Schellenberg. Alvin Plantinga (b. 1932), Richard Swinburne (b. 1934), Edward Feser (b. 1968), and the broader Catholic and Reformed analytic philosophy of religion stand as polemical opponents whom Leiter has called out by name. The New Atheist authors: Richard Dawkins (b. 1941), Christopher Hitchens (1949-2011), Sam Harris, A.C. Grayling (b. 1949), and Dennett again. Massimo Pigliucci (b. 1964) sits adjacent.

In academic-freedom and free-speech advocacy: Geoffrey Stone, Keith Whittington (b. 1968), Robert Post (b. 1947), Steven Pinker, with FIRE as institutional ally. Leiter has engaged Jason Stanley (b. 1969) and Kate Manne (b. 1983) as antagonists within the philosophy profession on questions of identity, propaganda, and trans rights. He has supported philosophers including Rebecca Tuvel, Kathleen Stock (b. 1972), and others who have faced professional pressure for heterodox views.

In the philosophy blogosphere and adjacent commentary: Justin Weinberg at Daily Nous as sometime competitor, Eric Schwitzgebel at The Splintered Mind, Daniel Kaufman at The Electric Agora, John Pittard, Helen De Cruz, and Kelly Truelove running PhilPapers analytics. The ancestral figures Leiter draws on: Karl Marx (1818-1883), Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900), Sigmund Freud (1856-1939), Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860), David Hume (1711-1776), W.V.O. Quine (1908-2000), Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. (1841-1935), Louis Brandeis (1856-1941), and Richard Rorty (1931-2007) as graduate-school influence even where Leiter dissents.

What they value.

Truth as the proper aim of philosophical inquiry. The set rejects the idea that philosophy is at root about edification, self-cultivation, or rhetorical performance. Philosophy aims at getting things right. This sounds banal until one sees how much of contemporary academic discourse the set takes to have abandoned the goal.

Naturalism as methodological commitment. Philosophy should be continuous with the empirical sciences. Mind is brain. Free will compatibilist or eliminativist depending on the figure. No supernatural realm. No Cartesian soul. No moral facts floating free of psychology and biology. The set holds that naturalism has won most of the methodological war within analytic philosophy and remains the right basis for further work.

Analytic rigor. Clarity of argument. Distinctions made and held. Premises stated, conclusions derived. The set sees this as the discipline’s hard-won achievement after the early-twentieth-century turn from Hegelian and idealist obscurity.

Academic freedom as foundational to the university. The Chicago Statement on Free Expression of 2014, chaired by Geoffrey Stone, is the set’s institutional standard. The set takes current pressures from administrators, students, and politically organized colleagues as the central threat to the university’s function.

A pessimism about human nature and politics. The set reads Nietzsche, Marx, Freud, and Schopenhauer as having seen something true about the human animal that Enlightenment optimism missed. People are not rational. Democratic politics rewards demagogues. Religion does not retreat. It reformulates. Capitalism produces ideology that obscures domination. None of this counsels despair. It counsels honest description.

Critique of religion as intellectual rather than emotional position. Why Tolerate Religion? (2013) argues that religious belief deserves no special legal accommodation beyond what conscience generally would receive. The set takes religion as a natural human phenomenon to be understood through evolutionary, psychological, and sociological inquiry, not as a domain of revealed truth.

Disciplinary standards. The set holds that some work is better than other work, some philosophers better than others, some departments better than others, and that pretending otherwise serves the worse. The Philosophical Gourmet Report institutionalized this view, and the controversies around it have not changed Leiter’s position on the underlying point.

Their hero system.

The four masters of suspicion. Nietzsche above all. Marx as critic of capitalism and ideology. Freud as theorist of unconscious motivation. Schopenhauer as the great pessimist whose moral psychology Leiter takes as deeper than Kant’s. The set works on these figures with analytic tools against the Continental tradition’s tendency to treat them as authorities to be channeled rather than philosophers to be examined.

Hume as the modern ancestor. Skeptical, naturalist, attentive to psychology, allergic to metaphysical excess. The set reads its own work as continuing Hume’s project.

Quine as the analytic anchor. “Two Dogmas of Empiricism” (1951) and Word and Object (1960) provide the framework for the set’s naturalist program. The collapse of the analytic-synthetic distinction and the holistic theory of confirmation, the set takes as settled.

H.L.A. Hart as the founder of modern legal philosophy. The Concept of Law (1961) is the canonical text. The set works within and against Hart’s framework, defends his positivism against Dworkin’s interpretivism, and treats Hart’s clarity as the model for the field.

Joseph Raz as the great teacher and elder. His work on practical reason, authority, and the nature of law is canonical for the set. His death in 2022 was a major event. The festschrifts circulate.

Bernard Williams as the philosopher of the second-best. His work on integrity, on the limits of moral theory, on truth and truthfulness, on the historical understanding of philosophical problems, the set honors across its breadth despite his not being naturalist enough for some. Truth and Truthfulness: An Essay in Genealogy (2002) functions as touchstone.

Daniel Dennett as model living philosopher until his death in 2024. Naturalist, clear, willing to engage with science, willing to take strong positions, willing to be a public intellectual. Leiter eulogized him.

The free-speech tradition in American law. Justice Holmes’s dissent in Abrams v. United States. Brandeis’s concurrence in Whitney v. California. The post-1960s First Amendment doctrine. Geoffrey Stone’s scholarship. The set takes this tradition as a hard-won achievement against authority of all kinds.

Status games.

The PGR ranking of your department. Top tier (NYU, Rutgers, Princeton, Harvard, MIT, Michigan, Yale, Pittsburgh, Stanford, Oxford). Second tier. The long tail. The set knows where everyone sits. Job candidates know. Search committees know. Leiter’s blog publishes news that affects rankings, and the rankings affect hiring, and hiring affects the field. The system has critics but the underlying ordering persists.

Publications in top journals. Philosophical Review. Noûs. Journal of Philosophy. Mind. Ethics. For legal philosophy: Legal Theory, Oxford Journal of Legal Studies, and Law and Philosophy. For Nietzsche: Journal of Nietzsche Studies and Inquiry. The set tracks who publishes where.

Books at Oxford University Press, Cambridge University Press, Harvard University Press, and Princeton University Press. Routledge for certain books. The set notices which press picked up the manuscript.

Named chairs. Leiter’s Karl N. Llewellyn chair carries weight. The various Oxford named chairs. The Princeton McCosh Professorship. The Hart chair when it has been held. The set recognizes the chairs as markers of position.

Invited lectures. The John Locke Lectures at Oxford. The Carus Lectures at the American Philosophical Association. The Tanner Lectures. The Berkeley Townsend Lectures. The Chicago Brown Lectures.

Editorship roles. The Oxford Studies series. Cambridge Companions and Cambridge Critical Guides. Major handbooks. Leiter edited The Oxford Handbook of Continental Philosophy (2007), founded the Routledge Philosophers series, and edits Oxford Studies in Philosophy of Law. He edited the journal Legal Theory from 2000 to 2008. Editorial position confers and signals position.

The blog. Leiter Reports has been an unusual source of status for two decades. Being mentioned, being linked, being defended, being attacked. The blog’s announcements of job moves, deaths, and departmental crises function as the trade press of the field. Justin Weinberg’s Daily Nous now competes, but Leiter Reports keeps particular weight in legal philosophy and among older readers.

Disciplinary feuds and their outcome. Leiter has feuded over decades: with Carlin Romano over a hostile review of Leiter’s anthology on Continental philosophy in 2008; with Edward Feser and various Catholic philosophers over religion; with Carrie Jenkins in the controversy that led to his stepping down from the PGR in 2014; with various Twitter-era interlocutors; with Christia Mercer over the September Statement. Surviving these feuds and continuing to publish at high level confers a status the set understands.

Distance from certain currents. Postmodernism. Hermeneutic Continental philosophy of the heavier sort. Standpoint epistemology as deployed in much current discourse. The wing of trans-rights philosophy that takes the metaphysical questions as settled by political commitment. The set scores members on how clear they have made their distance from these currents while remaining within the liberal-left political space the set inhabits.

Normative claims.

Philosophy should aim at truth, and the institutions of academic philosophy exist to support that aim. Departments, journals, conferences, and rankings serve truth-seeking when they work and undermine it when they fail. Reform should preserve the function.

Naturalism is the correct methodological commitment for philosophy. The supernatural is not a serious explanatory option for any phenomenon. Theistic philosophy is not philosophy of the same kind as the rest of analytic work, in the set’s view, even when conducted with analytic tools.

Religion deserves no special legal accommodation. Conscience deserves protection. Religion is a species of conscience. The legal regime that privileges religious belief over other deeply held convictions has no defense.

Academic freedom requires tolerance of unpopular views, including views the holder’s colleagues find offensive. The university serves no function if it enforces the orthodoxy of the moment.

Marx is correct in the main about capitalism. Class relations are real, ideology obscures them, the workers do not own what they produce. The set divides on what follows politically, with some closer to social-democratic positions and some more revolutionary in their reading, but the diagnostic frame is shared.

Nietzsche is correct in the main about morality. The Christian moral inheritance rests on a particular psychology no longer credible. The values it elevates are not the values a free spirit would choose. The set takes the slave-morality critique as sound at its core, though the set debates how to interpret it and what to do with it politically.

Hard truths are preferable to comforting illusions. This is the closing claim Leiter often makes. The set takes intellectual courage as a virtue and treats those who soften their conclusions for political or social comfort as falling short.

Essentialist claims.

Truth is a real property and propositions either have it or do not. The pragmatist and post-truth alternatives fail. Philosophy can make progress because some claims are correct and others mistaken.

Naturalism is true. The world consists of natural processes describable in scientific terms. There is no separate realm of mind, value, or divinity that escapes natural description.

Human psychology has identifiable features that cross cultures and history. Drives, motivations, self-deception, the will to power in some Nietzschean sense, the unconscious in some Freudian sense. The set takes this as the foundation for a realistic moral and political theory.

Class relations have an objective character. The Marxist analytical apparatus, freed from its more questionable empirical predictions, captures real features of capitalist societies. The set takes the diagnosis as more secure than any particular prescription drawn from it.

Religion is a natural phenomenon. Anthropology, psychology, evolutionary biology, and sociology explain it without remainder. The set accounts for its persistence without reference to supernatural reality.

Some philosophical work is better than other philosophical work. This is the controversial claim the PGR institutionalized and that critics have attacked as elitist or biased. The set holds that quality is real in philosophy as in mathematics or physics, even where the markers are harder to identify, and that pretending otherwise serves the worse work.

Free expression serves truth-discovery as a matter of how minds work. Mill’s argument in On Liberty (1859) is sound. The remedy for bad speech is more speech, not suppression, because suppression cuts off the procedure by which truth gets identified.

An essentialism about sex and gender. Some members of the set, including Leiter, have argued that sex is a biological category and that certain claims about gender identity require philosophical examination rather than acceptance on authority. The set divides on how to phrase the point in public and on which philosophers to defend when they make it. The internal disagreement runs along a recognizable line.

A counter-essentialism about the contemporary humanities. The set holds that much of what passes for humanistic scholarship outside philosophy and a few related fields has lost contact with the standards that distinguish good work from bad. Literature departments, certain area-studies departments, and gender studies in particular get singled out as having abandoned disciplinary self-discipline. The set holds this claim with confidence it takes as well-supported and that critics outside the set take as unsupported and self-serving.

The members of the set know they belong to it. They publish in each each other’s journals. They serve on each other’s tenure committees. They write each other’s letters of recommendation. They attend each other’s conferences. They eulogize each other when the deaths come. They defend each other when the attacks come. They believe philosophy is the most important academic discipline. They believe analytic philosophy did serious work in the twentieth century. They believe their methodological commitments are correct and that current pressures on the academy threaten the conditions for that work to continue. They take their work as part of a project worth defending, and they expect the long view of history to favor the methods they have practiced over the alternatives competing for ground today.

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The Problem of the Problem: Lawrence McEnerney and the Hidden Curriculum of Expert Writing

Lawrence McEnerney spent four decades teaching writing at the University of Chicago. That description undersells him. What he built, and what he taught, was a theory of how knowledge communities work.
He came to Chicago in 1978 as a PhD student in English, with a B.A. from William & Mary in English and History. He expected to become a literary scholar. He discovered he had no taste for it. He later put the diagnosis bluntly: he was bad at scholarship because he did not like literature.
Joseph Williams rescued him. Williams, already a figure in composition studies, read McEnerney’s prelim and found the writing disappointing. He brought McEnerney into the small group rethinking how writing should be taught. In 1978 and 1979, along with Gregory Colomb, Williams hired twelve graduate students to teach a new kind of seminar. That seminar became the Little Red Schoolhouse.
The Little Red Schoolhouse targets advanced writers. Faculty, graduate students, working professionals. Not freshmen. The distinction matters. The American writing tradition McEnerney entered treated writing as remediation. The Strunk and White line held that good writing means clear sentences, short paragraphs, cut adverbs, avoid passive voice. Those rules work on novices. They do little for people who already produce clean sentences and still cannot get read.
McEnerney’s first move cut against the tradition. He stopped treating the sentence as the unit of analysis. He replaced it with the community of readers.
A piece of writing does not succeed or fail on its own terms. It succeeds when a specific audience finds value in it. That audience already knows a great deal. It holds commitments. It has blind spots. A writer who ignores any of this produces work that reads fine on the page and falls flat in the room.
From this starting point came his signature idea: the problem of the problem.
Answers, he teaches, are cheap. Any trained researcher can produce them. What runs scarce is the recognized problem. A problem counts as a problem only when a community of readers agrees that something puzzles them, that a gap exists, and that the gap bears on their ongoing work. That agreement does not form by itself. A writer has to construct it.
His method reverses the usual order. Most writers start with what they want to say. McEnerney teaches them to start with what the reader already believes, then locate the point where those beliefs strain. That strain is the opening. The paper then offers a resolution.
Get that step wrong and nothing else rescues the piece. You can have elegant prose, sound data, a sharp argument. If the reader does not see a problem worth solving, the reader stops reading.
This explains why so much academic writing dies on submission. Graduate students learn to produce answers long before they learn to produce questions that a field recognizes. Their papers hold together internally and fail externally. McEnerney’s training reorders the priority. First establish the problem in the reader’s mind. Only then offer the solution.
The Little Red Schoolhouse runs as ENGL 13000/33000. It serves more than 2,000 Chicago affiliates a year. It supports the Humanities Core, trains graduate student instructors, and provides advanced writing support across disciplines. It sits inside the Writing Program, which McEnerney led from 1992 until his retirement in 2020.
He joined the Writing Program formally in 1987, after a brief detour into his family’s electronics business, Pioneer Electric and Research Corporation, which his father ran. He took over as director in 1992 and stayed for almost thirty years. The program grew through that period from a small operation into a central piece of the Chicago undergraduate experience.
His wife Cathe served with him as resident dean of Renee Granville-Grossman Residential Commons East from 2009 through 2020. She is a textile artist, a stitcher, a former president of the American Needlepoint Guild. They ran weekly teas and the annual deans’ scavenger hunt. He taught in the Humanities and Social Sciences Core. In the 2010s he added courses on presidential rhetoric.
The presidential rhetoric interest shows what McEnerney hears in speech. He reads Lincoln and Reagan and Obama as performers of his core lesson, scaled up to the level of a nation. Lincoln at Gettysburg redefines the war. The audience arrives thinking the question is whether the Union can hold together. Lincoln hands them a different question: whether a nation conceived in liberty can endure. That substitution reorganizes the stakes. It reorders what the listener will accept.
The Second Inaugural does similar work. Reagan performs the same move in the economic register, reframing stagnation as a crisis of government overreach. Obama performs it in the register of shared identity, reframing division as a failure to realize common ideals. In each case the rhetorical move precedes the policy move. Define the problem and the rest follows.
His 2014 lecture, “The Craft of Writing Effectively,” has millions of views. It spread because it names something knowledge workers feel but cannot express. They follow the rules. They write clean sentences. Their work still falls flat. McEnerney tells them why. The writing does not fail for lack of clarity. It fails because it solves the wrong problem for the wrong reader.
The message lands hard on smart people. Most of them received rewards through their schooling for producing correct work. They assume correctness produces value. He tells them correctness is the entry ticket, not the prize. Past the ticket, the work goes social. You have to know what your reader already takes for granted and where their assumptions go soft.
His consulting career grows from the same insight. Grant reviewers are experts drowning in proposals. They cannot read everything with care. They triage. A proposal that fails to frame a problem the reviewer already recognizes as urgent and tractable gets cut in the first pass. McEnerney works with funding agencies, research institutes, journals, and individual scientists to teach them how not to get cut. The method travels because the situation repeats wherever expert readers select under time pressure.
He co-authored books with Williams, Writing in the Humanities in 1997 and Writing in College in 2007. He published The Problem of the Problem in 2013 and Hard Copy in 1994. He received the Llewellyn John and Harriet Manchester Quantrell Award for Excellence in Undergraduate Teaching in 1997. He retired in 2020 as director emeritus and continues to consult and lecture.
His framework has limits worth naming.
The first limit sits inside the method. A writer who over-indexes on audience expectations risks producing only work that fits the paradigms already in place. Unsettling ideas often fail because no existing community recognizes them as answers to any current question. Copernicus and Darwin did not start inside a recognized problem space. They created one. A strict reader-first discipline can crowd out the kind of work that reshapes a field rather than extending it.
The second limit sits on the ethical side. A method optimized for effect with a given audience can serve truth or serve deception with equal efficiency. McEnerney teaches how to move a reader. He does not tell you where to move the reader. A polished grant application and a polished propaganda pamphlet can follow the same logic. The method rules out neither. That neutrality is a feature for a teacher. It becomes a problem once you step outside the classroom and ask what the trained writers produce.
The third limit has to do with who gets to learn this. The Little Red Schoolhouse runs at the University of Chicago. Its graduates fan out into the professions and the academy carrying tacit codes most outsiders never encounter. The program does not create the gap between trained insiders and untrained outsiders. It widens it. Someone who has taken the course reads a research paper, a policy memo, or a grant application and sees the architecture beneath the prose. Someone who has not looks at the same page and sees only the words. That difference tracks access to elite institutions more than it tracks any native gift.
McEnerney’s work reads as prose instruction on the surface. Underneath he teaches a theory of how knowledge moves through communities of experts. Writing, in his account, is a social act. It lives inside networks of belief, expectation, and selection. The writer who ignores those networks writes into the void. The writer who reads them can produce change. He spent forty years teaching people to see those networks and move through them. His students, his readers, and his viewers continue the work.

Alliance Theory

Larry McEnerney’s core insight, that writing succeeds when an audience recognizes the problem as worth solving, describes the mechanism Pinsof identifies without using Pinsof’s vocabulary. McEnerney teaches coalition-aware writing without calling it coalition-aware writing. His description of how writing works is compatible with the Alliance Theory description of how coalitions work, because expert communities that select submissions are coalitions in Pinsof’s sense. The match between the two frameworks makes McEnerney both interesting to analyze and analytically useful as an entry point into the larger project of understanding who decides what counts as knowledge.

The coalition McEnerney serves is not the coalition most readers of his YouTube lecture would identify. He appears to serve writers in general. He appears to offer practical advice that travels across fields. The appearance is partly accurate. His advice does travel. But the coalition his work most directly served for forty years was the University of Chicago’s institutional project. Chicago is a particular kind of American university with a particular kind of institutional self-understanding. It prides itself on rigorous argumentation, open debate, contrarian positions taken seriously, a distinctive intellectual style. The Little Red Schoolhouse was built inside this institutional culture and was designed to produce graduates who could succeed in the expert communities the university’s graduates tend to enter: the American academic profession across disciplines, senior policy and analytic positions in government, the upper tiers of consulting and finance, and the broader class of knowledge workers who operate in environments where expert reader selection determines professional success.
The coalition Chicago’s graduates enter is not monolithic. It is a cluster of expert coalitions that share features: reliance on credentialed evaluation, selection by peer review or its functional equivalents, operation under time pressure that forces quick judgments about what merits attention, and distribution of authority through invitation, citation, and amplification rather than through formal voting. These coalitions exist in academic fields, in think tanks, in foundations, in journalism, in consulting, and in corners of finance and tech where analytic writing matters. McEnerney’s method teaches writers how to succeed inside these coalitions. The method is neutral between coalitions in the sense that it can be applied to any coalition’s expectations. It is not neutral between the world of expert coalitions and the world outside them. It is tuned to help writers operate inside the former.
Pinsof’s four criteria describe McEnerney’s own position and the broader formation he served.
Similarity operates through markers of the expert-community style he teaches and inhabits. Fluency in the forms that mark academic and professional writing as serious. Comfort with indirect argumentative moves. Familiarity with the social pressures that shape how experts read. Command of the vocabulary that signals membership in the writing-instruction subfield: composition studies, rhetorical situation, discourse community, genre. McEnerney displays these markers. His colleagues in the Writing Program displayed them. His students learn to display them. The display is what coalition recognition requires.
Transitivity clusters him with allies. Joseph Williams, his mentor and co-author, whose work on clarity and style became standard across the field. Gregory Colomb, the other senior figure in the Chicago writing program who co-built the Little Red Schoolhouse. The broader composition studies community that sustains journals, conferences, and graduate programs in the discipline. The consulting network he developed through his work with funding agencies and research institutes. The cluster has rivals: the Strunk and White tradition that McEnerney positioned against, the broader remediation-oriented writing instruction that treats writing as grammar and sentence mechanics, the creative writing world that operates on different premises, and the literary studies establishment McEnerney walked away from when he realized he did not like literature.
Interdependence ran through the Chicago institutional structure during his career. He directed the Writing Program. The program served the university’s broader institutional needs. The university supported the program because it produced graduates the university wanted to produce. He received in return the directorship, the resident dean appointment shared with his wife, the Quantrell Award, the platform his university affiliation provided, and the career Chicago permits a non-tenure-track figure who serves central institutional functions. The interdependence was not the standard tenure-line reciprocity. It was a different form Chicago has specialized in: the senior non-tenure-track figure who becomes institutionally central despite operating outside the normal academic career path. McEnerney’s career took this shape because Chicago had this slot. Had he tried to build a similar career at most other elite universities, the slot might not have existed.
Stochasticity applies in particular ways. Williams’s decision to hire twelve graduate students into the new seminar in 1978 was a contingent choice that could have gone differently. McEnerney’s inclusion among the twelve reflected Williams’s judgment. His subsequent career depended on the Little Red Schoolhouse surviving and thriving, which depended on institutional support that could have been withdrawn. His framework became his own through the teaching and collaboration his position permitted. A different institutional history might have produced a different framework or no framework at all.
The three propagandistic biases run through McEnerney’s work in identifiable ways, though the operation is subtler than in writers doing more obviously coalition-serving work.
Perpetrator biases protect the tradition of expert-community writing instruction the Chicago program built. When the framework faces critics from rival traditions (more radical composition theorists, linguists who emphasize descriptive grammar, critical theorists who focus on writing’s ideological functions), McEnerney’s treatment frames the critics as missing what the method does. When the framework faces empirical questions about whether its claims about reader selection accurately describe how expert readers read, those questions receive less engagement than they might in a research program committed to empirical testing. The framework operates as teaching tradition rather than as falsifiable theory. The operating choice is defensible pedagogically. It also protects the framework from the kinds of empirical challenges that might revise it substantively.
The bias also protects McEnerney from self-audit on the limits of his approach. The three limits he acknowledges (that the method favors paradigm-fitting over paradigm-breaking work, that it is ethically neutral between truth and deception, that it widens the gap between trained insiders and untrained outsiders) are real limits he names explicitly. The self-audit is more honest than most coalition figures perform. What the self-audit does not fully address is how his method’s institutional success has shaped what counts as good expert writing across the professions his graduates entered. The method has become partly constitutive of the writing expert communities now expect. This is not a defect on McEnerney’s part. It reflects the success of the coalition his work served. But the success is a coalition outcome that his self-audit does not fully engage.
Victim biases operate in a mild register. The writing-instruction field generally narrates itself as marginalized within English departments that favor literary scholarship over composition, underfunded relative to its importance, and undervalued by colleagues who view the field as service work. McEnerney’s own career trajectory included his move away from literary scholarship when he recognized he did not love literature, which parallels the field’s broader positioning as the serious alternative to literary studies. The narrative points at real phenomena. Composition is often marginalized within English departments. Writing instruction is often underfunded. The field’s self-description exceeds the evidence in ways that serve mobilization of support, which is what Pinsof predicts victim narratives to do. The mildness of the deployment in McEnerney’s case reflects the comfortable position the Chicago program achieved, which made strong victim narratives unnecessary.
Attributional biases govern how the framework treats successful and unsuccessful writing. Writing that succeeds with expert readers gets internal attributions when it follows McEnerney’s principles: the writer understood the rhetorical situation, the writer built the problem properly, the writer respected the reader’s beliefs and commitments. Writing that fails gets external attributions when it violates the principles: the writer did not understand the expert community, the writer assumed correctness sufficed, the writer solved the wrong problem. The attribution pattern serves the framework by making its predictions appear verified whenever they hold and by externalizing counter-cases to the writer’s failure to apply the method correctly. The asymmetry is not deliberate deception. It is standard pedagogical framing. It also produces a method that cannot easily be falsified by its own failures, which is a coalition-rational property for a teaching tradition.
The strange bedfellows inside the coalition McEnerney’s method serves deserve attention. The method equally serves grant writers producing coalition-useful scientific proposals, policy analysts producing coalition-useful briefs, academics producing coalition-useful journal submissions, consultants producing coalition-useful reports, and categories of propagandist producing coalition-useful persuasive material. McEnerney acknowledges this neutrality explicitly. The acknowledgment is honest. It also understates the composition of the actual coalition the method has built. The trained writers using his method populate institutional ecosystems: academic coalitions that compete for grants, foundation coalitions that compete for attention, policy coalitions that compete for influence, and corporate and political formations that compete for resources. The trained writers serve these coalitions. Their training makes them more effective coalition members. The method’s success at producing effective coalition members is a feature the method’s originators did not fully reckon with, because reckoning with it might require treating the method as partly a coalition-reproduction engine rather than purely a skill-transmission engine.
His legacy depends on the method’s continued respect inside the communities that teach and use it. His consulting income depends on continued demand for his framework. His speaking invitations depend on the framework’s continued authority. These are lower-stakes than a tenure line or an institutional directorship, but they are not zero. A McEnerney who publicly revised the framework substantially, or who acknowledged that the method has institutional effects the self-audit does not fully engage, might damage the legacy position that makes his retirement meaningful. He has not made such acknowledgments. The absence is coalition-rational in the mild register appropriate to his current position.
The truths McEnerney cannot say, which the framework makes available, include several worth naming. He does not say that the method’s ethical neutrality is not just a feature but a problem for a society in which expert coalitions shape outcomes that affect people who will never learn the method. He does not say that the method’s success has helped build the professional-managerial class whose operation generates many of the pathologies the class’s graduates then purport to analyze. He does not say that the method’s widening of the insider-outsider gap has contributed to the populist backlashes against expert institutions that have characterized the last decade of American political life. He does not say that his framework might be partly responsible for the style of expert writing that has made expert writing increasingly untrustworthy to readers outside expert communities, because the framework optimizes for effectiveness within expert communities regardless of how the writing appears from outside. These are the costly truths the framework permits but the coalition position discourages. Writers do not tell them. McEnerney does not tell them.
McEnerney built his framework during a period when expert institutions in America were still largely trusted by the broader public. The framework was developed inside this context and reflects it. The method assumes that teaching writers to succeed within expert communities is unambiguously good for writers and largely good for society. The assumption made sense in 1978. It makes less straightforward sense in 2026, after several decades in which expert institutions have lost substantial public trust, in significant part because the writing those institutions produce has seemed to broader publics to obscure rather than clarify, to protect institutional interests rather than to inform citizens, and to license coalition positions as neutral expertise. The method contributed to this pattern without intending to. McEnerney’s self-audit does not address the generational shift in public trust, because the shift post-dates the framework’s formation and because addressing it might require revisions the coalition supporting the framework might resist.
The Trivers self-deception finding applies in a particular form. McEnerney probably experiences his framework as teaching writers to do good work that serves readers by respecting them. The experience is partially accurate. The framework does teach writers to respect reader time, attention, and prior beliefs. It also teaches writers to work inside expert-coalition expectations in ways that reinforce those coalitions’ authority and reproduce those coalitions’ members. Both descriptions are true simultaneously. The framework insists on holding both. McEnerney’s sincerity is the condition under which his coalition work has been most effective. A McEnerney who consciously taught coalition reproduction might have been less effective at coalition reproduction. The sincerity is the coalition asset.
The comparison with counterparts in adjacent traditions is instructive. Steven Pinker’s writing instruction work, particularly The Sense of Style, serves a different but overlapping coalition: the science-public-intellectual formation analyzed earlier in relation to Paul Bloom. Pinker’s method emphasizes clarity and reader accommodation in ways compatible with McEnerney’s but with different emphases. Strunk and White’s tradition, which McEnerney positioned against, served a different coalition: the mass-literacy, standard-English formation that dominated American writing instruction for most of the twentieth century. More radical composition theorists like Peter Elbow and Patricia Bizzell have served coalitions oriented toward voice, process, and critical engagement with institutional writing norms. Each tradition produces its senior figures whose work serves coalition positions while claiming general applicability. McEnerney’s framework is not uniquely coalition-shaped. It is shaped by its coalition in ways the framework insists on noticing.
That McEnerney’s 2014 lecture has millions of views on YouTube is a data point the framework can read. The lecture reaches beyond expert communities into the broader audience of knowledge workers, aspiring academics, writers at various career stages, and categories of people trying to understand how professional communication works. The reach reflects the lecture’s quality. It also reflects the structure of current information ecology, in which expert-community training materials can escape their original institutional contexts and circulate widely. The escape has effects McEnerney could not have predicted when he developed the framework. It democratizes access to the method somewhat, which the framework predicts might reduce the insider-outsider gap he identified as one of the method’s costs. It also exposes the method to broader criticism, which the framework predicts might generate pressures toward revision the coalition supporting the method has resisted.
The way the lecture has become a cultural artifact deserves brief attention. It has become, in internet-intellectual spaces, something like a rite of passage for people trying to understand how knowledge communities work. It is recommended by mentors, posted on professional-development blogs, cited in self-improvement contexts, and treated as revelation by audiences who feel the lecture is telling them something their formal education did not. The elevated status reflects the lecture’s quality. It also reflects a coalition need: the expanding class of aspiring knowledge workers who want to understand expert-community forces without going through the Little Red Schoolhouse directly. The lecture serves this need. Its service is coalition-rational for the populations that circulate it. The framework reads this pattern and names it.
McEnerney represents the type of senior teacher whose institutional position becomes generative of a framework that shapes a wider field. The type is not common. It requires institutional conditions that permit deep, sustained teaching to function as research, career-long mentorship to produce cumulative methodological development, and the platform that lets the accumulated insight reach beyond the originating institution. Chicago provided these conditions. McEnerney occupied the position. The framework emerged from the combination. Replicating the combination at most American universities might be difficult because the institutional slot McEnerney filled exists at few places. The framework’s cultural reach has partly substituted for the institutional replication by making the insight available without the apprenticeship.

McEnerney Under Hugo Mercier and John M. Doris

Mercier’s proportionality principle produces observations about what McEnerney’s framework gets right and where it applies.
Take McEnerney’s central observation. Writers who produce technically clean prose still fail to reach expert readers. The failure is not at the sentence level. It is at the level of connection to reader stakes. A paper that does not engage a problem the reader recognizes as her problem receives no sustained engagement, regardless of how well the sentences are constructed.
Mercier’s framework explains this precisely. Expert readers run vigilance in proportion to stakes. A reader without stakes in a problem does not deploy the operational attention that might let the paper succeed. The paper is not rejected through careful evaluation. It is filtered out at the preliminary stage where the reader decides whether substantive engagement is worth the cognitive cost. McEnerney identified this pattern and built practical training around it before Mercier formalized the underlying cognitive mechanism. The practical method works because it addresses the stakes problem that Mercier’s framework identifies as the actual problem.
McEnerney’s reader-first discipline operates through a move. Start with what the reader already believes. Locate the point where those beliefs strain. Offer a resolution at that strain. This is a precise application of what the proportionality principle might recommend. Readers have existing belief structures that produce the operational commitments their vigilance defends. Those structures contain strains where existing commitments do not fully cohere or explain phenomena the community has noticed. The strain is already producing low-level cognitive disturbance. Locating the strain gives the writer access to existing operational vigilance because the strain is already engaging the reader’s attention.
A paper that addresses a recognized strain offers to relieve a cognitive burden the reader has been carrying. Vigilance engages because the offered resolution connects to existing operational concerns. A paper that presents new information not connected to any existing strain offers to add cognitive load rather than relieve it. Vigilance does not engage because the stakes are not present. McEnerney’s method produces the connection that vigilance requires.
This is what Mercier’s framework endorses about McEnerney’s approach. The method works with the cognitive equipment readers deploy rather than against it. It is not manipulation of inattentive readers. It is successful communication with highly vigilant readers by meeting them where their vigilance is operating.
Take McEnerney’s application to grant writing. Grant reviewers operate under situational pressures. They read many proposals under time constraints. They cannot substantively engage every submission. They must triage. The triage depends on surface cues that predict which proposals might be substantively worth engaging.
Mercier’s framework specifies what this situation produces. Reviewers running operational vigilance under time constraints develop efficient filtering. The filtering uses surface features that correlate with substantive quality. A proposal that frames a recognized problem and offers a tractable resolution signals through surface features that its substance is likely to be worth engaging. A proposal that does not produce these signals gets filtered out before substantive evaluation, because the reviewer’s situation does not permit substantive engagement with every submission.
McEnerney’s training teaches writers to produce the surface cues that predict substantive quality. This is not teaching writers to deceive reviewers about weak substance. It is teaching writers with good research to produce the surface signals that reviewers have learned to use as proxies for substance. The distinction matters because critics sometimes suggest McEnerney’s method teaches rhetorical manipulation. The framework clarifies that the method teaches effective communication of quality to readers whose situations require efficient surface-level discrimination.
This applies to academic publishing, conference submissions, hiring materials, and any other context where expert readers must allocate limited substantive attention among many submissions. The proportionality principle predicts that surface cue filtering might operate in any such context, and the McEnerney method addresses the filtering reality that readers face.
Take the limitations McEnerney’s own framework acknowledges. The method works for writers whose work fits within existing paradigms. It does not work for writers whose work creates new paradigms, because new paradigms do not connect to existing stakes. Copernicus and Darwin could not use McEnerney’s method because the readers they needed to reach did not yet have the stakes structures that the method requires.
Mercier’s framework specifies why this limitation is real. Shifting readers from existing stakes to new stakes is a much harder cognitive operation than meeting readers at existing stakes. The existing stakes defend themselves through operational vigilance that resists restructuring. The new stakes have no existing defenders. The readers who might need to accept the new stakes must be persuaded to run vigilance on something they do not currently run vigilance on. The persuasion operation is not the same as the one McEnerney’s method teaches, and it requires different cognitive mechanisms that the method does not address.
This limitation is narrower than it might appear. Most academic and professional writing does not attempt paradigm creation. Most writing contributes to existing problem spaces and needs the method McEnerney teaches. The paradigm-creating cases are rare, and writers attempting them face problems the method does not address. But the vast majority of actual writing tasks are ones the method handles, and the method’s limitation on the rare cases does not reduce its value for the common cases.
Take Doris’s contribution. McEnerney’s method teaches writers to imagine their readers concretely, which includes imagining the situations in which readers might encounter the material. Doris’s framework specifies that these situations produce the reading behaviors more than stable reader characters do. A grant reviewer in review mode behaves differently than the same reviewer reading a colleague’s paper over coffee. A journal editor under deadline pressure behaves differently than the same editor at a leisurely pace. A tenure committee member reviewing a file behaves differently than the same philosopher reading the same work as an outside reader.
This is implicit in McEnerney’s method but can be made more explicit through Doris. The writer must understand which situation might produce the reading. The situation imposes constraints that override what the writer might want the reader to do. A paper that might succeed with a particular reader in a relaxed reading situation might fail with the same reader in a triage reading situation. The writer who does not specify the situation cannot design the paper for the situation, and situation-mismatched papers fail regardless of substantive quality.
McEnerney’s training generally conveys this implicitly through the instruction to imagine readers concretely. Doris’s framework makes the situational dimension explicit. Both frameworks point in the same direction, but Doris adds rigor about why imagining the situation matters.
Take the ethical question McEnerney’s method raises. A method optimized for effect can serve truth or deception with comparable efficiency. The method teaches how to move readers but does not tell writers where to move them.
Mercier’s framework addresses this concern more than surface reading suggests. Expert readers are not easy to deceive through the techniques McEnerney teaches. Their vigilance runs hard precisely because their stakes are engaged. A writer who tries to manipulate expert readers with the method faces the readers’ operational vigilance, which is calibrated to detect the manipulations the field has encountered. Expert readers have seen the rhetorical moves before and have built up defenses against the misuse of moves they recognize.
The ethical neutrality concern applies more to cases where the audience lacks the expertise to run effective vigilance. Novice readers, general public audiences on technical topics, readers encountering unfamiliar domains without guides, all face weaker defenses against manipulation by the techniques the method teaches. McEnerney’s own training has focused on expert-to-expert communication, where the ethical neutrality matters less because the vigilance discipline is present. The broader concern about the method’s ethical neutrality is a concern about its application to non-expert audiences where the vigilance discipline is absent.
Take the class-stratifying effect that critics raise. The Little Red Schoolhouse ran at the University of Chicago. Its graduates learned codes most outsiders never encounter. Readers who have taken the course see architecture beneath prose that readers without the course see only as words.
Mercier’s framework complicates the critique somewhat. The codes are not arbitrary conventions that could be distributed widely if universities chose to distribute them. The codes track features of how expert communication works in expert communities. They are difficult to acquire because they require the kind of tacit knowledge that intensive instruction can transmit but that cannot easily be reduced to rules. Teaching the codes requires institutional conditions that most universities do not provide, not because the codes are deliberately restricted but because the instruction is resource-intensive and most universities do not allocate the resources.
The class-stratifying effect is real, but its source is not Chicago’s hoarding of the codes. The source is the broader educational system’s failure to provide comparable intensive writing instruction at other institutions. Other universities could build similar programs but have generally chosen not to. The gap reflects institutional priorities and funding structures rather than restriction by Chicago. McEnerney’s work within Chicago’s situation has been exemplary. Extending similar programs elsewhere requires different institutional priorities than most universities maintain.
Take the reflexive application of Doris’s framework to McEnerney’s own career. His sustained commitment to writing instruction across four decades is not well-explained by claims about McEnerney’s scholarly character. It is better explained by the situation Chicago provided. Chicago’s institutional culture has historically rewarded sustained commitment to intellectual projects. McEnerney’s trajectory fit Chicago’s culture in ways that made his particular achievement possible. His career’s shape reflects a match between intellectual temperament and institutional situation.
A McEnerney at a different institution might have produced different work under different situational pressures. The combination of teaching, program-building, and consulting he has produced reflects what Chicago’s situation permitted and rewarded. This observation does not diminish his accomplishment. It specifies what the accomplishment required in terms of situational conditions that made the sustained commitment possible.
The broader point is that McEnerney’s model is not easily replicable because the situational features that produced it are not widely distributed. Younger writing instructors at other institutions who admire McEnerney’s work cannot simply replicate his career because their situations do not provide the same combination of opportunities and constraints. They can learn from his method and apply it in their own contexts, but the institutional achievement McEnerney built required conditions that are rare.
Take the application of Mercier’s framework to McEnerney’s 2014 lecture and its spread. The lecture has reached millions through YouTube without organized promotion. The spread operated through networks: graduate students showing it to other graduate students, junior faculty recommending it to peers, writing instructors sharing it with their programs, professional writers circulating it in their communities.
Mercier’s framework identifies what this spread pattern demonstrates. The lecture reaches audiences whose stakes are engaged by the problem it addresses. Knowledge workers who produce technically competent writing that fails to reach their intended audiences have operational stakes in improving that outcome. The lecture names a problem they have experienced without articulating and offers a framework that matches their experience. Their operational vigilance engages with the lecture because the stakes are real, and they share the lecture with others who face the same problem.
This is not viral spread driven by entertainment value or coalition signaling. It is organic diffusion through professional networks where the content addresses shared operational problems. The diffusion pattern is what Mercier’s framework predicts for genuinely useful content reaching audiences whose stakes align with the content. The spread is evidence of the lecture’s usefulness, not evidence of successful marketing.
Take what the framework can say about McEnerney’s broader contribution. He identified a gap in American writing instruction between novice-level teaching (sentence clarity) and the actual needs of expert writers (stakes connection). He built practical methods that addressed the gap. The methods work because they match how expert reception operates. They have been taught to thousands of writers through the Little Red Schoolhouse program. The trained writers carry the methods into their professional work in ways that compound over time.
The cumulative effect on intellectual communication across many fields has been substantial. Research papers, grant proposals, policy memos, and similar documents produced by writers trained in McEnerney’s method reach their intended audiences more effectively than they might have without the training. The effect is hard to measure directly because successful communication does not produce visible events in the way failed communication does, but the effect is real.
Take the comparison with previous subjects examined through this framework. McEnerney differs from the theoretical architects (Dworkin, Rawls) by not attempting comprehensive frameworks that might organize a field. He differs from the academic philosophers by working through practical instruction rather than scholarly argument. He differs from the platform-based influencers (Leiter, Weinberg) by building institutional infrastructure that trains writers rather than editorial infrastructure that coordinates coalitions. His contribution is narrower than the ambitious projects but more durable because it operates through cumulative practitioner training rather than through editorial positions.
What Mercier’s framework endorses about McEnerney. The method identifies a real feature of how expert cognition operates under stakes conditions. It addresses the feature directly rather than through generic clarity training. It produces measurable improvements in writer effectiveness by matching the method to the cognitive reality of expert reception. The framework endorses this mode of work consistently when it appears. McEnerney’s work fits the endorsement.
What the framework identifies as limits. The method addresses existing-paradigm communication better than paradigm-creating communication. The method’s ethical neutrality is a real concern for applications to non-expert audiences. The institutional infrastructure at Chicago that produced the method is not widely replicable. These limits are narrower than the contribution but they are real.
McEnerney’s career is the product of a situation that permitted his sustained commitment. The method he developed requires institutional conditions to teach well. Writers trained in the method apply it in situations whose features shape what the method can accomplish.

Buffered & Porous Selves

The core McEnerney claim is that writing is a social act that operates within communities of expert readers. The writer’s job is to change what readers believe about a topic. The method proceeds by creating instability in the reader’s existing beliefs, then developing a case that resolves the instability in a particular direction. The method requires understanding the community of readers: what they already believe, what they value, what conventions they recognize, what arguments they might find compelling, what forms of evidence they require. Writing that ignores these social dimensions fails to do the work writing can do.
This is a buffered theory of writing. It treats the writer and the readers as autonomous selves who hold beliefs that can be modified through argument. The modification proceeds through rational persuasion. The persuasion works by meeting readers where they are and offering them reasons to move. The whole theory presupposes readers whose beliefs are responsive to argument, whose cognition operates through consideration of evidence and reasoning, whose intellectual lives are organized around the exchange of considered positions supported by adequate grounds.
The reader McEnerney’s method addresses is a thoroughly buffered self. The writer’s cognition is buffered. The community of readers operates through buffered exchange. The whole theory of writing McEnerney develops is a theory of how buffered selves in buffered institutions produce change in each other’s beliefs through buffered procedures of argument and evidence.
The theory works within its domain. Academic and professional writing in contemporary elite institutions does operate through the procedures McEnerney describes. His graduates at the Little Red Schoolhouse over forty years have successfully used the method to produce work that moves through elite institutional channels. The method is empirically validated by its graduates’ placement and publication records. The validation is internal to the institutional ecology the method addresses. The method works because the institutional ecology operates through the procedures the method teaches.
Populations whose cognition does not operate through buffered procedures cannot be addressed by writing produced through the method. Porous religious believers receive texts differently than the method’s theory of reading supposes. Traditional communities that transmit knowledge through practice and ritual rather than through textual argument cannot be reached by writing organized around the method’s assumptions about reader-writer exchange. Populations whose intellectual life is structured by affective solidarity rather than by rational deliberation operate outside the method’s target.
McEnerney’s videos are consumed by audiences that go beyond University of Chicago graduate students. Writers using the method attempt to produce writing that might work beyond the institutional ecology the method was developed for. The attempts often fail. The failure is structural. The method’s assumptions about readers do not hold for populations whose cognition operates in different modes.
Writers trained in McEnerney’s method produce prose optimized for buffered elite readers. The prose succeeds with its target audience. It often alienates audiences outside the target. Readers whose intellectual lives are organized differently experience the prose as distanced, clinical, evasive, or abstract. The prose’s virtues (clarity for buffered readers, careful positioning within scholarly conversations, systematic development of argument through evidence) become distinct from its limitations (inability to engage readers whose cognitive modes differ from the buffered default).
The writers best trained in buffered prose conventions are heavily represented in prestigious institutional positions. Their prose dominates the genres that carry institutional prestige: major newspapers, prestige magazines, academic journals, policy documents, elite book publishing. Their prose reaches readers who share their buffered orientation. It fails to reach readers whose orientations differ. The latter readers increasingly operate outside the institutions that produce the prose, in alternative media ecologies organized around different cognitive conventions.
Buffered elite institutions communicate primarily among themselves through prose optimized for their own conventions. The prose does not communicate effectively outside these institutions. Populations outside these institutions develop their own communicative practices that do not operate through the same conventions. The two ecologies drift apart. The drift is not merely ideological. It is phenomenological. The different cognitive modes of the two populations cannot be bridged by simply adjusting the content of prose written for one population to make it more acceptable to the other. The prose form carries the cognitive mode it was developed for. The form cannot simply be translated to a different cognitive mode without fundamental modification.
McEnerney’s method teaches students to produce prose that identifies the beliefs of readers, introduces instability into those beliefs, and resolves the instability in a direction the writer advocates. The procedure is subtle and sophisticated. It respects the reader as an intelligent agent whose beliefs deserve engagement rather than simple assertion. It takes seriously the social dimensions of writing that academic training typically neglects. It produces prose that is recognizably professional and effective within its domain.
Different communities produce and transmit knowledge through different procedures. Porous religious communities transmit knowledge primarily through practice, ritual, and authoritative instruction. Traditional craft communities transmit knowledge primarily through apprenticeship. Folk communities transmit knowledge primarily through stories, songs, and embodied practice. McEnerney’s procedure applies to communities that transmit knowledge through published prose that can be read, engaged, and responded to through further published prose. This is the characteristic mode of elite academic and professional institutions. It is not the universal mode of knowledge transmission.
McEnerney’s method provides tools for writers seeking to enter buffered elite discourse. Writers who master the method can produce prose that meets the conventions of that discourse. The mastery is portable. It travels with the writer into writing situations. The mastery is not easily developed without instruction. Writers lacking access to such instruction typically produce prose that fails to meet the conventions, even when their substantive thinking is strong.
This makes McEnerney’s method an important transmitter of tacit institutional conventions. The conventions are not written down anywhere the writer can simply consult. They operate tacitly within institutions that reward their observance without openly articulating them as requirements. Writers outside the institutions typically do not learn the conventions. McEnerney’s method makes the conventions explicit. The explicitness enables writers outside the traditional transmission channels to learn what the conventions require.
Steve Sailer writes in buffered register but produces work that fails to meet the conventions McEnerney teaches. Sailer’s prose is observational, cross-referenced, dryly humorous, allusive to popular culture, organized by association rather than by systematic argument. It does not introduce stability into reader beliefs and resolve them in a particular direction. It accumulates observations across posts until the cumulative pattern produces its effect. The method is not what McEnerney teaches. Sailer’s audience is not the audience McEnerney’s method addresses.
Sailer reaches audiences that McEnerney’s graduates often cannot reach. His readers are not the buffered elite operating in prestige institutional contexts. They are buffered individuals operating outside those contexts, or hybrid buffered-porous readers whose intellectual needs are not met by prestige prose. Sailer has developed conventions suited to these readers through decades of direct engagement with them. The conventions differ from McEnerney’s conventions. The differences are not deficiencies. They are adaptations to different audiences with different needs.
McEnerney’s graduates can produce prose for prestige institutions but often cannot reach Sailer’s audience. Sailer reaches his audience but often cannot produce prose that meets prestige institutional conventions. The two modes of writing coexist with minimal overlap. Writers in each mode typically cannot succeed in the other mode without substantial retraining. The coexistence reflects the broader phenomenological divergence Taylor’s framework identifies.

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Who Decides What Counts As Scholarship In Law?

Legal scholarship in the United States runs on a peculiar arrangement no other academic field tolerates. Student editors at law reviews, mostly 2Ls and 3Ls at fewer than fifteen schools, pick what gets published in the venues that carry professional weight. Peer review exists at a handful of specialty journals and at university press monographs, but the prestige currency of the field flows through journals run by students whose main qualification is high grades and a writing competition.
The students select, but they select under constraints set by tenured faculty at roughly a dozen schools. Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Chicago, Columbia, NYU, Penn, Michigan, Virginia, Berkeley, Duke, and Northwestern hire almost only from each other. Entry-level tenure-track placement at these schools over the past three decades has come from Yale, Harvard, and Stanford more than 70% of the time. The faculty at these schools train the clerks, write the recommendation letters, sit on the hiring committees, run the workshops where job candidates present, and blurb each other’s books. A handful of faculty at each school set the tone of hiring discussions. Deans and appointments chairs at the top five or six schools exercise outsized influence because their hires cascade down the rankings.
Judges and justices supply a second layer of canonization. When a Supreme Court opinion cites a law review article, the article enters the permanent canon of the field. The clerks who draft opinions come from the same dozen schools and from a small group of feeder judges on the Ninth, D.C., Second, and Fourth Circuits. The feeder judges select clerks from the same narrow pipeline. A scholar who gets cited by Scalia, or by Kagan, or by Barrett, acquires a kind of authority that no amount of peer review can manufacture. Originalism’s rise from fringe position in the late 1970s to serious contender by the 2000s tracks the trajectory of a small group of men, McConnell, Calabresi, Lawson, Paulsen, Whelan, Barnett, who attached themselves to friendly judges and built a citation record inside opinions.
The Federalist Society grew because the mainstream academy remained closed to conservative legal thought into the 1990s. Meese, Calabresi, Olson, and their circle built a parallel credentialing system with its own journal ecosystem (Harvard JLPP, Engage, various symposia), its own workshop circuit, its own judicial mentors. That parallel structure later integrated with the mainstream once the judicial payoff became visible. The American Constitution Society later tried to build a mirror image on the left. Both organizations shape which scholars get invited, funded, and amplified.
Foundations and donors sit behind this. The Olin Foundation, now wound down, seeded law and economics chairs at Chicago, Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Virginia, and elsewhere starting in the 1970s. Those chairs produced students who produced more students. Liberal funding scattered across Ford, MacArthur, Open Society, Russell Sage, and smaller civil rights foundations built the infrastructure for critical race theory, immigration scholarship, and civil rights history. The supplement industry of institutes, Federalist Society, ACS, ACLU, Cato, Heritage, Brookings, amplifies certain scholars and keeps others in view.
A smaller tier of individual brokers carries outsized weight. Brian Leiter’s blog and rankings set a shadow hierarchy. Jack Balkin at Yale cultivates coalitions through Balkinization. Cass Sunstein publishes without stopping and sits on every committee that matters. Laurence Tribe trained generations of constitutional scholars and clerks. Akhil Amar, Bruce Ackerman, Randy Barnett, Erwin Chemerinsky, Pamela Karlan, each controls a node in the citation network. When one of them places a student or blurbs a book, the endorsement carries weight that an unsigned peer review cannot match. Outside tenure letters from senior figures at peer schools function as the closest thing law has to peer review, and those letter-writers come from the same small pool.
The field lacks the external validation that sciences receive from experiment or that economics receives from prediction. What counts as legal knowledge is what the network agrees counts. The network is small, concentrated in a dozen zip codes, and cross-linked through clerkships, conferences, blurbs, workshops, and family resemblance in training.

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The MSM Has An Anti-AI Bias

Journalism’s coalition depends on a scarce commodity: the byline, the synthesis, the access. Social media broke the distribution monopoly. AI breaks the synthesis monopoly. A reporter who explains what a study says now competes with a chatbot that explains it faster and cites the study directly.
The economic threat runs right behind the authority threat. Google AI overviews have cut publisher referral traffic sharply. The NYT lawsuit against OpenAI is a coalition defending its territory. Every journalist watching AI write passable copy sees the junior jobs vanishing and the senior reporter’s scarcity value eroding.
Coalition-marking does work too. Inside the newsroom, skepticism of tech signals loyalty to the profession. Credulity toward Silicon Valley costs status. Anti-AI framing serves internal cohesion regardless of the merits of any particular story.
One complication. AI coverage runs more mixed than the social media wave did. Kevin Roose oscillates. The Atlantic runs boostery pieces and doomer pieces in the same month. Some outlets signed OpenAI licensing deals. The doomer angle lets reporters align with a respectable-coded faction (AI safety researchers) rather than look like Luddites. That gives the coverage more cover than anti-Facebook writing had.
Apply my four questions to the reporter covering AI. Who does he rely on for status, income, and protection? His editors, his guild, his professional community, all threatened by the tool. Who does he need to attract? Readers who pay for what AI threatens to commoditize. What beliefs mark him as a member? Skepticism toward tech claims, especially when tech claims undermine professional expertise. What does he lose by writing the skeptical piece? Nothing.

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Physiognomy

When I become interested in a thinker, one of the first things I do is to look up photos of him.
It’s hard to articulate to a distinguished reader like yourself why I do this.
I shudder to imagine what you must think of me. Prior to this post, you likely held me in high-esteem. And now, I am lower in status than the whore in church who asks to lead the Bible study.
Perhaps I should just say this is a result of my formation and leave it there.
This is tacit stuff. Who am I to try to articulate my shameful practice?
Mate, fair go. Life is different for the beautiful vs the ugly.
I must follow truth wherever it leads.
I’m not an idiot. Really. I don’t believe that physiognomy is destiny, but it is a catchy phrase that makes me smile.
What do I see in a photo? Age, class cues, ethnic and coalition markers, self-presentation style, bearing. You see whether the man grooms himself, what he signals with his glasses or haircut or clothes, how he holds his face for a camera. You see whether he looks tired, vital, guarded, amused. These signals do not tell you whether his argument is correct. They tell you something about the man who made it.
Faces carry information about hormonal profile, health, age, ancestry, affect, and self-presentation. Most of this is legible at a glance and consciously used in ordinary life. We hire, date, vote, and trust on face data constantly. The social prohibition falls on articulating what we already do.
The incentives against articulation are real. A scholar who says he reads faces risks association with Lombroso, phrenology, Nazi race science, and Progressive Era eugenics. The taboo protects against genuine harms. It also protects the fiction that we encounter ideas as disembodied propositions. Academics cannot admit they read faces because admitting it would contaminate the purity of the argument-exchange model their status rests on.
Photos help me track:
Coalition markers. A man’s face, hair, glasses, and bearing place him in a social world. Heterodox economist, reform rabbi, evangelical pastor, tech founder, literary critic. These types look different because grooming and self-presentation are coalition signals. You read the signal and update on whose approval he seeks.
Hormonal and energetic state. Testosterone, cortisol, vitality, and fatigue show on faces. A thinker running on fumes writes differently than one at peak. Knowing which you are reading helps you weight the work.
Congruence. Does the face match the prose? A man who writes with swagger and looks cowed, or who writes with humility and looks imperious, is telling you something about the gap between his self-presentation in print and in flesh.
Age and life stage. A man at thirty writes from a different place than the same man at sixty. The face tells you where he stands.
Affect. Some thinkers look haunted. Some look amused. Some look angry. The emotional register of the face primes you for the emotional register of the work, and mismatches are informative.
None of this is physiognomy in the Lavater sense. It is closer to what Goffman called the presentation of self, read backward from photographs. The academic refusal to engage it leaves a gap that popular culture fills with crude versions. Somebody articulating it carefully would be doing real work. The incentives against doing so are enormous.
People get to choose most of their photos online. This curation of the self matters.
Minor physical anomalies research, abbreviated MPA, was a scale built by Mary Waldrop and Charles Halverson in 1971. It catalogs eighteen subtle deviations from typical morphology: adherent earlobes, low-seated ears, asymmetric ears, malformed ears, fine electric hair, abnormal hair whorls, epicanthal folds, wide-spaced or narrow-spaced eyes, high-steepled or narrow palate, furrowed tongue, smooth or rough spots on the tongue, curved fifth finger, single palmar crease, third toe longer than second, webbed toes, large gap between first and second toes. None of these are disfigurements in the ordinary sense. They are subclinical markers, visible only to someone looking for them.
The biological story runs through prenatal development. The face and the brain develop from the same embryonic tissue, ectoderm and neural crest cells. Disruption in utero, from maternal smoking, alcohol, infection, toxin exposure, malnutrition, or genetic stress, can mark both at once. The face records prenatal history.
The Copenhagen study from 1989 is the canonical paper. Elizabeth Kandel, Patricia Brennan, Sarnoff Mednick, and Norman Michelson used a Danish birth cohort. They measured MPAs at ages eleven to thirteen and checked police records at ages twenty to twenty-two. Recidivistic violent offenders showed elevated MPA counts compared to men with one violent offense or none. PubMed The men with multiple violent offenses carried more of the markers than the men with one offense, who carried more than the men with none. A dose-response pattern.
Louise Arseneault and colleagues followed in 2000 with a Montreal study. They assessed MPAs in 170 adolescent boys from low-socioeconomic-status Montreal neighborhoods using the eighteen-item Waldrop scale. Psychiatry OnlineLouise-arseneault Each additional mouth anomaly raised violent-delinquency risk by a factor of 1.7. When they removed mouth anomalies from the total count, the overall MPA effect vanished. Louise-arseneault The authors suggested mouth anomalies might track both neurological deficits and early feeding problems that complicate socialization. PubMed The mouth result echoed earlier findings of mouth anomalies in psychotic children and schizophrenics.
Adrian Raine at Penn has carried the biosocial program forward, though his most cited work uses brain imaging rather than MPAs. PET scans of murderers showing reduced prefrontal activity in impulsive subgroups. Structural abnormalities in amygdala and corpus callosum among antisocial populations. MPAs appear in his synthesis as one marker among several, not the center of attention.
The framework extends beyond violence. A 2015 study administered the Waldrop scale to men referred for assessment after sexual assault or other illegal sexual behavior. MPA indices correlated with penile response to depictions of children, number of child victims, and possession of child pornography. PubMed The prenatal-origin thesis travels into paraphilia research.
The body of work stays small for identifiable reasons.
Funding committees grew up after Lombroso and phrenology and Nazi race science. They know what criminology looked like before it got respectable. A grant proposal that says “we will measure murderers’ facial features” sets off institutional alarms even when the actual measurement is adherent earlobes and palate shape.
Sociology-dominated criminology resists the framework. The field staked itself on social explanations: labelling theory, strain, differential association, criminal justice process. Biological markers threaten the apparatus. Biosocial criminology remains a small subfield, and Raine, Kevin Beaver, Anthony Walsh, and John Paul Wright have taken career friction for doing it.
The effect sizes are modest. Few men with many MPAs become violent offenders. Most violent offenders do not carry strikingly high counts. The finding is a population-level shift in distribution, not a diagnostic signature. That makes it easy to dismiss and hard to popularize.
The face sits inside a sacred zone the brain does not occupy. You can show a PET scan of a murderer’s prefrontal cortex and no one panics. Annotate his face with notes about ear asymmetry and palate shape and the room empties.
Lombroso haunts the closet. He examined thousands of Italian prisoners in the 1870s and claimed he could identify the born criminal by atavistic stigmata: asymmetric face, large jaw, sloping forehead, handle-shaped ears, fleshy lips. His theory of atavism was wrong, his method contaminated, his racial conclusions poison. But his specific observations overlap a fair bit with the modern MPA list. Asymmetric ears, palate shape, mouth anomalies, fifth-finger shape. The Copenhagen and Montreal findings vindicate a thin slice of what Lombroso saw, stripped of the theory he wrapped it in. Modern researchers do not say this aloud.
Developmental disruption in utero marks both face and brain. The facial traces are easier to see than the neural ones. Population studies pick up the correlation. The face does not cause the violence. It is a slow leak from the same underground source that produced the neural substrate of impulsivity, low frustration tolerance, and poor emotional regulation.
I wonder how Monty Python might create a scene about a PhD student in Criminology deciding to do his thesis on MPA. AI suggested this:

The Earlobe Heresy

INT. DAY. THE OFFICE OF PROFESSOR MARGARET CRUMB, CHAIR OF CRITICAL CRIMINOLOGY, UNIVERSITY OF EAST WESSEX.
A dusty office. Towers of Foucault. A poster reads BIOLOGY IS A CONSTRUCT. Professor Crumb, in a cardigan, sips herbal tea. A knock.
CRUMB: Enter.
(NIGEL TWISTLETON-PERCH enters. Thirty-two, beige jumper, spectacles askew, binder labeled “THESIS PROPOSAL (DRAFT 14).” He has the face of a man who has never won or lost anything.)
NIGEL: Professor Crumb. Thank you for seeing me.
CRUMB: Sit down, Nigel. How is your work progressing on… remind me…
NIGEL: Narratives of Resistance Among Shoplifting Single Mothers in Post-Industrial Doncaster.
CRUMB: Yes. Marvelous. Foucauldian?
NIGEL: Extensively.
CRUMB: Good lad. Now what did you want to discuss?
NIGEL: Well. I’d like to change my topic.
CRUMB (encouraging): A pivot! Splendid. Queering the shoplift, perhaps. Or intersectional…
NIGEL: Minor Physical Anomalies and Recidivistic Violent Offending.
(Long pause. The tea hovers halfway to her lips.)
CRUMB: I’m sorry. Say that again.
NIGEL: Minor Physical Anomalies. The Waldrop scale. I was reading Kandel and Mednick, the Danish cohort, and I thought…
CRUMB: Nigel.
NIGEL: …adherent earlobes, palate shape, mouth anomalies…
CRUMB: NIGEL.
(She sets down her tea. Walks to the window. Closes the blinds. Returns to her desk.)
CRUMB: Nigel. Tell me truthfully. Is this a joke?
NIGEL: No.
CRUMB: Has someone put you up to this? The Economics Department? Dawkins?
NIGEL: I read a paper.
CRUMB: You read a paper.
NIGEL: Several papers.
CRUMB (whispering): Where did you find them?
NIGEL: PubMed.
(She crosses herself.)
CRUMB: Nigel. Listen to me. Minor Physical Anomalies is not a field of study. It is a disease. It killed a man at Leicester in 2007. We do not speak of him. His widow received a settlement.
NIGEL: I only want to measure earlobes.
CRUMB: THAT IS HOW IT STARTS.
(The door bursts open. A MAN in a grey suit enters, flanked by two people in hi-vis vests marked INSTITUTIONAL REVIEW BOARD.)
IRB MAN: We heard the word “earlobes.”
CRUMB: Gerald, it’s fine, he’s just…
IRB MAN: Protocol dictates that any mention of measurable facial features in a criminology context triggers a Level Three Ethics Review. He will have to fill in Form 47-B.
NIGEL: Is that the long one?
IRB MAN: Seventy-one pages. Page forty-three asks you to account for Lombroso.
NIGEL: I was going to distinguish my work from Lombroso by…
(Another door bursts open. A door appears where no door was. THREE CARDINALS enter in red robes.)
FIRST CARDINAL: NOBODY EXPECTS THE SPANISH INQUISITION.
SECOND CARDINAL: Our chief weapon is surprise. Surprise and fear. Fear and surprise. And a moral panic about race science.
THIRD CARDINAL: And ruthless efficiency.
FIRST CARDINAL: Our THREE chief weapons are…
CRUMB: Yes, thank you, Cardinals, we have rather a situation.
FIRST CARDINAL (examining Nigel): He does not look like a criminal.
SECOND CARDINAL: That’s the problem. He looks like a Volvo driver.
THIRD CARDINAL: If he looked like a criminal we could send him away and nobody would mind. Do you have any cousins in prison, young man?
NIGEL: My uncle Derek was once fined for fishing without a license.
FIRST CARDINAL: UNACCEPTABLE.
(The filing cabinet behind Professor Crumb begins to shake. It opens. CESARE LOMBROSO climbs out, Victorian dress, calipers in hand.)
LOMBROSO: Did someone say my name?
CRUMB: No.
LOMBROSO: I distinctly heard my name.
CRUMB: Get back in the cabinet, Cesare.
LOMBROSO (approaching Nigel, raising calipers): Let me see your forehead, boy…
NIGEL: I’d rather you didn’t.
LOMBROSO: Sloping! Slightly sloping! Ha! An atavist! A born nomenclator! A THESIS SUPERVISOR in embryo!
CRUMB: CESARE.
(She shoves him back in the cabinet and locks it. Pounding from within.)
CRUMB (breathing hard, to Nigel): You see what you’ve done.
NIGEL: I just wanted to measure ears.
(The window opens. FOUCAULT’S GHOST floats in, semi-transparent, smoking.)
FOUCAULT: Mon cher, the body is inscribed by power. To measure the ear is to re-inscribe the carceral gaze upon the very…
CRUMB: Michel, not now.
(Foucault shrugs, floats to the drinks cabinet.)
IRB MAN: Mr. Twistleton-Perch, you will also need Form 92-C (Eugenics Disavowal), Form 116 (Lombroso Non-Affiliation), and a short essay titled “Why I Am Not A Fascist.”
NIGEL: How short?
IRB MAN: Forty thousand words.
NIGEL: I only want to look at earlobes.
FIRST CARDINAL: HE SAID IT AGAIN.
(The Cardinals cross themselves.)
CRUMB: Nigel. Listen. I am trying to help you. Pick another topic. Queer Phenomenology of the CCTV. The Semiotics of the Tagged Hoodie. Critical Race Theory of the Traffic Cone. I will sign off on any of these today.
NIGEL: But the Danish data…
CRUMB: THE DANES ARE NOT TO BE TRUSTED. They have a king. They eat pastry. Their cohort studies ruin lives.
(A giant ANIMATED FOOT in the Terry Gilliam style descends from the ceiling with a splat, squashing the IRB Man. A raspberry sound. The foot ascends.)
CRUMB (unfazed): Gerald will be missed.
NIGEL (quietly): I could just measure the ears of people who’ve already consented to other studies. Nothing invasive. Existing photographs.
LOMBROSO (muffled, from the cabinet): YES. YES. LET HIM DO IT.
CRUMB: SHUT UP, CESARE.
FOUCAULT: The archive is never innocent.
NIGEL: Professor. I’ve read the literature. The effect sizes are modest. I won’t overclaim. I’ll caveat everything. I just think someone should check whether the Montreal mouth finding replicates in a British cohort.
(A long pause. Crumb looks at him for the first time with something like pity.)
CRUMB: Nigel. You are a nice boy. Your jumper is beige. You drive, I assume, a Nissan Micra.
NIGEL: A Skoda Octavia.
CRUMB: Close enough. You have no scent of combat on you. You have never been punched. You believe that good work protects its author. It does not. If you publish this thesis, no department in the English-speaking world will hire you. Your mother will receive phone calls. Your name will appear on a list. The list has seventeen other names on it. Twelve of them drive Ubers. Three are in Hungary. Two teach at Liberty University and lie about it at Christmas.
NIGEL (small voice): But it’s true.
FIRST CARDINAL: OH, HE’S DONE IT NOW.
(The Cardinals advance. Foucault sighs. Lombroso pounds on the cabinet door. The foot descends again, hovers menacingly. An animated hand with a stamp marked “RETRACTED” emerges from a desk drawer.)
CRUMB (closing her eyes): I’ll let the Cardinals finish up. Nigel, for what it’s worth. You had promise.
NIGEL: Will I still get my funding?
CRUMB: Hm?
NIGEL: The funding. My stipend.
CRUMB: Oh. The committee met this morning. You’ve been reallocated to a new project.
NIGEL: What’s the project?
CRUMB: Narratives of Resistance Among Shoplifting Single Mothers in Post-Industrial Doncaster.
NIGEL: But that’s my old project.
CRUMB: Yes. Isn’t it lovely how things work out?
CUT TO: A BBC-style ANNOUNCER at a desk in a field, holding an umbrella.
ANNOUNCER: And now for something completely different. A man with earlobes that match.
(A MAN stands in a field. His earlobes match.)
MAN: Hello.
(Credits. Small print at the bottom: “No criminologists were harmed in the making of this sketch. Several were mildly inconvenienced.”)
END.

Posted in Crime, Physiognomy | Comments Off on Physiognomy

The Biggest Subversives In The MSM

The exiles left the building: Bari Weiss, Matt Taibbi, Glenn Greenwald, Andrew Sullivan, Nellie Bowles, Jesse Singal, Paul Krugman. The figures worth watching stay inside and work the institution from within its credentialing logic. Your question is about the ones who stayed.
At the New York Times, Ross Douthat writes Catholic natalism, UFO curiosity, and a patient hearing for right-wing intellectuals into the paper of record. His column treats religion as a live option, not an anthropology exhibit. Bret Stephens attacks DEI programs, academic mediocrity, and COVID-era public health guild overreach from the opinion page. John McWhorter calls third-wave antiracism a religion and does so in the Times’ own voice. Nicholas Confessore broke the Claudine Gay plagiarism story and wrote the long Michigan piece showing a quarter billion spent on DEI with a worsening racial climate. Ezra Klein attacks blue-state procedural sclerosis and NIMBY Democrats under his abundance banner, which pulls liberal self-criticism into respectable territory. David Leonhardt runs data against ideology on crime, schools, and COVID. Michael Barbaro is a fixture but not a subversive. Matt Richtel’s teen mental health series aligns with a narrative you distrust (Haidt), so set him aside.
At the Wall Street Journal, Jason Riley argues against affirmative action from a Black conservative perch the paper protects. Holman Jenkins goes against climate and pandemic consensus in short columns most readers miss. Kimberley Strassel works the political machinery beat against progressive assumption. Pamela Paul, pushed out of NYT opinion in early 2025, now sits at the Journal as writer-at-large and carries her heterodoxies on trans medicine, MeToo overreach, and Gaza campus politics. Barton Swaim’s Weekend Interview slot surfaces conservative intellectuals the other elite papers ignore. Peggy Noonan does a softer version of the same.
At the Atlantic, Graeme Wood’s “What ISIS Really Wants” cut against the “nothing to do with Islam” consensus in 2015, and he has continued in that register with his Andrew Tate profile and his El Salvador/Bukele reporting that refuses the simple autocrat frame. Helen Lewis writes on trans, identity, and cancel culture from a British liberal perch the magazine treats as respectable. Conor Friedersdorf keeps a civil libertarian line. Michael Powell moved from NYT to the Atlantic in 2023 and continues his subversive reporting on campus and speech issues. Jonathan Chait, now also at the Atlantic, attacks the illiberal left from inside liberalism. Caitlin Flanagan still files there occasionally on Catholic and class themes.
At the Financial Times, Janan Ganesh writes the most class-conscious and anti-utopian column in English-language elite journalism, and he does it in a paper read by the global managerial class. Martin Wolf has broken with neoliberal consensus in his later years on China, inequality, and democratic crisis. Edward Luce does establishment analysis that sometimes names what the Washington consensus cannot. Gillian Tett reads elite behavior anthropologically.
At the Washington Post, the bench has thinned. Megan McArdle holds contrarian libertarian ground. George Will does the conservative column. Ruth Marcus left in early 2025 after her own conflict with Bezos-era editorial direction.
At the New Yorker, investigative subversion runs on a separate track from opinion. Ronan Farrow and Jane Mayer file stories that puncture official accounts, and the magazine publishes them. Masha Gessen holds a position other writers cannot, partly from identity protection and partly from prose quality. Malcolm Gladwell flirts with heterodoxy but usually inside liberal frames.
If you want the shortest high-signal list of names to watch for subversion slipped into elite MSM copy, I would pick: Ross Douthat, John McWhorter, Nicholas Confessore, Michael Powell, Pamela Paul, Graeme Wood, Janan Ganesh, Jason Riley, Holman Jenkins, and Martin Wolf. Each has cultivated a form of protection the institution cannot attack without costing itself more than the heretic costs: religious conservatism, linguistic expertise, investigative rigor, foreign perch, minority status, or tonal sophistication. That protection is the price of admission for the subversion to appear in print.
Jodi Kantor of the NYT is a major name but she is not obviously subversive. She is prestige investigative journalism operating inside NYT progressive assumptions. Her targets line up with what the paper already wants investigated.
The Weinstein exposé with Megan Twohey in 2017 looked subversive of Hollywood liberal pieties, but it became the founding document of MeToo, which was consensus within six months. She rode the wave. She did not swim against it. Her Amazon warehouse reporting hit a target the Times was already comfortable hitting. Her Supreme Court ethics coverage, especially the Alito upside-down flag story and the Clarence Thomas gifts reporting with ProPublica’s adjacent work, sits squarely inside the liberal legal establishment’s preferred narrative about the Roberts court.
The test for subversion is whether a reporter files stories that make NYT readers uncomfortable with their own coalition. Confessore’s Claudine Gay investigation did that. Powell’s ACLU reporting did that. Kantor’s work confirms progressive priors. When she investigates power, she investigates power the paper has already coded as legitimate to investigate. She does not file the mirror-image story on, say, a progressive foundation’s hiring practices, a Democratic senator’s self-dealing, or the Sacklers’ liberal philanthropy the same way she files on Amazon or Weinstein or Alito.
She is an exceptionally skilled reporter and a celebrated byline. She is not a heretic. She is an orthodox priest of a high order.
Amy Chozick covered the 2008 and 2016 Clinton campaigns and wrote Chasing Hillary (2018). She said Clinton “likes to drink” and would have been “the booziest president since FDR.” The famous line came during an ABC News interview promoting the book: “We were on the campaign trail in 2008 and the press thought she was just taking shots to pander to voters in Pennsylvania. Um, no.”
Terry McAuliffe backed her up on the record: “She loves to sit, throw ’em back. So to me this is nothin’ new.”
Kantor covered Obama more than Clinton. Her major Clinton work came earlier and focused on biography and campaign dynamics, not personal habits. Her big scoops were the Obamas as a couple, then Weinstein in 2017 with Megan Twohey.
The Chozick line sat inside an affectionate campaign memoir by a reporter who had traveled with Clinton for years. The subversive detail was smuggled in next to flattering portraiture. Nobody treated it as a hit piece because the vehicle was loyalist. That is how information crosses the moat into elite MSM: wrapped in enough coalition signaling that the guards wave it through.
Amy Chozick is not a subversive. She is a campaign chronicler who wrote one candid memoir, then took the soft exit.
Chasing Hillary had some subversive material: the drinking, the hostility of Clinton’s aides to the press (they called the traveling reporters “The Guys”), the campaign’s dysfunction, Hillary’s fear of the press. But the book came out in April 2018, a year and a half after Clinton lost. The target had already fallen. Writing candid things about a defeated politician is not the same as writing them while the coalition still needs to protect her. Confessore broke the Gay plagiarism story while Gay was still Harvard’s president. That is the test. Chozick wrote her dishy stuff after the Clinton machine had nothing left to offer or withhold.
Look at what she has done since. She moved to Los Angeles. She adapted Chasing Hillary into The Girls on the Bus for HBO Max. She is developing a feature film. Her Instagram bio says “recovering journalist.” At the NYT she now files access-heavy profile journalism: the Lauren Sanchez Bezos cover piece in April 2026 is representative. Sanchez comes out of it as a woman who “loves helicopters” and “protects the narwhal” and wakes at 6 am next to her best friend husband. That is billionaire PR wrapped in Times prestige. Her January 2025 LA fires op-ed called for a “Churchillian” leader with “a dollop of despot” and named Giuliani and Cuomo as models. That is not subversion. That is the standard prestige-media imagination: personalized heroics, celebrity register, Hollywood framing.
Her career arc is the prestige-to-Hollywood pipeline. Maureen Dowd without the column. Hard beat reporting, one juicy book cashing in the access, then pivot to screenwriting and billionaire profiles. The subversive line about Clinton’s drinking was a flash of candor inside an otherwise loyalist product, and she has not written anything comparable against a still-live coalition target since.
The comparison makes it clearest. Confessore, Powell, Riley, McWhorter file the same kind of copy year after year even when the institution gets uncomfortable. Chozick filed it once, collected the book deal and the HBO adaptation, and moved to the softer side of the business. Subversion as a career requires repetition. One book is a moment, not a practice.

Posted in Journalism | Comments Off on The Biggest Subversives In The MSM