In one of the most closely watched campus free speech cases in recent years, the County Court has delivered a mixed verdict on a claim brought by Cambridge academic Dr Nathan Cofnas, confirming that “anti-woke” beliefs can qualify as protected philosophical beliefs under the Equality Act while also affirming universities’ wide discretion to act when their expression is deemed “harmful”.
That tension — between tolerance of controversial beliefs on campus and institutional control over how they are expressed — lies at the heart of the ruling in Cofnas v Emmanuel College, Cambridge. It is also why Cofnas lost, and why the judgment raises difficult questions about whether the Equality Act is an adequate vehicle for employment claims in which what is really at stake is academic freedom.
The controversy began in February 2024, when Cofnas — then a post-doctoral researcher in Cambridge’s Faculty of Philosophy and a College Research Associate (CRA) at Emmanuel — published a blog post titled A Guide for the Hereditarian Revolution. In it, he argued that “any realistic path to victory over wokeism requires widespread acceptance of hereditarianism among the elites”. There’s rather a lot to unpack there, of course, but the basic contrast is simple enough. Faced with disparities in socioeconomic outcomes between groups, the “woke” look to environmental causes — above all, “white racism” — before embarking on an all-consuming crusade to root out invisible discrimination and unconscious bias. Hereditarians, by contrast, hold that at least some of those differences reflect underlying genetic variation between populations.
Hence Cofnas’s claim that, under a colourblind admissions system based solely on academic qualifications, “blacks would make up 0.7% of Harvard students”, the number of black professors “would approach 0%” and “[b]lacks would disappear from almost all high-profile positions outside of sports and entertainment”.
The ruling claims to protect belief and then says the College’s response was justified anyway because the expression and its effects fell outside the protection.
The “confrontational tone” finding is striking on its own terms. Tone is a porous-register concept par excellence. Tone is felt, atmospheric, charged. It is what the buffered self has trouble taking seriously. The court has imported tone into legal reasoning as a justifying factor. This moves further than most British speech jurisprudence has gone. Whether higher courts will accept tone as a workable legal category depends on what subsequent cases do with it, but the County Court has now treated tone as legally cognizable in a discrimination-defense context.
The “hostile environment for undergraduates” framing is the same doctrine that governs harassment law. The court is applying hostile-environment reasoning to heterodox academic expression. This is a significant doctrinal extension. It places confrontational scholarly speech inside the evidentiary framework developed for sexual and racial harassment cases. The expansion of hostile-environment doctrine into belief-expression terrain is the kind of move higher courts will eventually have to evaluate. If the doctrine generalizes, the protected-belief finding loses much of its operational value, because almost any heterodox expression in a residential institution can be framed as creating hostile environment for some affected group.
The County Court ruled the college’s action justified. The two formal verdicts agree on belief protection and disagree on expression. They are not in autoimmune contradiction. They are operating on different objects. The Cambridge investigation asked whether his views breached university regulations on speech and law. The Peterborough court asked whether the college’s response was discrimination on the basis of protected belief. Different questions, different answers, both formally legitimate.
The ruling has divided his future into two paths he cannot fully reconcile. One path stays in the protected belief register. Maintains careful tone. Avoids expression that produces documented harmful effects. This protects him legally but starves the surviving habitats that select for saturation. The other path stays in the saturated habitats. Accepts that future severance actions in those habitats will be legally defensible under the Peterborough framework. This keeps the audience but loses the legal cushion. The two paths run away from each other. He can occupy the middle for a while but the equilibrium is unstable.
The court has produced an artifact both coalitions can claim as victory. Cofnas’s coalition can claim hereditarianism is protected belief. The opposing coalition can claim confrontational expression-with-harm is institutionally actionable. Both claims are accurate. Both coalitions will narrate the ruling in vocabularies that flatter their own position. The artifact does not resolve the dispute. It gives each side something to cite while leaving the underlying conflict in place.
A few things the reporting does not yet tell us. Whether the Free Speech Union appeals. Whether the protected-belief finding holds up if appealed by Emmanuel from the other direction. Whether other universities adjust their internal procedures in response. Whether the wide-discretion framing generalizes to other British employment-discrimination cases involving heterodox academics. The shape of the doctrine will depend on how subsequent cases interpret this one. The County Court level is not binding on higher courts. A future High Court or Court of Appeal ruling could alter the architecture in either direction.
The British legal system has produced a partial settlement of the conflict but the underlying coalitions will fight on. The settlement fixes which questions get decided where. Belief discrimination claims will be heard in employment courts and the protected-belief category will likely keep expanding as more cases get filed. Expression-with-harm cases will be decided by institutions with wide discretion subject to court review on procedural grounds. Each side will keep filing in the venue that gives it the best chance. The dispute moves along legal channels rather than disappearing into them.
Posted inNathan Cofnas|Comments Off on The Critic: Cofnas, Cambridge and academic freedom
Born in 1987 to Jewish parents, philosopher of biology Nathan Cofnas said in a Dec. 4, 2023 interview: “I grew up on the upper west side of Manhattan, a world headquarters of political correctness. I went to school at Ethical Culture, which was founded by a Reform rabbi who was a prominent figure in the development of political correctness. A big part of the curriculum was about racism and what white people had done. I didn’t question that until about 15 when I noticed some phenomena that were difficult to explain according to the racism theory. I knew that people in similar conditions tended to behave a little differently. When I was 17, I started taking classes at Columbia University. I took an anthropology class. The professor mentioned that Australian aborigines have the brodmann’s area 17 that is 25-50% larger than the European population. This is the part of the brain to do with vision. Then he said, does that mean there is less room for something else? As soon as he said that, it occurred to me that I’ve been lied to that racism is responsible for all disparities and I became obsessed with race differences and I couldn’t stop talking about it to every person I met. Even when I had college interviews, I told the interviewers about race differences. I told the Harvard interviewer about race differences. Columbia didn’t have interviews, so that wasn’t a problem. I can’t order a cup of coffee without telling them about race differences…. So in the phrenology [physical anthropology] class [at Columbia”], there was a table full of skulls. We had to name all the bones in the skull. We had to choose a partner. I chose the [Korean] woman who became my wife… Koreans are very racist. They take for granted that there are differences between people and they don’t have the same hang-ups as Westerners… When we hired a moving company, they boasted they only hired Koreans.”
Cofnas took his BA in philosophy from Columbia in 2011, did doctoral work at Lingnan in Hong Kong from 2012 to 2015, earned an MPhil with distinction in history and philosophy of science at Cambridge in 2016, and completed his DPhil in philosophy at Oxford in 2021. From 2022 to 2025 he held a Leverhulme Early Career Fellowship in the Faculty of Philosophy at Cambridge, with a research associateship at Emmanuel College. As of 2026 he holds a visiting postdoctoral position in the Department of Philosophy and Moral Sciences at Ghent University in Belgium.
That bare CV understates what kind of philosopher he is. Cofnas writes from a tradition of naturalism that runs from Willard Van Orman Quine through Daniel Dennett to contemporary philosophers of biology. The core commitment of this tradition treats philosophy as continuous with the empirical sciences. Claims about mind, morality, and society must answer to findings from biology, psychology, and behavioral genetics. Where many moral and political philosophers treat normative principles as partly insulated from empirical revision, Cofnas treats them as live targets of revision. He is a naturalistic revisionist who thinks much contemporary moral and political philosophy rests on empirical assumptions that the relevant sciences no longer support.
His method is forensic. He builds his reputation through close audits of other people’s arguments. The 2018 paper in Human Nature on Kevin MacDonald is the clearest example. MacDonald had argued for decades that Judaism functions as a group evolutionary strategy. Rather than dismiss the project on moral grounds, Cofnas reconstructed the citation chain. He went line by line through MacDonald’s sources and argued that the theory rested on selective use of evidence, misquotation, and a failure to consider simpler alternative explanations. The simpler explanation Cofnas preferred was high average cognitive ability combined with cultural and historical factors. The paper had unusual force because it engaged MacDonald on his chosen terrain.
This auditor style runs through his work. He treats arguments as targets for granular verification. That makes him hard to dismiss with the standard moves. Critics who want to ignore him on political grounds find they have to address his citations and his logic. Critics who want to refute him find he often holds positions narrower than they assume, which forces them to argue against the claim rather than a strawman.
The 2020 paper in Philosophical Psychology, “Research on Group Differences in Intelligence: A Defense of Free Inquiry,” is his most cited and most controversial. Its argument is procedural rather than substantive. He does not claim that genetic explanations of average IQ differences between racial and ethnic groups have been established. He claims they cannot be ruled out a priori, and that scholarly inquiry into them should proceed under the same evidentiary standards applied elsewhere in behavioral genetics. The paper provoked a public split among the editors of the journal, with one resigning in protest. It also placed Cofnas inside a longer dispute that runs through The Bell Curve and the work of behavioral geneticists like Robert Plomin. He does not endorse every claim in that literature. He defends the legitimacy of the inquiry.
The distinction between defending inquiry and endorsing conclusions is the hinge of most disputes around him. He insists on holding the line. Critics often collapse it, treating his procedural defense as a covert endorsement. Some supporters do the same in reverse, treating him as a champion of conclusions he has not drawn. His own writing tries to keep the procedural and the substantive separate. Whether that separation can hold under sustained pressure is an open question.
His work on moral psychology runs alongside the empirical disputes and gives them sharper teeth. Drawing on debates shaped by Joshua Greene and Jonathan Haidt about the evolutionary origins of moral intuition, Cofnas argues that moral responses track fitness rather than truth. That does not strip them of all authority. It makes their authority conditional. If a strong moral objection to a line of inquiry reflects an evolved coalition response rather than a tracking of moral fact, the objection cannot settle the question. It has to make its case against the debunking pressure on its own terms. This move is what allows Cofnas to hold his procedural position under heavy social cost. He has a philosophical account of why the social cost cannot, by itself, decide the matter.
His other published work spreads across topics in philosophy of biology and ethics. He has written on natural selection and teleology in Biology and Philosophy, ongene-culture coevolution and moral truth in The Philosophical Quarterly, on moral norms and instincts, on evolutionary mismatch, and on the methodology of evolutionary explanation. Roughly half of his output appears in scientific rather than philosophical outlets. That distribution reflects his commitment to philosophy continuous with science. He treats the journal divide as a permeable border rather than a fortified one.
The Trajectory
The first phase runs roughly 2015 to 2017. Cofnas is a doctoral candidate at Lingnan, then arriving at Cambridge HPS for his MPhil. His coalition position is the heterodox-hereditarian network around Sesardic, Gottfredson, Kanazawa, and Woodley. The work he produces in this period is structurally cautious. The 2015 fact-value paper audits ideological asymmetry in the intelligence research field. The 2016 Carl-Cofnas-Woodley paper splits the conservative-and-science category. The 2016 mismatch paper does technical philosophy of biology. The 2017 Lorenz paper extends the technical work into innateness debates. The work is real, the targets are precisely chosen, the auditor instinct is already visible. He is building two careers at once. The credentialed analytic philosopher of biology and the heterodox public-facing writer. The two tracks do not yet collide because the public-facing track is small and the credentialed track is producing exactly what the discipline rewards.
The second phase runs 2018 to 2021. This is the MacDonald-and-after period. The 2018 Human Nature paper audits Kevin MacDonald’s group-evolutionary-strategy framework. The 2018 piece asks why conservatives distrust science. The 2018 Quarterly Review of Biology paper engages Boyd-Richerson and Boehm. The 2018 Quillette piece compresses the MacDonald argument for popular consumption. The 2020 Westermarck paper audits Lieberman-Lobel. The 2019 dietary guidelines paper with Leroy. The 2020 free-inquiry paper in Philosophical Psychology with the editor resignation. The 2020 paternalism paper. The 2020 incest-taboo paper. The 2021 Anti-Jewish Narrative paper in Philosophia. This is the most productive period of his journal career. The work is heavily forensic. The targets are well chosen. The procedural argument is held distinct from the substantive argument. The auditor brand consolidates. The journal output is enough to support an Oxford DPhil in 2021, the Leverhulme Early Career Fellowship at Cambridge starting 2022, and the Emmanuel College research associateship.
Through the second phase Cofnas’s center of gravity is still inside professional philosophy of biology. He is publishing in Biology and Philosophy, Quarterly Review of Biology, Philosophical Studies, Philosophical Psychology, Philosophia, Behavioural Public Policy, Critical Reviews in Food Science and Nutrition. Each of these is a real journal with a real editorial process. The Acknowledgments lists name Lewens, Papineau, Sterelny, Heyes, Bateson. The mainstream philosophy of biology community is engaging him as a peer. He is also publishing at Quillette and the Critic, but those venues function as overflow rather than as primary platforms.
The third phase runs February 2024 to early 2026. This is the Substack and Cambridge-controversy period. The phase opens with the February 5, 2024 piece “A Guide for the Hereditarian Revolution.” That essay marks the inflection. The center of gravity shifts from journals to Substack. The forensic register of the publications moves into the popular essays in attenuated form. The procedural-substantive distinction starts to blur. The “Hereditarian Revolution” framing is not an inspectable empirical claim. It is a flag planted in territory the previous decade of work had carefully kept separate from the political project.
The institutional response follows immediately. Emmanuel College severs the research associateship in April 2024. Fifty-eight student complaints get filed at Cambridge. The Daily Mail fabricates a quote. The Telegraph calls for his removal. The radio interview with Nick Ferrari. The Korean university deplatforming. Each event becomes part of the persecution narrative the long-form interviews from this period (Boyce in March 2024, Bock in March 2024, the Stanford talk in September 2024, Andrew Gold in January 2025, the Calmversations interview, the Brenner interview from September 2023 that bridges into this phase) consolidate into a hero system.
The Substack output in this period is heavy. The right’s stupidity essay in January 2024. The hereditarian revolution piece in February 2024. The Sowell takedown in August 2024. Wokism Is Just Beginning in October 2024. MAGA Communism and the End of America in April 2025. Beating Woke with Facts and Logic in October 2025. Don’t Scapegoat Women in January 2026. The pattern across these pieces is consistent. Each opens by identifying a coalition position Cofnas wants to mark off from. Each closes with a call to action that the journal articles never carry. The forensic content travels well from journals to Substack in some cases (the Sowell piece). In others the popular framing replaces forensic content with coalition signaling (the hereditarian revolution piece, the MAGA communism piece).
The third phase also produces the Peterborough ruling in mid-March 2026. The Equality Act 2010 protected-belief finding gives Cofnas legal cover for his hereditarian and anti-woke commitments at the level of belief. The hostile-environment finding gives institutions legal cover for acting on the documented effects of his expression. Both holdings are doctrinally significant. Neither resolves the underlying conflict.
Cofnas’s career began with the audit of MacDonald that showed how a framework becomes unfalsifiable when every observation can be absorbed. His phase three project has the same structural property. The hereditarian revolution call cannot fail. Wokeism continuing means the project is still needed. Wokeism collapsing means the project succeeded. Trump succeeding means the political coalition is winning. Trump failing means the base is too stupid for the project. Every outcome confirms the framework. That is the property Cofnas identified in MacDonald. Whether he sees it in himself is a different question. The auditor has built a framework with the same epistemic property he successfully attacked in his most cited paper.
The fourth phase begins with the Ghent appointment in early 2026 and runs to the present. This phase is harder to read because it is still unfolding. The shape so far suggests further hardening rather than further consolidation. The Substack notes in this period (the Pinker note in February 2026, the Turkheimer reply in April 2026, the Flemish state television note, the , the Chris Rufo hate mail note in December 2025) operate at the lowest specification of any of his registers. The notes register is where the contempt for adjacent populations flows. The “medieval peasants are still there, just as dumb as ever” line. The “Catturds with dumb intuitions” line. The groyper dismissal. The Peterson-as-clown-content line. The bookstore “gay porn for children” line. None of these would survive in a journal article. All of them survive on Substack notes because the format does not require the specification the journal requires.
The Turkheimer exchange in April 2026 is the moment in the fourth phase when a credentialed senior figure engages Cofnas at the level his project requires and lands punches. Cofnas has the better case on the 2007 text. Turkheimer has the better case on what good science looks like.
A few patterns run across all four phases.
The forensic auditor mode is the through line. Take the target’s stated position. Reconstruct what the target actually said. Show the gap between the stated position and the reconstruction. The operation works whether the target is MacDonald (right edge of his coalition), Sowell (left edge of his coalition), Carl (internal vanguard discipline), Singer (philosophical mainstream), or Turkheimer (behavior genetics establishment). The instinct is consistent. What changes is what the auditor is willing to do with the audit’s conclusions in different venues.
The procedural-substantive distinction is the early commitment that gradually erodes. The 2020 free-inquiry paper holds the distinction firmly. The 2024 hereditarian revolution piece treats the procedural and substantive as functionally identical. The 2025 MAGA communism piece treats them as distinct again, but in a different direction. The 2026 Substack notes do not respect the distinction. The trajectory across the four phases is toward less distinction, not more. The procedural commitment that licensed the early work has not been abandoned in writing. It has been swamped by substantive commitments that the procedural framework was supposed to keep separate.
The coalition position migrates across the phases. In phase one, Cofnas writes for the heterodox-hereditarian network adjacent to but distinct from the dissident right. In phase two, he writes for that network plus mainstream philosophy of biology, with each side getting the version of him their coalition rewards. In phase three, the coalition splits. The mainstream philosophy of biology network drifts away. The substack-heterodox-hereditarian-Free-Speech-Union coalition becomes the primary audience. In phase four, the X feed and the Substack notes pull him further toward the dissident-right ecosystem (the Doctor-Baron 17cShyteposter repost, the Bronze Age Pervert reply, the carnivore tribal positioning) while his long-form Substack essays continue to mark distance from that ecosystem (Don’t Scapegoat Women, the explicit groyper rejection). The pull and the push are both real.
The hero system consolidates across the phases at increasing intensity. In phase one the persecution narrative is barely visible. In phase two it surfaces in interviews but stays out of the journal articles. In phase three the Andrew Gold catalogue, the Brenner self-disclosure, the Calmversations Korean deplatforming line, the Stanford talk’s Cambridge anecdote, the Boyce Nietzschean self-identification all build the truth-teller-paying-the-cost narrative. In phase four the notes register sustains it daily. The Flemish state television note. The . The Chris Rufo hate mail note. The Turkheimer reply note. Each is a data point in the cosmic narrative. The hero system requires the persecution. The persecution justifies the hero system. The structure is what your Becker analysis correctly identifies, and it has hardened across the four phases rather than weakened.
The metaethical contradiction runs unresolved through all four phases. Cofnas commits to evolutionary debunking of moral intuition in his philosophy of biology work. He commits to confident moral claims about wokeism, free inquiry, intellectual honesty, and the moral failings of his opponents in his popular and interview work. The two commitments cannot both stand. The framework requires moral anti-realism for the philosophical sophistication move and moral realism for the political project. The contradiction has not been addressed in any of the four phases. It surfaces in every interview where a friendly host or a sharp host (Bock, Boyce, Wax, Green, Razib) creates the conditions for it to surface. Cofnas absorbs the surfacing without resolving it. The Trivers self-deception reading covers what is happening. The contradiction would dissolve the project, so the mind protects the project from the recognition.
The trajectory is therefore not a simple decline from rigorous philosophy to coalition advocacy. It is a more complex pattern in which the rigorous philosophy continues but is no longer the center of gravity, the coalition advocacy expands and hardens, the hero system consolidates, and the procedural-substantive distinction that licensed the early work erodes under sustained pressure from the institutional environment and the audience the project now serves. The journal output has slowed but not stopped. The Substack output has expanded heavily. The notes and X output have expanded more heavily still. The follower count plateaus. The subscriber base grows modestly.
The fourth phase contains a few possible futures. One is mechanism. If something like a reliable causal genetic variant for cognitive performance with known effect across environments arrives in the next decade, Turkheimer’s framework predicts that Cofnas wins on the empirical question. The political consequences of that empirical settlement are not what Cofnas’s framework predicts. They are closer to what Turner’s proceduralism predicts. The institutional response to the new empirical situation will be shaped by coalitions and procedures that exist for reasons unrelated to the empirical content of the new finding. Cofnas would be vindicated on the empirical question and probably still excluded from mainstream institutional positions on coalition grounds. The exclusion would not feel like vindication.
A second possible future is institutional drift. The Peterborough ruling has codified part of the architecture under which Cofnas operates. The protected-belief finding gives him legal cover. The hostile-environment finding gives institutions legal cover to keep him out. Future cases will work out the relationship between the two registers. Cofnas’s career might continue cycling through the appointment-petition-protest-counter-petition-institutional-wobble pattern your Hybrid Vigor analysis identifies, with each cycle adding precedent to the legal architecture. The cycle is not stable. At some point the institutional cost of the cycle becomes high enough that institutions stop appointing him. At that point the Substack platform becomes the primary platform. The audience he can reach there is bounded by the platform’s economics, which the current subscriber numbers suggest cannot support a Cambridge-equivalent income.
A third possible future is coalition realignment. That position is structurally unstable. The heterodox-academic-Free-Speech-Union coalition that has hosted him through phase three depends on the woke left remaining the threatening force. If the woke left weakens and the populist right becomes the dominant cultural pressure, Cofnas’s coalition position collides with the new threat environment. He cannot easily migrate further left because his hereditarianism precludes it. He cannot easily migrate further right because the populist-right coalition treats his secular-naturalist commitments and his Korean wife and his Jewish ancestry and his Cambridge credentials as markers of the elite he claims to oppose. The coalition position holds while both threats remain salient. It does not hold under significant change in either direction.
A fourth possible future is the slow accumulation of work that becomes citable when conditions change. The journal output from phase one and phase two has the property that it could survive the disappearance of his current coalition. The 2017 Lorenz paper, the 2016 mismatch paper, the 2018 power-in-cultural-evolution paper, the 2020 incest-taboo paper, the 2024 no-teleology paper. These are real philosophy of biology contributions that engage the existing literature respectfully. They will be cited in twenty years if the conditions for citing them exist. Most of the popular essays won’t survive. The notes will not.
The most striking thing about the trajectory is the speed of the third and fourth phases. Phase one runs three years with relatively few public events. Phase two runs four years with steady journal output and limited public controversy. Phase three runs about two years and produces more public controversy than the previous decade combined. Phase four is six months old and already contains the Ghent petition, the Peterborough ruling, the Turkheimer reply, the Flemish television interview, and the De Standaard montage. The compression suggests the trajectory is accelerating. The institutional environment around hereditarian work is producing more events per unit of time as the underlying conflict intensifies. Cofnas is one of the points where the conflict becomes legible. Whether the trajectory continues at this rate or stabilizes depends on conditions outside his control.
He started as a careful philosopher of biology with a side commitment to heterodox writing, and has become a coalition intellectual whose forensic competence is real but whose self-presentation now varies sharply across registers in patterns the procedural framework cannot quite contain. The journey is not yet complete. The fourth phase is still being written. What the four phases together show is what happens to a serious thinker who refuses crypsis in an environment where most others practice it, who chooses the high-cost move at every juncture, and who continues producing work at multiple registers as the registers diverge under pressure. The result is the figure he is now. The figure he becomes from here will be shaped by events he does not control as much as by choices he makes.
The Four Registers
The communication layer compounds the pressure. Cofnas runs a Substack and an active X account alongside his journal publications. The same argument reads differently in different venues. A hedged paper in Philosophical Psychology reaches specialists who treat it as a contribution to ongoing debate. A punchy Substack post on the hereditarian revolution reaches a larger audience that includes journalists, activists, and politically engaged readers. The 2024 post functioned less as a scholarly argument and more as a coalition signal in cultural politics. The escalation from journal to blog changed how the same underlying commitments were received.
His position in the field has an unusual shape. He has high-status placements in respected journals. He has affiliations at elite institutions. At the same time, he has no large empirical research program of his own to buffer him, no senior chair, no tenured base. The result is a high ratio of visibility to protection. Each controversy carries more consequence than it might for a scholar with deeper institutional anchoring. He moves across philosophy, behavioral genetics, and public writing because he is not embedded in any one of them. That mobility is also his exposure.
Cofnas is strongest as a critic and as a procedural advocate for open inquiry. He is less developed as a constructive theorist of what societies should do if the empirical claims he insists must be investigable were to come out one way or another. If, for the sake of argument, certain group differences with partial genetic bases were robustly established, the policy and ethical implications remain underdeveloped in his writing. Critics use that gap to argue he opens doors without taking responsibility for what comes through them. Supporters argue that the procedural and the substantive should be kept distinct, and that demanding a complete downstream theory before allowing inquiry inverts the normal order of scholarly work. Cofnas sides with the supporters on this point. The argument over whether he is right to do so is still live.
Two commitments hold his career together. The first is his refusal to accept the tacit settlements that allow politically charged empirical questions to be managed without open confrontation. He keeps forcing those questions back into the open, in journals and on Substack, with the same procedural argument and the same auditor’s eye for evidence. The second is his philosophical commitment to a naturalism that does not exempt morality and politics from empirical pressure. Most of his disputes follow from these two commitments held together. Take either one away and the conflicts shrink. Hold both, and they keep producing the pattern his career has by now made familiar.
Cofnas’s academic publications operate at the highest specification density. The 2018 MacDonald paper in Human Nature reconstructs citation chains. The 2022 Utilitas paper “The Golden Rule: A Naturalistic Perspective” reads tradition by tradition, citing Navon’s count of eighty equivalent statements and Csikszentmihalyi on Confucian reciprocity. The 2018 Quarterly Review of Biology paper “Power in Cultural Evolution and the Spread of Prosocial Norms” uses Durham and Fracchia-Lewontin to challenge Boyd-Richerson, then uses Boehm’s reverse dominance hierarchy to argue that majoritarian coalitions deliberately shaped moral norms from the early Middle Paleolithic onward. The 2020 Biology & Philosophy paper on Westermarck engages Lieberman and Lobel’s reanalysis and the Shor-Simchai kibbutz data. The 2024 Biology & Philosophy paper “Natural Selection Requires No Teleology in Addition to Heritable Variation in Fitness” adds a fourth condition to Lewontin’s three, distinguishing natural selection from artificial selection, intelligent design, forward-looking orthogenesis, and selection of nonrandom variation. The August 2024 Substack piece on Sowell catches the Jensen misquote, the Ulster geography slip, and the doctored Cicero passage. These pieces do what their genres do. They specify, footnote, hedge, qualify, and engage the relevant literature in the form the literature recognizes.
The publications also tend toward narrower claims than the popular writings carry. The 2020 free-inquiry paper argues that hypotheses should be evaluated by inspectable evidentiary standards. It does not argue that the equality thesis is wrong, that hereditarianism is correct, or that policy follows. The 2024 Murray-Carl Substack essay presses Carl’s concession on moral worth without claiming the threshold view is unsalvageable in principle. The Conly paper accepts Conly’s case for coercive paternalism and adds intellectual capacity as a premise. The papers stake out limited positions on inspectable terrain.
The popular writings shed most of the qualification. “A Guide for the Hereditarian Revolution” reads as flag rather than as argument. The wokism essay collapses Locke, Christianity, WEIRD psychology, and contemporary progressive culture into a single genealogical line. The MAGA-communism essay deploys an inflammatory label across distinct political tendencies.
The popular writings also carry the coalition-signaling load that the publications do not. “Revolution” rallies allies. “MAGA communism” peels smart anti-wokes from the populist working-class right. The wokism essay flatters secular naturalists over Christians-in-denial. The publications have coalition functions, as the MacDonald and Sowell audits show, but the function operates through the forensic content rather than through the framing vocabulary. The popular writings reverse the ratio. Vocabulary does most of the work. Forensic content, where it exists, supports the vocabulary.
The interviews sit lower on the specification axis than even the popular writings. The Andrew Gold interview accepts the host’s framing about Stuyvesant having been “stolen,” which oversimplifies what has actually happened to the SHSAT and selective programs in New York. Cofnas does not correct it. The interview catalogues the persecution narrative (Daily Mail, Telegraph, Nick Ferrari, Korean deplatforming) at length and lets the catalogue do interpretive work. The Calmversations interview defends the default hypothesis against MacDonald in a register that suffices for the coalition audience without refuting MacDonald on his own terms. Italian fascism before 1938 gets cited as if it equates to German Nazism, which it does not. The Brenner interview surfaces material that the heterodox-right interviewers do not press: that evolution does not select for intelligence, that smart people have fewer children, that the long-run trajectory of intelligence might run against the hereditarian-revolution narrative. Brenner is positioned to ask the question. The other interviewers are not.
The interviews show three further patterns that the publications hide and the popular writings only partly reveal. The first is friendly-host accommodation. Cofnas softens edges, accepts host framings, performs solidarity with the host’s worldview rather than reporting accurately. This is the cost of the format. He is in the room as a guest. The second is identity work the publications cannot do. The Brenner interview surfaces the inherited Jewish communal identity Cofnas is partly exiting and partly retaining. The hereditarian-revolution framework is doing identity-management work that does not appear in the procedural language of the academic papers. The third is hero-system consolidation. Each new institutional rejection becomes a data point. The Korean deplatforming as line on the CV. The Daily Mail fabrication as evidence of persecution. The Strangelove gag closing the Brenner episode. The publications cannot perform this consolidation because the genre forbids it. The popular writings can perform some of it through framing. The interviews perform it most directly because the conversational format rewards autobiographical narrative.
The empirical confidence varies across the four registers. The publications hedge more than the popular writings, and the popular writings hedge more than the interviews and the social media posts. The Andrew Gold interview presents the heritability of group differences as roughly settled. The wokism essay treats the equality thesis as the load-bearing premise of contemporary elite legitimacy. The 2020 free-inquiry paper argues only that the question must remain open. The same author makes all three claims in different venues, and the variation tracks audience expectations rather than evolving evidence.
The political content also varies. The publications mostly avoid direct policy claims. The popular writings sketch policy directions through framing rather than through specification. The interviews state policy positions plainly because the host asks and the format rewards direct answers. Cofnas tells Andrew Gold that he wants to highlight the harm done to White people by the equality thesis. He tells the Calmversations hosts that he expects the establishment cannot keep IQ differences out of the mainstream much longer because the zoomer right knows all about it. The publications do not contain these claims because the publications cannot.
One pattern cuts across all four registers (X, Substack, popular writing, and academic writing). The auditing standard Cofnas applies to opponents (MacDonald, Sowell, Singer, Conly, the Westermarckians, the Boehmians, the moral progress theorists) does not get applied with equal rigor to his own coalition’s central claims. In the publications the asymmetry shows up as topic selection. He audits the equality thesis and not the careful-hereditarian default. In the popular writings the asymmetry shows up as framing. The hereditarian revolution is historical inevitability. The opposing position is theological inheritance. In the interviews the asymmetry shows up as concessions slipping through unnoticed. Evolution does not select for intelligence. WORDSUM data cuts against White race-realists. These admissions sit alongside confident hereditarian claims without integration. The same forensic mind that catches the Cicero passage in Sowell does not catch the trajectory implication in his own concession to Brenner.
The cleanest summary is that the publications protect Cofnas’s epistemic credibility, the popular writings build his coalition, and the interviews consolidate the hero system the coalition needs. Each register does what its genre permits. The three together make the project legible in ways no single register could. Reading only the publications produces a careful philosopher of biology with limited claims. Reading only the popular writings produces a polemical hereditarian with an inevitability narrative. Reading only the interviews produces a persecuted truth-teller with autobiographical color. The three together produce the actual figure: a coalition intellectual whose forensic competence is real, whose coalition position is operative, and whose self-presentation varies by audience.
Looking at the Nathan Cofnas X account on April 28, 2026 shows that many of the items are about Jews. The Galloway reply, the “Twilight of the Liberal Jew” repost, the updated list of politically influential American Jews under 42, and the Steve McGuire repost on Ivy League Jewish political shifts. The hereditarian-revolution framework operates partly as coalition migration from inherited Jewish communal identity to a heterodox-academic position that rewards Jewish-credentialed dissent. The X feed shows the identity work happening continuously rather than residually. He is not occasionally returning to Jewish topics. He is tracking Jewish political behavior as a regular practice.
The “Twilight of the Liberal Jew” updates point at the framework hardening rather than evolving. He wrote the essay in 2023. Two years later he is maintaining and revising the list. The original (under 40) named Shapiro, Raichik, Stephen Miller, Klein, and Zuckerberg. The 2025 update (under 42) adds Sam Altman and Bari Weiss. The list mixes right and center-left. The grouping criterion is ethnicity, not politics. This is a MacDonald move performed in different vocabulary. Cofnas’s 2018 audit refused MacDonald’s group-evolutionary-strategy framework. The X list groups influential Jews by ethnicity for political analysis. The two operations sit closer together than the academic distinction suggests, and the X register reveals the proximity that the publications and even the popular writings can hide.
The Galloway reply shows the journal forensic in a different application. The Moroccan-Jew dilemma is a sharp rhetorical move. If Galloway thinks Moroccan Jews don’t belong in Israel and don’t belong in Morocco, where can they go and what can they eat? The argument is structurally clean, of the kind the MacDonald and Sowell audits perform in long form. On X it operates as victory-by-trap rather than as inspectable argument. Same tool, different use.
The repost of Doctor-Baron 17cShyteposter confirms the bifurcation we sketched between registers. The handle is anonymous-dissident-right adjacent. The careful-hereditarian academic image cannot afford direct association with that ecosystem. On X, Cofnas reposts the account approvingly. The publications keep distance the X feed does not. Both registers exist. The X register is closer to the Substack register than to the journal register, and arguably closer than even the popular writings to the dissident-right ecosystem the academic position has to keep at arm’s length.
The Alan Wolan repost (“pulls zero punches”) is straightforward coalition-signaling and self-promotion. The persecuted-truth-teller hero system the Andrew Gold and Brennerinterviews consolidate gets daily reinforcement on X through this kind of approving repost.
The X feed does not contain the auditor mode. No MacDonald-style takedowns. No Sowell-style forensic. No Singer-style tradition-by-tradition reading. The auditing operation that defines his publications and animates his Substack does not appear in the X register. X is for confrontational coalition speech, list-making, identity-tracking, and self-promotion. The bifurcation between his three written registers (publications, popular writings, interviews) extends to a fourth register (X) that operates lower on the specification axis than even the interviews. The same author. Four registers. The differences across the registers are larger than they look from inside any one of them.
The pinned post is “Beating Woke with Facts and Logic” from October 9, 2025. The opening line of the linked Substack is the kind of caricature a journal article would not survive: “When you think of a woke leftist, you might picture a blue-haired, septum-pierced she/they waving a ‘Queers for Palestine’ placard and screaming into a megaphone.” The pin commits the visitor’s first impression to that register. A man who wants to be read as the careful philosopher of biology who audits MacDonald and Sowell pins a culture-war broadside as his front face. The choice tells you which audience the X persona is trying to hold.
The August 30, 2025 post on women in HR (“Women with $65k/year jobs in HR think a plumber making $90k/year isn’t their ‘equal’ because he doesn’t have a BA in sociology”) drew 2.8 million views and 38,000 likes. A day earlier he posted that “a large proportion of perceived ‘sexism’ is when women are treated the same as men.” Then in January 2026 he runs a Substack titled “Don’t Scapegoat Women.” The sequence is the pattern we have been tracking. Maximize provocation, harvest engagement, walk it back when the position becomes inconvenient. Coalition position management in real time.
The February 19, 2026 Substack note on Pinker is theoretically loose in a way the journal papers never are. He argues that the Flynn effect is wrong, that for a period the IQ-120-plus segment seized cultural control, and that “the medieval peasants are still there, just as dumb as ever, and the Internet is bringing them back to power.” The biological claim is incoherent on its face. Population mean IQ does not stay frozen across half a millennium while a thin top crust temporarily seizes control. The Flynn effect either captures a real environmental shift in test performance or it does not. The post substitutes contempt for the masses for analysis. The same author who corrects Sowell’s geography lets this through.
The April 15, 2026 Turkheimer reply is the item that strikes me hardest. Eric Turkheimer is the central living figure on behavior genetics and environmental contributions to heritability.
Here is the initial Cofnas post on April 13. This is the most substantive direct engagement Cofnas has had with a senior figure in behavior genetics. Cofnas has the better case on what Turkheimer’s 2007 article said. Turkheimer has the better case on what good science looks like in the absence of mechanism, and on whether his own current position is what Cofnas claims it is. The exchange ends with Turkheimer offering Cofnas a falsifiable target. Find the mechanism. Until then the dispute does not resolve. The Becker frame reads it as two hero systems colliding. Each man is the truth-teller in his own story.
The November 2024 reply to Bronze Age Pervert preserves a remarkable claim. Cofnas wrote: “the world’s richest man and the incoming Vice President of America both probably know the truth. A single tweet by Musk could open the floodgates.” This is magical thinking about secret elite allies. Musk and Vance silently agree but might at any moment publicly confirm. The hereditarian coalition needs the secret-ally story because the public ally roster is thin. Coalitions under pressure build narratives in which powerful figures secretly support them and might at any moment defect to their side. The defection rarely arrives. The narrative does the work either way.
The X follower count sits around 28k. He posts heavily (over 8,000 posts). The audience does not grow. The hereditarian revolution that the pinned essay declares feasible and desirable is not visible in his own metrics. The cycle is repeat customers rather than expansion.
The Galloway exchange and the “Twilight of the Liberal Jew” updates from July 2025 sit alongside an interview self-promotion from March 2026 (“I was interviewed for Flemish state television“). The persecuted-truth-teller hero system the Andrew Gold and Brennerinterviews consolidate gets daily reinforcement on X. Each new media touch confirms relevance. The framework requires the touches.
The X mode is provocation, mockery, list-making, and self-promotion. The auditor mode that defines his publications appears nowhere, including the Turkheimer reply, where it might have served him best.
The Substack notes register sits below the long-form essays on the specification axis and below even the X feed in some moods. The casual cruelty surfaces openly. February 19, 2026: “the medieval peasants are still there, just as dumb as ever, and the Internet is bringing them back to power.” July 9, 2025: conservative-run university centers are “nepotistic (corrupt),” focused on “libertarian propaganda, great books, Christianity, or constitutional history” with “very little serious research.” Jordan Peterson is “clown content” who “could do better than arguing that ‘dragons are real.'” Bookstore “banned books” sections get described casually as “gay porn for children.” The auditor of MacDonald’s footnotes is unlikely to have done forensic work on what specific books appear in specific bookstore “banned books” sections in New York or San Francisco. The phrase is a coalition gesture, not an audit. Groypers get dismissed as too dumb to read 480 words. The literacy gibe is doing the same coalition-discipline work as the right-wing-stupidity essay from January 2024. Cofnas treats inability or unwillingness to read 480 words as evidence of cognitive unfitness. The groypers are dismissed not for the substance of their critique but for the ratio of their attention span to his post length. The same author who treats Sowell carefully on sixty books treats his right-wing critics dismissively on 480 words. The asymmetry tracks coalition lines, not specification density. The “American so-called ‘right’ has become a coalition of stupid people from across the political spectrum.”
The contempt for the masses runs through the Substack notes. Cofnas wants a hereditarian revolution that requires elite acceptance. The notes show him insulting the very populations a coalition would need. Smart anti-wokes are his peers. Everyone else, left and right, gets assessed by IQ first and dismissed accordingly.
The keto and carnivore content catches the eye for what it says about tribal positioning. May 17, 2025: “The keto diet had miraculous benefits for me. I’ve eaten only meat, seafood, and non-root vegetables 7 days a week, 365 days a year since 2019.” Six years of strict carnivore practice. The carnivore community on X overlaps with the dissident-right ecosystem. The diet position carries coalition weight beyond the nutritional claim. A philosopher of biology committing to a contested nutritional position with the same certainty he invests in hereditarianism is making a tribal signal. Notable for someone whose academic project rests on calling out tacit-coalition certainties in others.
The MAGA repositioning matters too. April 2025 brought the MAGA Communism essay separating his coalition from Trump’s working-class right. The Substack notes from that period extend the move. “If I’d known that MAGA would become a poverty cult obsessed with bringing Chinese sweatshops to the US, I would have supported DEI Kamala.” Hyperbolic, but it tells you where his coalition position now stands. He is to Trump’s left on economics and culture, to Trump’s right on race science, attached to a credentialed-dissident coalition that wants to be neither the populist right nor the woke left. This position is structurally unstable. It requires the populist right to stay stupid enough to dismiss and the woke left to stay woke enough to fear. Cofnas has to keep both adversaries in their assigned roles for his coalition to retain coherent boundaries.
The persecution narrative consolidates. March 17, 2026: “I was interviewed for Flemish state television.” Same day: “De Standaard made a montage of me being evil.” December 28, 2025: “Random hate mail from Chris Rufo.” Each note is one more data point in the hero-system narrative the Andrew Gold and Brennerinterviews already showed forming. The Substack note format is well suited to this work. Short, image-heavy, easy to repost, low friction. The notes are doing the consolidation that earlier required full essays.
Cofnas’s project depends on his being read across all four registers as the same careful auditor. The registers are diverging. The long-form essays still contain the careful argument. Everywhere else the project is hardening into hereditarian advocacy with culture-war flourishes and a steady supply of persecution content. The brand cannot survive indefinitely on the journal articles alone if the notes, X feed, and interviews keep moving in this direction.
Cofnas’s argument here is the same engine that drives his MacDonald critique, run on a different target. In both cases he isolates a move where smart people abandon the rules of evidence when the conclusion threatens a coalition value, then he names the move and shows how often it happens. Against MacDonald the move is “ignore Jews who lead opposing movements.” Against the intelligence-research establishment the move is “raise the standard of evidence for hypotheses we find dangerous, and lower it for hypotheses we find flattering.” Same shape.
The Dennett comparison is the cleanest section. Diamond’s hypothesis that New Guineans evolved higher intelligence through tribal warfare gets called magnificent. Lynn’s hypothesis that Europeans evolved higher intelligence through cold-climate selection gets ruled out a priori as awful and racist. The two arguments have the same logical structure. Selection pressure acts on a population over evolutionary time and produces measurable cognitive differences. The asymmetry of treatment is not scientific. It is coalitional. Dennett gives the game away further when he writes that he would be tempted to misrepresent and caricature an idea he found dangerous, and that this is a dirty job somebody has got to do. Then he turns around and condemns Marxists for the identical practice.
The Gould section lands hard because the receipts are so clean. Gould accused Morton of unconsciously cooking his skull measurements to confirm racial hierarchy. Michael remeasured the skulls and found Morton was clean. Gould kept the accusation in the revised edition without mentioning Michael. Lewis and colleagues remeasured half the skulls and found Gould had cooked his own reanalysis by excluding lower-capacity non-Caucasian skulls to lift the non-Caucasian average. Holloway’s line, that Gould was a charlatan whose ideological stance was supreme, is the kind of public statement insiders almost never make. The Mismeasure of Man is taught in courses across the country as a warning about ideologically corrupted science. The irony writes itself.
The Kitcher move on epistemic asymmetry is more interesting than Cofnas gives it credit for. Kitcher’s claim that we should require more evidence for hypotheses with high social cost has a defensible structure if you think of belief as action under uncertainty. Doctors apply something like this when they require stronger evidence to license a risky treatment than to license bed rest. The problem is that Kitcher does not apply the rule symmetrically. Diamond’s flattering hypothesis about New Guineans does not get the higher bar. Only the unflattering hypothesis does. Once the asymmetry shows up the rule collapses into “I will reject what offends my coalition.” Cofnas could have made this point more sharply.
Where Cofnas is weak: the closing rhetoric about truth always winning out is too tidy. Some truths have hurt people in the short and medium run, and the question of who pays the cost of premature publication is harder than his Aristotle quote suggests. He also does not engage seriously with the strongest version of the worry, which is not that scientists know the consequences of their work but that some research programs sit close enough to active political projects that the line between honest inquiry and political ammunition gets thin. That worry does not justify suppressing the research. It does justify asking why a given researcher chose this question rather than another, and what coalition rewards he gets for the choice. Cofnas wants to retire that question. The Alliance Theory angle frame says the question never goes away, on either side.
Through my four-question lens, Cofnas in 2015 is a doctoral candidate at Lingnan funded by a Hong Kong research grant, writing in a small philosophy of science journal, citing Sesardic, Gottfredson, Rushton, Jensen, Lynn, Kanazawa, and Woodley. That is a coalition. It is the heterodox-hereditarian network that sits adjacent to the Pinker-Murray-Reich respectable wing but reaches further out to figures the mainstream treats as untouchable. His income and protection at that point came from advisors and funders inside that network. His status came from being the careful, calm one who could say what the others said without sounding angry. That coalition position does not make him wrong. It does explain which asymmetries he sees clearly and which he glides past. He is sharp on the suppression of hereditarian findings. He is silent on the parallel question of whether some hereditarian researchers have soft-pedaled their own evidentiary problems for coalition reasons.
If race differences in intelligence have a partly genetic component, the path to social justice is harder. That is the real driver of the suppression. Not malice. Not stupidity. A coalition committed to a moral project that depends on a particular empirical premise, defending the premise because the project depends on it. The defense looks like science from inside the coalition and looks like motivated reasoning from outside. Cofnas names the structure without quite naming the coalitional logic underneath it.
The paper holds up. It is the kind of careful, dry, footnoted piece that does more damage to its targets than a thousand polemics, because the targets cannot easily dismiss it as a polemic.
The paper does one useful thing well. It splits a category that gets treated as a unit and shows the pieces behave differently. Self-identified conservatives and social conservatives look less scientifically literate and less optimistic about science than progressives. Economic conservatives, the people who think welfare spending is too high or government should not redistribute, score as well or better than economic leftists on the same measures. The Jost-Mooney story that conservatives are uniformly hostile to science cannot survive that finding.
The cleanest result in the table is the redistribution column. People who oppose government redistribution score higher on the test of the experimental method, on the quiz of scientific facts, on understanding of scientific study, and on the benefits-outweigh-costs measures. They are also less likely to say science makes life change too fast or that we trust too much in science. The pattern is consistent. It points at something the political-psychology literature has mostly ignored: economic conservatism in the American sample tracks with cognitive variables that look closer to libertarian or classical-liberal commitments than to the religious-traditionalist cluster the same surveys lump them with.
The astrology item is the small surprise that cuts the other way. Self-identified conservatives, anti-welfare respondents, and anti-redistribution respondents are all less likely to say astrology is scientific. That fits other survey data showing astrology belief tilts left in the United States, probably because the spiritual-but-not-religious demographic skews progressive. It complicates the simple story that progressives are the science-respecting side.
The methodological limits are real and the authors mostly do not flag them. The scientific-literacy battery is short and weighted toward items that correlate with formal education, so any group with more college exposure looks more literate by construction. The optimism-about-science items mix attitudes that come apart in practice: confidence in the scientific community is a different object from belief that benefits outweigh harms is a different object from “we trust too much in science.” Loading those onto one axis hides the structure. A respondent who thinks vaccines work, climate models are sound, and the NIH is captured by pharma is doing something coherent, but this scale codes him as confused.
The bigger gap is the one the paper gestures at in the discussion and then drops. They cite Duarte and Haidt on academic underrepresentation of conservatives and Cofnas’s own paper on suppressed findings, but they do not push on the obvious next question. If “trust the scientific community” is the optimism measure, and the scientific community has spent decades signaling progressive commitments on the topics where progressives are most invested, then progressive trust in that community is partly trust in a coalition ally. Conservative skepticism of that community is partly skepticism of a coalition opponent. The variable might measure coalition position more than orientation toward inquiry. The same survey data probably shows progressives losing trust in scientific institutions when those institutions tell them something they do not want to hear, on group differences or on COVID origins or on puberty blockers, but the 2000-2014 GSS waves predate most of those tests.
Carl was at Nuffield, Cofnas at Cambridge HPS, Woodley at Chemnitz and the Brussels Center Leo Apostel. All three sit in the heterodox-hereditarian network that overlaps with the London Conference on Intelligence circle. The paper itself is careful and the finding is real, but the choice to run the analysis, the choice of journal (Personality and Individual Differences under Rushton’s long influence), and the framing all sit inside a coalition that benefits from showing the standard story about conservatives and science is wrong. That does not weaken the finding. It does explain why this paper exists and why a parallel paper showing economic progressives outperform economic conservatives on some other literacy measure does not get written by the same authors.
The most useful citation in the paper is Malka and colleagues, the cross-national study showing need for security and certainty correlates positively with social conservatism but negatively with right-wing economic attitudes. That is the empirical point the heterodox literature on political psychology keeps having to relearn. The Jost framework treats conservatism as a unitary motivated-cognition cluster. The data keep saying it is at least two clusters that happen to share a label in American politics for contingent coalition reasons. Carl, Cofnas, and Woodley are reading from that page. The contribution is small. The direction is right.
This is a different Cofnas. The other two papers are public-facing arguments aimed at intellectual coalitions. This one is a careful piece of philosophy of biology written for a small specialist audience. The voice is patient, the moves are technical, and the politics drops almost entirely out of view.
The core move is sharp. Lloyd, Wilson, and Sober defined evolutionary mismatch as harmful deviation from the ancestral environment. Cofnas points out that this builds the conclusion into the definition. If you want to study whether deviations from ancestral conditions help or hurt fitness or welfare, you cannot start by defining mismatch as the harmful ones. You smuggle the answer in. So he replaces their definition with a value-neutral one drawn from Neander and Millikan: mismatch is any environmental change that prevents a biological trait from producing the effect it was selected for. Whether the change is good, bad, or mixed becomes an empirical question. That is a genuine philosophical contribution. It makes the concept usable.
The Millikanian apparatus is the engine that lets him cut the territory into four types. Direct proper functions can fail to develop (thalidomide, reading-induced myopia). Direct proper functions can develop fully but fail to operate (peppered moths on soot-darkened bark). Relational proper functions can misrepresent the environment (jackdaws raised by humans courting humans, ducklings imprinting on the wrong species, suburban lawns as supernormal savannah cues). Relational proper functions can use representations correctly but produce responses that no longer reach the invariant goal (apartment cats whose hunting chain comes apart). The taxonomy is clean. Each cell has a working example. The teddy-bear and pornography examples are familiar from Tinbergen and Eibl-Eibesfeldt, but the Millikan framing tightens what they were doing.
The intelligence application is where Cofnas’s coalition reappears, quietly. He uses the new taxonomy to defend Kanazawa, Chiappe, and MacDonald against Penke and colleagues. Critics had said the claim that general intelligence evolved as an adaptation for evolutionary novelty is logically incoherent. Adaptations evolve in response to recurrent features of the environment, so an adaptation for nonrecurrent features is a contradiction. Cofnas answers that novelty can recur. If the environment keeps changing in ways that disrupt existing proper functions, then “ability to handle disruption” becomes a recurrent selection pressure even though the specific disruptions never repeat. That move works. It is the same point Sterelny made about hominin cognitive evolution in The Evolved Apprentice, dressed in Millikan’s vocabulary.
Two weaknesses. First, the framework inherits all the standard problems of selected-effect functionalism. Defining a trait’s proper function as the effect for which it was selected requires you to identify what was selected for. For most complex traits in most species, you cannot identify the selection regime with any confidence. The debates about whether depression is an adaptation, or whether the brain has a domain-general reasoning module, are not debates the Millikan framework can settle. They are debates the framework presupposes settled. So the taxonomy is sharper than the underlying biology will usually support.
Second, the Kanazawa rescue is partial. Cofnas saves the logical coherence of the recurrent-novelty claim. He does not address the harder objection, which is that Kanazawa’s specific applications, especially the claim that liberalism and vegetarianism are evolutionarily novel and therefore correlate with general intelligence, depend on contestable judgments about which features count as novel. Cofnas notes the problem in the Dutton citation but glides past it. The taxonomy gives you vocabulary for the dispute. It does not adjudicate it. Whether contemporary political ideology fits “Misrepresentation-inducing mismatch in the social domain” is exactly the kind of question where the framework is too coarse to compel agreement. Critics will say liberalism is just the cooperative ideology of small-group hunter-gatherers extended; Kanazawa says it is novel; the framework says both have to be analyzed in terms of which proper functions are or are not performed, and now you are arguing about that instead.
The acknowledgments list Sesardic, Millikan, Sober, Zhang. Two reviewers from Biology and Philosophy. This is mainstream philosophy of biology, not the heterodox-hereditarian network. The Sesardic thanks are interesting. Sesardic is a serious philosopher of science who happens to be the most careful defender of behavior-genetic and IQ research against ideological attack, the figure Cofnas leans on heaviest in the 2015 fact-value paper. Their long collaboration sits behind both essays. Cofnas is doing real philosophy in respectable venues while staying loyal to the heterodox network that nurtured him intellectually.
This paper shows the man at his most defensible. He is using technical apparatus he understands to defend a research program he believes in. The coalition payoff is real but understated: a Kanazawa rescue, a Sterelny endorsement, a small advance in evolutionary psychology’s conceptual toolkit. The work could survive the disappearance of his coalition. The 2015 fact-value paper and the 2016 Carl-Cofnas-Woodley paper could not.
This is a more ambitious paper than the mismatch piece. The mismatch piece took a working concept and gave it a cleaner definition. This paper takes a concept many philosophers of biology think should be retired and tries to rebuild it on Lorenz’s foundations after Lehrman’s demolition. The bar is higher and Cofnas mostly clears it.
The core move is the right one. Lehrman’s 1953 critique killed the naive Lorenz of the 1930s by pointing out that no trait develops independently of environment, and the deprivation experiment cannot establish what its defenders thought it established. Lorenz’s 1965 reply, which most of the literature ignores, conceded the point and replaced the bad definition with a better one. Innateness is not about traits that develop without environmental input. It is about which source supplies the adaptive information the trait embodies. Two sources, Lorenz said: phylogenetic experience stored in the genome, and individual experience acquired in the lifetime. Cofnas adds the obvious third source Lorenz missed, cultural tradition, and then asks whether the genome-versus-not distinction still picks out something useful once you grant that human adaptations require cultural scaffolding.
The Shea apparatus does the heavy lifting. If you accept Shea’s account of the genome as an inheritance system whose meta-function is to preserve genes correlated with adaptive phenotypes, then genes carry pushmi-pullyu representations: directive content (produce this phenotype) and indicative content (the environment is such that this phenotype fits). The polar bear example makes the abstraction concrete. Gene-W, once it goes to fixation, has the indicative content “the environment is white.” That is what it means for the genome to store information about the environment. Cofnas extends the same framework to cultural variants. If a cultural belief proliferates by natural selection because it tracks fitness-relevant features of the environment, the belief carries indicative content the same way a gene does. The proposition “God hates birth control” is empirically false but, if it spreads because it raises fertility, it functions as a true signal of an environment that supports many children. The signal-truth and proposition-truth come apart. That is a clean philosophical point and a useful one, since it dissolves the apparent paradox in Pinker’s observation that adaptive beliefs can be systematically false.
The overimitation discussion is the best worked example in the paper. Heyes argues overimitation is culturally acquired through mimicry training in infancy. Henrich and others argue it is a genetic adaptation. Cofnas shows the framework handles either answer cleanly. If genetic, the genome stores indicative content about culture itself, namely that all elements of certain models’ goal-directed behavior are worth copying even when their causal relevance is opaque. If cultural, the same content is stored in the cultural tradition rather than the genome. The trait is innate in the first case and not in the second. The empirical question of which obtains is open, but the conceptual distinction is clean. That is the right shape of result for a philosophical paper. It does not adjudicate the empirical question. It shows the empirical question is well-formed.
Where the paper is weakest. The genetic-disease argument runs on a single search of the Journal of Medical Genetics archives and treats the pattern as evidence about how scientists use the word. That is thin. A search of one journal across one specialty does not establish much about scientific usage in general, and the philosophical literature treating genetic disease as a paradigm case of innateness has its own reasons for that treatment that Cofnas does not engage. He gestures at the discrepancy and moves on. The Mameli and Bateson cluster account, which says innateness corresponds to several only loosely correlated properties (i-properties), gets a faster dismissal than it deserves. Their argument is that even if innateness has a meaning in some uses, the term encourages illegitimate inferences from one i-property to another, which is a charge about the word’s pragmatic effect on scientific reasoning rather than about its semantic content. Cofnas’s reply is that scientists use the word to mark genetic adaptation specifically, so the bad inferences they worry about do not actually happen. That reply needs more empirical support than the Journal of Medical Genetics search provides.
The epigenetic section is short for a reason. Haig’s point that the capacity for epigenetic switching is itself a genetic adaptation does most of the work, and Cofnas leans on it without overstating. The honest concession is that if Jablonka and Lamb turn out to be right about high-fidelity epigenetic inheritance accumulating adaptive information across generations, the account needs revision. He says so. That is the right tone.
The acknowledgments tell a story. Patrick Bateson, Cecilia Heyes, Tim Lewens, David Papineau, Neven Sesardic, Kim Sterelny, two BPhil reviewers. Bateson is one of the philosophers Cofnas is arguing against, and getting his comments on a draft is the kind of thing that happens when you are doing real philosophy in good faith. Heyes is the source of the cultural-overimitation hypothesis Cofnas treats as live. Lewens runs Cambridge HPS and is the leading philosopher of cultural evolution in the UK. Papineau is the senior figure in teleosemantics. Sterelny is the figure whose Evolved Apprentice provides the apprentice-learning framework. This is the cream of the discipline, and the paper reads like it was sharpened by their criticism. Sesardic is the only name from the heterodox network Cofnas is loyal to elsewhere. The center of gravity has shifted toward mainstream philosophy of biology.
The Cofnas of 2017 sits at Darwin College Cambridge. His income, status, and protection now come from the Cambridge HPS world: Lewens, Papineau, the Biology and Philosophy reviewers, the Springer publishing apparatus. The coalition rewards careful Millikan-style work that engages the existing literature respectfully. The paper delivers exactly that. He is no longer just the Sesardic protégé who took down Kevin MacDonald. He is becoming a recognizable figure in mainstream philosophy of mind and biology. The same instrument that produced the heterodox-coded fact-value paper in 2015 is here producing a paper any philosophy of biology department would be happy to claim. That is what intellectual mobility looks like in academic philosophy. The four pieces together let you see a man building two careers at once: the public-facing heterodox writer and the credentialed analytic philosopher of biology. The credentialed track requires constant deposits of work like this paper. Cofnas is making the deposits.
The most useful single contribution is the analysis of how culturally transmitted variants can carry indicative content in the same way genes do, and the resulting clarification that “innate” should pick out the genome-as-source case specifically rather than phylogenetic adaptation broadly. That move both saves Lorenz from his own oversight and gives scientists like Spelke, Haidt, and Wertz a defense against developmental-systems theorists who would have them retire the word. Whether the move ultimately persuades philosophers committed to abandoning innateness is a separate question. The argument is honest, the apparatus is appropriate, and the paper deserves to be in the literature.
Cofnas identifies a real hole in the Standard Model. The SM treats religion as a contest among MCI concepts for memorability and transmission. He correctly notes this misses what laypeople do most of the time: defer to religious experts whose doctrines they cannot articulate or even understand. The Catholic in the pew does not believe in an MCI agent who answers prayers sequentially. He believes his priest knows more than he does about what God is, and accepts that authority structure.
The critique of the Barrett and Keil evidence base lands. A handful of studies on prayer-vignettes cannot carry the weight the SM places on them. And Cofnas’s point about transmission is sharp: what passes between people is the verbal explicit content, not the implicit representation. If the explicit content is highly counterintuitive (omnipotence, omniscience, immateriality), then the SM is at best a theory of how that content gets distorted in private cognition, not a theory of cultural transmission.
But the positive account is weaker than the critique. Cofnas wants to say people accept doctrinal religions through “the plausibility of what they can understand and the intellectual credibility of the experts.” This relocates the question rather than answering it. What confers intellectual credibility? Why does Pat Robertson get to keep his coalition if he switches to Catholicism but lose it all if he switches to Zeus?
His own Pat Robertson example points toward an answer he does not develop. The reason Robertson cannot pivot to Mickey Mouse, even with maximum CREDs, has little to do with logic and much to do with coalition structure. His audience selected him as a model because he speaks for a coalition with stakes in particular doctrines. A switch to Mickey Mouse is not a change of conclusion. It is an exit from the coalition. The doctrines mark the boundary. CREDs and prestige operate inside that boundary, not before it.
This is where Alliance Theory angle does work that Cofnas’s “logical development” framing cannot. Doctrines proliferate because they coordinate coalitions, and theologians develop them under pressure to maintain coherence as the coalition expands across populations. The free will and omnipotence paradox is a case in point. Slone argues theologians independently arrived at the same three solutions because the logic of the paradox allows only those solutions. Maybe. But the paradox only arises if you have already committed to two coalition-sustaining premises: an all-powerful God responsible for everything (which underwrites priestly authority and ritual significance) and human responsibility that carries moral weight (which underwrites moral teaching and behavioral compliance). The parallels across Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Hindu traditions, and Buddhism reflect parallel coalition pressures, not free-floating logic. Drop either premise and you lose the apparatus that holds the coalition together.
The Judaism and Hinduism convergence on a self-existent creator who manifests in but stands outside time is striking. Cofnas reads this as theologians reasoning their way to similar conclusions from similar starting points. Becker’s The Denial of Death points another way. Both traditions need a hero system that can absorb death, and a fully transcendent creator does that work in ways an MCI agent cannot. The technical philosophical apparatus is what specialists produce when they must defend the transcendent claim against scrutiny. The lay believer does not need the apparatus. He needs to know that someone trustworthy has it covered.
The piece also undersells Whitehouse. The doctrinal-mode account already explains much of what Cofnas claims the SM misses: the routinized rituals, the priestly interpretive monopoly, the logical coherence pressure on theology, the spread across anonymous populations. Cofnas cites Whitehouse but does not credit how much of his own positive picture is borrowed. The contribution that feels new is the explicit framing of expert deference as a missing variable in CSR. That part deserves the attention it gets.
Cofnas treats the analogy between religious and scientific authority as roughly symmetric: laypeople defer in both cases because they recognize superior expertise. Stephen Turner’s work on expertise and democracy complicates this. Religious authority and scientific authority are both achieved through coalition processes, not through some pure recognition of competence. Turner’s point about epistemic coercion is that what looks like deference to expertise is often deference to whoever has the institutional standing to define what counts as expertise. That cuts against Cofnas’s clean analogy and points back to the coalition account.
The paper makes one sharp move and several softer ones. The sharp move separates trust in scientists from trust in science. Gauchat measures the first and treats it as the second. Cofnas, Carl, and Woodley catch him on it. The McCright finding closes the door on a lazy reading. Conservatives trust food and materials scientists more than liberals do. If conservatives distrusted science as such, they would not trust production scientists more.
Putnam supplies their best evidence. He admits he held findings until he could append a liberal-friendly forecast. He says publishing without that move would have been irresponsible. He then accuses scholars who cite his short-term findings without his speculative long-term forecast of selective citation. That catches him cleanly. The amicus brief from the ASA and APSA dismissing Putnam’s data on procedural grounds while building its own case on a “well-established body of literature” catches them too.
The 1000-studies myth on media violence holds up. Major medical and psychological associations testified to Congress that thousands of studies supported a causal link they had not reviewed. Freedman counted around two hundred. The associations put their authority behind a number wrong by an order of magnitude.
Where the paper softens. It documents a pattern of activism but does not show that the pattern explains the time series. The GSS trend sits on one axis and a list of activism cases on the other. The authors never connect the two with evidence that conservatives know about these cases and update on them. The argument is plausible. It is a hypothesis dressed as a finding.
The paper also fails to check itself. Cofnas, Carl, and Woodley sit in a particular coalition, the heterodox-hereditarian wing that includes Sesardic, Gottfredson, Jensen, and Rushton. The papers they cite as victims of censorship are mostly papers that coalition supports. The Sternberg and Gardner quotes they wave concern race and IQ, the coalition’s flagship file. Run my four questions on the authors. Who do they rely on for status? Heterodox networks, IQ research outlets, Quillette-adjacent venues. Who do they need to retain? The same readers. What signals membership? Treating Summers as martyr, treating Stapel and LaCour as representative, treating stereotype threat as the paradigm failed liberal effect. What would they lose by reversing position? Their entire intellectual home.
That does not make the case wrong. Putnam did what he did. But the paper performs the same selective citation it charges the field with. It picks cases that support its conclusion. It does not look hard for production-scientist scandals or conservative-friendly findings that survived peer review without trouble.
The Turner connection is what the paper misses. Turner’s work on expertise and democratic legitimacy is the frame this argument needs. Scientists claim authority to settle public questions. That authority rests on a perception of restraint. Activism depletes the credit. The loss of credit shows up in survey data. The paper gestures at this without naming it. Weber’s “Science as a Vocation” appears once, late, as a closing flourish.
The trust-in-scientists frame holds. The Putnam evidence holds. The causal story across forty years of GSS data is asserted rather than tested. And the authors’ coalition position is invisible to them, which is the same charge they level at the field.
The strongest material is the Kenyan study and the creatine work. The Neumann trial gave roughly equicaloric supplements of meat, milk, or oil to children whose baseline diet was nearly vegetarian. The meat group outperformed the milk group on fluid intelligence by about 0.65 SD, on arithmetic, on muscle gain, and on physical and social activity. This is the only controlled comparison of meat versus milk supplementation in children, and the AND (Academy of Nutrition and Dietetics) ignores it. That omission is hard to defend on scientific grounds. The creatine evidence from Rae et al. and Rawson et al. fits the same pattern. Vegetarians improved roughly 1 SD on fluid intelligence and working memory tasks with creatine supplementation, while meat-eaters showed no benefit. The natural reading is that the vegetarian baseline reflects deficiency, not a ceiling effect.
The B12 numbers also land. Herrmann’s findings, where vegans averaged 148 pmol/L and even supplementing vegans clustered in the marginal range, sit poorly with the AND’s confident statement. The childhood consequences of B12 deficiency can be permanent. If the AND is going to make a blanket claim that vegan diets work for “all stages of the life cycle,” the burden of evidence on this point is high, and the available data does not meet it.
The hypospadias finding from North and Golding is striking, a 3.5x relative risk linked to phytoestrogen exposure in pregnant vegetarian mothers. Whether that replicates is another question, but the AND ignoring it while recommending soy as the primary meat substitute for pregnant women is the kind of thing Cofnas is right to flag.
Now the weaker parts. The Hudson and Buckley sex ratio finding is one paper at one British hospital with a small vegetarian subsample. Cofnas treats it more confidently than the evidence warrants. Sex ratio at birth is noisy data and the malnutrition-stress-male-loss chain has many competing explanations. He should have cited it as suggestive at most.
The Gale et al. detour about vegetarian IQ and redistributionist politics, with the swerve into Kanazawa and Carl on intelligence and political views, is the weakest passage in the paper. It has nothing to do with whether vegetarianism is healthy for children. It reads like an aside the author could not resist. It opens flanks that distract from the core argument and invites readers to dismiss the rest as ideologically motivated. Kanazawa’s work on intelligence and ideology has serious methodological problems and citing it weakens rather than strengthens his case. A careful editor would have cut that paragraph entirely.
The acne section is reasonable as far as it goes but the link to the vegetarian question is thin. The argument is: dairy causes acne, vegetarians who substitute dairy for meat consume more dairy, therefore vegetarian children have more acne. The middle premise is assumed rather than demonstrated. Many lacto-ovo vegetarians do not increase dairy intake.
The taurine and DHA sections are honest about uncertainty. He repeatedly says the clinical relevance is unknown, which is the correct posture. The point that the AND itself uses the word “unknown” while still issuing a confident recommendation is a fair catch.
The deeper structural critique is the one worth lifting out. The AND is a professional body whose members have strong commitments to dietary recommendations that align with environmental and ethical concerns prominent in their professional coalition. The position statement reads like advocacy dressed as science. That is a coalition-maintenance document, not a literature review. The four diagnostic questions apply. Who do the AND authors rely on for status and protection? The professional and ideological networks that endorse plant-based eating. What signals coalition membership? Position statements that affirm vegetarianism’s safety across the life cycle. What would they lose by qualifying the claim? Standing within those networks and the ability to serve as expert witnesses for plant-based advocacy. The science-policy gap Cofnas documents is what coalition pressure on professional bodies looks like in practice.
His paper has had 88,000 views. That is unusual for a nutrition review. The reason is that he said something the AND coalition has institutional reasons not to say, and parents searching for honest information about feeding their children find very little of it. The piece is useful for that reason even with its flaws.
The political detour should come out and the sex ratio claim should be softened. Otherwise the argument holds.
The rejoinder lands several clean hits and exposes Larregue as the weaker debater. Cofnas, Carl, and Woodley catch him misquoting them on “affirmative action,” a phrase that appears nowhere in their paper. They catch him on the Pioneer Fund claim about Herrnstein and Murray, who never received that funding. They catch him calling Heterodox Academy a conservative outfit when its own member survey shows roughly equal numbers of left and right identifiers. Each of these is a basic factual error in a published critique, and each reveals the kind of carelessness that comes from coalition-driven reading rather than close reading.
The strongest move in the rejoinder is the burden-shift on cherry-picking. If Cofnas et al. cherry-picked, Larregue needed to produce counter-examples. He needed cases where the ASA, the APA, or the APSA filed an amicus brief or testified to Congress in favor of a conservative position. He produced none. The challenge sits there in the text and Larregue cannot answer it. That silence does real work for the authors.
The contexts of discovery and justification move also lands. Larregue accuses the authors of conflating motivation with truth, then turns around and tries to discredit them by listing the conservative outlets where Cofnas has published, the podcaster who interviewed Woodley, and the blog where Carl has written. That is the conflation Larregue named as a fallacy three pages earlier. The authors catch this with the right amount of edge, not too much.
Where the rejoinder shows strain. The causal claim still floats. Cofnas concedes activism is “difficult to measure” and that proving the link to GSS trends is “difficult.” His fallback is that the absence of comparable conservative cases makes liberal drift the reasonable explanation. That is a defensible position for an essay. It is not a tested hypothesis. The original paper sold the activism explanation as a finding. The rejoinder quietly downgrades it to a reasonable inference. A reader who liked the first paper has to notice the retreat.
The Inbar and Lammers exchange is murkier than the authors admit. Larregue’s point was that Inbar and Lammers themselves do not draw the conclusion Cofnas et al. draw from their data. That is a fair point about how the evidence is being used, and the rejoinder dodges it by saying Cofnas et al. are making a different argument from the survey data than Inbar and Lammers made. That is true but it does not address whether the inference from willingness-to-discriminate-in-surveys to actual-distortion-of-published-science holds up. Surveys of stated willingness are not measurements of behavior.
The Stefan Molyneux defense is weak. Saying Molyneux also interviewed Turkheimer and Flynn does not establish him as politically neutral. Molyneux ran a YouTube channel with a clear ideological project, and being interviewed there carried signal about which audience a scholar was willing to address. The authors are right that an interview is not proof of bias. They overplay the response by suggesting Molyneux is some kind of neutral interviewer. He was not.
The Hawking correction is interesting. Cofnas is right that Hawking’s specific Venus claim was scientifically indefensible and was criticized by climate scientists. Larregue elides that to portray Cofnas as a climate denier. The rejoinder catches the elision. This is the kind of detail that matters. A serious critic should have read the Weekly Standard piece before citing it. Larregue did not, or did and misrepresented it.
The deeper issue the rejoinder does not face. Larregue’s coalition-membership argument is wrong in form because it commits the genetic fallacy. It is right in substance because it identifies the small heterodox-hereditarian network these three authors inhabit. The Pioneer Fund link the authors object to is a real link in their intellectual ecosystem even if Herrnstein and Murray did not personally take the money. Run my four questions on Cofnas, Carl, and Woodley and the same pattern shows up that showed up in the first paper. They write for the same outlets, cite the same authors, defend the same victims, and treat the same enemies as enemies. The rejoinder is well-argued within its frame. The frame stays invisible to the authors.
Two papers, taken together. The first paper makes a defensible distinction Gauchat missed and supplies real evidence on Putnam, the AAP, and Summers. The rejoinder defends that core while quietly retreating on the causal claim. Larregue gives the authors easy targets by getting facts wrong, and they hit those targets cleanly. The exchange leaves the strong original points intact. The weak ones, scaled-back but unrefuted, sit where they sat.
The paper’s strongest move is the unfalsifiability charge. MacDonald reads any pattern as confirmation. Jewish leadership of a movement shows ethnic activism. Gentile leadership shows that gentiles got recruited as front men. Jewish opposition to anti-Semitic movements shows extreme ethnocentrism. Jewish opposition to Israel or to Jewish interests, like Chomsky or Soros, gets ignored or footnoted away. Once a theory absorbs every possible observation, it stops doing work.
The Marcuse passage Cofnas quotes does serious damage. Marcuse argued for Arab return to Israel and against a permanent Jewish majority. MacDonald casts Marcuse as a Frankfurt School exemplar of Jewish hypocrisy, multiculturalism abroad and ethnic purity at home. The record shows the opposite. Same for Fromm. The hypocrisy charge requires identifying individuals who hold inconsistent positions, not aggregating across different Jews who disagree with each other and calling the resulting contradiction proof of a double standard.
The Sanford misrepresentation is clean. Sanford was a gentile. The passage MacDonald quotes about conformity has Sanford distinguishing nominal from genuine Christianity, with the genuine version scoring low on ethnocentrism. Sanford was praising Christian humanism, not denigrating Christianity. MacDonald flips it. That kind of sourcing problem, repeated across the book, kills the project as scholarship.
Cofnas’s default hypothesis handles the data more cleanly. High IQ plus urban concentration predicts overrepresentation in any non-anti-Semitic movement. That covers chess champions, Nobel laureates, neoconservatives, the National Association of Scholars, FIRE, paleo-conservatives like Paul Gottfried, and the occasional Jewish presence at American Renaissance. MacDonald’s theory requires a directional skew toward leftism that the data does not bear out once you count carefully. The same population shows up wherever prestigious cognitive coalitions form.
What Cofnas does not quite confront is that the underlying question can be reformulated in coalition terms without MacDonald’s essentialism. Different Jewish sub-coalitions back different movements. Reform Jews in midcentury New York worked one set of alliances. Orthodox Jews in Brooklyn work different ones. Israeli right-nationalists work yet another. Treating the Jews as a unified actor is the Turner essentialism error in pure form. Drop it and the residual question becomes which sub-coalitions cluster where, and why. That question is tractable. MacDonald’s is not.
There is also the question of why MacDonald’s project keeps regenerating among readers despite the scholarly demolition. The alt-right does not read MacDonald for testable propositions. It reads him the way any coalition reads its founding texts, for moral vocabulary that justifies the alliance. The book provides a frame in which any Jewish behavior confirms prior commitments. Falsification is beside the point because the function is coalition-maintaining, not predictive. Pinsof’s Alliance Theory predicts the persistence of the book even after the academic demolition. Becker’s hero systems predict the emotional intensity of the readership.
This Quillette piece is the same argument as the academic papers compressed into popular form, with the gloves slightly off. The interesting thing about it is what gets added and what gets dropped.
What gets added is the explicit causal flip. The academic papers gesture at this. The Quillette piece names it. MacDonald says Jewish liberalism causes anti-Semitism. Cofnas and Anomaly say anti-Semitism causes Jewish liberalism. Persecuted minorities gravitate toward political philosophies that emphasize social tolerance and free movement of people because those philosophies protect them. The Holocaust reinforced the lesson. This is a cleaner thesis than the one in the academic papers, which spread the explanation across IQ, urban concentration, geography, and persecution. Here the persecution mechanism is doing more work, and the piece is stronger for it.
The Mark Twain framing at the top is rhetorically smart. Twain asks why Jews are heard of out of proportion to their bulk. The conspiratorial answer fell out of fashion after 1945 and came back through MacDonald. Naming this lineage matters because it situates MacDonald not as a brave heterodox scientist but as the latest retail vendor of a very old product.
The Edmund Burke quotation is the best move in the piece. Burke describes radical clubs deforming public measures, academies as seminaries for these clubs, daring and violent counsel taken as the mark of superior genius, tenderness to individuals treated as treason to the public. This is 1790. There are no Jews in the picture. The thing MacDonald describes as the distinctive Jewish intellectual style is just the radical intellectual style, and the radical intellectual style predates Jewish entry into European intellectual life by centuries. The French Revolution itself, the Sartre-Beauvoir-Camus circle, Foucault. Cofnas and Anomaly compress what took the academic papers many pages to argue into three or four paragraphs and the compression strengthens it.
The libertarian list is the move that does the most damage in the smallest space. Friedman, Mises, Nozick, Rand, Rothbard, Kirzner. The anti-communist list. Stephen Miller as Trump’s senior policy advisor and most influential anti-immigration activist. If Jews are pursuing a unified group evolutionary strategy, why are Jews running both sides of every fight? The default hypothesis answers this in one sentence. MacDonald has to answer it with thirty pages of ad hoc reasoning about which Jews are real Jews and which Jews are crypto-activists and which gentiles are puppets and which gentile-led movements somehow trace back to Jewish influence anyway. By the time he gets done, the theory is wallpaper.
The Popper-Kuhn-Lakatos closing is correct but a little too gentle. They say no theory is strictly falsifiable, you have to use judgment, and judgment says MacDonald’s ad hoc patches have piled up too high. This is right. But the stronger claim, which the academic papers eventually arrive at and this piece declines to make, is that MacDonald’s theory does not have a falsifiability problem in the ordinary sense. It has the structure of a coalition-justifying narrative rather than a predictive one. The closing line about the alt-right needing an enemy and Jews being a convenient people to play the role gestures at this but doesn’t quite say it. The piece is for Quillette readers and Quillette readers want science-versus-pseudoscience framing, so the authors give them science-versus-pseudoscience framing. The deeper structural point, that MacDonald’s book performs a coalition function and would not perform it if it were falsifiable, gets left at the door.
What gets dropped from the academic version is most of the Sarfatti, Sanford, Graham, and PCIN sourcing material. The popular piece can’t run those receipts in detail. It loses force as a result. A reader of the Quillette piece alone could come away thinking this is a he-said-she-said about competing interpretations. A reader of the academic papers knows MacDonald cited Sanford for the opposite of what Sanford said, cited Graham for the opposite of what Graham said, cited a PCIN page that does not contain what he claimed it contained, then a different page, then a third page, none of which contained it. The popular piece soft-pedals the misconduct.
The Anomaly co-authorship is worth noting. Anomaly is a philosopher of biology who later moved into hereditarian race-and-IQ work and into bioethics work that includes some unusually frank treatments of eugenics. Like Cofnas, he is signaling here that you can reject MacDonald without rejecting the broader hereditarian project. The Cochran-Hardy-Harpending citation does that work. Ashkenazi IQ evolved through medieval selection on white-collar professions. This is the standard hereditarian story. It is presented as established. The piece thereby positions itself as race-realist about IQ but anti-MacDonald about Jewish conspiracy. That positioning is the same one Cofnas takes in the 2021 paper. The two-front war framing.
A small thing the piece gets exactly right that the academic papers also got right but buried. The Holocaust did not teach Jews that liberal cosmopolitanism is metaphysically true. It taught them that nationalist movements are dangerous to them. This is a coalition-formation lesson, not a philosophical conversion. Jewish liberalism is not Jews discovering universal truth. It is Jews learning what kinds of political arrangements protect them and aligning with those arrangements. The same Jews under different conditions, Israeli Jews under existential threat from neighbors, vote nationalist. American Orthodox Jews under threat from secular progressives now vote Republican. Soviet refusenik Jews became American conservatives. The political behavior of Jewish sub-coalitions tracks the threat environment. There is no unified Jewish strategy. There are particular Jewish coalitions reading particular threat environments and aligning with whoever offers protection. This is the Pinsof move and it is the right one. The Quillette piece almost makes it but stays at the level of “persecuted minorities tend toward liberal cosmopolitanism” rather than developing the coalition-conditional version.
The piece is good for its venue. It will reach readers who would never read Human Nature or Philosophia. It does not pretend to neutrality the way the academic papers do, which is a virtue. The thing it does not do, and which neither the academic papers nor anyone else has yet done well, is explain why MacDonald’s book keeps regenerating among readers who have access to the demolition.
MacDonald’s work on Jews is not failing at what its readers want it to do. It is succeeding.
A scholarly book and a coalition document are scored differently. A scholarly book is scored on whether its claims hold up. A coalition document is scored on whether it provides moral vocabulary, identifies friends and enemies, and explains the world in a way that justifies the alliance. By the first standard MacDonald failed. By the second standard he is doing exactly what his readers need him to do, and Cofnas’s demolition is irrelevant to that function.
The alt-right has a problem its founding documents have to solve. The problem is that the explicit white nationalism it wants is morally illegible to most Whites. You cannot recruit a mass white movement on the basis of “we want power for our race” because most Whites in the post-1945 West find that framing repulsive. You need a story that converts the desire for white power into the desire for white self-defense. You need an enemy whose existence makes white solidarity defensive rather than aggressive. You need that enemy to be small enough to plausibly defeat, large enough to plausibly threaten, prestigious enough to explain why Whites do not currently rule, and cohesive enough to count as one actor.
Jews fit every requirement. MacDonald’s book is the document that makes the fit explicit. Without something like MacDonald’s book the alt-right has to admit it is asking Whites to dominate other people. With MacDonald’s book it can say it is asking Whites to defend themselves against an actual unified hostile coalition. The moral vocabulary changes from offense to defense. That change is not optional. It is structurally required for the movement to recruit.
This is why the demolition does not bite. Cofnas shows that Marcuse advocated Arab return to Israel, that Sarfatti built Italian fascism, that Reform Jews lobby for racial diversification of the Jewish community, that Sweden became extreme without Jews, that Hugh Davis Graham said the opposite of what MacDonald cited him as saying. None of this matters to the function. The reader does not need the book to be true. The reader needs the book to exist. The book’s existence is what licenses the moral framing. As long as a thick, footnoted, academic-credentialed text says the thing, the coalition can point to it and say see, we are not just bigots, we are responding to documented patterns. The footnotes are decoration. The function is laundering.
This is why MacDonald’s response to Cofnas was so thin. He is not really arguing scholarship. He cannot afford to lose the credentialed-text status of the book, but he also does not need to win the scholarly debate to keep the coalition function. The retraction of his Philosophia reply actually helped him on coalition terms. Suppression confers martyrdom. The coalition document becomes more potent when persecuted, not less. Nietzsche’s line about the world-historical stupidity of all persecutors is exactly right here, and exactly inverted from what Cofnas hopes it means. Cofnas thought he was warning his side not to suppress MacDonald because suppression looks bad. The deeper thing is that suppression is irrelevant to truth and converts directly into coalition fuel.
The 1798 to 1945 European tradition of anti-Semitism worked the same way. Lueger said anti-Semitism is a sport for the common people, useful for getting ahead in politics, and once you are up there you do not need it any more. He was telling on the function. The Protocols of the Elders of Zion is the obvious case. The Protocols are a forgery. This was established almost immediately. The book sold tens of millions of copies anyway. Henry Ford printed half a million in America. Nazi schools assigned it. The forgery question never mattered because the function was never to be true. The function was to provide a comprehensive narrative explaining every grievance through one cause, and every grievance can be explained through any cause that is salient enough and unified enough. Once you have the narrative, refutation just looks like the enemy defending itself.
MacDonald is the academic-respectable version of the same product. A reader who would feel ashamed citing the Protocols will cite MacDonald without shame because MacDonald has a CV, references, footnotes, university affiliation, peer review history. The coalition gets the same narrative content with cleaner sourcing optics. This is the upgrade. The narrative was always going to exist in some form. MacDonald just produced the version that cleared a higher reading-class bar. Spencer’s line about MacDonald being the most essential man in his movement in terms of thought leadership is correct on coalition grounds. MacDonald did not invent the thoughts. He gave them academic packaging.
There is a second function that operates underneath the first. The book provides emotional integration for a particular kind of reader. The reader is usually an intelligent White man who has noticed disparities between his abilities and his social position, between Jewish overrepresentation in elite positions and his own coalition’s political weakness, between the moral rules applied to his group and the moral rules applied to other groups. He has noticed correctly. The disparities are real. He needs an explanation. The mainstream offers him two: Whites are over-represented through historical privilege and need to make room, or Whites are equally talented but face no discrimination and just need to work harder. Neither explanation accounts for what he actually sees. MacDonald offers a third: there is an organized opposing coalition whose interests run contrary to yours and whose success is causing your difficulty. This explanation has the virtue of being structurally similar to the truth. There are coalitions. They do compete. Their interests do diverge. Your difficulty is not entirely your fault. Where MacDonald goes wrong is in essentializing one of those coalitions and unifying it across time and geography in ways the evidence will not support. But the wrongness is at the level of detail. The basic structure, that you are losing because an organized opposing coalition is winning, is closer to right than either of the mainstream alternatives. This is why the book lands.
A reader who picks up Cofnas’s demolition learns that MacDonald got the details wrong. He does not learn that the mainstream alternatives got the structure right. The mainstream alternatives still do not account for what he sees. So the demolition leaves him with the original problem and one fewer answer. He goes back to MacDonald because MacDonald is still the only document on offer that takes the structure of coalition competition seriously. Cofnas’s default hypothesis, high IQ plus urban concentration plus persecution producing leftward tilt, is technically a coalition-aware analysis but it is presented in such a way that it dissolves the coalition rather than naming it. The reader does not feel his situation explained. He feels it explained away.
There is a coalition, it has interests, it competes with other coalitions, its members are not all the same, the coalition’s boundaries shift over time, particular sub-coalitions ally with particular outside sub-coalitions for particular reasons. This is the analysis MacDonald should have done and could not do because his readers do not want sub-coalitions and shifting alliances. They want one enemy. The mainstream race narrative makes the same essentializing move from the other direction. Whites are one enemy. Both narratives are essentialist for the same reason. Coalition-justifying narratives have to be essentialist or they cannot do their work.
MacDonald’s book regenerates because the demolition addresses scholarship and the readership wants something else. The readership wants moral cover for white solidarity, emotional integration of real grievances, and a comprehensive narrative that explains observed disparities through coalition competition. The book provides all three. The footnote errors do not affect any of those three functions. The book will keep regenerating until someone produces a comparable document that takes coalition competition seriously without essentializing the coalitions, and that someone has to be willing to lose the readership that wants essentialism. Almost no one in this discourse is willing to lose that readership. Cofnas tried for two papers and then drifted toward a different essentializing coalition. MacDonald never tried. The mainstream race narrative does not try because it benefits from essentializing in the opposite direction. There is no single book yet that does for coalition analysis what MacDonald did for essentialist anti-Semitism. Until there is, MacDonald keeps the field by default.
The wars are real. So, possibly, is what the combatants are fighting about. But the combatants are not who MacDonald says they are, and not who his critics say they are either. The combatants are particular sub-coalitions in particular cities at particular moments making particular alliances. Naming them at that resolution is the work. Whoever does that work writes the book that finally displaces MacDonald.
Five distinguishable coalitions are advancing anti-Jewish discourse in America right now. They share almost nothing except the rhetorical surface. Treating them as one movement is the first analytical mistake. Each has different interests, different recruits, different funders, different theories of victory.
The first is the dissident right intellectual coalition. MacDonald, the Occidental Observer, Counter-Currents, the Unz Review, Steve Sailer’s circle, the magazines and substacks that orbit them. These men are mostly highly educated, mostly White, mostly downwardly mobile relative to their abilities or their fathers. They are losing status competitions to people they consider less able than themselves and they have noticed that Jews are overrepresented among the winners of those competitions. The coalition’s function is to explain that loss in a way that does not require its members to accept either mainstream story. The interest served is moral. They get to be defenders of their people rather than failed competitors. The coalition has almost no political power and almost no money. Its product is text. Its readership is small but devoted. It produces the intellectual scaffolding the cruder coalitions later strip for parts.
The second is the streamer-podcaster coalition. Nick Fuentes, the Groypers, Sneako, Jake Shields, the post-Trump online right that broke from mainstream conservatism somewhere around 2019 to 2022. These men are mostly young, mostly online native, mostly making money from audience capture. The interest served is economic and attentional. Anti-Jewish content performs on the algorithms that reward transgression. The Overton window on Jewish criticism has shifted enough in the past three years that you can now build a six-figure to seven-figure media career on it. Fuentes went from being banned everywhere to dining at Mar-a-Lago. The coalition does not need MacDonald’s theory in any developed form. It needs a rotating supply of incidents, ADL statements, Israel news cycles, and Jewish faces in elite positions to point at. The function is engagement. The interest is the audience. These men will mostly age out or get bored or move to whatever the next algorithmic transgression-niche is. While they are there they amplify the dissident-right intellectual product to audiences orders of magnitude larger than the intellectual product would otherwise reach.
The third is the Black nationalist tradition. Nation of Islam, the Hebrew Israelites in their various sects, the strain of Black Christian nationalism that sees Jews as the enemy of Black liberation, scattered figures like Kanye in his 2022 phase, the older tradition that runs through Farrakhan and back through the 1960s. This coalition’s anti-Jewish content has different content from the dissident right. The dissident right says Jews advanced Black interests against White interests. The Black nationalist tradition says Jews exploited Black labor, owned the slave ships, control the entertainment industry that degrades Black culture, and stand in the way of Black autonomy. The two coalitions agree on almost nothing except the conclusion. The interest served is internal to Black nationalism. Anti-Jewish framing lets Black nationalist leaders explain Black underperformance without conceding either to White-supremacy explanations or to internal-failure explanations. There is a third party. The third party is Jews. The function is the same as MacDonald’s function for the dissident right. It is moral cover for a coalition that needs an external enemy to maintain its solidarity.
The fourth is the post-October-7 left coalition. Pro-Palestinian student activists, DSA chapters, the Squad-aligned wing of the Democratic Party, the cultural left that has spent the past decade absorbing third-worldist frameworks, the academic humanities departments where Israel-as-settler-colonial-state is the consensus position. This coalition will resist the label anti-Jewish and the resistance is partly fair. The intellectual content is anti-Zionist, not anti-Jewish in the dissident-right sense. But the line between anti-Zionism and anti-Jewish content gets thin under pressure, and the pressure has been continuous since October 7. Mamdani’s elevation to the Democratic mayoral nomination in New York is the political end of this coalition. The interest served is coalition solidarity within the left. Anti-Israel framing unifies progressives across racial and class lines in a way that few other issues do. It also serves a generational function. The post-2020 left needed a moral cause that was not domestic identity politics, because domestic identity politics had become exhausted and electorally toxic. Palestine provided the cause. The function is unifying and energizing the post-Bernie left.
The fifth is the conspiracist-populist mass coalition. Alex Jones, RFK Jr.’s adjacent supporters, the QAnon residual, the Joe Rogan ecosystem when it tilts that way, the broad paranoid populism that does not have a coherent ideology but that periodically locks onto Jewish targets. Soros conspiracies, World Economic Forum conspiracies, central banker conspiracies. This coalition is the largest by raw numbers and the least organized. Its anti-Jewish content is mostly displaced. The conscious target is globalists, elites, the deep state, the cabal. Jewish names get attached because Jews are overrepresented in finance and Hollywood and so the conspiracy lands on Jewish faces by gravity rather than by design. The interest served is the explanation of unfair-feeling outcomes through agency rather than structure. People whose lives have gotten worse over thirty years need someone to be responsible. The coalition gives them the cabal. Sometimes the cabal is Jews, sometimes it is not, but the cabal is always small and always intentional. The function is the same as the function of all populist conspiracism since the Populist Party of the 1890s. Coherent agency feels better than incoherent structure.
These five coalitions interact but they do not unify. The dissident right intellectuals despise the streamers as cruder versions of themselves. The streamers see the intellectuals as boring. Black nationalists have nothing to do with either. The post-October-7 left would burn its own hand off before it would acknowledge alignment with the dissident right, and the dissident right is correspondingly hostile to the post-October-7 left’s third-worldism. The conspiracist-populist mass coalition floats above all of them and gets recruited by whichever of the others can attach itself successfully.
What unifies them at the highest level of abstraction is that all five face a coalition-formation problem to which Jewish targeting offers a partial solution. The dissident right needs an enemy that explains White political weakness without conceding moral inferiority. The streamers need transgressive content that performs. Black nationalism needs a third party that explains Black outcomes without conceding to either pole of the standard race debate. The post-October-7 left needs a unifying moral cause for a fragmenting progressive coalition. The conspiracist-populist mass needs agency behind incoherent structural change.
Notice the pattern. Each coalition has a problem that does not actually require Jewish targeting in principle. Each could solve its problem with a different enemy. The dissident right could blame Whites who collaborate, and sometimes does. Black nationalism could blame Asians who occupy similar middleman positions, and sometimes does. The post-October-7 left could focus on Saudi or Emirati or Egyptian state behavior, which is also bad, and largely does not. The conspiracist-populist mass could blame the Chinese Communist Party, and sometimes does. Why does Jewish targeting nonetheless emerge from each of these coalitions at high frequency?
Because Jews have four properties that no other available target combines. They are a market-dominant minority in the Chua sense, conspicuously successful in finance, media, law, medicine, academia, and politics. They are small enough to plausibly defeat. They have a state that takes recognizable nationalist actions, which provides a rotating supply of news cycles. And they have a defensive infrastructure, the ADL, AIPAC, the major Jewish federations, that responds to criticism in ways that confirm the coalitions’ frame. Every ADL letter and every Israeli military operation refreshes the supply of grievances that each coalition can use. The coalitions do not need to coordinate. The supply renews on its own.
The interests served are accordingly five different interests. The dissident right gets moral cover. The streamers get money and attention. Black nationalism gets internal coherence. The post-October-7 left gets unifying energy. The conspiracist-populist mass gets agency. Five problems, one available solution, no coordination required.
The American Jewish community, which is itself not one coalition but several, faces the unusual position of being targeted from five directions at once for five different reasons. Reform Jewish leaders trying to respond to dissident-right criticism from the right cannot use the same arguments they would use against post-October-7 criticism from the left. The Orthodox community has aligned with the right in ways that infuriate the Reform leadership. AIPAC has aligned with whichever party will support Israel and now finds itself defending Republican administrations its donor base mostly opposes domestically. Each Jewish sub-coalition is making its own bet about which threat is more dangerous and which alliance is more reliable, and the bets are diverging. There is no unified Jewish response because there is no unified Jewish coalition.
The question of which of these five coalitions is most dangerous to Jews is genuinely open and Jews disagree about it. The ADL and most of the legacy Jewish establishment treat the dissident right and its streamer amplifiers as the primary threat. The Orthodox community and the Israeli-aligned organizations increasingly treat the post-October-7 left as the primary threat because the left is closer to actual political power on questions about Israel. The smartest analysts in the Jewish community treat the conspiracist-populist mass as the most dangerous in the long run because its size dwarfs the others and because in conditions of economic crisis it can be activated by whichever of the smaller coalitions is best positioned at that moment.
The honest summary is that anti-Jewish discourse in America today is not one phenomenon and serves not one set of interests. It is the surface signature of five different coalition-formation problems that happen to point at the same target for structurally similar but substantively different reasons. Treating them as one phenomenon flatters the dissident right by inflating its importance and flatters the post-October-7 left by letting it deny any connection to the dissident right. Both kinds of flattery should be resisted. The wars are real. So is what the combatants are fighting about. The combatants are not the Jews. The combatants are the five coalitions, each fighting a different war, each finding the same target useful, none of them coordinating with the others, all of them feeding off the same renewable supply of grievances that the target itself, through no unified intention, continues to generate.
Jared Taylor is the most interesting figure in this whole landscape because he is the test case for whether the dissident right could have been built without anti-Jewish content. The answer is no, and Taylor’s career proves it.
Taylor founded American Renaissance in 1990 with an explicit policy that the Jewish question was off the table. The 1994 inaugural conference had four Jewish speakers out of ten, including Michael Levin and Mayer Schiller. Levin’s book is still sold by AmRen. Taylor said for years that Jews were White, that they should be welcome in any pro-White movement, and that obsession with Jews was a distraction from the real work of advocating for European Americans. He maintained this position with admirable consistency through the 1990s and into the 2000s. His personal style, the bow ties, the Yale education, the soft Southern manners, the willingness to debate anyone politely, was designed to demonstrate that race realism could be respectable.
What happened next is the data point. The movement Taylor was trying to build kept getting captured by the people he was trying to exclude. By the late 2000s the AmRen conferences had become sites where, as the Pyke article in MacDonald’s own Occidental Quarterly admitted, the Jewish question surfaced in almost every speech. Taylor’s Jewish supporters started leaving. Auster left. Levin distanced himself. The eleventh-chair article was MacDonald’s wing telling Taylor that his coalition rules did not work, that you could not build a White advocacy movement that included Jews, that the supposed allies were really competitors. The dissident right intellectual coalition I described in the previous answer was the wing that won that internal fight. Taylor’s wing lost.
Taylor himself never converted. He still does not publish anti-Jewish material. He still appears on platforms with Jewish guests. He still maintains the official AmRen line that Jews are White and welcome. But the people he is now in coalition with, Spencer at the height of the alt-right, Fuentes since, the various streamers, and MacDonald himself with whom Taylor has appeared repeatedly, are uniformly hostile to that line. Taylor’s neutrality has become a kind of personal eccentricity within a movement that has moved past him. He gets to be the respectable face. The respectable face is still attached to the body, and the body believes things he claims not to.
That Cofnas sent Taylor the 2018 paper and Taylor ignored it, is the diagnostic. Cofnas was offering Taylor exactly the ammunition Taylor needed to defend his original position. The 2018 paper demolishes the scholarly basis for the claim that Taylor’s allies use to justify excluding Jews from White advocacy. If Taylor had taken Cofnas’s paper seriously, he could have used it to push back against the Fuentes-Spencer-MacDonald wing and reassert the original AmRen line. He did not. The silence is informative.
Several explanations are available and they are not mutually exclusive. The first is that Taylor cannot afford to alienate the wing that now provides his audience, his speakers, and his donor base. AmRen in 1994 had a different reader profile than AmRen in 2024. The 1994 readers tolerated the no-Jewish-question rule because they wanted respectability. The 2024 readers want anti-Jewish content and tolerate Taylor’s personal restraint as an idiosyncrasy. If Taylor publicly endorsed Cofnas’s demolition, his current readers would leave. He would be left with a coalition of one. The second explanation is that Taylor has privately moved closer to the MacDonald position than he is willing to say. He has co-authored or co-appeared with MacDonald, has not publicly criticized him, has hosted speakers who endorse MacDonald, and has watched MacDonald’s framework become the dominant frame in his own movement without objecting. Conduct over thirty years suggests at minimum that Taylor finds the MacDonald position tolerable even if he does not adopt it personally. The third explanation is that Taylor is a tactician who decided that the official no-Jewish-question rule was always pragmatic rather than principled. He thought it would let the movement recruit more broadly. When that bet failed and the movement recruited better with anti-Jewish content than without, Taylor adjusted. He kept the personal rule for branding reasons but stopped enforcing it as a coalition rule. The fourth explanation is the one Taylor would offer if asked. He is committed to White advocacy, the Jewish question is a distraction, but he is not going to publicly attack his own allies over an internal dispute. This is the gentleman’s code. You do not air the family’s disputes in public. You handle them privately or not at all.
The four explanations together describe what coalition leaders actually do when their coalition shifts under them. They do not publicly resist the shift, because public resistance costs them the coalition. They do not publicly endorse the shift either, because endorsement costs them the personal brand they built before the shift. They go silent. The silence reads as complicity to outside observers and as restraint to insiders. Both readings are correct. Taylor is complicit and restrained simultaneously. The two are not in tension when you understand that coalition position requires both.
What Taylor’s career demonstrates is that the dissident right could not in fact be built without anti-Jewish content. Taylor tried for fifteen years. He failed. The movement he built kept generating the content he tried to exclude, kept attracting the personnel he tried to keep out, and kept rewarding the framers, MacDonald above all, whose work he claimed not to need. The coalition has a problem that requires a unified external enemy to solve. Whites who have no enemies are just Whites, and Whites who are just Whites do not need a movement. The movement requires the enemy. Taylor wanted a movement without an enemy and got a movement with the enemy he tried to exclude.
There is a smaller and more interesting parallel here. The Republican establishment between roughly 1955 and 2016 also tried to maintain a coalition that included anti-Jewish elements without endorsing them. Buckley famously read the John Birch Society out of the conservative movement in 1962 and tried to do the same thing with various anti-Jewish figures over the years. Buckley succeeded for a few decades because the conservative coalition during the Cold War had a different enemy, communism, that did most of the unifying work. When the Cold War ended the unifying enemy disappeared and the coalition fragmented along exactly the lines Buckley had tried to suppress. By 2016 the Buckley filtration system had collapsed and Trump rebuilt the Republican coalition on a different basis that did not exclude the elements Buckley had excluded. Taylor’s situation is the same dynamic at a smaller scale and within a more extreme movement. The moderate gatekeeper holds the line as long as the coalition has another enemy to do the unifying work. When the alternative enemy weakens or fails, the coalition reverts to the original enemy.
For Taylor specifically the original enemy was always going to be Jews because the dissident right was always defining itself against an elite it perceived as anti-White, and the most visible faces of that elite, in media and academia and finance and law, are disproportionately Jewish. Taylor wanted to attack the elite without naming the most visible faces. His allies wanted to attack the most visible faces. The most visible faces won the internal argument because they were more concrete than Taylor’s abstraction. Coalition formation rewards concreteness. Taylor lost on a structural feature of how coalitions form, not on the merits of his position.
Cofnas’s 2018 paper is correct on the merits. Taylor’s silence in response is also correct on coalition logic. Both can be true. The wars are real. So is what the combatants are fighting about. The combatants are not always who they say they are, and what they are fighting about is sometimes not what they say it is. Taylor knows he cannot use Cofnas’s paper because using it would dissolve his coalition. Cofnas knows Taylor cannot use it for the same reason. Cofnas sent it anyway, perhaps as a gesture of respect, perhaps as a test, perhaps as documentation. Taylor’s filing it without response is the diagnostic finding. The man who built his career on the proposition that the dissident right could exist without anti-Jewish content has spent the last fifteen years watching his own movement falsify the proposition, and his silence is what falsification looks like when the falsified party cannot afford to acknowledge the falsification.
Why hasn’t anyone in the AR seriously engaged Cofnas’s work on MacDonald? Because engagement would cost more than silence and yield less. The cost-benefit runs the wrong direction for everyone in the AR who could plausibly do it.
Start with the population of people on the dissident right who are intellectually equipped to engage Cofnas seriously. The list is small. MacDonald himself, Andrew Joyce, Edward Dutton, maybe Ricardo Duchesne, maybe Gregory Hood, maybe a few academics writing under pseudonyms at Counter-Currents or the Occidental Quarterly. Below that level the work would be sub-scholarly and would not register as engagement. The serious engagers number maybe ten people worldwide. Of those ten, the ones who depend on MacDonald’s framework as the load-bearing wall of their political worldview cannot engage Cofnas without risking the wall. The ones who do not depend on it have no incentive to spend the months it would take to write a serious response, because the response would alienate the readers who do depend on it.
MacDonald himself wrote the 2018 reply, the 2022 reply that got retracted, and the various blog posts. The replies are weak. Cofnas catches them being weak. MacDonald keeps replying because he has to, but he is not capable of producing a stronger reply because the underlying scholarship will not support a stronger reply. The errors Cofnas documents are not errors of interpretation that could be redescribed. They are sourcing errors of the form “this page does not contain the claim attributed to it,” which cannot be fixed by reframing. MacDonald’s only available moves are concession on small points, deflection to other topics, and assertion that Cofnas misunderstands the larger framework. He has played all three. None of them work. He has nothing left.
Joyce is the second most plausible engager. He has written prolifically for the Occidental Observer and produced book-length material on Jewish topics. Joyce’s work has the same structural problem as MacDonald’s, which is that it relies on selecting Jewish examples and treating the selection as evidence of a unified pattern. A serious engagement with Cofnas would require Joyce to defend the selection methodology, which he cannot defend, because the methodology is the problem. So Joyce has stayed at the level of producing more examples rather than defending the framework. Producing more examples is what the readership wants anyway. Defending the framework against Cofnas would not produce more examples. It would just absorb time that could be spent producing examples.
Dutton wrote a defense of MacDonald in 2018 that Cofnas demolished in a 2019 reply published in Evolutionary Psychological Science. Dutton’s defense made an elementary statistical error about Jewish in-marriage rates that Cofnas caught immediately. After that exchange Dutton mostly stopped engaging on the topic. He has written on adjacent topics but has not returned to a serious defense of MacDonald against Cofnas. The Dutton case is informative because it shows what happens when someone in the AR orbit does try to engage at an academic level. They get embarrassed and withdraw. The withdrawal is rational. Other potential engagers watched what happened to Dutton and drew the obvious conclusion.
Below this top tier the engagers are not capable of academic-level response. They are bloggers, podcasters, or polemicists. Their readers do not want academic-level response. Their readers want polemic. So the apparent engagement at the lower levels takes the form of articles with titles like “Cofnas refuted” or “the controlled opposition exposed” that do not actually address Cofnas’s specific sourcing claims but instead attack his motives, his employer at the time of writing, his Jewish background, his subsequent departure, his alleged opportunism. This is engagement of a kind. It is not engagement of the kind that would settle anything. It is engagement that performs loyalty to the coalition while leaving the scholarly question untouched.
Then there is the structural problem. Cofnas is Jewish. Any serious engagement with him by an AR figure becomes vulnerable to the move “you are debating a Jew about Jews, which is the trap they want you in.” This move is silly but it works on the audience. The audience does not want to see its leaders treating a Jewish critic as a peer. Treating Cofnas as a peer would suggest that scholarly debate with Jews is possible and productive, which is the proposition the coalition is built on denying. So engagement with Cofnas at the level of peer-to-peer scholarly exchange is structurally forbidden by the coalition’s own rules. You can attack Cofnas but you cannot debate him. MacDonald did debate him, in the 2018 and 2022 replies, and those replies are exactly the moments where MacDonald’s coalition position weakened. The lesson the rest of the AR drew is that you do not give Cofnas the dignity of response.
There is a third reason which is more interesting. Cofnas’s later trajectory gave the AR an out. After the 2018 to 2023 papers, Cofnas moved into hereditarian race-and-IQ work, lost his fellowship in 2024, became a cause célèbre on the heterodox right, and started writing material that sounds increasingly like material the AR itself would publish if it could find an academic with credentials. The AR’s response to this trajectory has not been to revisit his MacDonald work. The response has been to absorb him as a partial ally on race and IQ while continuing to ignore his MacDonald work. He gets cited approvingly on hereditarianism. He gets ignored on MacDonald. This is coalition behavior at its most efficient. Take what you can use, ignore what you cannot, do not let the parts touch each other.
Cofnas himself has not pressed the issue. He has moved on to other projects. He could have spent his career hammering on MacDonald and become the recognized academic authority who finally killed MacDonaldism. He chose not to.
There is a fourth reason, the deepest one. Even an AR figure who privately agreed with Cofnas on every point would not say so publicly because saying so would not change the readership’s behavior. The readership does not read MacDonald because it has been convinced by the scholarship. It reads MacDonald because the framework provides what we discussed earlier, moral cover for white solidarity, emotional integration of real grievances, comprehensive narrative of coalition competition. None of these functions depend on the scholarship being true. So even a public AR endorsement of Cofnas would not dissolve the readership’s commitment to MacDonald. It would just lose the endorser the readership. The endorser would be giving up the audience without buying anything in return. No rational coalition leader makes that trade.
Compare to what would have to be true for serious engagement to happen. An AR figure would have to be intellectually capable of engaging at academic level, willing to lose readers who are committed to MacDonald, willing to be accused of debating a Jew about Jews, confident that the engagement would produce better results for the coalition than continued silence, and personally indifferent to the social cost within the AR of being seen as the one who broke ranks. The number of people who satisfy all five conditions is approximately zero.
Taylor is the closest. Taylor has the intellectual capacity, has the prestige to absorb the social cost, has demonstrated for thirty years that he is willing to take the no-Jewish-question position, and would benefit politically from Cofnas’s argument because it vindicates Taylor’s original AmRen line. Taylor still has not engaged. The previous answer covered why. Taylor’s silence is the strongest possible evidence that engagement is structurally impossible even for the AR figure who would benefit most from it. If Taylor will not do it, no one will.
Spencer is an interesting subcase. Spencer has the intelligence, has the credentials adjacent enough, and has periodically broken from MacDonaldism in interviews. After his 2017 collapse he became a strange kind of moderate within the dissident right, criticizing some forms of explicit anti-Jewish content while continuing to hold racialist positions. Spencer has the option of engaging Cofnas seriously. He has not. The reason in his case is that Spencer no longer has a coalition to lead. He is a discredited figure within his own movement. Engagement with Cofnas would not rebuild his coalition. It would just produce another podcast appearance. The marginal value is too low.
Below Taylor and Spencer the field thins out fast. The men who would have been positioned to engage twenty years ago are mostly dead, retired, or have moved into other projects. The new generation is podcasters and streamers who do not engage at academic level on principle. Fuentes will not engage Cofnas because Fuentes does not engage anyone at that level. The Daily Wire will not engage because the Daily Wire is officially philo-Semitic. The mainstream conservative outlets will not engage because they treat MacDonald as outside the bounds of serious discussion and engaging would dignify him. Cofnas’s work falls into a gap between conservative outlets that consider MacDonald beneath notice and AR outlets that consider Cofnas a hostile actor whose work cannot be addressed without lending him legitimacy.
The result is that the most thorough academic demolition of the dissident right’s intellectual founder sits in three peer-reviewed articles that almost no one in the dissident right has read, that the few who have read them cannot publicly engage, and that the broader public never hears about because the mainstream considers the underlying question too distasteful to elevate. Cofnas is right and ignored. MacDonald is wrong and influential. The asymmetry is sustained by exactly the coalition mechanics that the original work failed to name. Cofnas refuted MacDonald on the scholarship and lost on the coalition. He could not have won on the coalition because he was not building one. MacDonald was building one. He still is. That is why the work regenerates and why no one engages the demolition.
There is one final wrinkle. Some AR figures privately read Cofnas and find his arguments persuasive, and adjust their own work accordingly without crediting him. This is the most common form of actual engagement. You can see traces in the more careful AR writers who have quietly stopped making the specific claims Cofnas demolished and shifted to claims he did not address. This is not citation. It is absorption. The AR has absorbed the parts of Cofnas’s critique it cannot rebut, while continuing to deny that absorption has happened. This is also coalition behavior at its most efficient. Update silently, never give the critic credit, keep the framework intact at the surface level while quietly improving the underlying claims.
The complete picture is that no one engages because everyone who could is either too committed to the framework, too dependent on the readership, too vulnerable to coalition discipline, too discredited to recover from engagement, or too sensible to spend the time. The work sits there. It will keep sitting there. Twenty years from now someone in the AR will rediscover Cofnas’s papers and treat them as new objections, and the same dynamic will repeat. The wars are real. The combatants do not always engage. Sometimes the most effective response to a devastating critique is to refuse to acknowledge that the critique exists. The AR has refused successfully for seven years. It will refuse for as long as the coalition holds, which is to say for as long as the underlying conditions that produced the coalition continue to hold, which is to say for the foreseeable future.
Cofnas’s strongest move is the both-sides evidence. If Jewish overrepresentation in twentieth-century intellectual movements ran on the engine MacDonald describes, high IQ plus ethnocentrism deployed against gentile interests, you should not see Jews leading the BDS movement, defending hereditarianism, founding FIRE, or critiquing psychoanalysis. The pattern Cofnas documents fits a supply-side story, where a high-IQ urban population produces leaders across the spectrum, better than a coalition-purpose story.
MacDonald’s reply concedes the game. Once he shifts from headcount to influence, the theory loses its grip on falsifiability. Whatever side wins gets read backward as the Jewish side. Lakatos called this methodological degeneration: weakening the theory to absorb anomalies without making new risky predictions. The intermarriage move is the same problem in miniature. A seventy percent outmarriage rate is the opposite of what a group evolutionary strategy predicts. Calling outmarriage part of the strategy turns the theory into a sponge.
Where Cofnas is thinner: his default hypothesis treats Jewish political tilt as pure cognitive supply. That underexplains things. Most ethnic groups show average political slopes that come from history, not conspiracy and not pure IQ. Second-generation immigrant Jews in early twentieth-century New York had reasons to find Boas more congenial than Madison Grant that did not require ethnic strategy and did not reduce to test scores. Cofnas wins against MacDonald by collapsing the question into supply, but the truth probably sits between supply and average group tilt.
The most useful point in the essay is the last one. When mainstream institutions deny easy facts, such as Jewish overrepresentation in elite positions or average group differences in measured traits, they create the market for the people who will say what is denied. The audience reasons: if they lied to me about the easy things, why trust them on the hard ones. MacDonald’s growth depends on that distrust more than on his evidence. David Reich’s admission that mainstream geneticists have masked the possibility of group differences for political reasons hands MacDonald his recruiting line.
From the Alliance Theory angle, both men occupy coalition positions. MacDonald writes for venues read mostly by White nationalists. His income, status, and protection come from an audience that rewards finding Jewish influence everywhere. Cofnas writes for the heterodox-respectable right around Pinker, Reich, and Murray. His coalition rewards him for being tough enough on IQ science to stay credible while drawing a clean line against the conspiratorial extension of that science. Neither incentive proves either man wrong. Both incentives shape what each man will and will not see.
The Lakatos point is the cleanest takedown. The both-sides evidence is the cleanest empirical point. The noble-lie-backfire point is the most useful for understanding why MacDonald has readers at all. Cofnas wrote a careful essay that does the disassembly without the usual moralizing, which is rare for the topic and part of why it landed.
Cofnas argues that Boyd-Richerson cultural evolution models miss the obvious. Hunter-gatherer morality did not aggregate from individual learning biases. Enforcement came from a coalition of the rank-and-file against would-be alphas and against anyone else who broke ranks. He leans on Boehm’s reverse dominance hierarchy to argue that the first coalition was the coalition of subordinates, and that morality and coalition enforcement arose together, not in sequence. The Jurisdictional Wars logic does not start with sedentarism or with the founding of states. It starts when a band of subordinate males formed the first majority coalition and used collective force to control the alphas and punish anyone who failed to share meat or violated taboos. Moral vocabulary and coalition enforcement are the same phenomenon from the beginning. You could read the Cephu story as a small-scale jurisdictional war. Cephu makes a sovereignty claim, calling himself a chief of his own band. Kenge’s coalition denies the category. The Mbuti do not have chiefs. If Cephu wants to be a chief, he can leave the forest, which means die. The response is jurisdictional. The coalition does not recognize his standing, and the moral vocabulary (“Animal!”) does the boundary work.
Where Cofnas flinches is in his treatment of the coalition of the majority as if it were a unitary actor with shared foresight. He writes of “blueprints” the group “agrees on” and norms enforced “with explicit awareness of the social benefits.” Pinsof might push back. Within the coalition of the majority there are sub-coalitions, and whoever wins the internal politics gets to define the moral vocabulary the larger coalition then enforces. Which men shape the consensus? Whose definition of fairness becomes the rule? Cofnas does not ask. He treats “the group” as the agent and “group benefit” as the criterion. That is the same essentialism Turner attacks in Vermeule and Deneen, relocated to the Paleolithic.
Functionalism creates the related problem. Cofnas needs the norms to be group-beneficial because the alternative undercuts his deliberate engineering story. The alternative: coalitions enforce vocabularies whose consequences nobody predicts and whose benefits flow asymmetrically inside the coalition. Chudek’s endocannibalism example sits awkwardly here. Whose group benefit did that serve? An Alliance Theory angle reading does not need the norms to be functional for the group. It needs them to mark coalition membership and to give the enforcers something to enforce.
The concession to cultural evolutionary modeling for “nonmoral” domains is also worth pressing. Cofnas grants Boyd-Richerson the territory of spear-making technique and other practices the coalition treats as private. The moral and nonmoral line is not stable. Almost anything inside an elite institution becomes moralized once it enters coalition politics. Consider DEI hiring, peer review, citation practice, manuscript style. None of it was supposed to be moral. All of it is now. Cofnas treats the moral domain as a bounded category. The Jurisdictional Wars framework treats moralization as a process that can absorb any cultural domain a coalition decides to police.
Cofnas co-writes a defense of meat against the EAT-Lancet recommendations.
The authors make a defensible case on the narrow scientific question. Nutritional epidemiology relies on food frequency questionnaires that people fill out poorly, produces relative risks under 2 that would not pass muster in most other epidemiological fields, and rarely survives translation to randomized controlled trials. Ioannidis has been making this point for years across the whole field. The hazelnut example lands. If you take the meta-analyzed cohort data at face value, a daily hazelnut adds a year of life. Nobody believes that, and yet the same methodology produces the meat numbers that the EAT-Lancet Commission treated as decisive. The authors are right that the case for severe meat restriction does not clear the evidentiary bar that would be required in almost any other domain.
The Jurisdictional Wars reading sits one layer above the science. EAT-Lancet is a coalition product. The Commission combines climate scientists, nutrition researchers, foundation funders, and animal-welfare advocates whose moral commitments to plant-based eating predate the evidence. Leroy and Cofnas note the Seventh-day Adventist line running through nutrition guidance, citing the Banta paper on Adventist influence on global dietary advice. Adventist health messaging has shaped American nutrition orthodoxy for over a century, from Kellogg through Loma Linda, and the moral vocabulary of the modern plant-based movement carries Adventist DNA whether the speakers know it or not.
Who does an EAT-Lancet commissioner rely on for status, income, and protection? Foundations, journals, and a public health establishment that has staked its credibility on the meat-is-bad consensus. Who must they retain as allies? Climate funders, animal-welfare donors, the journals that publish the cohort studies, the activist NGOs that amplify the conclusions. What signals coalition membership? Citing the right cohort studies, treating relative risks under 2 as decisive when meat is the exposure, framing dissent as industry-funded. What would they have to give up to change position? Tenure cases, grant renewals, the moral standing of having been on the right side. Once you ask those questions, the asymmetry in how the evidence gets handled becomes legible. Visceral fat shows a relative risk of 5.9 for colorectal neoplasia and gets modest attention. Red meat shows under 1.2 and becomes the centerpiece of a planetary diet recommendation. The science does not explain the asymmetry. The coalition does.
Becker’s hero system frames the planetary diet language. EAT-Lancet calls for a Great Food Transformation, sanctifies a reference diet, and proposes warning labels and taxes. That vocabulary marks dietary virtue as the path to immortality through a saved planet. Meat eaters become the obstacles to collective salvation. The structure is religious in the sense Becker meant. The policy prescriptions follow from the moral architecture, not from the relative risks.
The commissioners do not experience their position as coalition signaling. They experience it as following the evidence. The cohort studies feel decisive because the moral conclusion is already settled, and the methodological skepticism that researchers apply elsewhere goes quiet when the conclusion aligns with the coalition’s prior commitments. Schoenfeld and Ioannidis showed that 40 of 50 cookbook ingredients had been associated with cancer risk in observational studies. Researchers know this. They apply the discount to other foods. They stop applying it when the food is meat.
Turner’s anti-essentialism applies to the category of red meat itself. EAT-Lancet treats red meat as a stable kind with intrinsic health properties. The category collapses on inspection. Beef from a feedlot, beef from grass, processed lunch meat, fresh cuts, organ meats, the meat in a hunter-gatherer diet that Cordain documents as two-thirds or more of caloric intake without cardiometabolic disease — these get bundled into one moral object. The bundling is what lets the coalition treat a heterogeneous food group as a single villain.
Leroy has received funding from meat industry sources, which the paper does not declare in the way an EAT-Lancet conflict-of-interest section would. That does not make his methodological points wrong, since the same critique of nutritional epidemiology comes from Ioannidis and from researchers with no meat-industry ties. But the symmetry cuts both ways. Industry money shapes the meat-defense literature the way activist money shapes the plant-based literature, and a careful reader keeps both in view.
The hunter-gatherer evidence the paper cites is real but does less work than the authors imply. Cordain’s numbers on animal-source caloric percentages are contested, and the cardiometabolic profile of foragers reflects total lifestyle, not meat in isolation. The paper leans on this evidence because it suits the argument, which is the same move they accuse EAT-Lancet of making with the cohort data. Both coalitions reach for the evidence that confirms and discount the evidence that complicates.
The paper’s topic is an example of how a contested empirical question gets resolved by the coalition that wins the institutional fight rather than by the evidence. The science does not settle the meat question. The coalition does. EAT-Lancet won the journals, the WHO, the public health establishment, and the dietary guidelines. Leroy and Cofnas are writing from outside that coalition, which is why their methodological points, defensible on the merits, will not move policy.
Cofnas builds a debunking case for moral progress that runs through self-interest plus empathy. The argument has force in places and breaks down in others.
The strong parts come first. Cofnas rightly notes that much liberalization runs on self-interest. Slaves wanted freedom. Peasants wanted protection from lords. Women wanted property rights. No one needs moral realism to explain any of that. The Hobbesian trap account of hunter-gatherer warfare also works. People dislike living in fear, but coordination problems trap them in violence until a central authority breaks the cycle. Pinker’s data on declining homicide rates supports this picture.
Boehm’s reverse dominance hierarchy thesis carries the paper’s anthropology. The idea that hunter-gatherer bands suppressed alphas through coalitions of subordinate males maps onto Alliance Theory angle. Coalitions of the weak constrain the strong. That logic recurs across history.
The weak parts come faster than Cofnas seems to notice.
First, he leans on Sapolsky for the empathy-as-evolved-trait argument. Sapolsky overstates and overreaches throughout Behave. The kin selection and reciprocal altruism story for empathy is real evolutionary biology, but Sapolsky’s framing carries ideological baggage that Cofnas absorbs uncritically.
Second, the empathy debunking cuts deeper than Cofnas wants. If our moral cognition evolved for fitness rather than truth, the same skepticism applies to all our cognitive faculties, including the reasoning Cofnas uses to build the argument. He notes the problem in passing and moves on.
Third, the self-interest account works for in-group liberalism but strains for expanding moral concern to those with no political clout. Animal welfare, foreign aid debates, concern for future generations, treatment of the disabled. None of that runs on the self-interest of the beneficiary, since the beneficiary cannot enforce anything. Cofnas concedes the point about animals and lets it pass. Empathy alone seems thin. A coalition account might do better. Caring for the powerless marks membership in the dominant moral coalition. Status accrues to those who display the right concern. The beneficiary’s lack of power becomes the point, not a problem.
Fourth, the account has a Whiggish shape. Cofnas treats liberalization as the dominant trend, with reversals as noise. But the populist resurgence, illiberal movements across Europe and India, the retreat from free trade, the realignment around national interest, all suggest the trend was contingent on conditions that may not hold. If liberalism was a byproduct of postwar prosperity, secure borders, and pacification, what happens when those conditions break?
Fifth, the women’s liberation section is the weakest. Cofnas writes that men used their strength to arrange society for themselves but also cared about women, and so heeded women’s demands. This explains nothing. Men cared about women in 1300 too and arranged society for themselves anyway. The actual story almost certainly turns on industrialization changing the economic value of female labor, fertility transitions changing household economics, and contraception changing the male-female bargaining position. None of that is empathy. A coalition account might say that as women became economically independent, their alliance value to men shifted, and the male-female compact got renegotiated.
Sixth, Cofnas barely addresses why liberalism spread from particular cultural sources rather than emerging spontaneously everywhere. Larry Siedentop’s Inventing the Individual makes a strong case that Christian theology supplied the conceptual material for moral equality and individual dignity. Liberalism is not a generic outcome of pacification. It is a specific cultural product of Latin Christendom that conquered rival moral systems through technological and economic dominance. Cofnas’s universalist framing hides this.
Seventh, the metaethical conclusion is weak. Cofnas argues that since both realism and antirealism predict convergence, convergence cannot decide between them. Then he claims his naturalistic account is “superior.” Superior how? He gestures at parsimony but does not earn it. The realist can run the same parsimony argument in reverse.
Cofnas takes the empirical case seriously where many philosophers wave their hands but the framework needs the coalition layer to do the work he wants self-interest and empathy to do alone. Self-interest explains why oppressed groups push back. It does not explain why winning coalitions adopt particular moral vocabularies that signal membership and exclude rivals. That is where Alliance Theory angle does heavier lifting than what Cofnas reaches for.
He wrote this in 2019 from Balliol College, Oxford. Who does he rely on for status, income, and protection? The academic philosophy profession. Who does he need to attract? Editors at Philosophical Studies, supervisors, future hiring committees. What signals mark coalition membership? Citing the right philosophers, criticizing realism in a way that respects field stylistic norms, treating the question as live rather than settled. What would he give up if he changed position? Publication access, professional respectability, a tenure-track future. The paper sits comfortably within those constraints. That does not make it wrong, but it explains some of its evasions.
Cofnas accepts Conly’s case for coercive paternalism and tries to strengthen it by adding a premise she explicitly rejects: that intellectual capacity differs across people in ways that bear on who needs protecting from his own choices. The move is clean. Conly claims paternalism rests on shared fallibility, not superiority. Cofnas says no, the fallibility is unequally distributed, and your argument grows stronger if you admit it.
The empirical section pulls real weight. The National Adult Literacy Survey data hold up. Most adults cannot reliably read a bus schedule and figure out a wait time. A quarter cannot interpret an appointment slip. About forty percent cannot follow directions for taking medication on an empty stomach. Williams and Davis and Gottfredson have done the work, and the numbers are what they are. The point that functional literacy and general reasoning track each other, and that both predict health outcomes after controlling for income and education, has been established many times.
What strains is the leap from those numbers to his policy proposals. Cofnas suggests appointing supervisors to monitor what low-IQ patients buy at the grocery store and which restaurants they enter, with power to forcibly intervene. He suggests compelling some to live in environments where they can be monitored more closely. He suggests financial penalties for not notifying a health professional at medication time. None of this follows from the literacy data. What follows from the literacy data is that we should write simpler instructions, use pictographic medication labels, build automated reminders, and design systems that do not assume a college reading level. Most help for low-functional-literacy populations does not require coercion. The coercion proposals do other work.
His handling of disparate impact stumbles most. He notes that ethnic groups differ in mean IQ and bottom-NALS representation, then waves off the concern by saying paternalistic help is by definition a benefit, so disparate impact cannot be adverse. This begs the question. Whether the intervention helps is exactly what is contested. The historical record of state intervention into the lives of populations classified as low-functioning, from eugenic sterilization to residential schools to civil commitment, shows these interventions failing by their own stated metrics while serving the interests of those who administered them. Cofnas writes as if the paternalist coalition has no interests of its own.
Source quality is mixed. Gottfredson is a serious researcher whose health-IQ work holds up. Kanazawa is a different matter. The savanna-IQ interaction hypothesis sits poorly with the rest of evolutionary psychology, and Kanazawa’s claims about liberalism, atheism, and obesity have not aged well. Building a chunk of the argument on him weakens the paper.
The deepest problem is essentialist. Cofnas treats low IQ as the relevant essence that licenses intervention. Turner’s whole point against this kind of move is that essentialist categories smuggle normative work in under descriptive cover. “Low IQ person” sounds like a description. In Cofnas’s argument it functions as a license to override autonomy. The g factor is real and predictive. The step from a real predictive variable to a category that confers reduced moral standing is not a small one, and Cofnas does not work for it.
He also passes over the strongest version of Mill. Cofnas treats the harm-to-others versus harm-to-self distinction as resting only on Enlightenment optimism about Homo economicus, and once that picture falls, the distinction falls with it. But there is a separate argument: even if I make bad self-regarding choices, the cost falls on me, and I have a stronger claim to make my own bad choices than I have to inflict bad choices on others. That argument does not require believing I am always right. It requires believing my life is mine in a way other people’s lives are not. Cofnas does not engage this version, which is the version that does most of the work in liberal political theory.
Worth running my four questions on the paternalist himself. Who administers a regime of supervisors monitoring grocery purchases and assessing dietary compliance? Social workers, healthcare bureaucrats, family court judges, a new class of certified supervisors. The argument grows the coalition that decides who needs supervising. The people supervised gain no status, income, or protection. The supervisors gain all three. Conly has the same problem, but Cofnas makes it sharper because his proposed interventions are heavier and his target population gets defined by a measurable trait that already correlates with poverty and vulnerability.
The paper is honest in a way most academic work is not. Cofnas says out loud what many soft-paternalists half-believe but will not write down. That honesty makes the weak parts more visible than they would be in a more cautious version of the same argument.
Cofnas does cleaner work here than in the paternalism paper. The argument is narrow, the target is well-defined, and he sticks to it. He takes Westermarck’s theory of the sibling incest taboo, applies Williams’s representation problem and Wolf’s moralization problem, and shows that the theory cannot do what its proponents claim.
The structural argument lands. The Westermarck effect, if real, says I avoid sex with my childhood coresidents. The taboo says everyone avoid sex with siblings. These differ in two ways. The objects differ: childhood coresidents are not the same set as siblings. The scope differs: a personal aversion is not a third-party prohibition. Cofnas is right that no amount of asserting that the instinct gets “translated” or “formalized” into the taboo bridges this gap. Wilson’s hand-waving on this point has always been weak, and Cofnas is right to call it out.
The handling of Sesardic’s reply is the strongest section. Sesardic’s move is clever. He says it does not matter what objectively triggers the aversion, only what the person experiences as triggering it, and people will reach for sibling rather than childhood coresident because the former is the available cultural category. Cofnas’s reply is exactly right. Sibling is an available category only because we already have the social norms that make it one. The story explains the taboo by presupposing it. This is the same kind of circle Turner identifies in essentialist arguments generally. The category that supposedly explains the practice is itself constituted by the practice.
The vicarious disgust section also holds up. Cofnas reads Lieberman and Lobel carefully, and the read is damaging. Their Study 1 found no effect of coresidence duration on moral attitudes toward third-party peer sex. Their Study 2 found a small effect in a rank-ordering task where peer sex landed near speeding on the highway in moral severity, far from sibling sex. Treating this as evidence that personal aversion produces moral condemnation overstates what the data show. The May point about the 14-on-100 rating in Wheatley and Haidt deserves wider notice. A mean of 14 on a wrongness scale is not condemnation. It is mild distaste that the experiment has labeled wrongness.
The Haidt material throughout is handled with appropriate skepticism, which matches my view of him as untrustworthy. Cofnas does not lean on Haidt’s broader claims about disgust and morality. He treats the specific empirical findings on their merits and notes the publication-bias concerns Landy and Goodwin raise.
The recognition hypothesis section is where the paper grows weaker, and Cofnas seems to know it. Durham’s data are suggestive but thin. Twenty out of sixty cultures showing some version of a bad-stock argument is real evidence that some societies noticed inbreeding depression, but it does not establish that recognition produced the taboo rather than the other way around. People with an existing taboo will rationalize it, and bad-stock stories are an obvious rationalization. The Pope Gregory quote shows the Church offering this reason, but the Church had other reasons too, as Goody and Prinz argue and as Cofnas concedes when he mentions the Church’s interest in collecting estates from those who died without heirs. Schulz et al. on cousin marriage and Western individualism is a serious finding, but it tells us about consequences of the ban, not origins.
The four diagnostic questions cut against him here. Who establishes incest taboos in early societies? Elders, religious authorities, the men who control marriage exchange. What do they gain? Control over the marriage market, the right to direct young women to politically useful unions outside the family, the moral authority to enforce all this. The taboo serves the coalition of those who run exchange. The bad-stock rationale and the Westermarck instinct are both downstream of that coalitional fact. Cofnas does not run this analysis. He treats the question as if it were purely cognitive, as if the only candidates were “people felt disgusted” or “people noticed birth defects.” Lévi-Strauss had at least the structuralist version of the coalitional answer, that the taboo forces alliance-building exogamy, and Cofnas mentions it briefly before moving on.
The deepest point in the paper is the closing claim that representation and moralization problems are general. The gap between an instinct’s content and a moral norm’s content shows up everywhere. Kin selection gives me a disposition to favor my children. It does not give me a moral judgment that everyone should favor their children. That moral judgment is a coalitional product. It is a rule the group endorses because the group benefits from people raising their own children rather than free-riding. Street’s evolutionary debunking argument depends on collapsing this distinction, and Cofnas is right that the distinction will not collapse. Alliance Theory angle says moral vocabularies are coalition technologies. The representation and moralization problems are exactly what you would expect if Pinsof is right. Instincts are individual-level. Moral norms are coalition-level. They do different work, run on different logics, and cannot be derived from each other by any simple translation. Cofnas’s conclusion is congruent with that frame. Where he says the cultural evolution of morality is “not tightly constrained by our biological endowment,” you might say the constraint runs through coalitional selection on shared vocabularies, not through individual instincts.
Cofnas treats the Israeli kibbutz data as decisive against Westermarck via Shor and Simchai’s reanalysis showing most coreared kibbutzniks felt indifference rather than aversion. That reanalysis has held up better than Shepher’s original claims. But Shor and Simchai’s social cohesion theory has its own problems, which Cofnas notes. It also has the same coalitional question lurking under it. Why would small nonvoluntary groups establish norms against intragroup sex? Because the coalition holding the group together has an interest in preventing dyadic bonds from fragmenting it. This is closer to the right kind of explanation, but Cofnas leaves it as a sociological observation rather than pursuing the coalitional logic.
The paper is honest, well-argued, and a useful corrective to confident evolutionary just-so stories about moral norms. The implicit conclusion supports skepticism of the kind of bio-essentialism that runs through a lot of evolutionary psychology. Where Westermarck wants morality to grow out of instinct, Cofnas shows the gap. Filling the gap requires coalitional theory, which Cofnas does not provide but which his argument leaves room for.
The 2021 paper sharpens the 2018 one and adds the move that does the most work: framing MacDonald not as a fringe figure to be ignored but as the mirror image of the mainstream race narrative. Cofnas wants to position himself as a third option, the genuine race realist who rejects both the white-racism narrative and the anti-Jewish narrative. That positioning is rhetorically effective and methodologically interesting, whatever you make of the underlying race-realist commitments.
The intermarriage point is the cleanest blow. MacDonald made one falsifiable demographic prediction. It failed. The Reform and unaffiliated intermarriage rates of 50% and 69% mean the population MacDonald identified as carrying out the group strategy is voluntarily ending its own genetic line within two generations. MacDonald’s response, that intermarriage is part of the strategy through alliance with Trump and Clinton families, is the kind of move Alliance Theory predicts a coalition’s founding text will make under pressure. Once any outcome confirms the theory, the theory has stopped being about the world and started being about the coalition.
The Hugh Davis Graham misuse is the strongest sourcing point. MacDonald cites Graham as agreeing that Jewish organizations were a necessary condition for the 1965 Immigration Act. Cofnas reads the surrounding pages and shows Graham saying the opposite. The quota system was already being circumvented by executive parole, the Bracero program, and Western Hemisphere exemptions. Truman and Eisenhower had paroled 700,000 refugees outside the quotas. By 1960, two-thirds of immigrants entered without quota numbers. Graham says abolition was an idea whose time had come, that the consequences were unintended, and that Celler was so disturbed by the collapse in European immigration that he tried to introduce corrective legislation. None of that survives in MacDonald’s selective quotation. This is the same pattern as the Sanford misreading in 2018: pull a passage that sounds supportive, drop the surrounding argument that flips the meaning.
The Sweden point lands hard. If Jewish influence is a necessary condition for liberal multiculturalism, the most extreme multicultural country in the West, with a Jewish population of 0.2%, becomes inexplicable. Germany under Merkel is the same problem. The theory predicts a correlation between Jewish presence and multicultural policy. The correlation is not there.
The Israel material does what the 2018 paper did and tightens it. Israel grants automatic citizenship under the Law of Return to anyone with one Jewish grandparent and their non-Jewish spouse and children. 400,000 Israelis are not considered Jewish by the Chief Rabbinate. Up to 86% of recent immigrants may not be halachically Jewish. Liberal American Jews, including Dershowitz, lobbied to bring 135,000 Ethiopians who have no genetic relation to other Jewish populations. The “racial purity for Israel” frame collapses against this record. MacDonald’s response, that Ethiopians are only 2% so don’t threaten the demographic status quo, is the gotcha Cofnas spends a paragraph savoring, because it’s the exact argument MacDonald would reject if a Jew made it about America.
The American Renaissance material is the most underused asset in the paper. Four of ten invited speakers at the 1994 founding conference were Jewish. Levin’s book is still sold by AmRen. Auster and Levin left as anti-Semitism crept in. Pyke in MacDonald’s own Occidental Quarterly admits Jews showed up wanting to be allies and got the eleventh-chair treatment. The structure here is pure coalition logic. White nationalists demand that Jews join their movement to prove they aren’t ethnocentric, exclude them when they try, then cite the exclusion as evidence of Jewish ethnocentrism. The move is unfalsifiable by design. Cofnas catches it but understates how cleanly it shows the coalition function of the theory.
What Cofnas still doesn’t quite say is that MacDonald’s entire framework rests on essentialism in Turner’s sense. He treats Jews as a unified actor with a unified strategy, then treats every disconfirming Jew as either a hidden activist, a defector, or a useful idiot. Drop the essentialism and you get the question Cofnas keeps circling but never names: which Jewish sub-coalitions back which movements, and why? Reform Jews in postwar New York worked one alliance structure. Orthodox Jews in Brooklyn work a different one. Israeli right-nationalists work a third. Soviet refusenik conservatives work a fourth. The “Jews” of MacDonald’s theory are an artifact of treating a coalition-internal disagreement as a unified actor’s hypocrisy.
One real weakness in Cofnas’s paper. The “default hypothesis” of high IQ plus urban concentration is parsimonious for explaining overrepresentation in cognitively demanding fields, but it underdescribes the political tilt. Saying “right-wing movements were disproportionately anti-Semitic so Jews skewed left” is true but circular for a period when much of the left was also anti-Semitic, particularly the Soviet and Polish communist parties Cofnas referenced in 2018. The fuller answer requires looking at which specific coalitions in which specific cities at which specific moments admitted Jews on equal terms. That’s the analysis MacDonald should have done and didn’t, and it’s the analysis Cofnas gestures at but doesn’t quite execute.
The framing here, “genuine realists have to fight a war on two fronts,” is Cofnas explicitly recruiting a coalition. He wants race-realist readers to abandon MacDonald without abandoning race realism. Whether you find that move legitimate depends on what you think of the underlying commitment. The internal critique of MacDonald is sound either way.
The case is closed on MacDonald as scholarship. The case stays open on why the book keeps regenerating among readers who have access to the demolition. That’s a coalition question, not a theory question, and neither paper takes it up.
Cofnas does the close reading Singer’s argument needs and cannot survive. Singer and de Lazari-Radek require that leading thinkers of distinct traditions independently converged on a principle similar to the principle of universal benevolence, took the point of view of the universe, and treated the Golden Rule as the essence of morality. Cofnas walks through each tradition Singer cites and shows the claim falls apart on contact.
The Hillel demolition is the cleanest move. Singer treats the stand-on-one-foot exchange as showing the Golden Rule sits at the heart of Judaism. Cofnas points to Navon’s count of 80 instances where 15 different mitzvos or states of affairs are declared equal to all the Torah. Sabbath, circumcision, tzitzis, charity, living in Israel. The “essence of Judaism is the Golden Rule” reading is a projection by Reform-influenced commentators who want Judaism to look like liberal Christianity.
The Christian section earns the thesis. Jesus does treat the Golden Rule as central, but the cosmology around it has nothing to do with impartial maximization of welfare across sentient beings. Jesus promises everlasting fire to those who offend God. He tells followers to allow themselves to be abused. He takes the perspective of a particular agent, God, not of the universe. Singer’s reading absorbs the Christian Golden Rule by stripping it of its theological context and translating it into a secular humanitarian formula. The translation costs almost everything that gives the rule force in the original.
The Confucian point lands hard. Mencius called Mozi a beast for advocating inclusive care. Confucian ethics rejects impartiality. Filial piety requires preferential love. Csikszentmihalyi’s observation that the rule was often used as a metaphor for reflexivity in action rather than as a moral imperative undercuts Singer’s reading further.
The Hindu and Buddhist sections rest on thinner textual ground, but Cofnas does enough by citing Bakker and Davis that Hindu commentaries center ahimsa rather than reciprocity, and that the Buddha’s statement appears in a single passage without framing as the essence of dharma.
The constructive move is also strong. Cofnas offers a parsimonious account of why Golden Rule-style sayings recur. Moral educators across traditions hit on the same pedagogical trick: ask the listener to imagine the situation reversed, harness empathy, encourage prosocial behavior. The convergence happens at the level of teaching technique, not at the level of perceived moral truth. This account does not require any party to track a non-natural moral fact. It requires only that humans share the empathic capacity selection installed in them and that teachers across cultures notice that capacity can be tapped.
The Mozi and Anglican utilitarian section extends past pure debunking. Cofnas concedes both groups argued for impartial morality among humans. He shows both did so on theological premises. Mozi argues from Heaven’s perspective. Berkeley and Gay argue from God’s perspective. Strip God or Heaven from those arguments and impartiality goes with it. The Anglicans were clear that moral obligation requires God and God’s sanctions. Substituting “the universe” for “God” is not translation. It replaces one premise with a different premise that does not do the same work.
A few places I would push back or extend.
First, Cofnas’s empathy-pedagogy explanation is plausible but soft. It explains why the rule recurs as a family resemblance. It does not yet explain why moral educators across traditions thought empathy-induction was the right rhetorical lever. A deeper story sits underneath. Empathy works as a coordination device because it tracks a feature of social life all these traditions had to manage, the constant temptation to free-ride on cooperators. The Golden Rule reframes the cheater’s temptation by asking him to picture occupying the cooperator’s position. The rule does alliance maintenance work in each tradition, even where the surrounding theology differs.
Second, the Christian case may be more interesting than Cofnas’s debunking allows. He treats Christianity as the outlier where the Golden Rule is the cornerstone. The question Singer should ask is why Christianity made it the cornerstone. The answer might lie in the missionary requirements of a faith trying to bind together populations across ethnic lines. The Golden Rule does in Christianity what filial piety does in Confucianism and what ahimsa does in Hinduism. It is the coalition-defining moral signature. Each signature suits the social formation it serves. None reflects a universal truth. Each reflects a particular alliance structure.
Third, Cofnas’s debunking is incomplete. He notes that debunking does not show a belief is false, only that the belief is unjustified once we see its causal origin. The Singer move he targets was always a meta-ethical maneuver: use cross-cultural convergence as evidence of non-natural moral truth. Knock out the convergence and you have not refuted non-natural moral realism. You have removed one route into it. Realists can still claim the Golden Rule represents a non-natural truth. They cannot use Sidgwick’s three-part test to anchor that claim.
Fourth, the paper rests on a quiet point worth pulling out. Singer needs Christianity’s universalism to stand in for human universalism so he can recruit Christianity to the secular utilitarian project while shedding the supernatural baggage. The same move the Anglican utilitarians made. Take Christian moral architecture, swap out God, keep the impartiality. Cofnas shows the architecture cannot support the impartiality once God is removed. This matters for understanding contemporary secular liberalism, which runs on Christian moral software while denying the operating system underneath.
The paper rewards careful reading of texts in their tradition rather than the synoptic move that flattens them into a single message. The cost is that it leaves the harder constructive question open. If not the Golden Rule, what explains the recurrence of similar prosocial precepts across cultures, and what should we conclude about the standing of those precepts? Cofnas points toward an answer and does not develop it far. The empathy-pedagogy story is the start of an account. The alliance-maintenance story is what would finish it.
The paper does something clever and something self-defeating at the same time.
The clever move pushes the debunking argument back a step. If Boehm is right that moral psychology evolved by social selection, with humans consciously designing rules and enforcing them, that opens the door to realist social selection. Maybe the rule-makers grasped moral truth via reason and enforced rules accordingly, so the resulting selection pressures tracked truth. Cofnas closes that door by arguing the rule-makers were themselves driven by fitness-tracking impulses, the desire to avoid domination, the desire to eat, the desire for cooperation that aids survival. Reason served those impulses rather than apprehending moral facts. So the process tracked fitness all the way down.
The self-defeating part: Cofnas relies on reason throughout to make this metaethical case. His reasoning faculty came from natural selection just like everyone else’s. If natural selection produces faculties that track fitness rather than truth, why trust his metaethical conclusion? He needs reason to track truth when he uses it to debunk moral realism, but not when our ancestors used it to design rules. The asymmetry needs argument. He gestures at Street’s “starting fund” point, that reason elaborates on initial evaluative judgments rather than escaping them, but this cuts against him. If true, his own argument elaborates on his starting fund of antirealist priors.
The “implausible coincidence” argument cuts both ways. Cofnas assumes moral truth and fitness are separable, so alignment between evolved drives and moral facts must be coincidence. Many realist traditions reject this separation. Aristotelians, Thomists, eudaimonists, and natural-law theorists hold that moral truth tracks human flourishing because flourishing is the moral fact, or close to it. The desire to avoid domination might track moral truth because unjust domination is wrong. The drive and the truth are not separate variables that happen to line up.
The Boehm thesis carries a lot of weight here. Cofnas acknowledges in footnote 2 that the strict egalitarianism of nomadic foragers is contested by Wengrow, Graeber, Singh, and Glowacki. He waves this away by saying initial conditions matter most. But if the anthropological foundation wobbles, the whole structure wobbles. The argument requires not just that early humans designed rules but that they designed them in patterns Cofnas can debunk. If foragers swung between hierarchical and egalitarian arrangements seasonally, the simple coalition-of-subordinates-against-alpha story loses force.
His treatment of liberal convergence applies coalition logic, well enough as far as it goes. Majorities reassert interests against modern alphas, so the spread of liberal values reflects power shifts rather than moral discovery. But many liberal commitments cut against majority interest. Free speech for unpopular minorities, due process for the accused, property rights against redistribution. If liberalism tracks majority power, why these counter-majoritarian features? The story works for some liberal values and poorly for others.
Cofnas runs an Alliance-Theory-adjacent argument without naming it. Moral codes track coalition interests rather than mind-independent truth. My four diagnostic questions cut deeper than Cofnas does, because they apply to him too. Who does Cofnas rely on for status, income, protection? Oxford philosophy at the time he wrote this. Who must he attract or retain as allies? Naturalist philosophers, evolutionary psychologists, the secular academic establishment that publishes EDAs. What beliefs and signals mark coalition membership? Skepticism toward moral realism, sophistication about gene-culture coevolution, willingness to debunk. What might he give up if he changed position? A lot, as his subsequent trajectory after Cambridge demonstrated. His debunking project has its own coalition function.
Two more points.
The FitzPatrick objection deserves more weight than Cofnas gives it. He claims his version differs because both sides agree on the social-selection story and disagree only about motivation. But disagreement about motivation is the whole game. Whether you describe early humans as satisfying primate desires or responding to perceived goods loads the question. The debunker frames the same behavior in fitness language and calls victory.
Second, the paper does not address why social selection produced workable societies if humans had no reliable access to anything beyond fitness drives. Pure fitness-maximization should produce something closer to chimp tyranny rebooted. That nomadic-forager arrangements look broadly defensible by independent moral standards needs explanation. “Coincidence” does too much work.
This third paper is the strongest of the trilogy, and the strongest because Cofnas finally drops the pretense that he’s just doing neutral science.
The interview material on MacDonald is the centerpiece. MacDonald agrees that “there are no good Jews” is “a good rule of thumb.” He agrees that the proper relation between Jews and Whites is one of service. He has “mostly positive things to say” about Hitler and the Third Reich, declines to mention the Nazi treatment of Jews when given the chance, and has gotten “more and more open” to Holocaust denial. He endorses David Duke for office. He publishes pieces in his journal calling Jews “Jugly” and arguing they “oppose beauty.” Once you have this on the record, the question of whether MacDonald is doing scholarship or coalition-tending answers itself. The 1998 trilogy was always coalition-tending. The interview just shows the coalition without the scholarly drag.
The Sweden empirics are the most underrated contribution. Cofnas runs the numbers. Across 52 countries, controlling for GDP per capita, the percentage of the population that is Jewish has no statistically significant relationship with willingness to fight for one’s country. Across 18 top migrant-destination countries, the percentage Jewish has no statistically significant relationship with attitudes toward immigrants. The Foa, Romero-Vidal, and Klassen graph showing liberal value rise concentrated in rich democracies while the rest of the world flatlines does more damage to MacDonald than any sourcing critique could. If Jews caused liberalism, you would see Jewish presence correlate with liberalism cross-nationally. You don’t. The correlation is with wealth.
The Margherita Sarfatti material is the best single section in any of the three papers. It’s also the section that most undermines MacDonald on his own terms. Italian fascism, one of the two successful fascist movements of the twentieth century, was substantially built by a Jewish woman who was Mussolini’s mentor, mistress, biographer, ghostwriter, and chief propagandist. Italian Jews supported fascism in proportions far above their population share. Mussolini turned anti-Semitic in 1936 not because the Jews had done anything wrong but because alliance with Hitler required it, and even his Jew-baiter-in-chief Farinacci could only manage the indictment that Italian Jews paid their taxes, obeyed the laws, fought in the war, but maybe didn’t love the regime enough. The same pattern shows up in the German racial hygiene movement before the Nazis, where Jewish geneticists like Weinberg and Goldschmidt were prominent supporters of eugenics until the anti-Semitic wing won out and pushed them away. Hitler told Rauschning that Jews would have flocked to his movement if he’d merely held out a finger. The historical record is clear. Jews participate heavily in nationalist movements when admitted on equal terms, and get expelled when the movements turn anti-Semitic, after which they are blamed for not participating. This is exactly the unfalsifiable structure Cofnas identified in 2018 and now has the historical evidence to crush.
The PCIN report exchange is devastating in a small way. MacDonald cites page 42. The page doesn’t say what he claims. Cofnas emails him in 2016. MacDonald says oh, I meant page 32. Page 32 doesn’t say it either. MacDonald says oh, pages 107 and 108. Those don’t say it either. They say the quota system was being bypassed because legislators couldn’t achieve their goals through it. They don’t say anything about the desirability of changing the racial balance. This is the same Hugh Davis Graham misuse pattern from the 2021 paper. It’s the same Sanford pattern from the 2018 paper. Three papers, three identical sourcing collapses. The trilogy is a sourcing-failure trilogy.
Cofnas’s positive theory of anti-Semitism in the closing section is the weakest part. Religious origins, market-dominant minority resentment, political scapegoating, and bad-is-stronger-than-good asymmetry are all real forces but they are stitched together as a list rather than a model. The Chua framework on market-dominant minorities does most of the work, and it would have been stronger to lead with that and treat the religious overlay as one factor among many rather than building it up across pages of Eusebius and Augustine quotation. The Mark Twain reference is also slightly evasive given that Twain’s “Concerning the Jews” is more ambiguous than Cofnas implies. But the basic structural point holds. Anti-Semitism shares the form of resentment directed at Overseas Chinese, Indians in East Africa, Lebanese in West Africa, Whites in Zimbabwe, and Tutsis in Rwanda. The form is older than the content. MacDonald treats the content as proof of a Jewish-specific evolutionary strategy. The form being shared across all market-dominant minorities falsifies that.
The Italian fascism section actually points toward a richer analysis than Cofnas draws. Sarfatti, Pontremoli, Jarach, Jona, the elder Sarfattis. These are not anomalies. They are predicted by Pinsof’s Alliance Theory once you drop the essentialism. Italian Jews in 1919 had a coalition structure that aligned with Italian nationalism. Italian nationalism had a coalition structure that initially welcomed Jews. The two coalitions cooperated. When Mussolini’s coalition needs shifted, the alliance broke. None of this requires a Jewish group evolutionary strategy. It requires only the ordinary logic of which sub-coalitions ally with which other sub-coalitions under which conditions. The same analysis explains why Jewish neoconservatives ally with evangelical Christians on Israel today, why Soviet Jewish refuseniks became American Republicans, why Orthodox Jews now vote Republican while Reform Jews vote Democrat. None of this is “the Jews” doing anything. It’s particular Jewish coalitions making particular alliances based on particular interests, the same way every other sub-population does.
What Cofnas still does not name, and what makes the trilogy feel slightly incomplete even at its best, is that MacDonald’s project is not failing as scholarship by accident. It is succeeding as something else. The 1998 trilogy is a coalition-formation document. It provides a moral vocabulary that explains every grievance the alt-right has by attributing it to a unified, essentialist, multigenerational Jewish agency. The book’s persistent appeal among readers who have access to Cofnas’s demolition is not despite its scholarly failure but because the scholarly failure is the price of the moral utility. A theory that could be falsified by Marcuse advocating Arab return to Israel, or by Sarfatti building Italian fascism, or by Reform Judaism actively campaigning for racial diversification of the Jewish community, would not perform the coalition function. The book has to be unfalsifiable to do what its readers want it to do. Cofnas circles this point throughout three papers but doesn’t quite say it. Saying it would require admitting that the same dynamic operates on his own side, since “race realism” performs an analogous coalition function for an analogous readership.
The retraction story is the small ugly subplot. Philosophia published MacDonald’s reply, the associate editor resigned, Weinberg agitated, Springer retracted, Kasher apologized and lost his job. Cofnas opposed the retraction publicly and was right to. Suppression of MacDonald creates the martyr halo Nietzsche described, and the martyr halo is worth more to MacDonald’s readership than the paper itself ever was. Cofnas’s instinct here is exactly correct. The way to defeat coalition-justifying pseudo-scholarship is to demolish it in the open, which is what these three papers do.
The framing of “two narratives equally false” was always a coalition position rather than a neutral one, and Cofnas’s later career makes which coalition he was joining unmistakable. Read the papers for what they accomplish. They demolish MacDonald. They do not, and were never going to, demolish the coalition structure that produced MacDonald and that will produce his successors.
‘Heterodox Academy: A Good Idea Gone Awry? | Nathan Cofnas’ (Mar. 7, 2023)
Heterodox Academy accepted the coalition it needed to attract. Haidt and Tomasi recruited respectable academics who depend on Harvard, Yale, NYU, and the broader prestige system for status, income, and protection. That coalition cannot survive a frank race-differences argument, so Heterodox Academy never had one. The drift toward respectability was not a betrayal of the founding mission. It was the founding mission, visible in the original membership list and in who they let speak from year one.
Who does Heterodox Academy rely on for status, income, protection? Mainstream academic peers and the donors who fund credentialed centrism. Who must they retain as allies? The credentialed center-left who give them legitimacy outside the right-wing media ecosystem. What beliefs and signals mark coalition membership? Quoting Mill, condemning Trump, treating McWhorter as the upper bound of permissible race talk, treating Nyborg as beyond the pale. What would they give up if they crossed the line? Everything that distinguishes Heterodox Academy from American Renaissance, which is to say everything that makes them legible to their funders and peers.
So Cofnas’s “they failed” reads better as “they did what their coalition required.” Failure is a moral verdict. The behavioral pattern is not a mystery once you ask who they needed to please.
The weaker move is his empirical confidence. Cofnas treats the genetic explanation of group disparities as settled and treats hesitation as either dishonesty or stupidity. He says “no one who understands race differences is woke” and that “knowledge of race differences cures wokeism.” This has the shape of religious testimony. Knowledge as conversion. The honest position is that the evidence is contested, the heritability-of-group-differences question runs into hard methodological problems even among scholars who accept individual heritability, and people most certain on either side tend to be those whose coalition rewards certainty. Cofnas notices this pattern for everyone except himself.
His strategic recommendation has the same coalition structure his diagnosis exposes. He wants dissident faculty to ally with DeSantis-style political pressure from outside, plus internal pushback against activist hiring, plus a public campaign on race differences. The proposal might work if the coalition holds. It probably will not hold, because Republican governors operate on election cycles, dissident faculty operate on tenure horizons, and race-realist scholars operate on the need to be heard. Each group needs something from the others that the others cannot reliably deliver.
Heterodox Academy is a procedural project that pretended to be neutral about substance. Procedures cannot stay neutral when the substance is contested. They get captured by whoever pays for them and whoever grants them legitimacy. Haidt knew this in theory and acted as if he could escape it in practice. He could not. Tomasi inherits the same trap. His reply to Cofnas, that Heterodox Academy “is not an anti-anything organization,” is the trap announcing itself. An organization that stands against nothing stands for nothing the orthodoxy can be made to fear.
What is left for someone who wants heterodoxy? Probably not another Heterodox Academy. Probably not a new university either, since the credentialing pipeline and donor base pull any new institution toward the same equilibrium within a decade. University of Austin will face the same forces in five years that Heterodox Academy faced in three. The realistic options are smaller. Protected fellowships funded by donors who do not need elite approval. Individual scholars who write for audiences outside academia. The slow accumulation of work that becomes citable when the orthodoxy weakens.
Cofnas is doing the third one.
Matt (History Speaks): ‘A Chat with Nathan Cofnas’ (Jun. 6, 2023)
Apply the four questions to Matt. Status, income, protection: a PhD candidacy at LSE in international history, the YouTube channel as a side project, the eventual historian career. Allies: serious historians who engage rather than dismiss, free speech academics, the small subset of internet history audiences willing to watch debates with Holocaust deniers. Membership signals: defending free speech for hereditarians while disagreeing with the substance, debating deniers directly, identifying MacDonald’s bad-faith moves, his Coptic background as a live counterexample to simple hereditarian inference. What he gives up if he changes position: the protective cover that most academics use. He has chosen the costly route of engaging instead of denouncing. The position is structurally similar to Cofnas’s, which is why the conversation works as well as it does.
Matt does what Heterodox Academy claims to do better than Heterodox Academy does it. He is not academy-protected. He is a doctoral student running a YouTube channel. Notice the implication for any model of intellectual courage that requires institutional cover. The cover is not the source. The willingness is.
The hereditarian exchange is the most revealing in the interview because Cofnas retreats to a weaker claim than the one he carries elsewhere. Matt presses with the Coptic example. Christians from the Levant and Egypt, descended from civilizations that built the foundations of the West, score low on cognitive tests today. Cofnas’s reply is that we lack reliable data on those populations because we cannot measure their potential under controlled conditions. This is a retreat. The strong hereditarian claim says current scores reflect genetic potential after corrections for environment. The retreat says we cannot make that judgment without cross-population adoption studies. The retreat is more defensible. It is also weaker than the claim he uses to drive his political argument. Matt does not press the gap. The gap stays.
The wokeism exchange is where Matt hits the keystone directly. He grants the empirical claims for the sake of argument and asks why the political conclusions follow. If hereditarian differences exist and we cannot change them, why must we make incendiary public arguments? Why not the quieter conservative position that says differences exist, we do not know how to change them, so we maintain meritocratic standards? Cofnas’s reply is that wokism logically follows from the equality thesis, so the equality thesis must be defeated to defeat wokism. Matt rejects the logic. He is right to reject it. Wokism does not logically follow from the equality thesis any more than Catholicism logically follows from Genesis. Movements survive partial concessions on their empirical premises. They adapt. The keystone framework Cofnas keeps reaching for has the shape of an essence, which is what Turner would call the error. The work of a movement is not done by any single claim. It is done by the institutions, signals, and incentives that the movement maintains around the claim. Refute the claim and the institutions adjust.
The MacDonald material is where Cofnas operates at his most rigorous. The argument has been worked through. Jewish overrepresentation in leftist movements is matched by Jewish overrepresentation in basically every intellectual movement, including fascism through Margherita Sarfatti, including libertarianism through Mises and Rand and Friedman and Rothbard. The default hypothesis of average IQ around 110 plus urban concentration plus the pattern of Diaspora intellectual involvement explains the data better than the group-evolutionary-strategy theory. The intermarriage rate of eighty percent among secular American Jews destroys the racial-purity claim that MacDonald said was the goal of the strategy. MacDonald’s response, that intermarriage helps strategically through cases like Kushner-Trump, Cofnas correctly identifies as the kind of post-hoc rescue that Holocaust deniers use to preserve their theory against contrary evidence. The comparison to Holocaust denial is sharp because both projects share the same epistemic structure: a predetermined conclusion defended by finding logically possible explanations that lack evidentiary support.
The Holocaust denial discussion is where Cofnas and Matt agree most clearly on method. Engagement is better than censorship, both because censorship drives belief underground where it metastasizes, and because direct engagement reaches the small percentage who can be moved. Matt has the receipts. Two former TRS subscribers deprogrammed. The framework here is the same one Cofnas uses against Heterodox Academy. The orthodox refusal to engage has produced the radicalization the orthodoxy claims to prevent. Engagement is the intervention.
The conservative-movement-as-anti-intellectual complaint at the end is the seed of what becomes Cofnas’s theory of right-wing stupidity. He cannot publish in legacy conservative outlets despite four hundred thousand paper downloads. The outlets reject him on the title. They want Chuck Schumer hypocrisy pieces and Elizabeth Warren ancestry jokes. He attributes this to lack of intellectual seriousness. The deeper reading he does not give is that his hereditarian message threatens conservative pieties as much as progressive ones. Conservative meritocratic individualism has its own version of the equality thesis. Anyone can succeed if he works hard and lives right. Hereditarianism complicates that story. The legacy conservative outlets reject Cofnas for the same coalition reasons the philosophy mainstream rejects him. He sees one and not the other.
The metaethics contradiction is on display the way it is on display in every Cofnas interview. He spends fifteen minutes arguing that natural selection has not equipped us with moral intuitions that track moral truth. The debunking arguments work, he says. Moral realism makes no sense. Then he spends the rest of the interview making confident moral claims about wokism, hereditarianism, intellectual honesty, the right to free inquiry, and the moral failings of conservative grifters. The two halves cannot both stand. Either the claims have purchase, in which case the debunking was overstated, or they do not, in which case the rest of the interview is empty. Self-deception is the cheapest hypothesis. The contradiction would dissolve the project, so the mind protects the project from recognition. Trivers wrote the model. Cofnas inhabits it.
The Becker layer runs through both men. Cofnas builds meaning through hereditarian truth-telling as the master key to the political pathology. He is the man who sees what others cannot and pays the price for seeing. Matt builds meaning through engaging the deniers directly. He is the historian who refuses the protective ritual of denouncement and chooses the costly ritual of debate. Both hero systems require the existence of an enemy worth fighting. Both produce real intellectual work. Both supply the practitioner with a story about why his particular labor justifies his particular life. Neither story collapses on contact with the other. They coexist in the conversation because both men recognize the other as doing structurally similar work.
‘Talkline With Zev Brenner With Nathan Cofnas on the vanishing Liberal Jew’ (Sep. 20, 2023)
Zev Brenner is a Jewish broadcaster doing what Jewish broadcasters do, which is spending the last twenty minutes of any interview with an unaffiliated Jew gently trying to bring him home. The structure is familiar from a thousand similar conversations. The interesting thing is what the conversation accidentally reveals about Cofnas’s position before any of his other coalition commitments crystallized into the framework you have now seen across seven later interviews.
Apply my four questions. In September 2023 Cofnas had not yet started his Substack. The Cambridge controversy had not erupted. The lawsuit did not exist. The hereditarian-revolution essays had not been written. He was a Cambridge research fellow doing philosophy of biology with side commentary on Jewish demographics in the small magazine The Critic. His coalition position was much less load-bearing than it would soon become. He depended on Cambridge institutional standing and on whatever readership his occasional essays attracted. He needed to attract neither the hereditarian coalition nor the Free Speech Union pool nor the heterodox-academic-podcast circuit, because none of those had become relevant to his career yet. The interview is conducted before the framework hardened, and it shows. The Twilight of the Liberal Jew thesis is straightforward demographic projection. Liberal Jews intermarry at over seventy percent. Their identity dilutes within two generations. Orthodox Jews reproduce at replacement-plus rates. The demographic transition is mathematical. By the second half of the twenty-first century the visible American Jewish community will be predominantly Orthodox, Trump-voting, and politically conservative, and the secular liberal Jewish public figure will be a historical artifact. The thesis is correct as far as it goes. The demographic arithmetic is not in dispute among people who study Jewish demographics. Cofnas is reporting what Steven M. Cohen and other Jewish demographers have been documenting for decades.
What is more interesting than the thesis is what Cofnas does with it and how Brenner responds. Brenner asks the obvious follow-up question. Are you Orthodox yourself. The answer is no. Brenner asks where Cofnas places himself. The answer is politically right, attended yeshiva briefly, not part of the Jewish community now. Brenner asks whether there is a Chabad in Cambridge. Cofnas does not know. Brenner asks whether Cofnas is married. Cofnas mentions, with what reads as careful neutrality, that he has married a Korean woman. The interview ends with Brenner offering Shabbat dinner if Cofnas is ever in town and Cofnas saying we will see, possibly something will change in five or ten years.
The personal disclosures matter for what they show about the framework that Cofnas would later assemble. Cofnas presents himself variously as a Nietzschean transhumanist, a credentialed defender of free inquiry, a hereditarian strategist, a careful philosopher of biology, and a critic of MacDonald who happens to be Jewish. The Brenner interview captures the substrate beneath all of those self-presentations. He is a partly-deracinated American Jew who attended yeshiva, retains intellectual interest in Jewish demographic questions, has married out, and has chosen a personal trajectory that exemplifies the very pattern his Twilight essay describes as a tragedy. He is, in Brenner’s gentle but accurate framing, writing about his own community’s disappearance while contributing to the disappearance.
Cofnas says “I think it is really a tragedy that Jews were never able to find a way to express their cultural identity outside of the orthodoxy in a way that was sustainable.” Brenner asks whether Cofnas wants to be part of maintaining that tradition. Cofnas says it is a bit late. The exchange is precisely the contradiction that animates the project. Cofnas mourns the loss of a sustainable secular Jewish identity while recognizing that he has personally placed himself outside the only configuration that has proven sustainable. The mourning is real. The choice is also real. Both are present and neither cancels the other.
Cofnas’s framework requires that he hold positions that do not cohere, and the Pinsof framework predicts this will happen because coalition position-taking does not require internal consistency. The Brenner interview shows the personal-life version of the same structure. Cofnas mourns assimilation while assimilating. He critiques wokeism for failing to ground its moral authority while operating from metaethical commitments that undermine his own moral authority to critique. He calls for hereditarian institutional capture while building a career path within the institutions he says are unfit. He defends Jewish over-representation in elite positions against MacDonald-style anti-Semitic framings while documenting Jewish demographic decline in ways that would be congenial to those framings if read by hostile audiences. The structure is consistent. He holds positions that work for different coalitions, and the positions do not need to cohere because no single audience reads all of them together.
Brenner does something interesting in the second half of the interview that no other interlocutor in later interviews attempts. He treats Cofnas as a person rather than as a public position-taker. He asks about Cofnas’s family. He extends an invitation to Shabbat dinner. He observes, accurately, that Cofnas has a soul that he can feel. The framing is mildly embarrassing in the way that Jewish broadcasters speaking to lapsed Jews are mildly embarrassing, and Cofnas handles it with appropriate awkwardness. But the framing surfaces something the later interviews never get near. Cofnas has a personal life that has shaped what he writes. The Twilight essay reads differently when you know the author married out. The hereditarian-revolution essays read differently when you know the author identifies politically with the right but has chosen a partner from a population that the populist hereditarian coalition would treat as a marker of racial dilution. The Nietzschean self-identification reads differently when you know the author attended yeshiva briefly and writes essays about Jewish demographic decline.
Cofnas operates across multiple coalitions whose memberships do not overlap, and his personal life is structured the same way. He is a Jewish-by-ancestry intellectual who has personally exited the Jewish community, married out, and chosen a partner from outside his ancestral group. He writes for the hereditarian coalition while exemplifying the deracinated cosmopolitan pattern that the harder-edged hereditarians treat as civilizational decline. He writes for the heterodox-academic free-speech coalition while sitting at Cambridge in the kind of credentialed position that the populist right treats as evidence of institutional capture. He writes for Jewish demographic readers while disclosing that he himself is the disappearance he describes. None of this is hypocritical in a strong sense. It is what coalition position-taking looks like when the position-taker has commitments that pull in different directions. The personal life and the intellectual project run on the same logic.
Becker’s hero system frame applies here. The Twilight essay is not just demographic analysis. It is also a kind of self-aware participation in a tradition Cofnas has left. By writing about Jewish demographic decline he locates himself within the Jewish intellectual tradition of mourning Jewish demographic decline, which is a recognizable subgenre going back at least to the late nineteenth century. He cannot be in the community in the way Brenner means. He can be in the conversation about the community. The Twilight essay performs that being-in-the-conversation. The performance is not insincere but it is also not the same thing as the affiliation Brenner is gently inviting him to. Trivers on self-deception applies to the gap between the demographic prediction and the personal trajectory. Cofnas writes the essay as if from a position of demographic and political analysis, which is the framing the essay uses. But the essay also reads as something the author needs to write because writing it lets him hold his ancestral identity and his exit from it in the same intellectual space. He can be the analyst of Jewish decline rather than an instance of it. The framing is not a lie. It is the kind of repositioning that lets a person live with a choice that has costs the person has not fully metabolized. Brenner is good enough at his job to feel this and gentle enough not to press it too hard.
The political-prediction component of the essay deserves separate attention because it has aged interestingly. Cofnas predicts that the visible American Jewish community will become predominantly Orthodox and politically conservative within a generation or two, and that the liberal Jewish public figure will become a historical artifact. Two and a half years on from this interview, the prediction is partly tracking and partly not. The Orthodox demographic growth is real. The political shift among non-Orthodox Jews has been slower than Cofnas’s framing suggested. The Israel-related events of October 2023 and after have produced complicated political realignments that do not map cleanly onto the Orthodox-versus-secular axis. Many secular Jews who were Democrats in 2023 have become more politically heterodox, and many Orthodox Jews remain on the right but with significant variation. The simple Orthodox-conservative versus secular-liberal binary that Cofnas’s essay assumed has proven less stable than he projected. This does not invalidate the demographic arithmetic. It does suggest that the political trajectory is shaped by factors the demographic frame underweights.
The interview also shows Cofnas’s ambivalence about his own framework more clearly than any of the seven later interviews. When Brenner asks whether Cofnas wants continuity for himself, Cofnas says it is a bit late, and the framing carries something that reads as regret. The regret is not visible in the later interviews because the later interviews are conducted within frames that do not invite it. Razib does not invite it because Razib is engaged with intellectual content rather than personal life. Boyce does not invite it because Boyce is interested in the framework rather than the man. Green does not invite it because Green is contesting epistemology. Brenner is the only interlocutor who pursues the personal question to the point where the regret surfaces, and it surfaces clearly.
The four questions, applied to Cofnas’s personal life: Whose status, income, and protection does he depend on. Cambridge institutional standing, the small philosophy-of-biology coalition, his Korean wife. Whom must he attract or retain as allies. Other heterodox academics, free-speech advocates, hereditarian-curious readers, and within his domestic life, his wife and her cultural community. What beliefs and signals mark coalition membership. Scientific framing of contested empirical questions, defense of free inquiry, careful prose, intermarried-secular-Jewish intellectual identity that does not require Orthodox affiliation. What would he have to give up if he changed his public positions. The career, the heterodox-podcast circuit, the Substack readership, and within his personal life, the framing of his own life trajectory as analytically chosen rather than the product of coalition pressures the framing was selected to manage.
The Brenner interview does not develop any of these themes because Brenner is not running the diagnostic. He is running a different operation, which is the standard Jewish-broadcaster operation of seeing whether a returnable Jew might be returned. He concludes that the patient is not yet ready but might be ready in five or ten years. Cofnas demurs gently and the interview ends. The exchange is decorous and slightly sad and tells you something the later interviews do not.
Brenner ended his interview by saying it should be a happy show and a good year, the standard Jewish broadcaster sign-off in late September approaching the High Holy Days. The timing is appropriate because the High Holy Days are the season of accounting, and the interview is itself an accounting that Cofnas does not quite make but does not refuse either. He says we will see, and then five years pass, and the framework has hardened, and the interviews together show what the hardening has accomplished and what it has cost.
‘Philosopher Nathan Cofnas on DEI & the Middle East Conflict’ (Oct. 27, 2023)
Cofnas occupies a position few people occupy: hereditarian on race, anti-MacDonald on Jews, pro-Israel on the post-October-7 question. The position is structurally rare and structurally fragile. Each commitment costs him a different coalition. The hereditarianism costs him the philosophy mainstream. The anti-MacDonald work costs him the alt-right intellectuals who might otherwise be his most enthusiastic readers. The defense of Israel costs him the part of the dissident scene that has gone hard against Israel since Gaza started burning. He keeps all three because dropping any one would collapse the niche, and the niche is the asset.
I press him on the Jewish question several times. Each time he runs the same move. He grants the surface point, denies the structural one, and shifts to a demographic observation about declining Jewish numbers. Yes wasps had self-hatred too. Yes Jewish liberals jumped on the diversity bandwagon. Yes there are Jews who are part of the problem. But the deeper claim that Jews orchestrated the postwar liberal turn fails empirically. Countries without Jews behaved similarly. MacDonald is wrong. This is a coalition signal as much as an empirical claim. He needs the alt-right reader to understand he will not go where MacDonald goes, and he needs the philosophy reader to understand he is not doing tribal apologetics.
The October 7 timing puts his framework on a stress test. His general theory says wokeism follows from the equality thesis applied to persistent disparities. The progressive coalition then hunts for hidden racism to explain what the equality thesis cannot account for. After October 7 the same logic runs on Israel. Israel is White-coded, privileged, colonial; therefore Israeli grievance is White grievance and Palestinian violence is the reaction of the oppressed. Cofnas has been predicting this kind of move for years. The interview shows him watching his framework run on live data and calling the result.
His one moment of surprise is worth pausing on. He says he was surprised by Democrat establishment support for Israel. He attributes the support to octogenarian Boomer holdovers and predicts the Zoomer left will not feel the Holocaust association. The prediction tracks how coalition replacement works. Older members hold older signals. New members carry the new signals. Sympathy with Jewish suffering as more weighty than other White suffering is a Boomer signal, not a structural one.
The BDS exchange is the cleanest moment of coalition language replacing argument. I catch him in what looks like bad faith. Pro-Israel voices ask Palestinians to develop nonviolent means, Palestinians develop BDS, pro-Israel voices oppose BDS. Cofnas’s reply is that BDS is “an active war,” which dissolves the deliberative frame entirely. War is the failure of deliberation, not a kind of deliberation. Once he classifies BDS that way he does not have to engage the Palestinian case for nonviolent pressure. The move is what he accuses progressive academics of doing when they classify hereditarian work as harmful and therefore outside discourse.
Whatever the truth about heritability, an institution that claims to defend heterodoxy while excluding the heterodox positions that most threaten the orthodoxy is doing coalition work, not heterodoxy work.
Turner on essentialism applies here. Cofnas keeps reaching for the equality thesis as a single load-bearing claim that, if dislodged, brings the whole structure down. The claim has the shape of an essence. Wokeism is what you get when you take the equality thesis seriously. Refute the thesis and you cure the disease. The framework is too tidy. Turner’s point is that movements sustain themselves through unresolved tensions, not through any single keystone. Wokeism will survive partial concessions on heritability the way Catholicism survived partial concessions on Genesis. The believers who care about the science adjust. The institution moves on. Cofnas’s strategic recommendation, that hereditarian truth-telling will dissolve the wokeist project, depends on the equality thesis carrying the whole load. It might be one stone among many. The Trivers move is the metaethics contradiction. Cofnas says natural selection has not equipped us with moral intuitions that track moral truth. He then spends the rest of the conversation making confident moral claims. Wokeism is wrong. Israel has a strong moral claim. Palestinians have a weaker one. Vegetarian propaganda is harmful. The claims sit on the same evolutionary substrate his metaethics was supposed to debunk. He cannot have it both ways. Either moral claims have purchase, and the debunking was overstated, or they do not, and the rest of the interview is empty rhetoric. Self-deception is the cheapest hypothesis. The contradiction would dissolve the project, so the mind protects the project from recognition.
Cofnas says the liberal Jew will fade because the numbers are dropping, the heritage is mixing, and the conservative Jew is rising. He names Ben Shapiro and Libs of TikTok as the prominent young Jews and points to his own essay, “Twilight of the Liberal Jew.” The observation is sharp. It also shows what kind of meaning his framework supplies him. The hereditarian project, on his view, is a Boomer-replacement story. The old gatekeepers retire, the young inherit, the numbers shift, and the truth wins on a generational timeline. This is a hero system structured as historical inevitability. The denial of death runs through the framing. Cofnas can be the man who saw it coming, paid the costs early, and appears at the end of the story as having been right.
His own analogy at the close gives the game away. He cites the priestly initiation in Leviticus where the new priests are shaved and waved and made to look ridiculous, and he reads the ritual as preparation for leadership through accepted humiliation. He has read his own situation correctly. The dissident position requires absorbing reputational damage in advance, treating the damage as the price of standing somewhere most people will not stand. What he does not say, and probably cannot say, is that the priestly initiation works only because the priesthood that follows is real. If the office is empty, the humiliation is just humiliation.
‘The Problem of Intelligence – IQ and Its detractors (Guest: Nathan Cofnas)’ (Dec. 4, 2023)
Two Swedish dissident-adjacent podcasters who agree with most of what Cofnas says before he says it. Carl describes himself as a thoughtful nationalist-curious intellectual. Yan calls himself a vulgar Marxist. They open with a Jewish joke that tests whether Cofnas is comfortable in this space, and Cofnas is. The interview that follows is structured around the hosts’ concerns more than his. They want to know what comes after wokeism. He does not have an answer. The mismatch is the most revealing thing in the conversation.
Apply the four questions to the hosts. Status, income, protection: a small podcast, the Swedish dissident-intellectual scene, presumably day jobs that pay the bills. Allies to attract or retain: race-curious intellectuals, Cofnas-style heretics, the broader European nationalist-adjacent podcast network. Membership signals: the Jewish opening joke, the references to Benedict Anderson and Anthony D Smith on nationalism, the Coca-Cola hilltop commercial as a cultural artifact for the dying universalist project, the Strangelove gag at the end about three Jews and one Nazi building the bomb. What they give up if they change position: their show.
The hosts are using Cofnas as a foil for a larger project. They want to think through European decline. The Coca-Cola commercial is their key text. The dream of liberal universalism is dying, in their reading, and something must replace it. They press Cofnas toward three possible replacements in turn. Anthony Smith’s ethnic nationalism. Singapore-style state quotas. A return to religious community. He politely declines each push. The declining is the most revealing part. He is a hereditarian truth-teller, not a nationalist or an interventionist or a religious revivalist. The truth-telling is the intervention. Anything beyond that he does not have a plan for.
Yan’s revealed-preference argument is the sharpest moment in the interview and Cofnas does not answer it. Yan says the West already practices a kind of liberal Eugenics. People abort fetuses with detected cognitive disabilities and treat the choice as automatic. Educated people select mates by credential, which is a proxy for intelligence. Universities operate as sorting and mating systems. The taboo on discussing race differences sits next to a revealed preference for selecting on traits correlated with race differences. The hypocrisy is doing real work. People claim equality while practicing selection. Cofnas glances at the argument and changes the subject. The argument has bite that he cannot use, because acknowledging it would force him to say either that the revealed preferences are good and should be made explicit, which costs him the philosophy mainstream, or that the revealed preferences are bad and should be reformed, which costs him the dissident audience. He stays quiet.
The Singapore concession is the moment Cofnas reveals he is not a libertarian on race. The hosts ask what follows from his framework. He says, “I have my own preferences I guess it would be nice if we would just treat everyone as individuals or whatever but I don’t think that’s realistic.” Then he describes Singapore approvingly. Quotas for ethnic groups in residential areas. State management of intergroup competition. Acceptance that different groups have different outcomes and that the state should arrange affairs to keep the peace given the differences. This is a substantial position. It is also a position he avoids elsewhere. The friendly interview lets it slip out.
The dysgenic fertility comment is buried in the middle of the IQ discussion and the hosts do not press him on it. Cofnas says the Flynn effect has reversed. Less intelligent people have more children. Smart people delay reproduction or skip it. Population intelligence is now declining because dysgenic pressure has become stronger than the test-sophistication trend that drove the Flynn effect upward. This is a real claim with real implications. The hereditarian who worries about declining population intelligence is structurally committed to some kind of natalist or eugenic intervention. Cofnas does not propose one. He says most people do not care about dysgenic trends any more than they care about racial composition. The observation is consistent with his general position that the political project he wants is impossible.
The religion exchange is honest. Carl raises Anthony Smith and the role of religious community in producing durable national identities. Cofnas concedes that religion did community better than secular liberalism does. He says the only way to build that kind of community now would be to invent a religion and lie to everyone about it. He cannot endorse that project. The reason he cannot endorse it sits inside his metaethics. Morality is not real. Religion is functional but false. He will not recommend a useful lie. The position is consistent with what he says elsewhere about debunking moral realism. It also leaves him with no positive program for what comes after wokeism, because every positive program requires moral commitments his metaethics cannot underwrite. The metaethics that makes him a hereditarian truth-teller also makes him incapable of building anything where the truth-telling lands.
The Korea anecdote serves as the costly-signal humor of the interview. Cofnas was deplatformed at a top Korean university, probably by a Korean academic with a UK PhD who had absorbed the Anglo-American taboos. “Too racist for Korea” as a line on the CV. The joke fits the Becker hero-system role. Cofnas is the man who saw what others could not see and paid the price for seeing. Each new institutional rejection becomes another data point in the story. The hero system requires the persecution. The persecution justifies the hero system. The Korean wife mentioned earlier in the interview functions as the counter-example that proves he is not a racial tribalist. Phrenology class as romantic origin story. The combination is the brand.
The closing Strangelove gag is coalition signal as comedy. Three Jews and one Nazi designing the bomb. The hosts joke that they are becoming more Jewish through this conversation, more dissident, more on the right tail of the bell curve, while making jokes about the master race and the Persians. This is the kind of humor only available inside the dissident-friendly podcast ecosystem. The fact that Cofnas plays along signals that he is comfortable here in a way he is not on a mainstream show. The Vera Lynn song that closes the episode, “We’ll meet again,” is the punchline. The song was Strangelove’s closing music as the bombs fell. The hosts are gesturing at end-of-civilization humor while also building their dissident network meeting by meeting.
Turner on essentialism applies as it has applied throughout. The equality thesis carries the entire weight of the framework. Cofnas treats it as the keystone whose removal collapses wokeism. The hosts do not press him on this because they agree with him. The essentialist error stays invisible in the friendly interview because the friends share it.
Cofnas concedes that evolution does not select for intelligence. Evolution rewards charisma and reproduction. Smart people have fewer children. If evolution does not select for intelligence, the long-run trajectory of intelligence is downward, not upward. The hereditarian revolution Cofnas wants is therefore not historical inevitability. It is a small window in a longer arc that bends the other way. He does not connect this dot. The framework needs the inevitability to provide meaning. The mind protects the framework from the recognition that the inevitability runs the wrong direction.
Cofnas argues that wokism follows from the equality thesis plus Christian morality, that smart people pick wokism because they follow this logic while conservatives don’t, and that the only path out is attacking the equality thesis. The piece has strengths and a load-bearing weakness.
The strength is the institutional capture argument. He correctly sees that Rufo’s philosophy story and Hanania’s law story both fail to explain why elites accepted the new framework so quickly. His point that critical theory walked through an open door fits the Alliance Theory angle reading. The elites already shared the moral premises. Marcuse and Bell gave them vocabulary.
The weakness is the prescription. Cofnas treats the equality thesis as a Big Lie that, once exposed, brings elites to the right. Apply my four questions to any elite at Harvard or Google. Who supplies their status, income, and protection? Their coalition. What signals mark coalition membership? Public alignment on race and sex. What do they stand to lose by defecting? Their entire position. Hereditarianism does not reset these forces. Plomin has spent forty years publishing careful behavioral genetics. No elite defection followed. The taboo holds because the incentives hold.
Cofnas also runs a Becker hero system without naming it. The race-realist intellectual stands as the brave truth-teller against the lie that runs the West. His own income and status now flow from this position. He lost his Cambridge fellowship over it. He writes for Aporia. The same diagnostic he applies to conservatives applies to him: he relies on a coalition, attracts allies through coalition signals, and would lose status, income, and belonging if he changed his public position.
The IQ evidence is softer than he treats it. WORDSUM is a vocabulary test. Vocabulary tracks years of schooling and verbal exposure as much as g. Liberals stay in school longer and read more credentialed prose. Kirkegaard’s 8.5-point gap among Whites by ideology partly captures education and verbal coalition signaling rather than raw cognitive ability. Cofnas notes that White race-realists score 8.5 WORDSUM points below White environmentalists. He explains this away as the wrong race-realists. A cleaner reading: WORDSUM rewards mainstream verbal conformity, and any anti-mainstream position drags the score. His own data cuts against his story.
The Turner angle is where Cofnas is most exposed. The whole essay rests on essentialist categories: intelligence as stable trait, race as stable population, conservative and liberal as stable identities. Turner’s argument against essence in social explanation lands hard here. Cofnas describes forces that exist. Smart people do cluster left in current institutions. But the explanation runs through coalition position, credential pipelines, and selection effects in elite institutions, not through the smart-people-follow-logic story Cofnas tells. Universities select for a personality type that combines high verbal ability with deference to professional consensus. That selection produces the gap he measures.
His best move is the institutional one. The right has not built serious knowledge institutions because the right does not value them enough to fund and protect them. Tucker’s 2009 CPAC line about gathering news is the cleanest evidence, and his later turn to UFOs and Obama gay-affair material confirms it. The right’s anti-intellectualism is a coalition signal, and the signal repels the people who could build the institutions.
His worst move is the strategic one. Suppose race realism became the consensus tomorrow. Disparities might still trigger demands for redress under any moral framework that treats outcomes as a public concern. The Christian moral inheritance he names is older and deeper than the equality thesis. Even hereditarians within that moral frame end up arguing for compensatory programs. The Big Lie story makes the equality thesis carry too much weight.
The argument has a structural problem Cofnas does not see. He says elite wokism follows from the equality thesis, and the cure lies in getting elites to accept hereditarianism. He also wants to use coalition logic when convenient. The two stories pull opposite ways.
If elite belief floats free of coalition position, evidence might shift it. The Darwin analogy assumes this picture. If elite belief tracks coalition position, evidence does not move it. The same elites who might need to accept hereditarianism are the ones whose status, income, and protection rest on the equality thesis as public faith. My four questions cut here. Who does the Harvard administrator rely on for status, income, and protection? Who must he attract and retain? What signals mark membership? What does he give up if he switches? The answers explain why the strategy fails before it starts.
Cofnas’s own example refutes him. He notes that fifty years of Sowellism convinced almost no elites. He treats this as evidence that Sowell’s cultural account is too weak. The simpler reading: empirical claims about group differences, true or false, do not move elite belief in the direction Cofnas wants. Sowell offered a less taboo-violating version and got nowhere. The taboo does the work, not the empirical content. A more taboo-violating claim might face worse traction, not better.
The Darwin parallel does not hold. Darwinism slotted into a progressive story British elites already favored. It threatened ecclesiastical authority that was already eroding. It did not require the elite to lose its own coalition position. Hereditarianism contradicts the moral substrate of contemporary elite legitimacy. The two cases differ in ways that decide the question. The argument has a striking structure: only people willing to say what Cofnas says can save civilization. Murray is timid. Sowell is too soft. Hanania too narrow. Rufo too tactical. White nationalists too low-IQ. JQ obsessives too embarrassing. Coleman Hughes too colorblind. The map narrows until only Cofnas remains. The self-deception module does its work. The world’s needs and Cofnas’s status interests align with suspicious neatness.
Apply Becker. The essay offers a hero system. Truth-tellers face the taboo and pay the price. They become Christian martyrs of the new dispensation. Cofnas knows what to do with the comparison. He cites it. The reader who accepts the framing inherits a redemptive role.
Apply Turner. Cofnas treats wokism as an essence with one root cause. Pull the root, the structure collapses. Turner’s critique of essentialism applies here. Wokism, if the term means anything, is a coalitional formation with many sources. Civil rights law, Cold War liberalism, Christian ethical inheritance, professional-class status signaling, university admissions politics, philanthropic foundation patterns, corporate HR practice, demographic change, media incentives. None reduces to belief in the equality thesis. Knock down the thesis and the coalition adjusts its signal set. The coalition does not collapse.
The empirical claim is shakier than Cofnas suggests. Polygenic scores for cognitive traits do not validate across ancestry groups. GWAS samples skew European. Cofnas’s camp has promised genetic vindication for forty years and not delivered the goods. The honest scholarly position holds that we do not know what the gene-environment partition looks like for between-group cognitive differences. Cofnas writes as if the science were settled, then complains that hereditarian scholars who hedge are timid. Their hedging might reflect calibration to the evidence rather than cowardice.
The “what comes after” section reads thin. He gestures at communities organizing along different values, minimal representation guarantees in transition, racial tribalism as a solution to collective-action problems. None gets specified. The end-state remains a placeholder.
The strongest part of the essay is the negative argument that legal-reform-only and institutional-capture-only strategies leave the underlying coalition position untouched. He is right that Hanania’s “permanent cognitive dissonance” looks unstable. He is right that Rufo’s institutional siege does not address why the institutions went left. He is wrong about what fills the gap. Coalitions shift when their cost-benefit changes. That happens through demographic change, fiscal pressure, status realignment, and the failure of coalition signals to track reality closely enough to hold credibility. Hereditarianism might eventually be one signal among many in a future elite coalition. It will not be the lever that moves the coalition.
Randy Bock, MD: ‘Controversy at @CambridgeUni: Nathan Cofnas Faces Expulsion for Challenging Ideas’ (Mar. 3, 2024)
The metaethics passage is identical in structure to the Boyce interview but more compressed. Cofnas runs the same argument. Natural selection does not track moral truth. Our moral intuitions are debunked by their evolutionary origins. He spends fifteen minutes establishing moral anti-realism and then proceeds to make confident moral claims about wokeism, free speech, and the proper organization of society. The contradiction is not addressed because Bock does not press it. The repetition across two interviews two months apart suggests this is not improvisation. Cofnas has internalized the argument as a stable component of his self-presentation, and the contradiction is also stable. The framework requires moral anti-realism for the philosophical sophistication move and moral realism for the political project. Both halves are needed and neither half can be abandoned.
The Hamas footage exchange is where Bock pushes hardest on something the framework does not cleanly handle. He cites the GoPro footage of the Hamas operative phoning his mother to celebrate killing Jews, ecstatic about the murder. Cofnas’s response is to distinguish doing something for fun from doing something during which one has fun. The Hamas operative was killing for the war, not for fun, and was experiencing pleasure incidentally. This distinction is technically correct and morally evasive. The question Bock was asking, whether the operative’s actions were morally wrong, gets bracketed. Cofnas redirects to the abstract metaethical point that some people have deviant moral intuitions and that this supports his anti-realist view. The redirection is what the framework requires. If he accepts that the murders were morally wrong in any robust sense, the metaethical anti-realism gets harder to maintain. If he accepts the metaethical anti-realism, he cannot say the murders were wrong in the sense Bock is asking about. So he splits the difference and answers neither question.
The animal cognition section is one of the more substantive passages. Cofnas correctly notes that the standard interpretations of fairness in primate experiments overstate what the data show. The capuchin grape-and-cucumber experiment does not demonstrate fairness intuition, since the same response occurs when no second monkey is present and the animal merely sees grapes. The point is well taken. But the structure of the move is worth noting. Cofnas deploys a debunking argument against animal moral cognition that uses the same form as his debunking of human moral cognition. The animals do not have what they appear to have. The humans do not have what they appear to have. In both cases the appearance of moral content is reducible to something else. The reductive move is consistent. What is not consistent is the political project that builds on the human reduction. If the same debunking applies to human moral intuitions, then the moral content of the political project Cofnas advocates is also reducible. He does not extend the debunking to his own positions. The framework requires that the debunking apply selectively.
The Nigerian and Jamaican immigrant exchange shows Cofnas at his most analytically careful but also at his most coalition-bound. Bock makes the empirical observation that Nigerian-American outcomes exceed white American outcomes on standard measures. Cofnas correctly notes that Nigerian immigrants are a highly selected sample and that comparing selected immigrants to population-representative groups distorts the inference. This is a genuine point about selection effects and Cofnas handles it well. But notice what he does next. He concedes that low-performing white populations exist and attributes their performance to genetic potential influencing culture. The framework allows variation within races to be explained by genetics, allows variation between races to be explained by genetics, and allows immigrant selection to be acknowledged as confounding the between-race comparison. The framework gives him moves for any data pattern. Whatever the data show, hereditarianism explains them. Karl Popper would call this unfalsifiable.
The Bock follow-up about whether genes matter when the same genes produce different outcomes in different settings does not get pressed. The Nigerian-American case is genuinely interesting because the same Igbo and Yoruba genes that produce middling outcomes in Nigeria produce upper-class outcomes in the United States. The selection-effect explanation Cofnas offers is real but partial. Selection effects amplify whatever potential exists, but they cannot create capacities that are not present. If the selected Nigerian sample exceeds the white American mean, then the selected sample’s underlying capacity exceeds the white American mean. The hereditarian frame should welcome this rather than redirect away from it, because it shows that the relevant variation runs along selected-versus-unselected lines rather than racial-group lines. Cofnas does not pursue the implication because the implication undermines the cleaner racial-group story his framework wants to tell.
The Harvard 0.7 percent figure deserves separate attention because Cofnas cites it across multiple interviews and treats it as decisive. The figure comes from Harvard’s internal modeling during the affirmative-action litigation and represents a counterfactual prediction about what the admitted class would look like if academic credentials alone determined admission. Cofnas treats this as evidence that hereditarian disparities at the very high tail are massive. The figure is real but the interpretation is loaded. Harvard admits roughly two thousand students per year out of an applicant pool already filtered through self-selection, college counseling, standardized testing access, and so on. The 0.7 percent counterfactual reflects the tail of a tail of a tail. It tells you almost nothing about population-level capacity distributions. It tells you something about the cumulative effect of multiple sequential filters that compound across the distribution. Cofnas’s framework treats it as a clean measurement of underlying capacity. It is not.
The career-and-future section at the end is the most candid moment in the interview, and tracks closely with the candor in the Razib interview. Cofnas wants to remain in mainstream academia. He hopes to reform institutions from within. He understands that this involves struggle. The candor is striking because the strategic vision it implies is in tension with the strategic vision he articulates elsewhere. The hereditarian-revolution essays call for purging departments, building parallel institutions, and morally discrediting the existing academy. The career statements call for staying in mainstream academia and reforming it from within. These cannot both be the strategy. Either institutional reform from within the existing structure is possible, in which case the moral-discrediting language is too strong, or the existing structure is too captured to reform from within, in which case the career strategy is built on a hope the framework should have already foreclosed. Cofnas does not resolve the tension. He holds both positions because his coalition needs both.
Bock brings up the law-professor anecdote about football admissions for a reason that becomes clear on reflection. He is testing whether Cofnas will endorse the position that admission should be by merit alone, including for athletics. Cofnas does not take the bait. He stays focused on the racial-disparity question. The interview is structured throughout this way. Bock floats positions Cofnas could endorse and watches whether he does. Cofnas declines most of the bait, which is correct litigation hygiene but also a tell about the coalition position he is maintaining. He does not want to be on record endorsing positions that his lawsuit-related counsel might advise against, and he does not want to be on record endorsing positions that would tie him to the populist hereditarian coalition he openly disavows in the Boyce interview. The careful surface costs the interview some of its substantive depth.
Cofnas is operating at the intersection of four coalitions whose memberships do not overlap. Mainstream academic philosophy provides his credentials and his employment context. Heterodox-academic free-speech advocacy provides his lawsuit funding and his media platform. The hereditarian intellectual coalition provides his substantive content and his readership. The libertarian-civil-liberties coalition provides his rhetorical framing and his theoretical foundation. Each coalition wants something different from him. Mainstream academic philosophy wants careful prose and acknowledgment of philosophical complexity. Heterodox academic advocacy wants principled commitment to free inquiry independent of viewpoint. The hereditarian coalition wants substantive empirical claims about race and intelligence. The libertarian-civil-liberties coalition wants opposition to both wokeism and to its rougher right-wing critics. The interviews work as well as they do because Cofnas is genuinely talented at maintaining all four registers simultaneously. The framework cracks at the points where the coalitions make incompatible demands, which is why metaethical anti-realism coexists with moral confidence in political claims, why career hopes for institutional reform coexist with rhetorical demands for institutional purge, why the Nietzschean self-identification coexists with the appeal to Christian moral concerns about disparities, and why the rejection of current race realists as unfit to govern coexists with the prediction that hereditarian victory will produce a better governing class.
The Cofnas framework is not a coherent philosophical position. It is a coalition equilibrium that maintains itself by holding contradictory commitments in suspension. Pinsof would predict exactly this structure. Trivers would predict that the position-holder would not recognize the structure as such. Becker would predict that the position-holder would experience his own work as cosmic-stakes truth-telling rather than as coalition-position-management. Turner would predict that the proceduralist defenses Cofnas offers cannot ground themselves in their own procedures.
‘The Taboo of “Race Realism” | with Dr. Nathan Cofnas’ (Mar. 4, 2024)
This shows Cofnas before the persecution narrative crystallized. The Cambridge controversy had just broken. He had not yet developed the polished talking points. The framework is being assembled in real time, and the assembly seams are visible in ways the later interviews paper over.
In March 2024 Cofnas’s coalition position is unstable in a different way than it became later. He still had the Leverhulme position, the lawsuit had not been filed, and the Substack project had only two posts. He depended on Cambridge institutional standing, on the small philosophy-of-biology coalition that took human variation seriously, and on whatever readership the Substack would build. He needed to attract sympathetic right-leaning intellectuals without losing the philosophy-of-biology peers who were watching to see whether he would handle the controversy with academic dignity. His coalition signals here are heavier on philosophical sophistication, lighter on populist edge, and noticeably uncertain about what the Substack project would become. He had less to lose than he later did because he had less established than he later did, and the prose reflects that.
In the metaethics opening, Cofnas spends fifteen minutes explaining that natural selection does not track moral truth, that our moral intuitions are products of evolutionary pressures unrelated to moral reality, that this debunks naive moral realism. He then spends the rest of the interview confidently asserting moral claims about wokeism, about the rightness of free speech, about what we ought to do with the equality thesis, about the proper organization of multiethnic societies. The contradiction is structural and goes unnoticed by the interviewer. If natural selection has given us moral intuitions that do not track any objective moral reality, then Cofnas’s confident moral claims about wokeism being a wrong response, about the moral imperative of telling the truth, about what societies ought to do, all sit on the same evolutionary substrate that the metaethical argument was supposed to debunk. He cannot have it both ways. Either moral claims have purchase, in which case the debunking argument was overstated, or they do not, in which case the rest of the interview is empty rhetoric.
This is the problem at the center of every position Cofnas has taken across many interviews. The hereditarian revolution requires that wokeism be wrong morally. Wokeism cannot be wrong morally if moral claims are evolutionary epiphenomena. The framework needs robust moral realism to do the work Cofnas wants and his own metaethics undermines that realism. Cofnas is not aware of the contradiction because the contradiction would dissolve the project. The mind protects the project from the recognition.
The path-of-victory section is the second most revealing passage. Boyce asks how the hereditarian wins. Cofnas’s answer is that hereditarians have truth on their side, that hereditarian intellectuals at universities and in prominent positions know the truth privately, and that what they need to do is show up to the fight and pay costs. He cites the historical example of communists and liberals who paid real costs and eventually won. The framing is interesting. Cofnas casts himself as the equivalent of the early-twentieth-century communist or liberal activist, willing to lose his job for truth, paving the way for eventual victory. The frame requires that the hereditarian position be true in the way that communist or liberal positions were true, and that institutional capture is achievable through the same mechanisms. Both assumptions are doing heavy lifting. Becker’s hero system frame fits perfectly. Cofnas has located himself in a cosmic narrative where his sacrifices contribute to eventual hereditarian institutional capture. The role rewards the role-holder regardless of whether the underlying empirical and political assumptions are correct.
The race-realist coalition exchange is sharper here than in later interviews. Cofnas openly says that current self-identified race realists are mostly haters and conspiracy theorists who would elect a worse president than the current one. He says he does not want to be ruled by the people currently identifying as race realists. This is a frank admission with serious consequences for his strategic vision. The hereditarian revolution he calls for would mean transferring institutional power to a coalition that, by his own assessment, currently consists mostly of people unfit to hold institutional power. He resolves the difficulty by predicting that if hereditarianism became accepted, a different and better class of people would adopt it. The prediction is unsupported. There is no historical example he cites of an unpopular position becoming popular and thereby attracting better adherents. The standard pattern is the opposite. Movements attract their adherents and then evolve to fit those adherents. The current race-realist coalition is what hereditarianism actually attracts. Cofnas is betting that institutional adoption would change the coalition’s composition. The bet has no evidentiary basis.
The Nietzsche section shows where Cofnas’s intellectual identity sits when he is talking with someone he respects but does not need to defer to. He identifies as Nietzschean, rejects Christianity, rejects the conservative defense of tradition, embraces transhumanism and genetic engineering. This is a more candid self-presentation than appears in any of the other five interviews. With Razib he gestured at his future book on the evolution of morality. With Boyce he says explicitly that morality is subjective and value is created by us. The Nietzschean self-identification is doing the same work the metaethical opening was doing. It positions Cofnas outside the moral framework that wokeism operates within, which means he can criticize wokeism without having to accept the moral premises that ground its critique of him. The strategy is structurally similar to what Strauss did. Want the benefits of moral confidence in attacking the existing order without paying the moral-realist costs that would expose your own position to symmetric attack.
The eugenics passage near the end is where Cofnas’s transhumanism shows clearest. He says embryo selection will be used disproportionately by intelligent and foresightful people, that this will produce more inequality, and that he is not concerned about the inequality. Boyce raises the standard worry about whether the smart will oppress the unintelligent. Cofnas’s answer is that the smart could already oppress the unintelligent now and do not, so why expect them to start when the gap widens. This is the framework’s optimistic register. Notice that the same framework operates in his analysis of wokeism in the pessimistic register. There the smart leftists are using their cognitive advantages to dominate institutions, suppress dissenters, and impose ideology on populations that do not share their values. Cognitive elites cannot both reliably dominate when they are leftist and reliably restrain themselves from domination when they are hereditarian. The asymmetry is doing coalition work, not analytic work.
The Christianity section is unusually weak. Boyce makes the substantive point that Christianity has demonstrated capacity to scale across intelligence levels and bind diverse populations into functioning societies, and asks whether Cofnas’s preferred framework can do similar work. Cofnas’s answer is that any successful ideological system needs a way to appeal across the intelligence spectrum, that Christianity worked because it offered both simple moral messages for ordinary people and complicated theology for intellectuals, that leftism has some of this and libertarianism does not, and that he prefers Nietzscheanism. The answer concedes Boyce’s point without seeming to notice it. If a successful ideological system needs to scale, and Nietzscheanism by Cofnas’s own admission cannot scale because Nietzsche recognized his ideas would not be widely understood, then the framework Cofnas prefers is by his own criteria not viable as a coalition-binding ideology. The hereditarian revolution he calls for cannot be Nietzschean because no scalable society could run on Nietzscheanism. It would have to be something else. Cofnas does not say what. The gap between his preferred personal philosophy and his proposed political project goes unaddressed.
Boyce is warm, intellectually curious, and inclined to take Cofnas seriously without pressing hard. The combination produces a relaxed Cofnas who reveals more than he intends to. The metaethics, the Nietzschean identification, the frank admission about current race realists being unfit to govern, the transhumanist enthusiasm, all surface here in ways that the later interviews suppress. Whether the suppression in later interviews is conscious or whether the framework itself adjusted under pressure, the comparison is informative. The Cofnas of March 2024 is more philosophically interesting and politically less coherent than the Cofnas of subsequent appearances.
Cofnas is a Nietzschean transhumanist who needs to operate within a Christian moral framework to make his political project legible. He is a metaethical anti-realist who needs robust moral realism to ground his critique of wokeism. He is a credentialed academic who needs the legitimacy that academic credentials provide while attacking the institutions that grant those credentials. He is a hereditarian who admits the current hereditarian coalition is unfit to govern but predicts a better hereditarian coalition will emerge if hereditarianism becomes mainstream. Each of these tensions is structural, not incidental. They are what holds the project together by holding contradictory commitments in suspension. Alliance Theory angle predicts exactly this structure. Coalition members hold beliefs that serve coalition function, not beliefs that cohere into a single consistent worldview. The function is to maintain Cofnas’s position at the intersection of multiple coalitions whose memberships do not overlap. The intersection is small but it is where his work lives.
The Boyce interview shows the assembly seams. The later interviews show the polished surface. Both are useful. The seams tell you what the polish is concealing.
The strongest move is forcing Carl into a concession. Once Carl writes that “all else being equal, higher IQ equates to greater moral worth,” he has handed Cofnas the conclusion. The rest is bookkeeping. Cofnas catches the concession and presses it.
The weakest move is treating Murray’s position as incoherent rather than as a threshold view. Kantian dignity attaches to rational agency above some minimum and does not scale. Christian dignity attaches to image-bearing and does not scale. Both are defensible positions with long pedigrees. Cofnas waves them aside with “there is no indication Murray would want to take this position,” which is an assertion, not an argument. The threshold view deserves direct engagement. It does not get any.
His moral anti-realism does most of the heavy lifting. Once moral facts reduce to conventions expressing collective values, worth reduces to whatever a community values, and communities value intelligence. But the same logic produces parallel conclusions for beauty, charisma, athletic skill, family connection, and tribal membership. The argument generalizes. People vary in worth along every valued dimension. That conclusion may be correct. It also makes the focus on intelligence look like a coalition signal rather than a philosophical result. Why this trait, written up at this length, in this venue, by this author? The essay does not ask.
The drowning case smuggles instrumental considerations through the back door. We save children over adults because they have more life ahead. We save parents over the childless because of dependent suffering. The convention of women and children first comes from maritime tradition, reproductive logic, and heuristics about physical vulnerability. These are forward-looking calculations and inherited customs, not declarations of differential intrinsic worth.
The von Neumann move is sharp. Cofnas catches Murray in a rhetorical setup that exploits self-partiality rather than the structure of worth. Reframed as “von Neumann versus a random person,” the answer flips. Clean analysis.
The political equality section concedes more than Cofnas seems to notice. If the law looks past differences in worth, that practice carries a substantive moral commitment. It says: in the political sphere, treat people as if they had equal worth, even when they do not. That is close to the Murray position, relocated to the level of legal architecture. The egalitarian fiction has work to do in the world. Cofnas calls it a fiction. Murray might respond that the fiction counts for more in practice than the underlying truth, since the underlying truth is largely unactionable without producing the caste system Cofnas wants to avoid.
The closing exhortation to high-IQ children sounds noble. It also produces an asymmetry. What message goes to low-IQ children? Cofnas does not say. Christian egalitarianism has an answer: every soul has equal dignity before God, and your worth does not turn on your cognitive endowment. Cofnas leaves low-IQ people with diminished worth and no comparable consolation. The George Motz example aims at this gap, but Cofnas concedes Motz is probably “well above average” in IQ. The example does not show that low intelligence is compatible with high worth. It shows that high-but-not-stratospheric intelligence directed at a craft can produce worth. Different claim.
A coalition reading helps here. Cofnas writes from inside the hereditarian camp, correcting Murray and Carl and defending Kirkegaard and Kershnar. The status game is rigor and willingness to follow the argument where others flinch. Murray’s softer line is the coalition’s public-facing posture. It holds ground in mainstream debate. Cofnas occupies the internal vanguard, and his complaint is that the public-facing posture concedes too much. Read this way, the essay is partly a discipline document for the camp. Stop apologizing. Stop pretending the conclusion does not follow.
The piece gains force from its honesty about premises. Cofnas tells you he rejects moral realism. He tells you he rejects Christian egalitarianism. He tells you what he thinks the truth is and does not hide behind hedges. That is a virtue. The cost is that readers who do not share the premises have no reason to share the conclusions, and the essay does little to bring them across.
‘Race, Wokism, and Academia with Amy Wax’ (Jun. 7, 2024)
Cofnas says intelligence has intrinsic value. Wax pulls him back. Excellence is one thing, moral worth another. Ordinary people can live virtuous lives. The two can come apart. Wax cites Charles Murray and Noah Carl as authorities for the separation. She knows what Cofnas’s position costs the coalition. If hereditarianism becomes the claim that smart people are morally better, the religious Right walks away, the working-class Right walks away, and the movement collapses into a thin band of coastal IQ enthusiasts. Wax cannot afford that. Her case at Penn rests on a coalition that includes the religious Right.
Apply the four questions to Wax. Status, income, protection: tenure at Penn law with the September 2024 sanctions hanging over it, the lawsuit dismissed by the federal judge in August 2025, Federalist Society networks, the conservative legal scene, podcast circuit, Manhattan Institute orbit, donor support that pays the legal bills. Allies to attract or retain: Murray, Sowell, Hanania, Coleman Hughes, the religious Right that needs virtue language, mainstream conservative intellectuals who tolerate race realism when it stays well behaved. Membership signals: hard realism on group differences, K-12 as the front, anti-feminization claims about Academia, marriage and children as the conservative answer, the careful separation of excellence from moral worth, defense of Western Civilization as a unitary inheritance. What she gives up if she changes: the lawsuit narrative, the religious Right’s permission slip for her hard realism, the seat at the conservative legal table.
Apply the same questions to Heterodox Academy as both speakers describe it. Status, income, protection: foundation funding from center-left donors, university affiliations, the Haidt brand, the speaker circuit. Allies to attract: moderate liberal academics, soft critics of cancel culture, donors who want viewpoint diversity without trouble. Membership signals: the careful distance from race realism, the calm reasonable voice, the position that we are the adults in the room. What they give up by defending Wax or Cofnas: access to mainstream institutions, donor confidence, the position between the camps. Heterodox Academy chose. Wax and Cofnas note the choice. The choice was coalition rational from the inside even if it looks like betrayal from where Wax and Cofnas sit.
The Hanania exchange is coalition strategy expressed as empirical dispute. Hanania’s “shut up about race and IQ” piece tells Cofnas the topic is bad coalition tactics. Cofnas counters that arguments work over time, citing biblical literalism’s retreat. Both men hold race-realist positions. The dispute is about timing and audience, not substance. Cofnas treats Hanania as having capitulated. Hanania treats Cofnas as overplaying a hand the coalition can win without showing. Both might be right at different scales.
Wax’s contribution on Hanania is more careful. She grants him the proximate cause of woke institutional behavior in civil rights law as enforced. She grants Cofnas the deeper cause in the equality thesis. The split lets her hold the coalition together by giving each man partial credit. This is what senior figures do when junior figures squabble in public. The framing also positions Wax as the synthesist, the figure above the dispute, which is a coalition gain in itself. Trivers shows up across the conversation and inside neither speaker’s self-understanding. Wax says her mindset has been influenced by knowledge of empirical reality. Cofnas says smart people are disproportionately woke because they followed the argument, and that he and his coalition followed the argument one step further. Both treat themselves as standing outside the self-deception field that captures everyone else. The position is structurally identical to the position of the woke academics they criticize, who also believe they followed the argument and the others have not. Two coalitions, one epistemic posture.
Turner pushes against the essentialist core. Wax slides between hard realism and soft realism as the conversation requires. She wants the cutting edge of group differences in cognitive ability and the hedge of cultural and social explanations. The two positions do different coalition work. Hard realism recruits the race-realist scene. Soft realism preserves the religious Right’s dignity claims about virtue and the average person. Wax holds both because each is needed for a different audience. The Western Civilization she wants K-12 to teach is an essentialist category. The feminization thesis about Academia treats women’s left lean as a fixed feature of female participation rather than a contingent product of specific historical conditions she notes she does not understand.
The stupid smart people line cuts against Cofnas’s framework and Wax does not press the cut. She concedes that many high-IQ people hold what she calls silly Lefty ideas. If high IQ does not track holding correct positions, then the argument that smart people followed the wokeness argument because they are smart loses force. Cofnas does not pick up the thread. The concession is in his interest to ignore. The coalition keeps the claim that wokeness captured the smart and the claim that the smart are often wrong, because each does work in different contexts.
The K-12 pivot is where Wax becomes the political operative and Cofnas remains the intellectual. Wax tells young men to get married, have children, and run for school board. Cofnas does not engage with the practical program. He returns to the claim that the right has too little human capital to take the universities. Wax’s program is coalition building. Cofnas’s program is coalition theorizing. Both have a place. Wax knows hers and gently tells Cofnas that his part of the work is upstream of the part that wins elections and changes K-12 curricula.
The reproof on intrinsic value is the same move at the meta level. Cofnas wants the hereditarian revolution to mean intelligence carries moral weight. Wax wants the hereditarian revolution to remain compatible with a virtue ethics that licenses ordinary lives. Cofnas’s version flatters his audience and shrinks it. Wax’s version dilutes the message and grows it. Wax has been at this longer. Her version is the one that survives contact with K-12 reform and a Federalist Society fundraiser.
Cofnas does useful conceptual housekeeping. Lewontin’s three conditions (variation, differential fitness, heritability) do technically cover artificial selection, intelligent design, and forward-looking orthogenesis. If you want a formulation that captures what was new about Darwin, you need something more. The “no teleology” addition fixes a real bug.
The historical argument carries the paper. Darwin built his case on the analogy with breeding while insisting that what happens in nature lacks the guiding hand. He treated Lamarckian inheritance as an alternative to natural selection, not a special case of it. Cofnas reads this correctly. Huxley’s response to Kölliker captures the point: the Origin killed teleology in the ordinary sense.
The agential and natural teleology split clarifies things. Agential teleology requires a mentally represented endpoint. Natural teleology means a forward-looking force without a mind behind it. Cofnas formalizes both with probability conditions. The natural teleological mutation definition (mutation likelier when adaptive, not because of mutagenicity or inherent bias) is clean. So is the natural teleological selection definition, where an intermediate trait gets selected because of where it leads.
The paper has trouble in three places.
First, the Boehm move. Cofnas classifies Boehm’s “social selection” theory as teleological unconscious selection because the egalitarian coalitions had a blueprint of desired social arrangements. But his own treatment of hunters and deer says that human interventions producing evolutionary side effects do not count as teleological if the human aim is not to drive evolution. The egalitarian coalitions wanted compliance with norms in their own generation. They did not aim at the evolution of conscience. By the deer-hunter logic, Boehm’s case should count as standard natural selection. Cofnas might reply that the trait targeted (compliance with norms) was selected on the basis of a mental representation. But that just means the selectors wanted compliance, not that they wanted heritable compliance. The line between his two cases looks unstable.
Second, the “not entirely the result of” qualifier in his probability conditions creates a measurement problem. If a process is partly agential and partly natural, when does it stop counting as natural selection? A breeder who sometimes lets nature take its course produces some adaptations through agency and some through unguided forces. Cofnas needs an answer to mixed cases that goes beyond “not entirely.”
Third, sexual selection. He calls it “normally” nonteleological because animals lack an explicit mental representation of an ideal mate. But preference is a forward-looking psychological process. The peahen does not need a mental picture of a long tail to be preferring long tails. If preference counts as agential telos, much of sexual selection becomes teleological. If preference does not count, the line between conscious and unconscious selection in his earlier discussion gets harder to draw.
Cofnas grants that human cultural evolution is shot through with teleology, and that designed institutions can create selection pressures that change humans biologically. This is the niche construction point made stronger. The standard formulation lets you call all of this natural selection. His formulation forces you to pull the strands apart: which adaptations come from blind forces, which from designed pressures, which from a mix. For thinking about how elite institutions shape the people in them, this is the more useful framing.
The practical payoff is small for working biologists, who already treat artificial selection as a separate force in textbooks. The payoff is larger for philosophers who want their formulations to do conceptual work, and for anyone analyzing cultural and institutional change where designed pressures and blind forces both operate. A worthy small contribution. The bug it fixes is real. The fix needs another round of work to handle mixed cases.
Cofnas catches Sowell in clear errors. The Jensen misquote about Appalachian inbreeding shows Sowell read carelessly or filtered through his preferred reading. The “Ulster County” slip suggests he never checked the geography of the very ancestors he treats as load-bearing for his theory. The Cicero quote is doctored. The Dunbar IQ figures lack provenance. These are scholarly failures, and Cofnas is right to point them out.
The logical points also land. Sowell repeatedly slides between “not all Whites are the same” and “therefore hereditarianism is wrong,” when no serious hereditarian ever claimed all Whites were the same. The selective migration explanation for higher Northern Black IQ scores fits the pattern Cofnas describes better than the cultural absorption story. The Philadelphia mulatto data cuts against Sowell more than for him, since the mulatto-Black gap within the same Northern city tracks something other than exposure to White Yankee culture.
But Cofnas has his own weaknesses.
The framing of three options, racism or genes or culture, is too clean. Geography, institutions, capital accumulation, family structure, religion, technology, geopolitics, and timing of contact with industrial economies all shape group outcomes. Both Sowell and Cofnas treat culture as a residual category, and that flattens the analysis on both sides.
His Jewish counterexample undermines his own position more than he sees. Brigham in 1923 measured Jews as low-IQ. By 1970 Jews dominated American intellectual life. Cofnas explains this away by saying the early tests were flawed, the subjects were immigrants, the language and culture were strange. Fine. But that concession damages the strongest version of his hereditarian claim. If testing artifacts and environmental conditions can move a group’s measured IQ that far in fifty years, the current Black-White gap might also reflect testable environmental and cultural distortions. He cannot have it both ways.
The political argument at the end is the weakest part. He claims hereditarianism is the only way to defeat wokeism. People can accept innate group differences and still demand redistribution, equal protection, and institutional reform. The moral premises shift independently of the empirical premises. Murray acknowledges this. The hereditarian who thinks the genetic case forces a political conclusion has already made a leap Cofnas does not justify.
The coalition layer operates strongly here. Cofnas writes as a member of a particular tribe, the heterodox right that wants to displace mainstream conservatism. Sowell sits at the heart of that mainstream, Hoover, National Review, Heritage. Cofnas attacks Sowell partly to signal that the older establishment failed to protect the right ideologically, and a younger, more empirical, more willing-to-cross-lines movement should take the lead. Notice how he closes. We have two choices, win with hereditarianism or lose. That is recruitment language. Join my faction or surrender.
Sowell’s culturalism has its own coalition logic. It lets respectable conservatives criticize Black behavioral patterns without touching the genetic third rail. It permits discussion of crime, family breakdown, and school failure, while keeping Black people morally agentic rather than biologically fated. Whether or not it is true, it serves a movement that wants to discuss racial disparities without inviting accusations of racism. Cofnas wants conservatives to give up that rhetorical advantage and accept the costs of saying the harder thing.
The honest scholarly position is that the question is hard and the evidence underdetermines the answer. Group differences in measured cognitive performance are stable. Selective migration explains some of it. Environmental and testing artifacts explain some of it. Genes might explain some of it. The Flynn effect shows that large environmental shifts move scores massively across generations within the same population. Adoption studies show within-family environmental effects shrink with age. Brain size differences exist but their cognitive significance is contested. The evidence does not point cleanly to any single answer.
Cofnas writes as if it does because his coalition demands certainty. Sowell writes as if culture explains everything because his coalition demands a non-genetic story. Both men are advocates more than investigators on this question.
Sowell’s Sixty books is a warning sign. No one writes that many books and maintains rigor. His admirers stopped checking his footnotes a long time ago, and he stopped expecting them to. The same risk applies to Cofnas, who writes with the confidence of a young scholar who has not yet had his major claims dismantled in print.
Cofnas argues from a single premise: wokism follows logically from the equality thesis. Because elites believe races have identical innate distributions of potential, persistent disparities can only be environmental, so disparities create a moral emergency that demands ever more aggressive intervention. From that premise everything else follows. The only escape is hereditarianism.
His point about cancellation rates declining partly because the dissidents have already been purged catches something. The institutional filter has done its work. Harvard renaming diversity statements to service statements shows how surface change covers continuity. The First Crusade analogy works as a corrective to triumphalist past-peak-woke essays. Movements often look spent at the moment they consolidate.
The analytic frame breaks down at the load-bearing point. Cofnas treats wokism as deduction from premise. Coalitions do not work that way. Moral vocabularies are not derived from empirical claims. They are coalition technologies. The empirical claim follows the coalition, not the reverse. If hereditarianism became scientifically settled tomorrow, the coalition that benefits from antiracist vocabulary might not dissolve. It might find new vocabulary. The same status hierarchies and the same rents might persist under a different rationale.
This is where Pinsof cuts hardest against Cofnas. Cofnas writes as if persuading elites of group differences might deflate the whole structure. But elites have stronger reasons to hold the equality thesis than to follow evidence. The thesis legitimates their authority over redistributive institutions, their gatekeeping power in hiring, and their moral standing in their professional networks. Asking them to abandon it asks them to give up status, income, and belonging at once. My four questions apply directly to anyone Cofnas hopes to convert: who does this elite rely on for status, income, and protection, who must he attract or retain as an ally, what signals mark his coalition, and what does he give up if he changes position? The answer for almost every elite is loss on all four.
There is also a Turner problem. Cofnas wants to defeat one essentialism by installing another. The blank-slate position treats race as social construction with no biological reality. The hereditarian position treats race as biological essence that explains group outcomes. Both errors come from the same family. Turner’s critique of Vermeule and Deneen applies here. You cannot reverse-engineer a working public order from a thin metaphysical claim. Replacing the equality thesis with a hereditarian thesis does not produce the political order Cofnas wants. It produces a different coalition with its own grievances, its own enforcement apparatus, its own essentialism.
Becker fits both sides. Wokism is a hero system. So is hereditarianism as Cofnas presents it. Both organize meaning around opposition to a great evil. Both promise that following the truth redeems the world. The structural symmetry should give pause to anyone tempted by Cofnas’s confidence.
Cofnas presents himself as the one who sees clearly while the equality theorists deceive themselves. Trivers predicts that members of any coalition believe they alone have escaped the bias their opponents suffer. The certainty is the tell.
The empirical predictions have problems too. Generational turnover does not produce steady ideological intensification. Movements exhaust themselves through overreach, internal contradiction, and material costs that hit even the believers. The period since the essay appeared shows a more mixed picture than Cofnas predicted. Substantive corporate retreats from DEI. Court rulings against racial preferences. Federal action under the second Trump administration that goes well beyond what Cofnas treats as the ceiling for any conservative win. None of this proves Cofnas wrong about the long arc. It does show that his linear projection model is too simple.
The strongest version of his argument is institutional. Boomer and gen X gatekeepers hold many institutions, and their replacement might shift the median position leftward. The cohort data on cancel culture support stands out. But that is a forces argument, not the logical-deduction argument the essay frames as primary.
What Cofnas gets right: complacency about wokism’s decline is unwarranted. What he gets wrong: he treats an ideology as a syllogism, and proposes a solution his own framework predicts cannot work.
The Stanford talk shows the equality thesis under stress test from a friendly room. The room is friendly. Classical liberals who run a seminar series, audience members already sympathetic to free speech. They still push back. The pushback is informative because it exposes the load-bearing claims Cofnas needs and the joints where the weight is not landing.
Apply the four questions to the audience. The Classical Liberalism Initiative needs to remain a credible institutional home for free speech work at Stanford. Status, income, protection: foundation funding, Stanford affiliation, donor expectations, the credibility of running a seminar that hosts speakers like Cofnas without becoming a vehicle for hereditarianism. Allies to attract: classical liberals across the political spectrum, donors who care about academic freedom but not about race science, faculty who tolerate the seminar series. Membership signals: rigorous engagement, careful pushback, refusal to swallow strong claims without evidence, the position that classical liberalism remains a viable third option between woke left and reaganite right. What they give up if they accept Cofnas’s framing: the third option position. If wokeness follows from the equality thesis plus Christian morality, classical liberalism collapses into either capitulation to wokeness or hereditarianism, and the seminar becomes a recruiting station for one side.
The room knows this. Watch the resistance. The host interrupts to dispute that classical liberals are not a movement. He names the Reaganite Conservative scene, the National Review crowd, thousands of people. Cofnas responds that the question is why those movements fail to attract elites in serious numbers. The exchange is coalition negotiation. The host wants the seminar to remain a credible classical liberal venue. Cofnas wants to recruit the classical liberals to the hereditarian position.
The pushback on intellectual coherence comes from multiple directions. One audience member asks whether Cofnas would apply the same logic to communism, which attracted intellectuals more than common people. Cofnas redirects, treating communism as a different scenario rooted in ancient egalitarian impulses. The redirect protects the framework. If wokeness draws elites because it is intellectually coherent, communism drawing elites should require the same explanation. Cofnas declines the parallel because it would force the framework to predict that twentieth century elites correctly followed an argument to mass starvation.
A second audience member pushes harder. Just because intellectuals accept an idea does not show the idea is intellectually coherent. The point cuts to the joint. Cofnas’s argument needs the inference from elite acceptance to intellectual coherence. The audience member offers alternative drivers: religious nature seeking utopian substitutes, social pressure, professional incentives, the Henry James-style resentment of intellectuals who watch billionaires succeed without understanding anything. Cofnas grants that other forces operate. He maintains that the equality thesis is the distinctive driver of what he calls wokeism. The retreat is rhetorical. If many forces produce the phenomenon, the strong claim that wokeness follows logically from the equality thesis loses force.
A third pushback comes from the host on the move from equality thesis to wokeness as a logical consequence. The host disaggregates the equality thesis. Does it mean equal genetic distribution at birth? Equal cultural production by age eighteen? Equal preferences and choices that produce few women on oil rigs? Cofnas does not separate the components. The argument needs the strong version because the strong version is what generates the moral emergency. The weak versions, equal moral worth or equal legal treatment, do not produce the panic that drives the wokeness Cofnas wants to explain.
The Tucker Carlson section shows Cofnas’s stereotype accuracy claim doing real coalition work and at the same time burning his bridge to the populist Right. Carlson sniffing bread in a Russian supermarket and interviewing a Hitler apologist becomes evidence that the right is intellectually inferior. The audience laughs. The use of Carlson as a representative figure of the right is exactly the move Cofnas would reject if a left coalition used Robin DiAngelo to represent the left. The asymmetry shows Cofnas selecting the worst of the populist right and the smartest of the woke left and treating the comparison as evidence about the populations rather than about the selection. Cofnas treats himself as the man who followed the argument one step further than the woke elites who followed it most of the way. The audience members treat themselves as smarter than both Cofnas and the woke elites because they see through the move from elite acceptance to intellectual coherence. Each position has the same epistemic posture. Each treats itself as standing outside the self-deception field that captures everyone else.
Turner pushes against the essentialism of Christian morality as Cofnas uses it. Cofnas treats Christian morality as a unified inheritance that produces wokeness when fed the equality thesis. The audience member who asks about non-Christian countries with under-represented minorities flags the problem. Indians worry about Dalit under-representation. African countries worry about ethnic representation in elite positions. If the same pattern shows up across religious traditions, the Christian morality genealogy explains less than Cofnas claims. He grants that the problem of multi-racial societies generates the taboo across cultures. The grant shrinks the role of Christian morality in the framework, which is the load-bearing premise that makes wokeness specifically Western.
The 0.67% Harvard number does specific coalition work. Cofnas needs the audience to feel that meritocratic admissions would produce a Harvard with almost no Black students. The number does the work. The framing assumes that current Black admission to Harvard reflects affirmative action rather than the joint operation of test prep, legacy, geographic distribution, athletic recruitment, and the actual right tail of a population of forty-two million. Harvard’s internal modeling produced the 0.67% under specific assumptions about academic-only criteria. Whether those assumptions match what classical liberal admissions would actually optimize for is a separate question. The audience does not press the assumptions because pressing would extend the argument into territory most of them prefer not to enter.
The radical action conclusion is where Cofnas’s framework reaches its operational form. He suggests a quota system might be necessary in the short to medium run to clear out certain groups from elite positions if the hereditarian revolution succeeds. The room goes quiet on this. The classical liberals in the audience cannot endorse a quota system run in the opposite direction from the current one. Their classical liberalism precludes it. Cofnas offers it because his framework requires some account of what comes next, and the implications of the framework are not soluble in classical liberal commitments. The joint between Cofnas’s project and the seminar’s project shows here.
The atheist scientist who speaks at the end gives the strongest pushback. Smart people are not woke. Fake intellectuals are woke. Real scientists are anti-woke classical liberals. The claim is mirror-image to Cofnas’s claim. Cofnas treats elite acceptance of wokeness as evidence of intellectual coherence. The scientist treats his anti-woke peers as the real intellectuals and the woke as the fake ones. Both moves redefine intellectual to include people who agree with the speaker. The scientist also names the gender point, which does not fit Cofnas’s framework cleanly. If wokeness is significantly gendered, with university-age women much more woke than men, then the equality thesis plus Christian morality story has to share explanatory work with whatever produces the gender pattern. Cofnas treats feminization of institutions as a separate phenomenon. The treatment protects the framework at the cost of what the framework can explain.
The poll numbers Cofnas presents at the end are real. Two thirds of Zoomers in the US and UK support firing James Damore. Half of young academics support cancellation campaigns. A majority of Zoomers think living in fear of cancellation is a justified price to protect historically disadvantaged groups. These numbers describe a coalition that has captured the rising generation in elite institutions. Whether the coalition holds depends on conditions Cofnas does not fully model. World Values Survey data shows generational cohorts crystallize their values and rarely shift them later. If the Zoomers carry their views forward, the institutions stay woke. If conditions change, the views might shift. Cofnas needs the second possibility for his radical action plan to make sense and the first possibility for his urgency to make sense. He uses both at different points without resolving the tension.
The Cambridge personal note shows the cost the framework imposes on its primary advocate. Cofnas describes the Daily Mail fabricated quote, the Telegraph piece calling for his removal, the radio interview he calls the nastiest some people had ever seen. The British anti-woke press behaves the way the woke American press behaves. Coalition discipline operates on both sides. Cofnas is a target for the dominant coalition because of his hereditarianism and a target for the populist anti-woke coalition because his hereditarianism breaks the etiquette they need to maintain access to mainstream institutions. He has no coalition home that will fund him and protect him. The lawsuit is what he has instead of a coalition home.
‘The Hereditarian Revolution with Nathan Cofnas’ (Nov. 18, 2024)
Cofnas lays out his hereditarian revolution as historical inevitability. The Soviet Union collapsed suddenly. The Boomer gatekeepers will retire. Vance and Musk follow HBD accounts on Twitter. The young right already knows. Within several years the trajectory might change. This is a Becker hero system claim with the costume of historical prediction. Meaning attaches to participation in the inevitable shift. The denial of death runs through the framing. I might be at the head of the spear when the institutions get retaken.
Apply the four questions to the philosophy profession as Cofnas describes it. Status, income, protection: tenure, prestige hierarchies, peer review networks, university endowments. Allies to attract: woke Twitter as Cofnas calls it, the HR apparatus, donors who care about diversity statements, the credentialed graduate student pipeline. Membership signals: Rawls commentary, technical analytic puzzles, diversity statements written with sufficient sincerity, the homework-doer disposition that produces a 3.9 GPA without picking fights. What members give up if they change: the moral consensus that licenses the institution to claim authority over questions about the good life.
The BAP fight is coalition material rather than philosophy. BAP and Cofnas compete for an overlapping audience of young right-coded intellectuals. BAP offers a hero system rooted in body, glory, and warrior aesthetics. Cofnas offers a hero system rooted in martyrdom for empirical truth. The dork insult is coalition discipline aimed at recruits who might join either side. Cofnas counters that BAP has a Yale Classics PhD and has never fought in a battle. The counter is fair. It also shows how much both men rely on coalition signaling about what counts as masculine seriousness, the substance of which neither has adjudicated. Trivers shows up across the interview without entering the speakers’ self-understanding. Cofnas says many prominent figures hold one view in private and another in public. He acknowledges he might lie about a low IQ score. He frames his perfect verbal score and his eighty-second percentile quantitative score as confirmation of his theory rather than as a result that might prompt examination of the test as an instrument. His pattern of incentives and his reading of his own scores run on parallel tracks he does not cross.
Turner pushes against the essentialist core of the argument. Cofnas hedges in places. Appalachian Whites differ from Massachusetts Whites. Selected African immigrants in the UK differ from population-representative African samples. The hedges cut against the strong hereditarian frame his audience wants and that the Daily Mail attached to his name. The Locke-to-Christianity-to-WEIRD genealogy of wokeness is itself an essentialist claim about Western moral psychology, transmitted through a single line of descent from 1690 through Henrich. Whether the genealogy survives the kind of hedging Cofnas applies to race categories is a question he does not raise.
The equality thesis as Cofnas defines it does theoretical work. He frames it as the claim that all groups have the same distribution of innate ability. Wokeness then follows logically from that premise plus Christian morality. The move treats the equality thesis as monolithic. The actual cluster of claims in academic and political discourse contains many distinct propositions: legal equality of treatment, equal moral worth, equal opportunity, equal distribution of cognitive ability across populations. Cofnas conflates the strongest version with the version most institutions hold. The slippage lets him present every defender of equal moral worth as a covert defender of equal distribution. The argument gains rhetorical power and loses precision in the same step.
‘Talking about Race Differences with Nicholas Wade’ (Dec. 20, 2024)
Wade’s most revealing line is the admission that he “punted” on IQ. He says it openly. A Troublesome Inheritance is hereditarian-curious about social behavior because the IQ debate was too radioactive even for a man who had Penguin Press behind him and three decades at the New York Times. Apply my four questions to Wade and the position selection becomes obvious. He depends on book sales, residual prestige, and the kind of mainstream-adjacent platform that Penguin still represents. He must attract liberal readers willing to consider hereditarianism in soft form plus right-leaning intellectuals tired of blank slatism. His coalition signals are the punt, the focus on social behavior, and the Penguin imprint that signals respectability. He might lose the residual social capital and access if he went all the way on IQ.
Cofnas pushes him on this and Wade holds the line. The exchange is polite because both men need each other. Cofnas needs Wade’s mainstream credibility to validate his own niche. Wade needs Cofnas to keep the conversation going since his book is twelve years old now and the energy in this space has moved to Substack figures.
The Diamond comparison is the sharpest moment in the conversation. Diamond holds the same theoretical position as Wade. Selection pressures in different environments produce different cognitive distributions. Diamond says Papua New Guineans are smarter than Westerners because their selection pressures were harsher. He says it in print, with no qualification, and wins every prize a book can win. Wade says something more careful, more hedged, and gets pilloried. The asymmetry tells you that the substantive content of the claim does not determine the response. The direction of the claim does. Diamond’s claim flatters the right people. Wade’s might not. Coalition rules apply.
The Henrich critique Cofnas raises is the most analytically productive moment. Henrich’s WEIRD framework says the church broke up European kin networks through marriage rules, and this produced the individualism that paved the way for the industrial revolution. The hole is East Asia. East Asia received industrial modernity quickly without going through the church program. If the church marriage rules do all the work, why does the receptiveness travel so cleanly across the Eurasian landmass to populations that never had cousin marriage bans? Wade and Cofnas both note that Henrich never mentions genes, and that the gap shows where the cultural-only story breaks down. This is one of those cases where hereditarian explanations might fill in what cultural ones leave open.
The Locke move is sharper and Wade does not pick it up. Cofnas wants to push the origin of race denial back from Boas to Locke in 1690, arguing the impulse for blank slatism predates Jewish intellectual influence by centuries. This undermines MacDonald more cleanly than the default hypothesis does. If Locke is the founder of liberalism and the founder of blank slatism and the founder of race denial in one package, then race denial is internal to liberalism rather than external Jewish corruption of liberalism. Wade pivots to a more ecumenical point about liberal political instincts and equality. The reason might be that Wade does not want a fight with the MacDonald audience that overlaps with his own readership in odd ways.
The hierarchy exchange is the philosophical core. Cofnas presses Wade. If trait distributions vary and some traits make individuals more capable, does that mean some individuals carry more worth than others? Wade resists. He shifts to group-level success. Some societies function better than others, so let’s talk about that. Cofnas keeps pushing and Wade concedes a little, then redirects again. Watch the move. Wade is a hereditarian who refuses to follow the implications past a particular line. Cofnas is willing to follow them, says intelligence might bear on individual worth, qualifies that this rarely shows up in practice, but holds the philosophical position. The asymmetry is generational. Wade is older and remembers when admitting any of this got you shut out from everything. Cofnas is younger and writes for an audience that already accepts the basic structure. He has less to lose by following the argument where it goes.
The covid section sits awkwardly in the rest of the conversation but earns its place. Wade’s article was rejected by every mainstream outlet he approached. He published on Medium because he had nowhere else to put it. The bulletin of atomic scientists reprinted it. A million page views followed. The mainstream press he had served for three decades had no place for his most consequential piece of journalism. The institutional gatekeeping failed, and the gatekeepers paid no price. They continue to refuse to publish the strongest evidence for the lab leak position even after the position became respectable. Becker’s hero system frame applies. Mainstream science journalism has built its identity around fighting misinformation, and the lab leak hypothesis got coded as misinformation. Once a claim sits inside the misinformation category, the evidence cannot get it out. The category does the work, not the evidence. Trivers on self-deception covers the rest. The journalists who refuse to cover the evidence are not lying to their readers in any way they could admit to themselves. They have convinced themselves the evidence is not there to cover.
Cofnas can host this conversation on YouTube in 2024 without it getting taken down. His earlier podcast got pulled. He kept making material, found a way back, and now sits in a niche that did not exist five years ago. The platform calculation has shifted. YouTube allows hereditarian conversations as long as the participants frame them with academic seriousness and avoid the more inflammatory adjacent positions. Both men perform this calibration throughout. Wade hedges on IQ. Cofnas attacks anti-Semites alongside woke censors. The coalition logic of the platform selects for this kind of careful presentation, and the men know how to deliver it.
Cofnas’s default hypothesis works for him in attracting the man who wants hereditarianism without anti-Semitism. That guy is a real coalition and Cofnas serves it well.
Cofnas identifies a logic of wokism and shows how the logic produces the features. Most “what is woke” pieces fail at the door because they catalogue rather than explain. He clears that bar.
The model has a real weakness, though, and it sits at the foundation. Cofnas treats wokism as a set of propositions reasoned from premises. Coalition analysis treats ideology as signal. Beliefs mark allegiance. Premises get retrofitted to justify signals already in use. If the second picture is closer to right, the policy implication of his essay collapses. You cannot dewokify elites by refuting the equality thesis, because the elites did not arrive at the position by reasoning from it.
The timing problem points the same way. The equality thesis went mainstream with Boas a century ago. Wokism did not arrive in 1935 or 1965 or 1985. It came around 2012, intensified after 2014, and again after 2020. Cofnas says people finally noticed that civil rights legislation had not closed gaps. The claim does not hold. Steele wrote about Black underperformance in the eighties. The Bell Curve came out in 1994. The gaps were visible. Wokism arrived when smartphones, institutional feminization, Obama-era racial reframing, and credential-class demographic shifts aligned. Cofnas concedes these as facilitating conditions. His model treats them as secondary. They carry the load his premises cannot.
The Christianity claim is loose, and he half-admits it. He says wokism does not require Christianity per se, just any morality of equal treatment. So why call it Christian? Because the framing gives the ideology a two-thousand-year pedigree and lets him treat secular Westerners as Christians in denial. The egalitarian premise he has in mind comes from Enlightenment universalism, not Pauline soteriology. The Christianity that produced abolition and the Christianity that produces DEI training share vocabulary, not logic.
The Rufo critique has bite. Rufo’s counter-elite plan runs into the human-capital problem. There are not tens of thousands of right-wing scholars ready to staff a university takeover. Conservative culture has self-selected for grift and crankery long enough that the talent pool is thin. Cofnas is right about that.
His own solution has the same problem in reverse. The people willing to publicly champion hereditarianism are largely unsuitable as elite signal-bearers. Murray hedges because the cost of not hedging is exclusion. Cofnas lost his Cambridge position. His information campaign requires a coalition of credentialed scientists who accept the reputational hit. That coalition does not exist and cannot be summoned by demonstrating premises.
The colorblind regime point cuts the wrong way for him. He says colorblindness without hereditarianism sets up a second Great Awokening. Fine. But colorblindness with hereditarianism requires elite figures to publicly defend outcomes that look like apartheid by demographics. His own chart shows 0.55 percent Black representation at the 140 IQ band. Defending that publicly is harder, not easier, than defending it from the equality premise. The political weight of an avowedly hereditarian elite consensus is enormous. He has not accounted for it.
His tech-bro evidence is thin. Musk reposting HBD accounts is not evidence the tech right was won by hereditarianism. The tech right was already right-coded for reasons unrelated to race science: COVID lockdowns, regulatory friction, Twitter censorship, immigration policy. HBD discourse circulates in those circles because the coalition has formed, not because the coalition formed around HBD. Cofnas reads coalition signals as ideological conversion.
The strongest part of the essay is the Laurie Penny challenge. Most conservatives cannot define woke. The right’s inability to answer is the symptom of a movement that operates as reaction. Cofnas at least offers a definition that explains something. His definition is probably not fully right. But his critics have not offered better, and that is a real indictment of the anti-woke project he is criticizing.
‘The Controversial Science of IQ & Culture – Nathan Cofnas’ (Jan. 30, 2025)
The interview presents a contest about scientific truth. The contest is a coalition fight.
Cofnas claims hereditarianism describes reality. The University of Cambridge claims diversity, equity, and inclusion describe its values. Both claims do work in the world. They recruit allies, mark membership, license the holder to speak with authority. The truth question and the coalition question run on the same track.
Apply the four questions to Emmanuel College. Status, income, protection: Cambridge’s reputation, Russell Group standing, applicant streams from progressive sixth forms, philanthropic gifts contingent on DEI alignment. Allies to attract: students, junior fellows, donors who care about diversity statements. Membership signals: published commitments to equity values, response to incidents like Noal Carl, the public posture of inclusion. What they give up by retaining Cofnas: alignment with the broader sector, donor confidence, the shared vocabulary that lets them recognize each other as members of the same club.
Each side performs its hero system. Cofnas plays the heretic, a man who tells the truth at cost. The Becker move sits on the surface. He compares himself to Neven Sesardić facing communist Yugoslavia and to Galileo-style truth-tellers. The denial of death runs through the framing: I might be remembered for telling the truth that others would not. Emmanuel College plays a different hero system, guardian of inclusion, defender of the Black student whose presence Ferrari invokes. Both systems promise meaning through participation in something larger than the participant.
Cofnas says many prominent figures hold one view in private and another in public. He acknowledges he might lie about a low score. He notes his own incentive to share the verbal score and not the quantitative score. Yet he treats his own position as outside the self-deception field. He is the man who sees clearly. Gold accepts this framing.
The Daily Mail episode shows what proceduralism looks like in practice. The paper attaches quotation marks to a sentence Cofnas did not utter. IPSO declines to act because British press regulation permits fabricated quotes. The procedure exists. The procedure does nothing. Turner’s critique of how rules performing fairness produce unfairness applies. Same with Cambridge’s Free Speech policy. The policy exists. The policy did not save Cofnas’s college position. The university wrote it after Noah Carl to make this case impossible, and the case happened anyway.
The hereditarian content has its own essentialism problem. Cofnas hedges in places. He distinguishes Appalachian Whites from Massachusetts Whites. He distinguishes selected African immigrants in the UK from population-representative African samples. He notes cultural transmission as a force and accepts that genes do nothing alone. These hedges cut against the strong hereditarian frame his audience wants. They also cut against the Cambridge frame, which has its own essentialism, racial categories as fixed identities requiring institutional protection.
The Einstein-Whitten point unsettles both sides. Cofnas grants that Einstein got lucky on historical fit. The same trait, dropped into 1925 instead of 1905, might produce a less famous physicist. If trait plus context determines outcome, then the IQ-predicts-success claim runs into a credence-good problem. We cannot separate the trait from the timing. Hereditarianism explains some of the variance some of the time, mediated by conditions the framework does not control.
The interview enacts coalition discipline. Cofnas criticizes Dawkins for courage on settled questions and silence on live ones. The criticism does coalition work. It says: the real bravery is on our terms, not theirs. Gold endorses this framing. Both speakers position the New Atheist generation as predecessors who went only part of the way. The critique recruits the audience to the next stage of bravery, which is also the next stage of coalition.
Nick Ferrari functions as a third coalition. He is the mainstream anti-woke broadcaster who polices the boundary between acceptable and unacceptable dissent. Cofnas names the move: the mainstream anti-wokers want to prove they are the good ones. Ferrari produces a Black student who feels uncomfortable, the same procedure he claims to oppose. The procedure of the offended bystander floats free of any particular ideology. Any coalition that wants to expel a member without arguing the substance can use it.
Jerry Z. Muller spent his career at the Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C., never moving to an Ivy League department, never trading independence for the prestige circuits that shape most historians of his generation. He retired in 2020 as Professor Emeritus and continues to write, lecture, and edit. His readers come from history departments, business schools, policy shops, and the broader public who pick up his books expecting clarity.
He was born June 7, 1954, in Niagara Falls, Ontario. His father Henry ran a family meat business and later opened the Houdini Magical Hall of Fame, a tourist attraction that captures something of the family temperament, practical, mercantile, willing to bet on an idea. His mother Bella worked as a homemaker and bookkeeper. The household was Jewish, and Muller’s identification with Jewish history and thought has shaped his scholarship throughout.
He took his B.A. in history at Brandeis University in 1977, magna cum laude and Phi Beta Kappa. He spent a year at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem studying modern Jewish thought, then went to Columbia University for graduate work. He earned his M.A. in 1978, M.Phil. in 1980, and Ph.D. in history in 1984. The dissertation became his first book, on the German conservative intellectual Hans Freyer.
He joined Catholic University in fall 1984 as an assistant professor. He chaired the history department from 2009 to 2015. His fellowships include the American Council of Learned Societies, the John M. Olin Foundation (twice), the Bradley Foundation, the Rockefeller Foundation’s Bellagio Center, the Fulbright Commission, and the American Academy in Berlin. Catholic University awarded him its Distinguished Research Award in 2017. Since 2020 he has held a position as Visiting Scholar in Residence at the Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs.
The unifying problem in Muller’s work is the relation of judgment to system. His books return to the question of how modern societies handle expertise, tradition, and decision-making when ideologies and quantification press in to replace them. He approaches the question as a historian rather than a theorist, building his arguments from cases and texts rather than from first principles.
His first book, The Other God that Failed: Hans Freyer and the Deradicalization of German Conservatism, appeared from Princeton University Press in 1987. Freyer was a German sociologist and philosopher who flirted with the radical right in the Weimar period, served the Nazi regime in modest capacities, and then in the postwar period reconstructed himself as a moderate conservative critic of industrial society. Muller treats this trajectory neither as redemption nor as exposure. He shows how a serious thinker came to support an evil regime, what he saw in it, and how he later distanced himself from those commitments. The book argues that German conservatism contained possibilities other than the path Freyer initially took, and that the relation between conservative thought and authoritarian politics is contingent.
That habit of taking conservative thinkers seriously runs through his next major project. In Adam Smith in His Time and Ours: Designing the Decent Society (1993, later reissued by Princeton), Muller recovers Adam Smith from both his libertarian admirers and his progressive critics. He shows that Smith was not a celebrant of greed but a moral philosopher who saw commercial society as one possible answer to questions about how strangers might cooperate without producing tyranny. The Wealth of Nations cannot be read apart from The Theory of Moral Sentiments. Smith’s market depends on prudence, sympathy, and the institutions that train them.
In 1997 he edited Conservatism: An Anthology of Social and Political Thought from David Hume to the Present, a Princeton volume now widely assigned in college courses. The anthology presents conservatism as a plural tradition rather than a single doctrine. David Hume, Edmund Burke, Justus Möser, Alexis de Tocqueville, Benjamin Disraeli, Michael Oakeshott, Friedrich Hayek, and others appear together because they share a temperament. They distrust grand designs. They watch for unintended consequences. They respect the inheritance of practices that no individual designed. Muller’s introduction and commentary supply the connective tissue. The book has become for many students their first serious exposure to conservative thought treated as something other than an embarrassment or a curiosity.
The Mind and the Market: Capitalism in Modern European Thought (Alfred A. Knopf, 2002) co-won the Historical Society’s Donald Kagan Best Book in European History Prize. The book traces how European thinkers from Voltaire and Smith through Karl Marx, Werner Sombart, Joseph Schumpeter, Hayek, and Herbert Marcuse worked out the moral implications of commercial society. Muller does not impose a single verdict. He shows the persistence of ambivalence. Capitalism produces wealth and fractures custom. It dissolves traditional hierarchies and produces new ones. It liberates individuals and atomizes communities. Each thinker in the book wrestles with that tension. Muller’s contribution is to refuse the temptation to settle the matter. He treats the persistence of the question as evidence about the thing under question.
Capitalism and the Jews appeared from Princeton in 2010. The book collects four extended essays on the relation between Jewish history and the development of capitalist economies. Muller argues that the long Jewish role in commerce, finance, and intermediary trades had structural sources rather than accidental ones. Jewish minorities under various regimes faced restrictions on land ownership and access to guilds, and these restrictions pushed them into mobile, contractual, urban occupations that fit the emerging market economy. The same skills that made for economic success made for political vulnerability. Antisemitism in the modern period frequently took the form of resentment against commerce, finance, and abstraction, and Jews carried the symbolic weight of those forces for many of their neighbors. Muller does not reduce antisemitism to economics, and he does not reduce Jewish economic life to antisemitic projection. He insists on holding both ends of the chain. The book unsettles readers who want a purer story in either direction.
The Tyranny of Metrics (Princeton, 2018) reached the largest audience of any of his books and has appeared in eleven languages. The argument is concise. Modern institutions across medicine, education, policing, business, government, and the military increasingly demand that practitioners capture their work in numbers and tie those numbers to incentives. The intuition behind the practice sounds reasonable. Numbers seem objective. Targets seem fair. Accountability seems democratic. But the practice produces predictable distortions. Practitioners game the metrics. Effort migrates from what counts toward what gets counted. Forms of knowledge that resist measurement, the judgment of an experienced surgeon, the feel of a teacher for a struggling class, the discretion of an officer on the street, lose status and eventually atrophy. Organizations measure themselves into mediocrity. Muller draws on Michael Polanyi, who argued that much expertise is tacit and cannot be reduced to explicit rules, and on Friedrich Hayek, who emphasized the dispersed character of practical knowledge. He shows the costs of forgetting these insights. Hospital administrators, school superintendents, and corporate executives have read the book, and some have written to him to say it described their experience.
Professor of Apocalypse: The Many Lives of Jacob Taubes (Princeton, 2022) is a biographical study of one of the strangest figures in twentieth-century Jewish thought. Jacob Taubes was a rabbi, philosopher, and provocateur who moved between Zurich, Jerusalem, New York, Princeton, Berlin, and Paris, charming and exasperating Carl Schmitt, Hannah Arendt, Susan Sontag, Herbert Marcuse, and many others along the way. He wrote little, lived theatrically, and exerted enormous influence through conversation and seduction. Muller spent more than a decade on the book, working through archives in multiple languages. The biography is patient with Taubes’s brilliance and unsparing about his deceptions. It is also a study of how charisma operates in intellectual circles, how reputations form and persist, and how the boundary between scholarship and performance can blur in academic life. The book extends Muller’s interest in the embodiment of ideas in particular lives, an interest visible from his Freyer book onward.
His current project, Passing It On: Thinking Across Generations about Money, Time, and Purpose, takes up transgenerational questions. Drafts have appeared on his Substack. The book examines how families, firms, and institutions hand down wealth, knowledge, and meaning across generations, and how modern markets and ideologies disrupt that transmission. The themes connect to his earlier work on tacit knowledge and on the limits of formalization. What gets passed on cannot always be written down or measured, and yet it shapes the texture of economic and moral life.
His method has remained consistent across the decades. He starts from texts and contexts. He reconstructs the arguments of figures whose conclusions he may not share. He resists the present-day temptation to score the past. He then turns the recovered argument toward present debates without flattening it into a slogan. The product reads as historical work but functions as policy argument and cultural criticism.
His positioning helps explain his independence. Catholic University is a serious university, but it sits outside the Ivy League and outside the prestige circuits of major research universities. Muller stayed there for thirty-six years. He did not move to chase status. He published with Princeton, Knopf, and the Free Press. He wrote for Foreign Affairs, The Wall Street Journal, The Guardian, Project Syndicate, and The New York Times. He produced a thirty-six-lecture series for The Great Courses in 2009 titled Thinking about Capitalism. He reaches both scholarly and lay readers because his prose is clear and his arguments take account of complications without drowning in them.
His Jewish identification informs the work without dominating it. The year at Hebrew University in the mid-1970s shaped his sense of Jewish intellectual history, and his current affiliation with the Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs reflects continued engagement with Israeli policy thought. Capitalism and the Jews and the Taubes biography draw most directly on those sources, but the broader habits of careful textual reading and respect for tradition show up everywhere in his oeuvre.
He married Sharon Sachs, an archivist, on August 8, 1976. They have three children, Elisha, Sara, and Joseph, and live in Silver Spring, Maryland. He listens to jazz piano. The biographical details are ordinary by intellectual standards, and Muller has not built his career on personal mystique.
What unifies the books is not a slogan but a sensibility. He treats modern societies as places of moral conflict, where wealth and tradition, freedom and belonging, measurement and judgment cannot be reconciled by clever institutional design. He thinks the temptation to imagine such reconciliation produces damage. He insists that the historian’s job is to recover the complexity that policy debate keeps trying to flatten. He writes for readers who can tolerate ambivalence and who suspect that their preferred ideological camp has not yet thought carefully enough about the costs of its commitments.
He is conservative in the methodological sense rather than the partisan one. He doubts grand designs, respects inherited practices, and watches for unintended consequences. He is also a realist about Jewish history, willing to describe structural patterns that more sentimental historians prefer to soften. He defends tacit knowledge against the metric impulse and judgment against the system. None of these positions translates cleanly into present-day political alignment, which is part of why his work travels well across audiences that disagree on most other questions.
Forty years of writing have produced a body of work that resists easy summary, which is, on Muller’s own account, a feature rather than a bug. The historian’s task is to slow down the argument so the question can come into focus. Muller has done that across capitalism, conservatism, Jewish economic life, intellectual biography, and the politics of measurement. The books reward rereading because the questions they address have not closed and probably never close.
Projecting their own experience onto the rest of the world, Americans generally belittle the role of ethnic nationalism in politics. After all, in the United States people of varying ethnic origins live cheek by jowl in relative peace. Within two or three generations of immigration, their ethnic identities are attenuated by cultural assimilation and intermarriage. Surely, things cannot be so different elsewhere.
Americans also find ethnonationalism discomfiting both intellectually and morally. Social scientists go to great lengths to demonstrate that it is a product not of nature but of culture, often deliberately
constructed. And ethicists scorn value systems based on narrow group identities rather than cosmopolitanism.
This is a great essay. It is a shame it starts so poorly. Watch what Muller reaches for when he says Americans belittle ethnonationalism. Social scientists go to great lengths. Ethicists scorn narrow group identity. Those are not Americans. Those are the credentialed Americans, the ones who write and who set the terms other people are supposed to argue inside. The man at the counter in Youngstown does not think ethnic attachment is a cultural artifact deliberately constructed by ideologists. He feels its pull and assumes everyone else feels theirs. He may lack the vocabulary. He does not lack the intuition.
So Muller smuggles a class into a nation. He writes “Americans” and means the professional stratum that reads Foreign Affairs and once read Tony Judt without flinching. The irony runs deep, because the opening sentence accuses Americans of projecting their own experience onto the rest of the world, and the sentence itself projects the experience of one American class onto two hundred million people. He commits the error he names, in the act of naming it.
The gap between elite and mass opinion on immigration and national identity is one of the widest and most durable splits in American life. The mass public sits far closer to the restrictionist, identity-first position than the people who staff the universities, the foundations, and the editorial pages. If anything most Americans find ethnonationalism abroad perfectly legible, because they carry a softened version of it themselves.
A defense of Muller is that he is arguing against a specific audience, the cosmopolitan reader who calls the Jewish state an anachronism, and “Americans” might be loose shorthand for “the Americans whose opinions get printed.” That is the room he is talking to. Still sloppy. He universalizes a parochial consensus and then spends the essay scolding others for parochialism.
His assimilation claim is also selective. Ethnic identity attenuating in two or three generations through intermarriage describes the white European melting pot, the Italians and Irish and Poles whose ethnicity had mostly faded to a Saturday flavor by the time he wrote. It holds far less across the Black and White line, and the post-1965 arrivals are a story still being written. So even the cheerful American picture he sketches is the picture from one window.
The class that scorns narrow group identity has a group identity. Credentialed, mobile, married late and across old ethnic lines, at home in airports. Cosmopolitanism is not the absence of a tribe. It is the self-understanding of a particular tribe, the one that floats above the others and mistakes its altitude for objectivity. When that tribe belittles ethnonationalism, it is not rising above the game. It is playing its own and calling the move neutrality.
Muller writes: “The creation of a peaceful regional order of nation-states has usually been the product of a violent process of ethnic separation.”
Central, eastern, and southeastern Europe did reach their nation-state order through expulsion and slaughter, and the calm that followed rested on cleared ground.
Now look at Latin America. After independence the hemisphere settled into a regional order of nation-states with borders that have mostly held for a century and a half and few wars between them. Paraguay’s catastrophe, the War of the Pacific, the Chaco. Set against Europe that is a quiet record. And that order did not come from states expelling each other’s peoples to purify themselves. The homogenizing happened earlier and inside each country, through conquest and mixing, and what emerged were states defined more by territory and language and church than by blood. Mestizo Mexico is not an ethnonational polity in his sense. Neither is Brazil. The internal violence against indigenous peoples was real and terrible, but the peace among the states does not sit on ethnic separation between their populations. A whole continent runs his engine in reverse and stays calm.
Muller grants that England, France, Spain, and Sweden homogenized over a long slow history rather than by modern expulsion. Fine. But slow is not gentle. Eugen Weber (1925-2007) called it Peasants into Frenchmen, the state grinding Breton and Occitan and Basque into a single tongue. Spain ran the Reconquista, then expelled its Jews in 1492 and its Moriscos in 1609. England conquered Wales and broke Ireland. So either the Atlantic states are peaceful counterexamples to his rule, or the violence was simply spread thin across five centuries so no single event carries the name. Either reading breaks his line between the gentle west and the bloody east.
Sometimes the separation happens and the peace does not come. India and Pakistan partitioned in 1947 with hundreds of thousands dead, then fought in 1947, 1965, and 1971, and still aim missiles over Kashmir. The Levant unmixed and the war never ended. The engine he credits with delivering order runs in these cases and delivers nothing. So even where his process occurs, his outcome may not follow, and a “usually” that fails on its most famous modern instances is carrying more weight than the evidence gives it.
In modernizing, mixed, late-forming Europe the road to a stable order often ran through unmixing. As a regional report that stands. As a law of how peace gets built it overreaches, and the man who opens by warning Americans against projecting their own experience onto the world has projected one corner of Europe onto the species.
Muller writes: “A familiar and influential narrative of twentieth-century European history argues that nationalism twice led to war, in 1914 and then again in 1939. Thereafter, the story goes, Europeans concluded that nationalism was a danger and gradually abandoned it.”
Among the people who push the postnational story, much of it is worn rather than held. It works as a credential. Saying the nation-state is obsolete marks you as the kind of person who reads the right journals and crosses borders without friction, the cosmopolitan tribe again, performing its altitude. The same figures who recite postnationalism guard their own institutions with sharp national and class interest and reach for the national lever the moment money or security is at stake. The creed is a password more than a conviction.
Muller writes: “In the postwar decades, western Europeans enmeshed themselves in a web of transnational institutions, culminating in the European Union (eu).”
The word carrying the freight is “themselves.” Europeans did not enmesh themselves. Their elites enmeshed them, and the blueprint was to lift certain choices clear of any future vote.
The intent shows up early and on the record. Friedrich Hayek (1899-1992) argued in 1939 that a federation among states would choke off economic intervention, because no federal people would exist to demand it. Structure built as a brake on what electorates might want. The ordoliberals who shaped the West German order and then the European one worked in that grain. Rules above politics. A central bank no minister could lean on. Competition policy run from a commission rather than a parliament. The aim was partly to protect the market from the crowd, and the crowd was the demos.
Then look at what happened when the crowd finally got asked. It kept saying no, and the project kept moving. Denmark rejected Maastricht in 1992 and was sent back to vote again. Ireland rejected Nice and later Lisbon and was sent back each time. France and the Netherlands rejected the European Constitution in 2005, so the same content returned as the Lisbon Treaty, ratified this time through parliaments with almost no referendums. The rule revealed itself. Ask until the answer comes back right, or do not ask.
The euro turned the screw hardest. Monetary policy left the national parliament for a bank in Frankfurt that no electorate touches. The crisis of the 2010s then showed the cost. Italy and Greece watched elected leaders give way to technocrats, Monti and Papademos, under market and Brussels pressure in 2011. In the summer of 2015 the Greeks voted no to the creditors’ terms in a national referendum, and the terms landed on them within the week. Wolfgang Streeck (b. 1946) reads the structure as a way to discipline democratic states on behalf of creditors, and the Greek summer is hard to read any other way.
Particular domains were carried out of electoral reach and handed to insulated bodies. Money first, then trade and competition, later the fiscal rules. That removal was real. It was deliberate in good part. And it ran over popular votes once the votes came.
Muller’s “themselves” hides the hand. The Europeans did not weave the web around their own wrists. Their governments did, and the men above their governments, and the whole time they called it peace.
Muller writes: “After the fall of the Soviet empire, that transnational framework spread eastward to encompass most of the continent. Europeans entered a postnational era, which was not only a good thing in itself but also a model for other regions. Nationalism, in this view, had been a tragic detour on the road to a peaceful liberal democratic order.”
The post-national era is like a putative post-sex era. It makes no evolutionary sense.
Muller writes that social scientists labor to show ethnonationalism is a product of culture and not nature, often deliberately constructed. That is the sex-construct argument, word for word, pointed at the nation. Same class of people, same move. Deny the natural floor, assert pure construction, conclude that what was built can therefore be unbuilt and is already on its way out.
The “post-” prefix is the tell, and it comes in a genre. Postnational Europe. Post-historical man, which Francis Fukuyama (b. 1952) announced in 1989 just before history came back swinging. Post-racial America, declared around 2008 and dead within a few years. The secularization thesis, the confident postwar forecast of a post-religious world, which the global surge of Islam and Pentecostalism buried. Each declaration says the same thing. A deep and ancient human attachment has been finished off by the arrival of enlightened people, and the rest of you should catch up. Each was filed early. The graveyard of “post-” claims is large and the headstones all read the same.
The reason they keep failing? The thinkers who make them confuse the suppressibility of an expression with the removal of the drive underneath. You can suppress the expression. France and Germany stopped wanting to kill each other, and that change was real and good. But the pull toward your own, toward people who share your tongue and your dead, stayed loaded, and when the lid lifted it came out somewhere else. Brexit. The AfD and the Rassemblement National. The hardening of Europe’s own external border that Muller notes while the priests of openness kept preaching. The drive is conserved. Only its surface bends. Declare the volcano extinct because it is quiet and you have learned nothing about volcanoes.
Now a caution. Nationhood is more built than sex. The borders of a nation move. Who counts as French has shifted across centuries, and Muller grants that ethnonational identity is never as fixed as nationalists claim. Sex sits closer to the bone.
The missionary clause gives the whole thing away. Muller’s elite does not merely think Europe went postnational. It thinks this was good in itself and a model for other regions. That second half is the signature of a class that has mistaken its own local arrangement for the destination of mankind. The same voice that called the Jewish state an anachronism. The cosmopolitan tribe again, certain its altitude is the future and everyone below is simply behind.
Muller writes:
There are two major ways of thinking about national identity. One is that all people who live within a country’s borders are part of the nation, regardless of their ethnic, racial, or religious origins. This liberal or civic nationalism is the conception with which contemporary Americans are most likely to identify. But the liberal view has competed with and often lost out to a different view, that of ethnonationalism. The core of the ethnonationalist idea is that nations are defined by a shared heritage, which usually includes a common language, a common faith, and a common ethnic ancestry.
I can’t think of any nationalism that has not contained a linguistic, racial, ethnic, geographic, cultural, religious and civic component. Some are more polite to say publicly than others, but all nationalists contain these drivers and more.
The two-story setup is the oldest heuristic in the field and the most battered. Hans Kohn (1891-1971) drew it after the war. Civic, voluntary, political nationalism in the West. Organic, cultural, ethnic nationalism in the East. It became the standard first cut, and it has taken fire ever since, because almost no real nation sits at either pole. France calls itself the civic nation, then bans the veil, crushes Breton and Occitan over a century, teaches every schoolchild that his ancestors were Gauls, and runs laïcité as a cultural creed with the weight of an established church. Thick ethnic and cultural content wearing a civic name.
A nation is a chord, not a single note. Descent, race, language, faith, shared memory, homeland, manners, and loyalty to the laws all sound together, weighted one way here and another way there, and the weighting shifts across generations. Pick any nation and you can hear which note leads. The German and Italian unifications led with language. The early American self-understanding led with descent and creed, English and Protestant. Pakistan led with faith, one religion stretched across Punjabi and Bengali and Sindhi and Pashtun, and it split along language within twenty-five years, which Muller reports. So even inside his essay the markers come apart and turn on each other. The two-box opening is scaffolding he quietly drops once the history starts moving.
And the lead note changes with the enemy. Against a Catholic, the English marker was Protestant. Against a foreigner who could not be understood, the marker was the tongue. Against the man of another color, race. The nation does not hold one identity. It reaches for whichever marker the present threat makes salient. Muller’s own population transfers sorted people by language and religion more than by race. The Czechs and Poles and Ukrainians he tracks were marked by speech. The chord stays, the loud note moves.
The components of nationalism are not equally speakable. Civic talk is sayable. Values talk is sayable. Culture is half-sayable. Religion is touchy. Ethnicity is barely sayable in a respectable room. Race is not sayable there at all. So the public menu of nationalisms is a censored menu. “Civic” survives as the permitted name, and “ethnic” becomes the bin for everything the censor frowns at, which collapses race and descent and faith and memory into one disreputable lump. The strongest marker in many real nations, common blood, is the one least allowed into print, so it shows up thin in the very theories built to explain nationalism. The map is drawn by people forbidden to name half the territory.
This is why the civic line is less a border than a setting on a dial, a measure of how much ethnic content a nation will admit aloud. Civic nationalism is not empty. American civic nationalism carried a White Protestant Anglo core for most of its life. For long stretches only the English, or the Protestant, or the white counted as real Americans. The creed sat on an ethnic floor until about 1965. Rogers Brubaker (b. 1956) made roughly this case against Kohn. The civic and ethnic split works better as moral self-flattery than as analysis. We are civic, they are ethnic, and civic is the kinder word for the same chord played softer.
Anthony D. Smith (1939-2016) gave the fuller account. Nations grow from older ethnic cores that carry myths, memories, symbols, a felt homeland, a public culture, a body of shared law. That is several axes of belonging, not two. Keep Muller’s two stories as a doorway. Behind it stands the chord, the moving lead note, and the censor deciding which notes a respectable man may name.
If we had to choose a dichotomy here, friend-enemy might be more useful. Sometimes that is a matter of race or region or religion.
Civic versus ethnic asks what defines the friend-group. Schmitt (1888-1985) asks the question under that one. What makes any grouping political at all? His answer in The Concept of the Political is the enemy. The political owns no content of its own the way morality owns good and evil or the market owns profit and loss. Its criterion is the pitch of a bond, the point where a difference sorts men into friend and foe with the live possibility of killing. Any of your components can reach that pitch. Race, faith, language, class, even a written constitution. What turns one of them national is not its substance. It is the enemy it names.
The enemy picks the marker. Against the Turk the Greek felt Greek through his church. Against the Hapsburg the Czech felt Czech through his tongue. The “we” sharpens against the “they,” which is why shared heritage explains cohesion so poorly. The heritage lies quiet until an enemy gives men a reason to defend it. The nation feels itself most as a nation when something threatens it.
Friend-enemy also breaks the conceit at the heart of Muller’s first option. Civic nationalism presents itself as the form with no enemy. All who live inside the borders, no one cast out. Schmitt’s blade goes straight through that. The civic nation has enemies. It calls them criminals, extremists, the far right, fascists, deplorables, and it moralizes them instead of facing them as political foes. He thought that the uglier road, because a political enemy is a man you fight by rules and later make peace with, while a moral enemy is a monster to be crushed or re-educated and never honored. Watch the postnational order Muller describes. It defines itself against the nationalist and the populist with real heat. It has an enemy. It will not say the word.
A caution. Schmitt did not offer this only as description. He made it a program, gave the sovereign the decision on the exception, and in 1933 he carried his Party card and drafted the law that dressed the new regime in legal cloth, which earned him the name crown jurist of the Reich. Held as a diagnosis of how the political works, his distinction lights up everything Muller catalogs. Held as a prescription, it blesses the slaughter in those same pages. The tool that lets you see the killing can also sanctify it.
Muller writes:
The ethnonationalist view has traditionally dominated through much of Europe and has held its own even in the United States until recently. For substantial stretches of U.S. history, it was believed that only the people of English origin, or those who were Protestant, or white, or hailed from northern Europe were real Americans. It was only in 1965 that the reform of U.S. immigration law abolished the system of national-origin quotas that had been in place for several decades. This system had excluded Asians entirely and radically restricted immigration from southern and eastern Europe.
Dominated among whom, and as what? Muller calls ethnonationalism a “view” that “dominated.” A view is something a person holds, can state, can defend, can be argued out of. Ethnonationalism was none of that for most of the people living inside it. It was the water. Nobody had to teach a Hungarian peasant that the Magyar was the real Hungarian. He never formed the thought as a thought. The civic conception is the one that had to be written down and argued for, because it cut against the grain of the felt default. So Muller has the order backwards. Ethnonationalism was not a dominant doctrine beating a rival doctrine. It was the unspoken floor, and civic nationalism is the self-conscious construction laid over it. Calling the floor a “view” already imports the intellectual’s habit of treating everything as a position with adherents.
Which is why “believed” is the wrong verb. Belief lives in the part of a man he can put into sentences. The sense that the stranger is not quite one of us, not quite as real, lives below that.
Muller writes about a change in law as though it were a change in the gut. The 1965 act did three things. It changed who would arrive. It changed what an official could say and do. It changed the sayable. It did not and could not legislate the sense of who is fully one of us. Its sponsors swore it would not even alter the country’s makeup; Ted Kennedy (1932-2009) promised the cities would not be flooded and the ethnic mix would hold, and they were wrong about the demography and silent about the feeling. So the law did not end the ethnonationalist sense in America. It changed the inflow over the heads of the people whose feeling was never consulted, and that feeling has been pushing back at the ballot box ever since. Mistaking the legal surface for the felt depth is the same move as declaring a postnational era because the elite stopped saluting the flag. The form moved. The floor did not.
This paragraph fights Muller’s own conclusion. He closes the essay by calling ethnonationalism an enduring propensity of the human spirit that will outlast everyone alive. Yet here he needs America to have largely left it behind by 1965, so that the civic story has somewhere to stand. He cannot have both. Either the propensity endures and 1965 changed the rules over a feeling that did not move, or the law ended the thing, in which case the thing was never the deep human constant he says it is. The paragraph is not a mess of facts. It is a man changing floors mid-sentence and forgetting which one holds up his house.
The human norm is that only people like ourselves are fully real. If your primary identity is surgeon, then surgeons are your in-group. If your primary identity is a sporting allegiance, then only those who share that are fully real. If your primary identity is national or religious, then that is your in-group.
Muller writes:
Ethnonationalism draws much of its emotive power from the notion that the members of a nation are part of an extended family, ultimately united by ties of blood. It is the subjective belief in the reality of a common “we” that counts. The markers that distinguish the in-group vary from case to case and time to time, and the subjective nature of the communal boundaries has led some to discount their practical significance. But as Walker Connor, an astute student of nationalism, has noted, “It is not what is, but what people believe is that has behavioral consequences.” And the central tenets of ethnonationalist belief are that nations exist, that each nation ought to have its own state, and that each state should be made up of the members of a single nation.
There are no tenets inherent to the phenomenological experience of ethnonationalism just as there are no tenets inherent to the experience of family.
Look at the words Muller reaches for. Notion. Belief. Subjective. Tenets. Every one of them takes a thing that lives in the chest and files it in the head. He is describing the inside of a bond in the language a man uses when he has only ever seen it from outside.
The power does not come from a notion. The bond is felt before any notion arrives to name it. A man knows the sound of his mother’s tongue before he can spell nation. He knows the graves he visits, the food that tastes like home, the faces that read as kin. He loves his own first, in the body, and only later, if some professor asks him why, does he reach for the words about an extended family united by blood. The notion is the receipt, not the purchase. Muller has it running the wrong way, with the idea generating the feeling, when the feeling generated the idea and would survive the loss of it.
The line about tenets is where he changes subjects without admitting it. He says the central tenets of ethnonationalist belief are that nations exist, that each ought to have a state, that each state should hold one nation. Those are not the experience. Those are the political program, the modern doctrine of one nation and one state that Gellner dated to the age of mass literacy and the bureaucratic engine. The peasant who wept at his own dead held no tenets. The ideologue who wants the map redrawn to fit the tongue holds tenets. Muller pours the second into the first and serves it as one cup. The felt bond is old and mute. The doctrine is recent and loud. He has labeled the loud thing with the name of the quiet one.
The experience of ethnonationalism is centripetal. It is love of one’s own, and it points inward. A group does need a boundary, since there is no “us” without the category of “not-us,” but a boundary is not an enemy. The stranger sits on the far side of the line and draws no heat at all until he competes, threatens, or organizes against you.
In-group love is the boundary at rest. Schmitt’s friend and enemy is the boundary under fire. The enemy is not the source of the bond. He is what the bond becomes when something pushes on it. Students of group feeling have found the same thing in the lab, that loving your own and hating the other are separate switches, and the first throws long before the second.
This paragraph is the headwater of every error we have walked through. Render the felt bond as a held belief, the lived “we” as a subjective notion, the ancient love as a set of tenets, and you have made the thing sound like an opinion. Once it is an opinion, you can picture repealing it by statute in 1965, or outgrowing it in a postnational age, or sorting it into one of two tidy stories.
The Jewish thread runs the length of the piece. Jews appear as the recurring successful minority that gets resented and expelled, then the Kafka line about cultural loss, then the 1930s professional quotas, then Israel. He opens by quoting Tony Judt (1948-2010) calling the Jewish state a late-nineteenth-century anachronism, and the whole essay answers that charge. If ethnonationalism is the norm and not the detour, then Israel is normal and Judt is provincial. That is the polemic driving the scholarship.
On prediction the record runs more hit than miss in the West. He forecast a resurgent ethnonational identity and a European self-definition set partly against Islam. The 2015 migration crisis, Brexit, the rise of the AfD and the Rassemblement National and the Sweden Democrats: that part aged well. South Sudan, the Rohingya expulsion, the Sahel: the developing-world forecast landed too. What he underrated was the staying power of large mixed states and how much integration, not fragmentation, kept winning in much of the world.
Walker Connor (1926-2017) gave Muller the load-bearing epigram: what people feel is real has consequences. Benedict Anderson (1936-2015) gave him the foil, the imagined community. Lord Acton (1834-1902) gave him the warning that making nation and state coincide consigns every other group inside the border to a lesser place. Muller quotes Acton and then recommends accepting the reality of the impulse Acton feared.
David Pinsof’s “Strange Bedfellows” treats political belief as alliance support rather than principled commitment. The frame strips away the idea that political positions follow from abstract values like equality, authority, or freedom. It treats positions instead as outputs of a coalition structure that varies across nations and time periods. Apply the frame to Jerry Z. Muller and the question shifts. Stop asking what Muller believes about metrics, capitalism, conservatism, or Jewish history. Start asking whose interests his books advance, whose status they protect, and whose grievances they amplify.
The map first.
Muller’s allies cluster around three groups. The first group includes practitioners with tacit knowledge, doctors, teachers, surgeons, police officers, the experienced people who run institutions on judgment that resists reduction to numbers. The second group covers the conservative intellectual tradition broadly construed, the line that runs from Hume through Burke, Möser, Tocqueville, Disraeli, Oakeshott, and Hayek. The third group is Jewish intellectual life, especially the strand that takes Jewish economic history as a legitimate object of structural analysis rather than as a topic too sensitive for sober treatment.
Muller’s rivals cluster as well. The audit class is one. Regulators, accountants, university administrators, business school professors, consultants, the people who design metric regimes for institutions they did not build and do not run. Soviet and post-Soviet apologists are another, the intellectuals who downplayed communist atrocities and whom Muller treats with a cold eye. A third rival is the libertarian flattening of Adam Smith, which Muller regards as an embarrassment to the conservative tradition he wants to defend. A fourth is the romanticizing strand of Jewish history that prefers consolation to realism. None of these rivals is named as such. All are present as the coalition Muller writes against.
The propagandistic biases follow.
Muller’s victim biases attach to the practitioners. When metrics distort medical practice, teaching, or policing, his account places the harm at the door of the metric designers and dwells on the severity and duration of damage to professional life. When the same practitioners fall short under metrics, the failure traces to the regime rather than to the practitioner. The audit class gets the opposite treatment. Muller catalogs harms from metric regimes, the gaming, the displacement, the deskilling, and ties them to internal features of the metric impulse rather than to bad luck or hard cases. Practitioner success comes from training, judgment, and tacit feel. Practitioner failure comes from systems imposed on them. The match to what Alliance Theory predicts is close.
The conservative anthology operates by transitivity. Muller links Hume to Burke, Burke to Oakeshott, Oakeshott to Hayek. The reader who already respects one of these figures gets pushed toward respecting the others. Muller does not argue that they agree. He argues that they share a temperament. The argument is a coalition-building argument. It establishes common knowledge of the alliance and recruits the reader into it. Pinsof’s “the friend of my friend is my friend” appears in the volume’s structure even though Muller never names the principle.
Capitalism and the Jews works similarly. Muller defends a structural account of Jewish commercial history against two rival accounts. The first rival treats the Jewish commercial role as an embarrassment, evidence of opportunism or exploitation, the frame congenial to leftist anti-capitalist criticism and to traditional antisemitism alike. The second rival treats Jewish history as victim history alone, the frame congenial to certain strands of postwar Jewish writing. Muller’s account presents Jewish commercial success as the structurally produced result of legal restrictions and emerging markets. The account protects the status of the historical Jewish commercial class without flattering it. It also draws Jewish history into the broader project of defending market modernization. The book builds a coalition between Jewish historical scholarship and market-friendly economic history.
The Tyranny of Metrics is the clearest case. The book reaches business executives, hospital administrators, school superintendents, and policy intellectuals. Many of these readers occupy positions inside the audit class. Why do they read it? Pinsof’s frame supplies an answer. The audit class is internally divided. Some of its members feel their work is captured and degraded by metric regimes. They form a sub-alliance with the practitioners against the more dominant managerial faction. Muller writes for that sub-alliance. The book mobilizes a coalition that crosses the official hierarchy. It tells the harried hospital administrator and the disillusioned superintendent that they share interests with the surgeon and the teacher.
Adam Smith in His Time and Ours and The Mind and the Market protect the moral standing of commercial society against rivals on the left and on the libertarian right. Muller is no market triumphalist. He insists on Smith’s moral psychology, on the institutional preconditions of markets, on the persistent ambivalence of European thought about commerce. The argument lifts capitalism out of the libertarian camp, where it sits awkwardly with the conservative intellectual tradition Muller wants to defend, and places it inside a broader humanistic frame. The move recruits Hume-style conservatives, religious traditionalists, and policy-oriented intellectuals into a defense of market institutions that does not require them to embrace Ayn Rand. It is a coalition-broadening move. It also pushes Smith out of reach of the libertarian rival who would claim him for a thinner cause.
The Hans Freyer book and the Jacob Taubes book do something different. They take seriously two figures whose intellectual and political histories make most readers uncomfortable. Freyer flirted with the radical right and served the Nazi regime. Taubes was a brilliant fraud who manipulated nearly everyone he met. Muller does not redeem either man. He insists on the seriousness of the work and the contingency of the bad outcomes. The function inside Muller’s coalition is to keep difficult conservative and Jewish intellectual figures inside the conversation rather than letting them be exiled. It is alliance maintenance through historical patience. The conservative tradition keeps Freyer in view as a cautionary case rather than handing him to the rival camp as a trophy. Jewish intellectual history keeps Taubes as a strange member of the family rather than disowning him.
Now the position.
Muller spent his career at Catholic University of America. He did not move to the Ivy League. Pinsof’s frame, drawing on Brint, places the upper class of the contemporary American coalition in two camps. Intellectual elites, academics, journalists, foundation officials, sit on one side. Business elites, executives, financiers, family-office managers, sit on the other. The two factions compete for status and policy influence. Muller occupies a peripheral position inside the intellectual elite. He works at a serious university that lacks Ivy League prestige. He publishes with Princeton. He writes for The Wall Street Journal and Foreign Affairs. He reaches business audiences through The Great Courses and through The Tyranny of Metrics.
The peripheral position has costs and benefits. The cost is exclusion from the most prestigious circuits. The benefit is a freer hand. Muller does not depend for his career on staying inside the prestige economy. He can write a book defending tacit professional knowledge that the dominant managerial faction of his sector finds embarrassing. He can edit an anthology that takes conservatism seriously when most of his peers treat it as a curiosity. He can write Capitalism and the Jews knowing the book will not sit comfortably in any of the dominant frames. The independence is structural rather than personal. The institutional position generates the freedom.
Alliance Theory predicts that intellectual figures who occupy peripheral positions inside their coalition develop sympathies with the practitioner faction against the managerial faction. This is what Muller has done. He defends doctors against hospital administrators, teachers against superintendents, surgeons against quality-control regimes. The defense reads as a moral and epistemic argument about the limits of measurement. It also functions as coalition support for the side of his sector that mirrors his own peripheral status.
The Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs affiliation extends the pattern. The center is a hawkish Israeli policy shop with a center-right orientation. Muller’s continued engagement with Israeli policy thought aligns him with a transnational conservative Jewish coalition that fuses Israel advocacy, market realism, and skepticism toward global governance institutions. The structure is transitive. The intellectual conservatives, the market realists, the Jewish historical realists, and the Israel hawks form a super-alliance. Muller’s affiliation is one strand inside that super-alliance. The strand makes more sense as coalition position than as a series of independent commitments.
None of Muller’s commitments was inevitable. In a different configuration, his defense of tacit knowledge might have attached to the British labor movement of the 1950s, to the German guild tradition, or to the American craft socialists of the early twentieth century. His Jewish historical realism might have attached to Bundism, to Yiddishist socialism, or to early Israeli labor Zionism. His defense of conservative intellectual tradition might have looked like Tory wetness or like One-Nation conservatism rather than American post-Reagan conservatism. The actual coalition Muller writes inside is the historically produced American coalition of the late twentieth century, and it has the contingency of any other coalition. The thinkers he revives are real. The connections among them are partly real and partly the coalitional achievement of his anthology. Pinsof’s stochasticity argument applies. Small differences in initial conditions snowball into seemingly arbitrary alliance structures, and Muller writes inside one of them.
Pinsof’s frame closes with a claim about politics and morality. Politics is about conflict and loyalty. Morality is about cooperation and impartiality. Political discourse uses moral language as propaganda. Apply the claim to Muller and a useful question arises. When he argues that metrics corrupt the activities they aim to improve, is the argument moral or political? The frame does not deny that the argument might be moral and true. The frame insists that the argument also does political work. It defends the autonomy, status, and discretion of a class of professionals whose interests align with Muller’s own. The political function does not erase the moral and epistemic content. It does shape what the argument is for.
The same observation applies to the Jewish historical realism. The argument that Jewish minorities had structural reasons for entering commerce, and that those reasons produced both economic success and political vulnerability, is plausible on the historical evidence. The argument also performs coalitional work. It legitimates the historical Jewish commercial class against rivals who would treat that class as an embarrassment. The political function does not erase the historical content. It does shape what the argument supports.
Symmetry applies. Muller’s rivals operate by the same alliance psychology he does. Hospital administrators who read Muller and bristle are not simply mistaken. They are mobilizing perpetrator biases on behalf of their own coalition, the management consulting faction, the regulatory class, the safety-and-quality movement. They emphasize the harms of unregulated practitioner judgment, the doctors who killed patients before metrics, the teachers who failed children before testing. Their biases match Muller’s in form and reverse him in content. Pinsof’s frame predicts both sides and explains both. Neither side is uniquely propagandistic. Both run on the same alliance psychology.
Alliance Theory does not refute Muller. The theory cannot refute him. His books may be true. His historical readings may be sound. His critique of metrics may identify real damage to real practitioners. None of this is in tension with the theory. The theory only claims that Muller’s positions are not fully explained by his abstract values. They are explained by the alliance structure he writes inside, the coalition he supports, and the rivals he writes against. The book that emerges from any author writing inside any coalition will look like coalition support whether the author intends that or not. The contribution of the frame is to make the coalition visible.
What Muller adds, beyond what the frame can predict, is the patience of his historical reconstructions and the precision of his prose. Many writers write inside coalitions. Few do it with this care. The care is itself a coalitional asset. It makes Muller’s books usable for serious readers who might discount cruder coalition support. The achievement is to write coalition argument that other coalitions can read without flinching. Pinsof might call that good propaganda. Muller’s own tradition might call it good history. Both descriptions can hold at once.
David Pinsof argues that intellectuals locate the world’s problems in confusion because the diagnosis flatters them. If problems come from misunderstanding, the people who understand things are the people who can save the world. Pinsof rejects the diagnosis. Stereotypes are savvy. Partisan hatred is rational competition over the coercive apparatus of the state. Bigotry is competition over status and power. Misinformation is moral panic. Most cognitive biases are strategies that work. Humans are well-designed for the environments they inhabit. The world does not need an intellectual rescue because it is not broken. It runs on motives the intellectual class finds embarrassing to name.
Apply this to Jerry Z. Muller and you find a partial fit and a partial failure. Both halves are useful.
Where Muller fits Pinsof’s frame.
Muller treats his historical subjects as rational actors responding to the incentives and pressures they faced. Hans Freyer is not a man who fell for Nazism out of confusion. He saw something in the regime that fit his prior commitments, and he served it. Jacob Taubes is not a brilliant man brought low by personal pathology. He played the games the intellectual world rewards, with skill and without scruple. Marx, Schumpeter, and Hayek do not appear as confused thinkers in The Mind and the Market. They appear as men who understood the moral problems of commercial society and gave different answers. Muller does not write the history of error. He writes the history of intelligent people responding to live questions.
The structural account of Jewish commercial history in Capitalism and the Jews sits closer to Pinsof’s “stereotypes are savvy” position than most readers notice. Muller does not deny that Jewish minorities concentrated in commerce, finance, and intermediary trades. He explains why. Restrictions on land ownership and access to guilds pushed Jews into mobile, contractual occupations. The emerging market economy rewarded those skills. Antisemites who saw Jews as commercial were not confused about the demographic pattern. They were strategic, or wrong, about its causes and meaning. Muller takes the empirical observation seriously and reframes its interpretation. He does not pretend the observation is the bigotry.
The conservative tradition Muller has spent decades anthologizing is, in Pinsof’s terms, a tradition that refuses the misunderstanding myth. Hume, Burke, Möser, Tocqueville, Oakeshott, and Hayek share a suspicion of grand designs imposed by people who think they have seen through to the truth. Conservatism in this sense is the body of thought that refuses to treat humans as confused animals waiting for enlightenment. It treats them as rational actors in webs of inheritance, custom, and constraint. Muller’s project keeps this tradition available against intellectual currents that want to treat all opposition as ignorance or malice. The project is Pinsof-adjacent.
So is Muller’s institutional position. He spent his career at Catholic University of America. He does not depend on the Ivy League prestige economy that produces much of the misunderstanding-myth literature. He sits outside the antiracism status circuit Pinsof describes. He writes for Foreign Affairs and The Wall Street Journal and operates inside a center-right intellectual coalition that values historical patience and willingness to handle difficult material. The status game he plays does not pay him to flatter his own class as the rescuers of humanity. The coalition position frees him to write differently than the dominant academic register permits.
Where Muller breaks with Pinsof’s frame.
The Tyranny of Metrics is, at one level, a misunderstanding book. It tells the audit class that they have a flawed model of how knowledge works. It tells administrators that they do not see the costs of what they impose. It assumes that if hospital executives, school superintendents, and regulators grasped the limits of measurement, they might pull back. The book reads at times as Pinsof’s caricature, the intellectual saving the world by clearing up confusion.
Pinsof’s response is built into his frame. The audit class understands fine. Metrics serve their interests. Quantitative regimes give regulators leverage over practitioners. They give administrators control over doctors and teachers. They produce visible accountability for politicians. They generate billable hours for consultants. They concentrate authority in the hands of people who can read spreadsheets and away from people whose knowledge resists that format. The metric impulse is not a misunderstanding of tacit knowledge. It is a coalition’s tool for extracting value from a rival coalition. The audit class does exactly what its position rewards.
Muller’s libertarian-Smith critique runs into the same problem. He argues that libertarians flatten Smith, missing the moral psychology and the institutional preconditions of markets. On Pinsof’s reading, libertarians understand Smith well enough. They use a flattened Smith because the flattened Smith serves their political coalition. Restoring Smith’s complexity does not help them. It might slow their argument and complicate their alliances. The flattening is strategic, not careless.
The progressive treatment of conservatism as an embarrassment is the third case. Muller’s anthology presents conservatism as a serious tradition that progressives have failed to read carefully. On Pinsof’s reading, progressive intellectuals do not need to read conservatism carefully. Their coalition profits from treating it as a curiosity. Engaging it seriously would require them to take seriously rivals their position is built on dismissing. The neglect is functional, not negligent.
In each case, Muller writes as if the rival coalition has misunderstood and might be corrected. Pinsof writes as if the rival coalition has understood and is doing what serves it. Muller’s policy register sometimes falls inside the misunderstanding myth even when his historical practice does not.
The tension is productive.
Muller’s history works because he treats his subjects as rational. His interventions sometimes wobble because he treats his readers, and his rivals, as correctable. The gap between the two registers is where Pinsof’s frame bites.
The stated-motive question follows. Muller presents his work as recovering complexity, restoring serious treatment to undertreated subjects, defending judgment against systems that flatten it. Pinsof might press the question: what are these books for? Recovering complexity flatters historical readers and consolidates a particular coalition. The defense of practitioner judgment supports a class of professionals whose interests align with Muller’s institutional position. The conservative anthology recruits readers into an alliance that values exactly the dispositions Muller cultivates. The stated motives may be sincere. The actual functions operate regardless.
Pinsof’s “the world doesn’t want to be saved” applies cleanly here. The audit class does not want to be saved from metrics. Metrics work for them. Libertarians do not want Smith complicated. Their version works for them. Progressives do not want conservatism rehabilitated. The treating-as-embarrassment posture works for them. Muller’s books fail to convert these audiences and have always failed. What they succeed at is consolidating Muller’s own audience. They give center-right intellectuals, judgment-defending practitioners, and historically minded readers usable material for their own coalition work. The success of The Tyranny of Metrics among practitioners and the failure of the same book to slow the metric impulse are the same fact seen from two sides. The book is a coalition asset, not a policy intervention.
With the current Substack project, Passing It On, the stated motive is thinking about how meaning, money, and purpose pass across generations. Pinsof’s frame predicts another reading. The actual function is addressing the reproductive anxieties of the established Jewish and conservative bourgeoisie, families who have built something they want to transmit and who fear the transmission will fail. The book is service to a particular coalition’s worry about its own continuity. Whether the stated and actual motives can be cleanly separated is the question Pinsof’s frame insists on asking. Muller might believe the stated motive. The actual function operates whether he believes it or not.
Pinsof’s evolutionary realism rests on the claim that humans are well-designed animals operating in adaptive environments. Muller’s defense of tacit knowledge sits inside this picture. The surgeon who reads the patient, the teacher who reads the room, the police officer who reads the street operate with cognitive systems honed for exactly that work. The audit class that proposes to replace them with checklists is, in Pinsof’s terms, the class assuming humans are broken and need fixing. Muller is on Pinsof’s side here. The shared opponent is the technocratic class that thinks judgment can be replaced by systems because the people doing the judging are the problem.
Biological frameworks provide useful analogies for understanding the careers of intellectuals and the movement of texts. Applied to Jerry Z. Muller, American constitutional law, and John Rawls, these concepts illuminate how ideas migrate, mutate, and adapt across distinct cultural ecosystems.
Jerry Z. Muller employs horizontal gene transfer in Conservatism: An Anthology of Social and Political Thought from David Hume to the Present. He anthologizes conservative thought from David Hume to Friedrich Hayek, taking thinkers whose ideas grew in the regulatory context of Anglican parishes, Westphalian estates, French Catholic aristocracy, Viennese liberal salons, and Edinburgh debating societies. He strips that context away and presents the resulting selections as a coherent intellectual lineage available for use by American center-right readers. The transfer succeeds because the new host environment finds the borrowed genes useful. The donor environments are gone.
Exaptation occurs when a feature that originally evolved for one function is co-opted for a new use. Edmund Burke wrote against the French Revolution to defend particular English arrangements, an established church, an inherited aristocracy, a property regime. Muller borrows Burke for arguments about technocratic overreach in the contemporary American administrative state. The original function is gone. The new function is different. The structure of Burke’s argument survives because the structure happens to fit a problem Burke did not face.
Phenotypic plasticity describes how a single genotype produces different visible characteristics under varying environmental conditions. In the academic monograph, conservatism is a plural temperament. In The Wall Street Journal op-ed, conservatism is a critique of measurement regimes, a theme Muller developed in The Tyranny of Metrics. In Foreign Affairs, conservatism is a realist warning against grand strategic designs. The genotype remains consistent; the expression varies with the ecological niche.
Batesian mimicry applies less to Muller than to the broader American conservative movement that drapes itself in the prestige of Burke, Alexis de Tocqueville, and Michael Oakeshott without paying any of the costs those thinkers demanded, such as established religion, hereditary deference, or slow institutional reform. Muller acts as a museum curator rather than a parasite. He preserves the originals; the parasitism happens downstream.
Endosymbiosis describes an organism that begins as a guest inside another organism and becomes essential to it, much like the origin of mitochondria. Conservative thought entered American academic life as a guest, an embarrassment, a curiosity. It is now a load-bearing component of certain institutions, the law schools where originalism thrives, the foundations that fund this work, the magazines that publish it. The host has changed shape to accommodate the guest, and the guest has lost the ability to live outside the host.
Niche construction describes how organisms modify their environment in ways that select for further modifications, like beavers building dams. Muller’s anthology constructed a niche where serious conservative scholarship became a recognized academic category. The niche selects for further work like his, more anthologies, more historians of conservatism, more graduate students. The category did not exist as a respectable academic specialty in 1960. Muller helped build it.
Founder effects describe what happens when a small population colonizes a new environment, limiting subsequent genetic diversity. The American conservative intellectual tradition was founded by a small set of postwar thinkers: Russell Kirk, William F. Buckley Jr., Frank Meyer, Leo Strauss and his students, and Irving Kristol. The tradition that follows is constrained by the limited gene pool of its founders. Many positions available in European conservatism, the integralism of Charles Maurras, the radical traditionalism of Julius Evola, the One Nation paternalism of Benjamin Disraeli, are not naturally available in the American tradition because they were not in the founding stock. Muller has spent decades widening the pool by anthologizing thinkers the American founders neglected. The widening is partial; the founder effect persists.
Hybridization describes distinct lineages combining to form a new viable lineage. American fusionism, the marriage of free-market libertarianism, religious traditionalism, and Cold War hawkishness, is a hybridization that might have surprised any of the European thinkers Muller anthologizes in The Mind and the Market: Capitalism in Modern European Thought. Hayek and Russell Kirk should not naturally appear in the same coalition. They appear together because the historical moment of the 1950s American right needed a coalition broad enough to include both, and the hybrid has reproduced for several generations. Muller’s anthology serves in part as a record of the hybrid’s parentage.
Domestication involves wild organisms becoming dependent on humans for survival, losing their original reproductive traits. Burke’s writing as it lived in the political life of Anglo-Irish gentry reproduced by being argued at dinner tables, in pamphlets, in parliamentary speeches, and in the administration of estates. Burke’s writing as it lives in Muller’s anthology can reproduce only in seminar rooms, on syllabi, and in scholarly journals. The wild original is gone. What survives is the domesticated cultivar, dependent on academic caretakers and university funding for its continued existence. When a tradition’s primary exponents become outsiders, the traditions become museum objects. They cannot return to the wild.
Vertical and horizontal transmission distinguish paths for cultural inheritance. Vertical transmission moves a tradition from parents to children within a community, carrying text, tone, gesture, embodied practice, and communal accountability. Horizontal transmission moves the tradition between communities through written or institutional channels. Horizontal transmission is fast and far-reaching, but lossy. Whatever in the tradition could not be written down or institutionalized falls away. Muller’s anthology is pure horizontal transmission. The vertical chain that originally carried the texts, English country gentry, Edinburgh philosophical clubs, Viennese liberal Jewish households, is broken. What Muller transmits is what survived the loss.
Now apply these frames to American constitutional law.
The Constitution was produced by a particular people at a particular moment. The framers were predominantly English-descended, Protestant, literate, property-owning, male, schooled in common law, Scottish moral philosophy, Roman republican imagery, and Protestant theology. Their concerns were the concerns of their generation: standing armies, religious establishment, the relations between large and small states, slavery as compromise, paper money, debt, taxation. The text they produced is a frozen genotype. The exponents of constitutional tradition today are a vastly more diverse population, demographically, religiously, ideologically, and methodologically.
Horizontal gene transfer applies to every act of constitutional interpretation. The text moves between communities very different from the founding community. The Reconstruction generation read the document with concerns the founders did not share. The New Deal generation read it with concerns the Reconstruction generation did not share. Each new generation strips away or downweights regulatory contexts the prior generation took as given. Originalism is the school of constitutional thought that resists the loss. Originalists try to preserve the original regulatory context, the meaning the words had in the founders’ linguistic and political environment. Living constitutionalism is the school that embraces the new contexts. Both are responses to horizontal transfer. Neither escapes the underlying biological fact. The text has moved from its original ecology.
Phenotypic plasticity applies to the Commerce Clause, the Equal Protection Clause, the Necessary and Proper Clause, the First Amendment, and the Second Amendment, all of which have produced wildly different phenotypes in different judicial environments. The Commerce Clause grew small in United States v. E. C. Knight Co. and grew vast in Wickard v. Filburn. The Second Amendment was a militia provision in most twentieth-century reading and is an individual right in District of Columbia v. Heller. The same genotype produces tall in shade and short in sun.
Exaptation applies clearly to the Reconstruction Amendments. The Fourteenth Amendment was passed to secure the rights of formerly enslaved Black Americans against hostile southern state governments. It now grounds protections for corporate personhood, commercial speech, and a wide range of substantive due process claims. The original function is partly served and partly displaced. The new functions arose because the structure of the amendment turned out to fit problems the framers did not face. The Commerce Clause similarly was designed to prevent trade wars between states. It is now the constitutional foundation of the modern administrative state, regulating workplace safety, environmental protection, and civil rights in private accommodations. Feathers evolved for warmth; birds use them for flight.
Signal parasitism applies to almost every political movement that claims to be the true heir of the founders. Both major parties claim the Constitution as their patrimony. The same documents are quoted by people who hold opposing views about almost everything the founders cared about. The signal of constitutional fidelity carries prestige that is borrowed by those who can plausibly claim it. The Trump-era political right and the Warren Court political left both wrap their programs in founders’ language. Most of these claims are mimicry. Telling them apart requires asking what costs the claimant pays for the claim. If the claim costs the claimant nothing, the signal is parasitic.
Founder effects are constitutional law’s deepest constraint. The Senate gives Wyoming the same vote as California because the founders needed small-state assent to ratification. This was a contingent compromise; it now structures every modern American political conflict. The Electoral College, the difficulty of constitutional amendment, the lifetime tenure of federal judges, the rights enumerated and not enumerated, all reflect the limited gene pool of the founding generation. Subsequent diversity is constrained by what was settled then. Modern political life cannot adapt freely; it must adapt within the founder-imposed constraints.
Niche construction applies to the institutions the Constitution created. The Supreme Court constructed the niche of judicial review in Marbury v. Madison. Once the niche existed, it selected for further judicial review, more constitutional interpretation, the modern apparatus of clerks, law schools, and casebooks. The Constitution is now a self-reinforcing ecosystem. Abandoning it would require dismantling the entire ecological scaffolding of American legal life.
Domestication applies to constitutional originalism in particular. The original regulatory context, the lived political world of late-eighteenth-century Anglo-American Protestant elites, is gone and cannot be recovered. What originalism preserves is a domesticated cultivar, the textual meaning extracted from its ecological context. This domesticated meaning depends on academic and judicial caretakers for its survival. It cannot return to the wild. The originalists who claim to recover original meaning are tending a cultivar in a botanical garden. The garden has its own value; the wild ancestor is extinct.
Now apply these frames to John Rawls for a contrast to how they cut with Muller.
John Rawls produced A Theory of Justice in 1971, a Princeton-Harvard product of the postwar liberal Protestant academic establishment. He was a Baltimore-born Princeton man who served in the Pacific in World War II, lost his Christian faith, replaced it with a Kantian moral philosophy, and built his career at Harvard. His framework grew from particular concerns of his generation: civil rights, the Vietnam War, the welfare state, the moral standing of inherited inequality. The book presents itself as universal philosophy; it is also a tribal artifact.
The Horizontal gene transfer. Rawls’s framework has been adopted by constitutional courts in South Africa, Germany, Israel, India, and Latin America. It has shaped the language of human rights worldwide. The transfer succeeds because each new host finds the framework useful for local purposes. The original regulatory context, the postwar American liberal consensus that Rawls write inside, is gone in most of the new environments. What survives is the structural argument, the original position, the veil of ignorance, the difference principle. The argument lives in new ecosystems; it no longer lives in its native one, which has dissolved.
Phenotypic plasticity. Liberation theologians use Rawls. Libertarian critics use him as a foil. Cosmopolitan global-justice theorists extend him to international redistribution. Communitarians treat him as the symptom of liberalism’s pathology. The same Rawls produces very different intellectual phenotypes depending on the surrounding environment.
Exaptation. Rawls intended a moderate egalitarian liberalism appropriate to a generally well-ordered constitutional democracy. The framework has been exapted into arguments Rawls did not endorse: defenses of global wealth redistribution that Rawls explicitly rejected in The Law of Peoples, claims about intergenerational justice and the rights of future people that Rawls did not develop, and applications to non-human animals and artificial minds that Rawls might have found alien. The original purpose is partly served and partly displaced.
Signal parasitism. To call a position Rawlsian is to borrow the prestige of academic philosophical seriousness for a political program. The borrowing is sometimes earned. Often the program has little to do with anything Rawls argued, and the citation is mimicry. The signal of justice as fairness carries weight the program does not deserve.
Founder effects. The veil of ignorance thought experiment locks in a particular methodology, individualist, contractualist, broadly Kantian. Subsequent political philosophy in the Rawlsian lineage is constrained by these founder commitments. Critics have pointed out that the methodology excludes communitarian, Aristotelian, Hegelian, and Thomist alternatives by construction. The exclusions are not arguments; they are founder effects. The available diversity in the Rawlsian tradition is limited by what was settled in the original framework.
Niche construction occurred when Rawls single-handedly reconstructed the niche of normative political philosophy as a respectable academic specialty after its mid-twentieth-century decline. His students populate philosophy departments worldwide. The niche selects for Rawlsian-style work, the construction of thought experiments, the search for reflective equilibrium, and the analysis of original-position reasoning. Many philosophers spend their careers inside this niche without remembering that the niche was constructed within living memory.
Rawls’s framework is what happens when the moral and political concerns of mid-twentieth-century American liberal Protestantism are extracted from their religious, congregational, and civic context and rendered into pure philosophical argument. The original context contained Sunday schools, Social Gospel preaching, Niebuhrian theology, civil rights organizing, the New England town meeting, and the postwar university chapel. All of it is gone from Rawls’s framework. What survives is the domesticated cultivar, an argument structure that can be taught in seminars worldwide. The wild ancestor cannot be recovered. Rawls’s universalism is a tribal product, the universalism of a particular American Protestant academic generation that thought its values were universal because the tribe’s local conditions gave it no reason to doubt this. The framework’s worldwide success is the success of an exported cultivar that no longer needs the soil that grew it.
A tribe produces a story. The story serves the tribe. Outsiders carry the story away. The carriers strip context, repurpose function, and vary expression by environment. Sometimes they domesticate the story so thoroughly that it cannot return home. The story spreads worldwide; the original tribe loses control of its meaning. The exponents are no longer the producers, and the producers cannot fully recognize what their story has become. This is the situation of conservative thought in Muller’s hands, of the Constitution in the hands of contemporary lawyers, and of justice as fairness in the hands of global-justice theorists. In each case, an artifact of one community has become the cultural property of communities the original producers did not anticipate. The artifact lives. The community that made it does not. What survives is the domesticated cultivar, tended in the gardens of those who came after.
Hugo Mercier argues that humans deploy open vigilance when evaluating communicated information. They assess sources, evaluate arguments against priors, and accept information that passes their checks while rejecting information that fails them. Successful communicators provide content that recipients’ vigilance approves rather than overcoming vigilance through manipulation.
Muller has built sustained readership across decades through producing work that consistently passes vigilance checks for specific audiences. His readers include conservative intellectuals, business school faculty, policy professionals, history graduate students, educated general readers interested in capitalism’s intellectual history, and Jewish intellectuals interested in modern Jewish economic and cultural experience. The audience is not enormous. It is institutionally significant because its members occupy positions where their evaluations affect how Muller’s work circulates further.
Muller’s readers find his work meets specific evaluative criteria they apply to historical scholarship. The criteria include: sustained engagement with primary sources rather than reliance on secondary scholarship that simplifies the original material, careful attention to historical context that prevents anachronistic readings, willingness to acknowledge complexity rather than forcing material into predetermined frameworks, refusal to perform either celebration or denunciation that simpler scholarship typically performs, and capacity to write clearly about complex material without sacrificing analytical depth.
Each criterion matters. Muller’s work consistently meets each one. Adam Smith in His Time and Ours engages Smith’s actual writings in depth rather than relying on the simplified Smith that economic textbooks transmit. Capitalism and the Jews maintains careful historical context that prevents the material from being weaponized for contemporary political purposes by either philosemites or antisemites. The Tyranny of Metrics acknowledges the limits of its own thesis rather than presenting metrics as universally bad. Conservatism presents conservative thought through its own internal commitments rather than through hostile or sympathetic external framings. Professor of Apocalypse engages Taubes’s contradictions as actual features of the man rather than smoothing them into coherent biographical narrative.
Mercier’s framework predicts specific audience response to such work. Readers whose priors match the criteria the work meets will find the work compelling. They will recommend it to others with similar priors. They will continue reading subsequent work because the established pattern produces continued vigilance approval. The cumulative effect produces sustained readership across decades that is built specifically through repeated successful passage of audience vigilance.
The same qualities that produce sustained readership within specific audiences limit reach beyond those audiences. Readers whose priors include strong commitments that Muller’s work does not affirm find his work less compelling. Specific examples illustrate this.
Progressive readers whose priors include strong commitment to capitalism as primarily exploitative system find Muller’s Mind and the Market less compelling than Marxist-influenced histories of economic thought. The work’s careful presentation of capitalism’s defenders does not match progressive priors that treat such defenses as primarily ideological cover for material exploitation. Progressive readers can read Muller’s book and acknowledge its scholarly competence while not finding its central arguments compelling because their priors do not align with the work’s implicit commitments.
Conservative readers whose priors include strong commitment to specific religious or traditional positions sometimes find Muller insufficient to their needs. His Conservatism presents conservative thought as varied tradition with internal tensions rather than as unified coherent worldview. Conservative readers seeking validation of specifically religious-conservative positions can find Muller’s pluralistic presentation unsatisfying because their priors prefer accounts that establish their specific position as authentically conservative against alternatives.
Jewish readers whose priors include strong commitment to specific positions on Jewish economic history find Capitalism and the Jews either too sympathetic or insufficiently sympathetic to Jewish economic distinctiveness depending on their specific priors. Readers committed to defending Jewish economic success against antisemitic framings sometimes find Muller’s acknowledgment of the historical realities of Jewish overrepresentation in specific economic activities uncomfortable. Readers committed to ethnic-essentialist celebration of Jewish achievement find Muller’s careful contextualization insufficient celebration. The work passes vigilance for readers whose priors fall between these positions and fails for readers whose priors align with either pole.
Mercier’s framework identifies this as standard feature of how vigilance operates. Different audiences with different priors evaluate the same work differently. The differences reflect their priors rather than failures of the work itself. Muller’s work cannot be redesigned to pass vigilance for audiences whose priors strongly oppose what the work argues. The redesign would require producing different work that would lose the audiences whose priors currently align with what Muller produces.
Muller’s methodology operates through specific commitments that themselves require examination through Mercier’s framework. The methodology privileges sustained engagement with primary sources, careful historical contextualization, acknowledgment of complexity, and resistance to predetermined frameworks. These commitments reflect specific scholarly tradition that has developed within historical scholarship across the modern period.
The tradition is not neutral. It reflects specific evaluative criteria that scholars within the tradition find compelling. Scholars operating from different traditions evaluate work differently. Marxist historians, intellectual historians from different schools, social historians focused on different questions, all operate through different methodological commitments that produce different evaluative outcomes when applied to the same material.
Muller’s methodology aligns with specific tradition that includes figures like Isaiah Berlin, Albert Hirschman, J.G.A. Pocock, Quentin Skinner, and various other intellectual historians whose work shares specific commitments. The tradition treats ideas seriously, attends to historical context, resists ideological simplification, and produces work that crosses disciplinary boundaries while maintaining historical rigor. Muller’s audience includes substantial proportion of readers who have absorbed this tradition through their own academic formation. The shared formation produces specific alignment between Muller’s methodology and his readers’ evaluative priors.
Methodological traditions produce specific audience formations whose priors align with the tradition’s commitments. Work that operates through the tradition passes vigilance for those audiences. Work operating through different traditions fails vigilance for the same audiences while passing vigilance for different audiences. The alignment between methodology and audience formation is structural rather than accidental.
Doris argues that situational factors drive behavior more than stable character traits. The framework illuminates Muller’s specific institutional position at Catholic University of America in ways that character-based analysis would miss.
Muller spent his entire career at Catholic University rather than moving to elite institutions where his published work might have qualified him. The specific institutional choice has produced specific consequences. The choice is sometimes treated as character: Muller is the kind of scholar who values intellectual independence over institutional prestige, the kind of person who chose Catholic University for principled reasons. Doris’s framework suggests this character-based reading may overstate the role of stable character traits in producing the institutional choice.
The actual situational factors that produced the choice include specific features of academic hiring at the time Muller entered the profession, specific opportunities that opened at Catholic University when Muller was on the market, specific institutional features of Catholic University that made the position viable for Muller’s specific scholarly interests, and specific personal circumstances that affected the choice in ways no individual scholar fully controls. Different situational factors would have produced different institutional placement. Muller’s specific outcome reflects the specific factors that operated when he was making career decisions.
This is recognition that individual choice operates within situational constraints that substantially shape what choices are available. Muller chose Catholic University from among the options he actually had. Different options would have produced different choices. Other scholars with similar values and similar work might have ended up at different institutions because different situational factors operated for them.
Doris’s framework matters because it prevents romanticizing of the Catholic University position. Muller’s career has had specific costs and specific benefits that flowed from the institutional placement. The benefits include intellectual independence, freedom from specific institutional pressures that operate at elite universities, ability to write for general audiences without facing penalties from specialist colleagues, and capacity to develop wide-ranging scholarly interests rather than narrow specialization. The costs include reduced institutional support for sustained research, smaller graduate program limiting his role in training subsequent generations of historians, less access to specific funding networks, and reduced presence in specific scholarly conversations that occur primarily within elite institutional contexts.
Both the benefits and the costs are situational. They reflect what Catholic University specifically provided and specifically constrained rather than expressing some essential character of Muller’s scholarly identity. A different scholar at the same institution would have experienced different combination of benefits and costs based on the different situational factors operating for that scholar.
Doris on Muller’s sustained productivity. Muller has produced substantial body of work across decades despite operating without the institutional support that elite university positions typically provide. The productivity is sometimes explained through character: Muller has discipline, focus, intellectual curiosity, and commitment that produced sustained work. Doris’s framework suggests examining the situational factors that supported the productivity beyond character explanations.
Specific situational factors that supported Muller’s sustained productivity include: stable employment at Catholic University across decades that provided baseline economic security, family situation that supported the demanding work of book production, specific scholarly networks that provided intellectual community and feedback, specific publishing relationships that produced ongoing book opportunities, specific fellowships at various points that supported extended writing periods, and specific historical conjuncture that produced ongoing audience interest in Muller’s specific scholarly questions.
Each factor matters. Removing any one would have affected the sustained productivity. Without stable employment, Muller could not have committed to long-term book projects. Without family support, the demanding work could not have proceeded. Without scholarly networks, the work would have lacked feedback that improved it. Without publishing relationships, completed work might not have reached audiences. Without specific fellowships, certain books would have been delayed or never written. Without audience interest, continued production would have lacked motivation.
The combination of factors is specific to Muller’s career. Different combinations would have produced different productivity patterns. Other scholars with similar character but different situational support have produced different bodies of work. The situational factors are not interchangeable. Specific factors enabled specific work.
Doris’s framework identifies this as how human productivity operates. Sustained scholarly productivity requires sustained situational support. Character matters but operates within situational constraints. Romanticizing character at the expense of situational factors produces inaccurate accounts of what enables scholarly accomplishment.
The combined framework on Muller’s specific contributions. Mercier and Doris together illuminate features of Muller’s contributions that previous applications of Pinsof and Turner identified but did not fully explain.
Pinsof’s analysis identified Muller’s coalition position outside the dominant academic prestige circuits. Turner’s analysis identified Muller’s resistance to specific tacit knowledge transmissions that elite institutional formation produces. The combined Mercier and Doris analysis adds: Muller’s specific work passes vigilance for specific audiences whose priors align with his methodological tradition, his sustained productivity required specific situational support beyond his individual character, his institutional position produced specific benefits and costs that flowed from situational factors rather than expressing essential character, and his career trajectory follows specific pattern that other scholars with similar combinations of factors have followed.
The combined framework treats Muller’s accomplishments as genuine while clarifying the structural conditions that made them possible. The conditions include both his individual capacities and the specific situational support that allowed those capacities to produce sustained work. Different conditions would have produced different work or different individual scholar. Muller’s specific work reflects specific combination of capacities and conditions.
The specific case of Capitalism and the Jews. The book illustrates how Mercier and Doris together apply to specific Muller works. The book engages controversial material with sustained scholarly care. It documents specific historical patterns of Jewish economic activity and explains why these patterns developed. It addresses the antisemitic uses of similar material directly. It maintains careful historical context that prevents the material from supporting either antisemitic or philosemitic simplifications.
Mercier’s framework identifies why the book passes vigilance for specific audiences. Readers whose priors include commitment to careful historical scholarship find the book meets their evaluative criteria. Readers whose priors include awareness of antisemitic uses of similar material find the book’s careful contextualization addresses their concerns. Readers whose priors include interest in Jewish history find the substantive engagement with Jewish economic experience valuable. The combination of features lets the book reach audiences with different specific interests through shared methodological commitments.
The framework also identifies why the book reaches specific audiences rather than broader audiences. Readers whose priors strongly oppose any sustained engagement with Jewish economic distinctiveness find the book uncomfortable regardless of its careful contextualization. Readers whose priors require strong defenses of specific Jewish economic patterns find the acknowledgment of historical realities insufficient. Readers whose priors include indifference to historical scholarship generally find the work unappealing because they do not value the methodological tradition the work operates within.
Doris’s framework identifies the situational factors that allowed the book to be produced. Catholic University provided institutional context where the book could be written without facing the specific pressures that elite university positions sometimes generate. Muller’s specific scholarly networks provided feedback that improved the book. Specific publishers were willing to publish a book on this subject by an author with Muller’s track record. Specific reviewers engaged the book seriously when it appeared. Each situational factor mattered for the book’s actual production and reception.
Without the specific combination of factors, the book would not exist in its current form. A different scholar in different institutional context might have produced different book on similar material. A different scholar with similar abilities but different situational support might have produced no book at all. Muller’s specific book emerged from specific conditions that supported its production.
The combined framework on Muller’s mainstream invisibility. Muller is well-known within specific scholarly and intellectual communities. He is largely unknown to broader publics that consume mainstream cultural commentary. The asymmetry has specific features worth examining through the combined framework.
Mercier’s framework identifies why mainstream cultural commentary does not engage Muller. The commentary operates through specific evaluative criteria that include specific kinds of contemporary relevance, specific kinds of accessible argumentation, specific kinds of public engagement that Muller’s work does not pursue. Muller writes books that require sustained engagement with complex material. Mainstream cultural commentary requires shorter engagement with simpler material. The mismatch is methodological rather than evaluative. Mainstream commentators could engage Muller’s work but would need to translate it into formats that lose specific features that make the work valuable to its actual audience.
Doris’s framework identifies why Muller’s career did not include sustained pursuit of mainstream visibility. Specific situational factors did not push Muller toward mainstream venues that other scholars pursue. Catholic University did not pressure faculty toward public visibility the way some institutions pressure faculty. Muller’s specific publishers did not require mainstream marketing campaigns. Muller’s specific scholarly networks did not include mainstream cultural commentators who would have brought his work into broader visibility. The absence of pushing combined with Muller’s specific scholarly inclinations produced career trajectory that maintained specific scholarly visibility without pursuing broader cultural visibility.
This produces specific value for the populations that engage Muller’s work. Readers find a scholar whose work has not been simplified for mainstream consumption. The unsimplified work provides resources that simplified versions cannot provide. The resources are valuable specifically because they have not been transformed by mainstream cultural visibility.
The arrangement has costs. Muller’s specific contributions to thinking about capitalism, Jewish history, conservatism, and quantification have not entered mainstream cultural discussion at the levels they might warrant. Mainstream discussion of these topics often proceeds through simpler frameworks that Muller’s work would complicate productively. The cost is borne by mainstream discussion rather than by Muller. He continues writing for his actual audience. The audience continues finding his work valuable. Mainstream discussion continues operating without Muller’s contributions in ways that leave the discussion poorer than it could be.
The specific case of The Tyranny of Metrics. This book reached broader audiences than Muller’s other work. The success illustrates specific features of how the combined framework applies to Muller’s career.
Mercier’s framework identifies why this book reached broader audiences. The book addresses specific contemporary phenomenon (the proliferation of metrics across institutional life) that affects substantial populations directly. Readers across various institutional positions experience the metrics phenomenon and seek frameworks for understanding it. The book provides such framework in accessible prose that does not require specialized background. The specific topic and accessible presentation produced wider audience than Muller’s other work typically reaches.
Doris’s framework identifies the situational factors that produced the book’s broader reach. Princeton University Press positioned the book for general audience marketing in ways some of Muller’s other books had not been positioned. Specific reviewers engaged the book in mainstream venues that had not engaged Muller’s other books. The contemporary moment when the book appeared (2018) included specific institutional concerns about metrics that produced increased interest in critical analysis of the phenomenon. The combination of situational factors produced broader reach than Muller’s other works achieved.
The book’s broader success did not transform Muller into mainstream cultural figure. He continued writing for his actual audience. The book reached broader audience for specific reasons connected to its specific topic and publishing situation. Subsequent work on different topics did not reach equivalent broader audience because the specific factors that produced Tyranny of Metrics’s reach did not operate for the subsequent work.
Professor of Apocalypse: The Many Lives of Jacob Taubes (2022) addresses a specific Jewish intellectual whose career operated through specific charismatic relationships within twentieth-century intellectual life. Muller’s engagement with Taubes provides specific opportunity for the combined framework to identify features of Muller’s broader scholarly project.
Taubes’s career operated through specific charismatic relationships with major figures including Carl Schmitt, Leo Strauss, Hannah Arendt, Susan Sontag, and various others. The relationships involved specific kinds of intellectual seduction that bypassed the methodological vigilance Mercier’s framework would predict. Taubes generated specific kinds of intellectual excitement in his interlocutors that produced collaborative work and sustained engagement despite his specific personal difficulties and his unreliable scholarly methodology.
Muller’s biography engages this charismatic dimension carefully. The book documents both the substantive intellectual contributions Taubes made and the specific personal pathologies that affected his work and relationships. The combination requires specific scholarly delicacy that Muller’s methodological tradition is well-positioned to provide. The book treats Taubes seriously as intellectual figure while not romanticizing the personal pathologies that affected his work.
Mercier’s framework identifies that Taubes operated as charismatic communicator who generated intellectual excitement that bypassed standard vigilance operations. Doris’s framework identifies that Taubes’s career involved specific situational opportunities (intellectual networks, institutional positions, historical moments) that enabled the charismatic operation. Muller’s biography traces both dimensions carefully without simplifying either. The careful tracing produces work that serves specific audiences interested in twentieth-century Jewish intellectual life while not pretending to provide simple lessons that more accessible biographical work might pretend to provide.
Becker’s framework identifies hero systems as the cultural structures through which individuals achieve symbolic immortality. The systems specify what counts as heroic achievement and what activities qualify the individual for the system’s promised significance. Muller operates within specific hero system that organizes his choices and produces his particular scholarly career.
Muller’s central hero system provides significance through sustained defense of judgment against the various systems that threaten to displace it. The systems include ideological systems that subordinate individual cases to predetermined conclusions, quantitative systems that subordinate qualitative assessment to measurable proxies, professional systems that reward narrow specialization at the expense of broader synthetic understanding, and political systems that demand allegiance over careful analysis.
The hero in this system is the historian whose work consistently demonstrates that complex historical phenomena resist the simplifications systems impose. The historian’s significance derives from sustained capacity to engage material with care that systems do not permit. The system rewards specific qualities: patience with complexity, refusal to force conclusions, attention to context, willingness to acknowledge tension within positions the historian sympathizes with, and capacity to maintain critical distance from material that lesser scholars would either celebrate or denounce.
Muller’s body of work consistently embodies this hero system. The Other God That Failed engages Hans Freyer’s intellectual trajectory without either rehabilitating him or reducing him to his Nazi associations. Adam Smith in His Time and Ours presents Smith as more complex than the libertarian and progressive simplifications that contemporary debates produce. Conservatism presents conservative thought as varied tradition with internal tensions rather than as coherent worldview that could be straightforwardly endorsed or rejected. Capitalism and the Jews engages the specific historical relationship without reducing it to either antisemitic or philosemitic framings. The Tyranny of Metrics critiques metrics while acknowledging where they produce genuine value. Professor of Apocalypse presents Taubes’s specific contradictions without smoothing them into coherent narrative.
Each book operates within Muller’s hero system. The books refuse the simplifications that would make them more accessible to broader audiences. The refusal is not strategic positioning. It is genuine commitment to the kind of historical work the hero system identifies as significant. Muller’s audience recognizes the commitment and rewards it through sustained readership across decades.
The specific intellectual lineage. Muller’s hero system includes specific exemplars whose work provides templates for what the system rewards. The exemplars include Isaiah Berlin, Albert Hirschman, Karl Mannheim, J.G.A. Pocock, Quentin Skinner, and various other intellectual historians whose work shares specific commitments. Muller’s work positions itself within this lineage rather than within alternative scholarly traditions that operate through different hero systems.
The lineage matters specifically. Berlin produced sustained work on liberty and pluralism that resisted the systematic philosophy his contemporaries pursued. Hirschman wrote about economic and political phenomena through perspectives that crossed disciplinary boundaries while maintaining careful attention to historical specificity. Mannheim engaged the sociology of knowledge through methodology that resisted the totalizing claims of various ideological traditions. The figures share specific commitment to engaging complex material through careful analysis rather than through ideological systems.
Muller absorbs this lineage and continues it. His specific topics differ from his predecessors’ specific topics. His specific methodology differs in specific ways from each predecessor’s specific methodology. The shared commitment to judgment-against-system unites the work despite the specific differences. Muller’s hero system makes him heir to the lineage rather than merely scholar working in adjacent territory.
Muller’s career at Catholic University of America operates within specific aspect of his hero system. The placement is sometimes treated as costly choice that demonstrates Muller’s principled refusal of prestige. The hero system framework permits more accurate description.
Muller’s hero system requires specific institutional position that supports the kind of work the system identifies as significant. Elite universities operate through specific institutional pressures that often discourage the synthetic broad work Muller’s hero system rewards. Specialization pressures, publication requirements that favor narrow articles over major books, departmental politics that punish work crossing disciplinary boundaries, and various other specific institutional features create conditions where Muller’s specific scholarly project would face sustained obstacles.
Catholic University provided different institutional context. The university’s specific institutional features supported Muller’s work in specific ways. The Catholic intellectual tradition has historic commitment to engaging broad questions across disciplines that contemporary secular universities have largely abandoned. The university’s lower prestige meant fewer pressures to perform specific kinds of careerist activities that elite institutions demand. The specific position permitted Muller to develop his work according to his own evaluative criteria rather than according to external pressures.
This is not exactly heroic sacrifice. It is specific institutional alignment between Muller’s hero system and Catholic University’s institutional features. Muller’s hero system required specific institutional support that elite universities would not have provided. Catholic University provided the support. The match permitted the specific career that Muller has produced. Without the match, the career would have looked different or would not have happened.
Muller did not sacrifice prestige for principle in some general moral sense. He found institutional position that supported the specific hero system he operated within. The position had specific costs (reduced visibility, smaller graduate program, less access to specific funding networks). The position also had specific benefits (intellectual independence, freedom to pursue synthetic work, ability to write for general audiences). The benefits and costs reflected specific institutional features rather than expressing some general moral choice.
Muller’s hero system includes specific Jewish dimension that operates alongside but distinct from his historical methodology. He grew up in observant Jewish family, studied at Hebrew University, and has maintained sustained engagement with modern Jewish history and thought throughout his career. Capitalism and the Jews represents specifically the Jewish dimension of his work most directly.
Modern Jewish intellectual life has produced specific tradition of judgment-against-system thinking that emerged from the specific historical circumstances of Jewish modernity. The tradition includes figures like Hannah Arendt, Leo Strauss, Isaiah Berlin himself, and various others whose work engaged the systematic ideologies that produced specific catastrophes for Jewish populations in the twentieth century. The tradition treats systems with specific suspicion that flows from historical experience rather than from abstract methodological commitment.
Muller operates within this specifically Jewish version of the broader hero system. His work engages systems with specific awareness of what systems have produced for Jewish populations. The awareness shapes the specific quality of his judgment-against-system work. He is not generically suspicious of systems. He is specifically suspicious of systems in ways that reflect Jewish historical experience with the consequences of systems pursued without sufficient attention to what they actually produce for the populations subjected to them.
The Jewish dimension also produces specific obligations within the hero system. Muller’s hero system includes commitment to engaging Jewish intellectual life with specific care that the broader hero system would not require by itself. Capitalism and the Jews exists because Muller’s hero system required engagement with this specific material. Professor of Apocalypse similarly emerged from his hero system’s commitment to engaging specific Jewish intellectual figures whose work and lives illuminate broader questions about modern Jewish experience.
His conservatism is not the populist conservatism that dominates contemporary American conservative politics. It is intellectual conservatism that draws on Burke, Tocqueville, Hayek, and various other figures whose work emphasizes the specific value of historically developed institutions and traditions against the simplifying ambitions of progressive ideology. The intellectual tradition has specific resources that align with Muller’s broader hero system. Both share commitment to complexity, to historical specificity, and to resistance against systems that promise comprehensive solutions.
The conservatism permits Muller to engage capitalism with sympathy that progressive scholarship typically does not provide. Adam Smith in His Time and Ours and The Mind and the Market engage capitalism’s defenders seriously rather than treating them as ideological cover for material exploitation. The engagement is not ideological. It reflects Muller’s hero system’s commitment to engaging positions through their internal logic rather than through hostile external framings.
The conservatism also produces specific limits on Muller’s work. Some readers expect conservative scholarship to defend specific contemporary conservative positions. Muller’s hero system does not permit this kind of work. His conservatism is intellectual rather than political in the contemporary sense. Readers seeking validation of contemporary Republican positions or contemporary conservative cultural commitments find Muller insufficiently aligned with their priorities. The insufficiency is not failure. It reflects what Muller’s hero system permits him to produce.
Muller’s hero system produces work for specific audience whose priors align with the system’s commitments. The audience includes intellectual historians who work within the lineage Muller continues, conservative intellectuals who value careful engagement over partisan advocacy, Jewish intellectuals interested in modern Jewish experience, business school faculty interested in capitalism’s intellectual history, and educated general readers who want sustained engagement with complex material.
The audience is small relative to American population generally. The audience is institutionally significant because its members occupy positions where their evaluations affect how Muller’s work circulates further. Members of the audience teach courses where they assign Muller’s books. They write reviews and commentary that bring Muller’s work to other readers. They occupy editorial positions where they can solicit further work from Muller. The audience’s institutional positions amplify Muller’s reach beyond what direct readership numbers would suggest.
The hero system requires this specific audience to function. Without readers who value what the hero system rewards, the system would not provide the significance it promises. Muller’s continued productivity depends on continued audience response. The response sustains both his motivation and the practical conditions (publishing opportunities, fellowship support, professional networks) that permit continued work.
Muller’s hero system provides specific psychological economy that organizes his career. The economy operates through specific exchanges. He exchanges mainstream cultural visibility for specific scholarly recognition. He exchanges narrow specialization for synthetic engagement across multiple topics. He exchanges contemporary partisan engagement for sustained historical perspective. He exchanges immediate institutional rewards for long-term contribution to specific scholarly tradition.
The exchanges are not sacrifices in any straightforward sense. They produce the specific significance the hero system promises. Mainstream cultural visibility would have required producing different work that the hero system would not recognize as significant. Narrow specialization would have produced work that satisfied specific institutional criteria but failed the hero system’s broader commitments. Contemporary partisan engagement would have compromised the analytical distance the hero system requires. The exchanges produce specific career that the hero system makes meaningful.
The psychological economy works specifically because Muller actually inhabits the hero system rather than performing it strategically. His work would not have its specific quality if he were merely positioning for specific audience effects. The work emerges from actual commitment to the values the hero system represents. The actual commitment produces work that meets the system’s standards in ways that strategic positioning could not produce.
Several specific resources sustain Muller’s hero system. The intellectual lineage provides templates and exemplars. The scholarly audience provides recognition that confirms the system’s significance. Catholic University provided institutional support that permitted the work. Specific publishers (Princeton University Press, Knopf, Oxford University Press, and others) provided ongoing book opportunities. The fellowship infrastructure (Olin Foundation, Bradley Foundation, Rockefeller Foundation Bellagio Center, American Academy in Berlin, American Council of Learned Societies) provided extended writing time. Each resource matters for sustaining the system across the career.
The system depends on continued audience for the kind of work Muller produces. The audience faces specific demographic and institutional pressures. Younger generations within the audience’s traditional populations may not reproduce the specific scholarly priors that align with Muller’s methodology. The publishing industry that has supported sustained book-length scholarship faces specific pressures that may reduce future opportunities for work in Muller’s mode. The fellowship infrastructure that has supported extended writing periods faces specific pressures that may reduce future support.
The system depends on continued institutional support for intellectual conservatism that operates in Muller’s mode. Contemporary conservative politics has moved substantially toward populist commitments that have specific tensions with the intellectual tradition Muller represents. Conservative funding networks may increasingly support different kinds of work than the work Muller’s hero system produces. Conservative institutions may increasingly emphasize different kinds of intellectual production than the kinds Muller has produced.
Increasing specialization within academic fields produces specific pressures against the kind of broad synthetic work Muller’s hero system rewards. Younger scholars hoping to follow Muller’s pattern face institutional pressures that may not permit equivalent work even with equivalent individual capacities.
Muller retired from Catholic University in 2020. He continues writing and lecturing but no longer holds institutional position equivalent to what he held during his active career. The retirement matters for the hero system in specific ways.
Retirement removes some of this support while permitting continued operation through other resources. Muller’s specific retirement has been productive. He continues producing work, lecturing, and engaging audiences through various venues. His position as Visiting Scholar in Residence at the Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs since 2020 provides specific institutional context for continued work on Jewish intellectual topics. The Taubes biography appeared after his retirement. Subsequent work continues to emerge.
Muller is moving from active practitioner toward elder figure within the lineage. The transition has specific features within Becker’s framework. Elder figures provide templates for younger scholars. Their continued work serves specific function in transmitting the hero system across generations. Their reduced institutional involvement permits specific kinds of work that active institutional position would not permit.
How successful the transmission proves depends on whether younger scholars within the hero system find institutional positions that permit equivalent work. The institutional conditions that supported Muller’s career may not support equivalent careers for subsequent generations. The hero system may continue producing specific work through specific individuals while losing institutional capacity to reproduce itself at scale.
Muller writes intellectual history through methods that maintain analytical distance from the figures and movements he studies. He documents what they thought, places their thought in historical context, examines tensions within their positions, and traces influences across periods. The methodology resembles what Charles Taylor would identify as thoroughly buffered scholarly approach. The historian operates as detached observer who can examine various phenomena without being personally implicated in them.
The methodology has specific virtues that account for Muller’s audience. Readers find his treatment of capitalism, conservatism, Jewish economic history, metrics, and various other topics more reliable than treatments that operate through stronger commitments. His work on Hans Freyer engages a figure whose ideas connected to Nazi catastrophe without either rehabilitating Freyer or reducing him to his political failures. His work on conservatism presents the tradition through internal resources rather than through external celebration or condemnation. His work on capitalism engages the tradition’s defenders seriously without becoming polemicist for capitalism. The buffered methodology permits this kind of engagement.
The methodology also has specific costs that the framework can identify. Buffered methodology systematically brackets the porous dimensions of what it studies. Religious traditions operating through porous engagement with what believers experience as actual divine presence become objects of historical analysis rather than living realities. Political traditions operating through porous attachment to specific peoples and places become subjects of intellectual history rather than substantive commitments that organize political community. Economic activities operating through porous engagement with vocation, calling, and meaning become topics of analytical study rather than features of human life that exceed economic theory.
The bracketing is not denial. Muller presumably knows that the phenomena have porous dimensions. The methodology requires bracketing them to focus on what buffered analysis can capture. The bracketing produces specific kind of intellectual history that has specific value while excluding specific dimensions that other methodologies could engage.
The Smith engagement made specific. Muller’s Adam Smith in His Time and Ours illustrates how the buffered methodology operates on specific subject matter. Smith wrote within specifically porous Scottish Enlightenment context that combined moral philosophy with active engagement in the substantive moral and political life of his community. Smith was not merely producing analytical economics. He was thinking about how human beings should live within communities that operated through specific moral and religious commitments. The substantive commitments were not optional context for his economic thought. They were constitutive of what his economic thought was for.
Muller’s treatment engages Smith’s actual writings carefully. The treatment attends to Smith’s moral philosophy alongside his economics. The treatment acknowledges that Smith’s economic analysis emerged from broader thinking about virtue, sympathy, and the conditions for human flourishing. The treatment is more careful than treatments that reduce Smith to free-market economist or to communitarian critic of commercial society.
The treatment nonetheless operates through buffered methodology. Smith’s specific religious commitments, his actual relationship to his Presbyterian formation, his lived engagement with the substantive moral life of his community all appear as biographical context rather than as substantive features that the analysis must engage on their own terms. Muller’s Smith is intellectually serious figure whose work deserves careful analysis. Smith’s lived participation in porous moral and religious community that gave his work its specific shape receives less attention than the analytical content of his published writings.
This is what buffered intellectual history typically does. The methodology engages texts as objects of analysis rather than as products of substantive lives that have their own integrity beyond what texts capture. The engagement produces specific analytical insights while bracketing specific dimensions that more porous methodology could engage.
The Capitalism and the Jews case. Muller’s Capitalism and the Jews engages specifically Jewish economic history. The subject matter involves substantially porous dimensions that the buffered methodology brackets in specific ways.
Jewish economic activity across the modern period operated within communities that maintained specifically porous engagement with their tradition. Jewish merchants in early modern Europe operated within communities organized around halakhic practice, communal institutions, religious commitments, and substantive engagement with what believers experienced as actual covenant with God. The economic activity emerged within these communities and was shaped by them in specific ways. The communities were not optional context for the economic activity. They were constitutive of what made specific kinds of activity possible and meaningful for the people engaged in them.
Muller’s treatment documents specific historical patterns of Jewish economic activity. The treatment examines why specific patterns developed in specific times and places. The treatment addresses antisemitic uses of similar material directly and provides careful contextualization that prevents the material from supporting either antisemitic or philosemitic simplification. The treatment is scholarly accomplishment within buffered methodology.
The treatment systematically brackets the porous dimensions of Jewish economic life. The communities within which the economic activity occurred receive treatment as historical context rather than as substantive realities that the analysis must engage on their own terms. The religious commitments that shaped what specific economic activities meant to participants receive treatment as background rather than as constitutive features. The specifically Jewish character of the economic activity emerges as historical phenomenon to be explained rather than as living reality that continues to operate in contemporary Jewish communities.
This is not failure on Muller’s part. The buffered methodology accomplishes specific things that more porous methodology would not accomplish. The methodology produces work that mainstream academic readers can engage productively. The methodology produces work that does not require readers to share Jewish religious commitments to find the work valuable. The methodology produces work that contributes to general historical scholarship rather than only to specifically Jewish scholarship.
The methodology also produces specific limits. Readers who want engagement with Jewish economic life as substantive feature of ongoing Jewish community find Muller’s work less useful than work operating through different methodology. Orthodox Jewish readers seeking to understand their own economic tradition through methodology that takes the tradition’s substantive commitments seriously find Muller insufficient to that purpose. The work serves specific audience that wants buffered historical analysis. It does not serve audiences that want more porous engagement with the same material.
The Catholic University placement reconsidered. Muller’s career at Catholic University of America operates within specific institutional context that has its own buffered-porous dynamics. Catholic University maintains formal Catholic identity while operating substantially through buffered methodology in most academic departments. The combination produces specific institutional culture that differs from both fully buffered secular universities and fully porous religious institutions.
The placement matters for understanding what buffered methodology Muller’s work permits him to do. Catholic University as institution maintains formal connection to substantively porous tradition. Faculty operate within institution that does not require them to adopt the porous tradition’s commitments but does provide context that differs from thoroughly buffered secular universities. The institutional context permitted Muller specific kinds of work that fully buffered institutions might have constrained.
The institutional context did not require Muller to operate through porous methodology. He could maintain buffered methodology while teaching at Catholic University. The institution supported his work through providing employment, sabbaticals, and other practical conditions for sustained scholarship. The support did not depend on Muller adopting the institution’s substantive religious commitments.
This is specific feature of Catholic University as institution that the framework can identify. The institution operates as specifically buffered Catholic university rather than as either fully buffered secular university or fully porous religious institution. The buffered Catholic identity provides specific institutional space that maintains some connection to porous tradition while permitting buffered scholarly methodology to operate within the connection.
Muller benefited from this institutional space. His specific career required institutional context that supported buffered methodology while not pressuring faculty toward the various ideological commitments that contemporary thoroughly secular universities sometimes pressure faculty toward. Catholic University provided the specific combination. Different institutional context would have produced different career.
The Jewish identity dimension. Muller is observant Jewish scholar who has maintained substantial engagement with Jewish tradition throughout his career. The Jewish identity operates alongside his buffered methodology in specific ways that the framework can clarify.
His personal Jewish life presumably operates through substantially porous engagement with the tradition. Synagogue attendance, observance of Jewish holidays, engagement with Jewish texts within communal context, marriage and family life within Jewish framework all involve substantive porous engagement with what observant Jews experience as actual covenant with God and as actual participation in continuing Jewish people. The personal life is not buffered analytical engagement with Jewish tradition. It is substantive participation in the tradition’s continuing operation.
His scholarly work on Jewish topics operates through buffered methodology that brackets the porous dimensions of his personal Jewish life. The work treats Jewish history, Jewish economic experience, and Jewish intellectual figures through analytical methods that do not require either the writer or readers to share Jewish religious commitments. The methodology lets the work reach audiences that thoroughly porous Jewish scholarship would not reach.
The combination of personal porous engagement and scholarly buffered methodology operates within specific historical pattern of modern Jewish intellectual life. Many modern Jewish scholars have maintained both dimensions. The combination has produced substantial body of scholarly work that engages Jewish topics through methodology that mainstream academic audiences can engage productively. Figures like Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi, Gershom Scholem, and various others operated through similar combinations in specific ways.
The combination has specific costs that the framework can identify. Muller’s scholarly engagement with Jewish topics cannot fully convey the substantive features of Jewish life that his personal engagement with the tradition involves. Readers who want to understand what observant Jewish life is for those who live it must look elsewhere. Muller’s work provides specific scholarly resources that operate alongside but do not substitute for engagement with the substantive tradition itself.
The Taubes biography revisited. Professor of Apocalypse: The Many Lives of Jacob Taubes engages specifically a figure whose career operated through specific kind of porous intensity that produced specific intellectual effects. Taubes generated charismatic relationships with major intellectual figures through engagement that bypassed standard buffered scholarly evaluation.
Muller’s biography engages Taubes through buffered methodology. The biography documents the specific facts of Taubes’s career, examines the specific relationships, and analyzes the specific intellectual contributions. The methodology produces careful biographical work that the standard biography genre rewards.
The methodology cannot quite capture what Taubes was doing for the people whose lives he affected. Carl Schmitt, Leo Strauss, Hannah Arendt, Susan Sontag, and various other figures who engaged Taubes substantially experienced something that Muller’s buffered analysis cannot fully convey. The experience involved specifically porous engagement with what Taubes seemed to provide. The seeming was real for those who experienced it. The substantive content of what Taubes provided is harder to specify than buffered biographical methodology can capture.
Muller acknowledges this limitation in specific ways throughout the biography. He documents the testimony of people who knew Taubes about what their engagement with him involved. The testimony itself operates through more porous register than Muller’s analytical framing of the testimony permits. Readers who want to understand what Taubes actually did for the people his work affected must read between the lines of Muller’s careful analytical presentation.
The combination produces work that has specific value while operating within specific limits. The work documents what can be documented through buffered methodology. The work identifies that something else was happening that the methodology cannot fully capture. Different methodology could have produced different biography that engaged the porous dimensions more directly. Muller’s specific biography produces what his methodology permits and acknowledges where the methodology cannot reach.
The Conservatism case. Muller’s Conservatism: An Anthology of Social and Political Thought from David Hume to the Present presents conservative tradition through internal resources rather than through external celebration or condemnation. The work contains substantial selections from major conservative thinkers along with Muller’s analytical framing.
The presentation operates through buffered methodology. Muller treats conservative tradition as object of scholarly analysis rather than as living tradition that operates through substantive commitments. The treatment lets readers from various political positions engage the material productively. Progressive readers can read the volume and understand what conservative thinkers actually argued without having to share the conservative commitments. Conservative readers can find substantive engagement with their tradition that is more careful than partisan presentations typically provide.
The methodology systematically brackets specific features of how conservative tradition actually operates for committed conservatives. Burke’s substantive engagement with the specific historical English political community that he saw threatened by French revolutionary ideology becomes analytical category rather than substantive commitment. Tocqueville’s substantive engagement with the specific question of what American democracy might become as it developed receives treatment as historical analysis rather than as engaged participation in shaping that development. The substantive commitments that motivated specific conservative thinkers receive treatment as historical context rather than as living commitments that continue to operate for contemporary conservatives.
This is what buffered methodology produces when applied to porous traditions. The methodology preserves the texts while bracketing the substantive commitments that gave the texts their original force. The preserved texts can be analyzed productively. The substantive commitments require engagement that buffered methodology cannot quite provide.
Conservatives who want substantive engagement with their tradition often supplement Muller’s volume with other resources that operate through more porous methodology. Russell Kirk’s earlier work on conservative tradition operated through substantively conservative methodology that engaged the tradition as living commitment rather than as object of analysis. Subsequent conservative writers like Yuval Levin operate through methodology that combines buffered analytical care with substantive conservative commitment in ways that Muller’s purely buffered methodology does not pursue. The combination of resources lets contemporary conservatives engage their tradition through multiple methodologies that complement each other.
What Muller’s specific buffered methodology produces. The methodology produces work that crosses ideological boundaries in ways that more partisan work cannot cross. Progressive readers, conservative readers, libertarian readers, religious readers can engage Muller’s work productively because the buffered methodology does not require shared substantive commitments. The work serves bridge function within American intellectual life that more committed work cannot serve.
The methodology produces work that withstands sustained scrutiny. The careful methodology that brackets substantive commitments produces analysis that does not collapse when readers from various positions probe its arguments. Less careful methodology that smuggled substantive commitments would face specific objections from readers whose commitments differed. Muller’s methodology mostly avoids these objections because the methodology systematically refuses to make the substantive commitments other methodologies make implicitly.
The methodology produces specific kind of cultural resource that buffered American intellectual life requires to continue operating. The intellectual life depends on works that various populations can engage despite their substantive disagreements. Muller’s body of work provides such resources for several specific topics. The provision matters for what American intellectual life can continue accomplishing despite increasing polarization.
The methodology cannot generate the substantive commitments that the topics it studies require for full engagement. Muller’s work on capitalism does not produce the substantive commitments that would let readers actually engage capitalism through the porous registers that capitalism’s defenders and critics actually inhabit. The work analyzes the registers from outside without entering them.
The methodology cannot serve audiences that want substantive engagement on substantive terms. Catholic readers wanting to understand their tradition through Catholic methodology must look elsewhere. Orthodox Jewish readers wanting to understand their tradition through Orthodox methodology must look elsewhere. Conservatives wanting substantive engagement with their tradition through conservative methodology must look elsewhere. Each population finds Muller’s work valuable as supplement to their substantive engagement but not as substitute for it.
Stephen Turner’s work on tacit knowledge and expertise is the most sustained critique available of the Polanyi tradition Muller draws on. Apply it to The Tyranny of Metrics and the book holds up at one level and breaks down at another. The political diagnosis stays. The epistemological foundation does not.
Muller’s argument runs as follows. Modern institutions try to capture professional performance in numbers. The numbers miss what the professional does. Surgeons, teachers, and police officers possess tacit knowledge that resists articulation. Apprenticeship transmits this knowledge across generations. Metrics distort the practices they measure because they cannot reach what makes the practices work. Polanyi and Hayek supply the theoretical grounding. The damage to medicine, education, and policing supplies the empirical evidence.
Turner’s challenge starts with the category. Tacit knowledge is unfalsifiable by construction. The defining feature of the category, knowledge that resists articulation, is the same feature that makes it impossible to verify whether anyone has the knowledge or merely claims to have it. The surgeon who claims tacit feel for the patient might have it. The surgeon might also be confabulating. Inside the Polanyi frame, there is no procedure for telling these cases apart. Turner has spent decades pointing this out. The category permits anyone to claim epistemic authority by gesturing at what cannot be checked.
This bites hardest where Muller wants the argument to do the most work. When Muller says metric regimes destroy something real, he depends on the realness of what they destroy. If the tacit knowledge is genuine, the damage is genuine. If the tacit knowledge is the practitioner’s self-flattering account of what they do, the damage is to the practitioner’s status rather than to anything the public should care about. The book treats the first interpretation as obvious. Turner might press the second.
Turner’s second move is to ask what shared practice means. Muller writes as if the medical profession has shared tacit knowledge that apprenticeship transmits. Turner asks: what is the evidence for sharing? Practitioners vary enormously. Some surgeons are excellent and some are dangerous. Some teachers reach struggling students and some do not. Some officers de-escalate and some escalate. The variation is the central fact of professional life. The shared-practice abstraction covers it over. When Muller says metrics threaten what professionals know in common, he invokes a commonality the variation refutes. Whatever is being defended cannot be the shared knowledge of the profession because the profession does not share much. It might be the ceiling of best practice within the profession. It might be the self-image of the profession. It might be the discretion that the most skilled practitioners need and the least skilled abuse. These are different things and they call for different responses.
Turner’s third move is political. Tacit-knowledge claims do work in the world. They extract autonomy from external review. They legitimate professional self-regulation. They resist accountability arrangements the wider society has good reason to want. Turner is interested in how liberal democracies handle expert authority, and he notes the recurring pattern: experts claim knowledge that lay citizens cannot evaluate, citizens grant authority on the basis of the claim, the experts then govern themselves. The claim of tacit knowledge is structurally similar to claims of charismatic authority. The expert has access to something the critic does not. This is the rhetorical engine of professional autonomy. Muller imports the engine without examining how it runs.
The metric movement Muller opposes has its own bad features. Numbers do distort. Gaming does happen. Audit regimes do degrade some forms of skilled practice. Turner can grant all of this. The grant does not require accepting Muller’s epistemology. Metrics may be bad accountability without tacit knowledge being a coherent alternative. The choice is not between metric tyranny and the restoration of practitioner judgment. The choice is among several flawed accountability arrangements, each with costs the others highlight. Muller writes as if returning judgment to the professional offers a clear improvement. Turner asks what might justify the return.
Here Turner’s question takes sharper form. If the surgeon’s tacit knowledge cannot be articulated, how does the hospital know which surgeons to hire? How does the medical school know which residents to graduate? How do patients choose? Some answers must be available, and the answers all use some kind of articulable evidence. Outcome data. Peer review. Reputation. Apprenticeship hierarchy. None of these is pure tacit knowledge. Each is a partial articulation. The position that says metrics fail because the underlying knowledge is tacit cannot also say experienced practitioners can identify good surgeons. If the second is right, the underlying knowledge is articulable enough to be transmitted through evaluation. If only the first is right, no one can identify good surgeons, including other surgeons. Muller wants both at once.
This is the deepest tension in The Tyranny of Metrics. The book wants tacit knowledge to be inarticulable when defending professionals from external review and articulable when professionals review one another. Turner’s critique forces the choice. Either the knowledge can be evaluated by someone or it cannot. If it can be evaluated, the evaluation might also be done by metric designers, clumsily perhaps, but not in principle differently from the evaluation done by senior surgeons. If it cannot be evaluated by anyone, the profession has no internal quality control either, and the whole defense collapses.
The Turner reading does not destroy Muller’s book. The political diagnosis still holds. Metric regimes do extract value from practitioner work. Audit classes do gain at the expense of the audited. The damage is real. What the Turner reading destroys is the epistemological claim that practitioners have a kind of knowledge that ought to be insulated from review. That claim, Turner argues, is rhetoric. The case has to be made on different grounds.
The grounds are available. Muller might rest his case on the empirical pattern of damage without invoking Polanyi. Metric regimes harm certain practices in measurable ways. The harm is the harm. No theory of tacit knowledge is needed to record it. The argument becomes pragmatic rather than epistemological. The metric impulse fails on its own terms because the metrics produce gaming, displacement, and deskilling. The audit class wants accountability and gets evasion. The case can be made without Polanyi at all. Muller might say it is more powerful with Polanyi. Turner might say it is more honest without him.
There is a deeper Turner point Muller could absorb. Turner has written about how the historical accident of professional autonomy in the United States, Britain, and similar liberal democracies depended on cultural and institutional preconditions that no longer hold. Doctors, teachers, and lawyers ran themselves because the public trusted them to. The trust came from shared social class with the educated public, religious affiliation with the denominational establishment, kinship with the political elite, and broad cultural assumptions about deference. These preconditions have eroded. Professional autonomy now looks like an unaccountable elite refusing scrutiny because it has no public-facing case for itself. Metric regimes are partly the public’s response to the loss of trust. The metrics are crude. The crudeness reflects the absence of better tools. If the public cannot trust professionals to police themselves, and the professionals cannot articulate what they do, the public will impose dumb metrics. This is a political fact about late-modern liberal democracy. Muller treats the metrics as the disease. Turner suggests they are a symptom of a deeper political shift the professionals have not addressed.
This connects to Turner’s interest in the cognitive limits of liberal democracy. Citizens cannot evaluate experts directly. They must use proxies. Metrics are one proxy. Reputation is another. Lawsuits are another. None of these is a good substitute for direct evaluation of expertise, but direct evaluation is unavailable. Muller’s book argues against metrics. It does not propose what the public should use instead. Turner might push hard on this absence. Without an alternative, the metric critique amounts to telling the public it should trust professionals more. Why should the public do that? The professionals have not earned it. Muller’s silence on this question is the largest gap in the book.
The conservative tradition Muller anthologizes contains resources for thinking about this problem. Burke, Tocqueville, and Oakeshott all addressed the relation between expertise and democratic legitimacy. None of them thought professionals might assert their authority by claim alone. Each thought the authority had to be cultivated through institutional practice, religious affiliation, and shared culture with the wider public. The American conservative tradition Muller writes inside often skips this step. It claims professional authority on tacit-knowledge grounds without addressing the cultural preconditions Burke or Tocqueville might have demanded. Turner’s critique reveals the gap. Muller’s tradition has more to say about the problem than his book brings forward.
What does the Turner reading leave standing in The Tyranny of Metrics? The historical narrative. The case studies. The pattern of metric failure across domains. The general suspicion of technocratic overreach. The argument from unintended consequences. All of this survives. What does not survive is the foundational appeal to tacit knowledge as the thing being protected. That appeal is rhetoric. The book is stronger read for the historical evidence and weaker read for the philosophical foundation.
Turner and Muller share more than the critique might suggest. Both are suspicious of grand designs. Both attend to the historical contingency of intellectual and institutional arrangements. Both write as historians of ideas with a sociological eye. Where they part is at the moment Muller invokes Polanyi as a source of authority. Turner thinks Polanyi’s frame, at the work it has been asked to do, is not authority but an authority claim. The difference between authority and an authority claim is the whole question.
Muller’s later projects might benefit from absorbing the Turner critique. Passing It On will deal with transgenerational transmission, which raises the same questions about tacit knowledge in a sharper form. What gets transmitted from one generation to the next, and how, and how do we know? If the answer is that some things can only be passed through embodied practice and personal apprenticeship, the Turner challenge applies again. If the answer is that we can describe what gets transmitted, the practice is not tacit. The choice will repeat. Muller has not yet faced it.
Where Muller writes history, the Turner reading lets him alone. Where Muller leans on Polanyi to ground a political claim, Turner pulls the ground out. The political claim has other grounds available. Muller has not yet stood on them.
Muller’s career has been spent in systematic resistance to the trauma constructions that surround his subjects. The Mind and the Market: Capitalism in Modern European Thought refuses both the leftist trauma narrative about capitalism’s evils and the libertarian celebration narrative about capitalism’s virtues. The book does not answer the four questions in the trauma form. It changes the questions. What was the historical situation that produced the moral arguments about commerce. What were the intellectual resources different thinkers brought to the situation. How did the arguments evolve as conditions changed. Where did they end up by the late twentieth century. These are not trauma questions. They are historical questions. The trauma frame the audience might bring is gently displaced by structural inquiry.
Capitalism and the Jews is the cleanest example. The book sits at the convergence of two trauma constructions. The antisemitic trauma frame names Jewish commercial activity as the pain, gentile populations as the victims, anti-Christian or anti-national exploitation as the responsibility. The leftist anti-capitalist frame names capitalism itself as the pain, workers and colonized peoples as the victims, the commercial class as among the bearers of responsibility. Both are trauma constructions answering Alexander’s four questions in different sacred-profane registers. Muller refuses both. His account treats the Jewish commercial role as structurally produced by legal restrictions on Jewish landholding combined with the emerging market opportunities of medieval and early modern Europe. Jews ended up in commerce because other paths were blocked and commerce paid. The arrangement was not virtuous and not vicious. It was historical. The frame dissolves both trauma constructions by changing what kind of questions can be asked of the material.
The Other God that Failed: Hans Freyer and the Deradicalization of German Conservatism performs the same operation on a target with much higher symbolic charge. Freyer was a Weimar conservative who initially welcomed National Socialism, gradually distanced himself, and after 1945 produced chastened conservative work that influenced the postwar German right. The carrier-group apparatus around Nazism produces obvious trauma constructions. Freyer can be classified as polluting figure whose intellectual output retroactively contaminates anyone who engages with it sympathetically. He can be classified as misunderstood figure whose later work redeems his earlier errors. Both are trauma constructions, one demonizing and one rehabilitating. Muller refuses both. His Freyer is neither hero nor villain but a specific intellectual moving through specific historical conditions whose work has specific consequences worth tracing in detail. The de-ritualization is so thorough that the book reads, to readers expecting trauma construction, as oddly neutral. The neutrality is the method. The method serves the coalition of scholars who want German intellectual history available for study without ritual gatekeeping.
This is what Alexander helps us name. Muller is in the cooling-out business. His prose performs the technical-rational mode that Watergate’s prosecutors had to break through. Where carrier-group figures want to elevate events from political goals through institutional norms to deepest values, Muller wants to keep events at the level of historical conditions and structural forces. He rarely allows his subjects to generalize upward. The careful prose, the patient contextualization, the refusal of strong moral language, all operate to lower the symbolic temperature of whatever he writes about. In Alexander’s vocabulary, Muller is the anti-priest. He is doing the work the priestly figures must overcome to perform their ritual.
Now the question becomes what coalition this serves.
Cooling-out work serves specific interests. The men most invested in keeping civic life cool, in preventing trauma generalization, in maintaining the technical-rational frame against ritual heat, are men whose institutional positions and intellectual commitments require it. They include academic conservatives whose tradition would fare badly under the hot ritual of the cultural left. They include Jewish intellectuals who do not want either the antisemitic trauma frame or the progressive anti-capitalist frame to capture discussion of Jewish economic history. They include centrists and pragmatists who suspect that hot ritual produces worse outcomes than cool deliberation. They include the older liberal humanist tradition whose mode of life depends on the maintenance of normal academic time against ritual disruption.
Muller’s coalition is identifiable through what his books do for whom. The conservative anthology builds, by transitive logic, a coalition that runs from Hume to Burke to Oakeshott to Hayek. The reader who already respects one figure gets pushed toward respecting the others. This is straightforward coalition-construction work, of a kind Alexander would recognize even if Muller does not name it. The capitalism books make commercial society defensible without endorsing market triumphalism, which serves a coalition of moderate defenders against both libertarian and socialist trauma narratives. The Jewish book defends the dignity of historical Jewish commercial life against frames that would either embarrass it or pathologize it. The Freyer book defends the possibility of serious engagement with conservative thinkers whose biographies include damaging political associations.
Each of these is coalition work. The work succeeds at a slow temperature because the temperature itself is part of what the coalition needs. A coalition organized around the maintenance of cool civic life cannot be defended through hot polemic. The defense must perform the cool register the coalition values. Muller’s prose is the right tool for the coalition’s needs. The match between style and coalition is not coincidence. It is what allows the work to function.
Now bring in the Watergate essay.
Alexander’s argument is that successful civic ritual requires five conditions to align: consensus that an event polluted, perception of threat to the civic center, activation of institutional social controls, mobilization of differentiated elite countercenters, and ritual purification through liminal moments where ordinary politics suspends. Most of Muller’s career operates against the alignment of these conditions. He resists consensus that polluting events have occurred. He resists framing his subjects as threats to civic centers. He resists institutional social controls that would target his figures. He resists the mobilization of differentiated elite countercenters around the targets he writes about. He resists ritual purification through scholarly polemic. His mode is to work below the threshold where any of these conditions might activate.
This is unusual work for an intellectual. Most academic figures contribute, willingly or not, to the trauma constructions that organize their disciplines. The literary studies professor contributes to the trauma narrative about formalism. The sociologist contributes to the trauma narrative about structural inequality. The historian contributes to whichever trauma narrative organizes the period he studies. Muller’s commitment is to the work that operates beneath the trauma-construction layer. He treats the subject with the historical seriousness the carrier groups around it would prefer he abandon. The result is books that fit awkwardly with the dominant ritual structures of his fields and that nonetheless command audience because they meet a need the ritual structures do not meet.
The need is the need for cooled-out engagement with material the trauma constructions have heated up. Some readers want this. They are the coalition Muller serves. The coalition is not large enough to dominate the academy. It is large enough to sustain a career.
Then comes the exception, and the exception is what makes Muller’s pattern legible.
The Tyranny of Metrics is the book where Muller does carrier-group work in the obvious sense. The book constructs a trauma narrative. Pain: the degradation of professional practice through the imposition of metric regimes, with consequent gaming, deskilling, and damage to the underlying activities the metrics were supposed to measure. Victims: practitioners across many fields, the patients and students and citizens those practitioners serve, professional judgment as a craft tradition. Connection to wider audience: anyone who has experienced or witnessed the corruption of skilled practice by counting. Responsibility: the audit class, metric designers, managerial logic, compliance regimes that have spread across institutions over the past several decades. The book answers Alexander’s four questions in trauma form. It identifies a polluting force, names its victims, extends the connection to a broad audience, and attributes responsibility.
The pollution-transfer logic Alexander identifies operates throughout. The pollution starts with specific bad metric programs, the things hospital administrators and school superintendents impose on their respective populations. It transfers outward to the broader audit class, the consultants and accreditors and ratings agencies that produce the metric machinery. It transfers further to the managerial logic itself, the assumption that what cannot be measured cannot be managed and that what can be measured ought to be managed. By the end of the book, the pollution has reached the broader cultural assumption that quantification is the proper basis for accountability. The transfer is complete. A specific irritation has been generalized into a systemic critique that the audience can use against many opponents.
What makes this carrier-group work distinctive is the temperature. Muller does not write The Tyranny of Metrics in the hot register of polemic. He writes it in the same cool register he uses for his historical work. The argument accumulates through cases. The cases are documented carefully. The structural account is preserved alongside the moral one. The trauma construction is performed at low temperature, which makes it more durable than high-temperature trauma constructions and harder to dismiss as advocacy. A reader who would resist a polemic against audit culture finds himself absorbing the same material through prose that does not feel like polemic. The cooled-out style serves the trauma construction the book is making.
This is the pattern Alexander’s frame surfaces. Muller’s cooled-out method is generally deployed against trauma constructions that would damage his coalition. It is occasionally deployed to perform trauma construction in a register the coalition needs. The two operations look opposite. They are both coalition work. The coalition is served by de-ritualization in some places and by quiet ritualization in others. Muller deploys whichever operation serves the coalition’s interests in the specific case. The consistency is not at the level of method, where the books look like they are doing different things. The consistency is at the level of coalition function, where the books are all doing the same thing for the same constituency.
Why audit culture and not Hans Freyer. The question almost answers itself. Freyer is a historical figure whose ritualization would damage Muller’s coalition by making conservative thought broadly suspect through guilt by association. The de-ritualizing approach protects the coalition’s intellectual access to figures the broader culture wants to gatekeep. Audit culture is a contemporary force whose victims include men in Muller’s coalition: practitioners, professionals, traditional authorities whose tacit knowledge the metric regimes erode. Trauma construction against audit culture serves the coalition by giving it ammunition against a structural opponent. The two operations are mirror images. Both protect the coalition. The targets differ because the coalition’s interests in each target differ.
Alexander’s frame produces a sharper reading of The Tyranny of Metrics than the book’s own framing offers. The book presents itself as a scholarly diagnosis of a real problem. It is also, simultaneously, a piece of carrier-group work building a coalition between practitioners, certain managers, and intellectuals who feel that audit culture has gone too far. The coalition crosses the official hierarchy. It includes hospital administrators who feel captured along with surgeons, school superintendents who feel captured along with teachers, business executives who feel that compliance has eaten the work of management. These are the differentiated elite countercenters Alexander describes for Watergate. They are mobilizing, slowly, around the trauma construction Muller has provided them.
The construction has not generalized to civic-religious authority across the broader culture. Many institutions remain captured by audit logic. Many policy actors continue to expand metric regimes. Trump-era administrative reforms have used audit-culture critique selectively while themselves expanding loyalty-based metrics that operate by different logic. The trauma construction Muller offers has bounded influence. It serves a coalition. It does not reorganize the civic body. This is the standard outcome for carrier-group work in fragmented orders, and Muller’s work fits the pattern.
What makes Muller’s case distinctive in the comparison with Scheuer, Cofnas, and Marantz is the relationship between method and coalition. Scheuer’s method became the obstacle to his coalition’s success because his analytic equipment, severed from institutional friction, generated readings the broader culture could not absorb. Cofnas’s method, the analytic philosophy register, fits his coalition’s needs reasonably well, and the institutional countercurrents around him have grown stronger. Marantz’s method, the literary-ethnographic register, supports his coalition’s bounded success without enabling generalization. Muller’s method, the cooled-out historical register, serves his coalition almost perfectly. The coalition needs cooled-out scholarship that resists trauma construction generally and performs it only in carefully selected cases. Muller produces exactly this. The match is unusual in its precision.
The match is also institutional. Muller’s position at Catholic University of America, outside the Ivy League, places him in a structural location where the cooled-out register is available without competitive pressure to perform the hot rituals of more prestigious institutions. An Ivy League historian writing about Hans Freyer would face institutional pressure to participate in the trauma construction the carrier groups around Nazism produce. A Catholic University historian faces less of this pressure. The institutional position permits the method. The method serves the coalition. The coalition rewards the method by sustaining the books’ audience and citing the work in the venues where coalition discourse occurs. Each piece of the arrangement reinforces the others.
Alexander’s frame holds the question open about whether this arrangement is admirable or limited. The cool register has virtues. It preserves complexity. It allows engagement with difficult material that hot trauma construction would foreclose. It models a kind of intellectual practice that civic life arguably needs more of than it has. It also has costs. The cool register can serve as cover for coalition work that the heat-resistance disguises. Readers who absorb Muller’s books may take themselves to be reading neutral scholarship when they are reading something more interested. The cooling-out itself does work the reader does not always notice.
Both readings are accurate. The frame holds them simultaneously. Muller is a more sophisticated symbolic actor than the casual reader of his books takes him to be. The sophistication does not make him dishonest. It makes him competent at the kind of work the coalition he serves requires. Most academic intellectuals are doing some version of carrier-group work whether they know it or not. Muller is doing it more consciously than most and at a temperature lower than most. The combination produces work that is both scholarly and partisan, both careful and committed, both above the trauma constructions and within the symbolic apparatus that produces them.
The deepest insight Alexander’s frame produces about Muller is that the refusal to ritualize is itself a kind of ritual position. It is the priestly mode of the cooled-out scholar, performing the de-sacralization of subjects the dominant culture would prefer to sacralize. The mode has its own congregation. The congregation values the cool register because the cool register protects the things the congregation wants protected. Muller’s career is a long performance for this congregation. The performance is not cynical. He plausibly believes the cool register is the right approach to most of his subjects. The belief is what makes the performance effective. The same belief is what makes him eligible for the priestly role he occupies in his particular sphere.
Compared to Watergate’s hot ritual, Muller’s work looks anti-ritual. Compared to the silence of total scholarly neutrality, Muller’s work looks like coalition mobilization in restrained form. Both descriptions are accurate. The frame helps us hold them together. It also helps us see that successful long-form intellectual work in fragmented civic orders often takes this shape. The hot rituals fail to generalize. The cool work accumulates audience and influence. Muller has built a career that exemplifies the second pattern. The career has been more successful than careers built around hot ritual in his generation. The success is not despite the cool register. The success is because of it. The coalition he serves was looking for someone who could do this work. He has been doing it for forty years. The coalition has rewarded the work with the kinds of recognition the coalition can provide: serious reviews, citations, invitations, the long sustained attention of readers who value what he provides.
Muller has been at the Catholic University of America since 1984. He earned tenure there, became chair of history, became Ordinary Professor, and has never moved. Collins’s framework treats long institutional residence as the high-success outcome for a ritual chain seeker. The participant who finds a habitat where the daily rituals consistently charge emotional energy and circulate valued symbols accumulates more of both than the participant who has to keep starting new chains. Muller’s CUA residence has functioned as exactly this habitat.
The Catholic University setting matters in several Collins-relevant ways. The university is small enough that bodily co-presence with colleagues across departments is sustained. The Catholic identity provides a barrier to outsiders that marks the institution and its members as distinct from the secular university mainstream. The mutual focus on questions where Catholic intellectual tradition has serious resources, including questions about capitalism, nationalism, the meaning of work, and the Jewish-Christian relation, gives the daily life of the institution a focused texture that more diffuse universities lack. The shared mood is the seriousness of an institution that takes its tradition’s intellectual heritage as the standard against which contemporary work is measured.
Collins predicts that participants in this kind of habitat generate steady emotional energy across years rather than the spikes-and-crashes pattern produced by less stable chains. Muller’s prose shows the steady-energy signature. The books arrive at intervals consistent with sustained scholarly work. The Mind and the Market in 2002. Capitalism and the Jews in 2010. The Tyranny of Metrics in 2018. The biography of Jacob Taubes. The major scholarly work on Adam Smith, on conservative thought, on the history of capitalist thought. The output is even, the quality is consistent, the prose is recognizable across volumes. This is what Collins’s framework expects from a writer whose ritual chain is supplying steady fuel.
The Catholic University also avoids the failure mode that has crushed many of the other figures in the wider gallery. CUA does not select for the charged ideological symbols the secular elite university pipeline charges. A Jewish historian working on capitalism and on the history of conservative thought can produce work there that would face higher friction at Yale or Columbia or NYU. The institution’s ideological preferences do not match the secular mainstream’s. The mismatch is exactly what protects the prose from drifting into the registers the secular pipeline rewards. Muller’s work reads as the product of a man who never had to flatter the dominant audience because the dominant audience was not the audience his institution served. The Catholic University audience served different purposes. The work could go wherever the work needed to go.
The Conservative Thought Tradition as Ritual Inheritance
Muller’s early work, including the 1987 book on the Adam Müller of late-eighteenth-century Germany and the 1997 anthology Conservatism: An Anthology of Social and Political Thought from David Hume to the Present, joined a particular ritual chain. The chain runs through the conservative intellectual tradition itself. Hume, Burke, Adam Smith, Tocqueville, Hegel, Hayek, Schumpeter, Kirk, Oakeshott. The thinkers in this chain charged certain symbols with collective meaning across generations. The market as a moral institution. The family as a load-bearing structure. The slow accretion of inherited practice as a source of practical wisdom. The skepticism toward grand projects of social rationalization. The seriousness of religion as a social fact regardless of one’s personal beliefs.
Collins’s framework treats long intellectual traditions as ritual chains operating across centuries. The participants do not need bodily co-presence with each other. They have textual co-presence. The reader who works seriously with the texts enters into a kind of ritual with the dead authors. The mutual focus is the texts. The barrier to outsiders is the disciplinary formation required to read the texts well. The shared mood is the recognition that one is participating in a tradition whose questions outlast individual contributors. The energy generated by serious engagement with such a tradition is real and durable.
Muller entered this chain in his graduate work at Columbia under Fritz Stern. He has stayed inside it for forty years. The Conservatism anthology was an act of ritual maintenance. Muller selected the texts, contextualized them, and offered the volume as a reader’s introduction to a tradition the editor took seriously. The volume served the tradition. The tradition served the editor. The exchange is what Collins predicts ritual chains produce. Each side gives. Each side receives. The chain extends.
The work this chain has produced for Muller includes more than the books. The chain produces a particular kind of ear. He hears the resonances that connect a passage in Smith to a passage in Burke to a passage in Hayek. He hears the moves that contemporary writers make when they are using inherited conservative resources without acknowledging them, and the moves liberal writers make when they are misreading conservative figures because they did not do the disciplinary work. The ear is the residue of the chain. The chain has charged certain symbols, certain phrasings, certain conceptual moves with collective meaning that the participant can deploy in new prose. The deployment is the work the chain enables.
The Capitalism Books as Symbol-Building
The Mind and the Market in 2002 is, in Collins’s terms, an act of symbol-building inside the conservative intellectual chain. The book traces how various thinkers have understood the moral status of the market across three centuries. Voltaire, Smith, Burke, Hegel, Marx, Weber, Hayek, Marcuse, Schumpeter. The book does not argue for a particular position. The book lays out the field. The reader who works through the book gets a tour of the symbols the tradition has charged with meaning when it has thought about commercial society.
Collins’s framework treats works of this kind as ritual products that circulate symbols. The symbols Muller circulates have been charged by long ritual chains running through the tradition. He gives the reader an organized encounter with them. The reader who completes the encounter has, in Collins’s terms, participated in the ritual the book performs. The reader’s own subsequent prose can deploy the symbols with a slightly fuller charge than before. The book has done its ritual work. The chain has extended through the book to new participants.
Capitalism and the Jews in 2010 does the same work on a more focused topic. The book treats the question of why Jews have flourished commercially in modern conditions. Muller gives the question its history. He locates it inside the wider question of how various traditions have related to commercial life. He produces a serious treatment that neither dismisses the question as antisemitic nor sensationalizes it. The book has been criticized from both directions. Collins’s framework predicts that work which pulls symbols out of dispute and into careful examination will draw fire from groups that depend on the disputed status of the symbols. The work is doing its ritual work anyway. The reader who completes the book has a more articulated relation to the symbols than the reader who only encountered them in their disputed form.
The Tyranny of Metrics as Ritual Critique
The 2018 book on metrics is, in Collins’s framework, a critique of the substitute rituals modern institutions have constructed to replace older ritual forms. Muller’s argument runs that quantitative measurement has spread across institutions in domains where it does not work well, and that the effort to substitute measurement for judgment has produced perverse outcomes. The argument is not new in its bones. It is in the conservative tradition’s long suspicion of rationalist projects of administrative simplification.
Collins’s framework adds a register the book does not deploy explicitly but that aligns with the argument. Metrics are themselves a kind of ritual. They produce mutual focus on numbers. They generate barriers between those who can read the numbers and those who cannot. They establish shared moods of accountability or anxiety depending on the metric’s direction. They circulate symbols of success and failure. The metric ritual is a thin ritual compared to the older institutional rituals it has replaced. The thinness is what generates the dysfunction Muller documents. Doctors who used to participate in dense clinical ritual now participate in the thin ritual of charting. Teachers who used to participate in dense classroom ritual now participate in the thin ritual of testing. The substitution looks like rationalization. The substitution is actually the replacement of high-density rituals with low-density rituals that cannot generate the energy or the symbols the participants need.
Muller’s book is a defense of the older ritual forms against the metric substitutes. The book has been widely read because the audience for the defense is large. Many participants in the metric-saturated institutions feel the depletion the substitution has produced. Muller named the depletion. The book has the wide reach Collins’s framework predicts for prose that articulates a real depletion the audience has been feeling without being able to name.
The Taubes Biography as Ritual Transmission
The 2022 biography of Jacob Taubes, Professor of Apocalypse, is the most ritual-dense of Muller’s projects. Taubes was a Jewish philosopher and rabbi whose career ran across several mid-twentieth-century European and American intellectual scenes. He was a charismatic figure in Collins’s strict sense. He generated rituals around himself. He attracted students. He charged symbols. He produced no major book. The work he did was the work of the charismatic ritual leader rather than the work of the ordinary scholar. The biography reconstructs the rituals Taubes ran and the symbols he charged.
Muller’s reconstruction is itself a ritual operation. The biographer enters into a kind of textual co-presence with the subject by reading every available trace, interviewing every available witness, and assembling the picture of a life. The reader of the biography enters into a thin co-presence with both the biographer and the subject. The subject’s charged symbols, including his readings of Paul, his interventions in German theological debates, his relations with Schmitt and Strauss, get circulated to the reader through the biographer’s organization. The chain extends through the book to the reader. Collins’s framework predicts that biographies of charismatic figures function this way. The reader who works through such a biography acquires a thin participation in the ritual the subject originally led. The acquisition is what the biography sells. Muller delivered the acquisition. The reception of the book has been strong because the audience for serious biography of intellectual figures is exactly the audience the chain was always going to find.
The Stable Marriage Ritual
Collins’s framework treats marriage as a ritual chain, and Muller’s marriage to Sharon Muller has been long and stable. The Acknowledgments in his books regularly thank her in the conventional academic register that, read closely, signals a sustained partnership rather than a perfunctory dedication. The marriage chain has been generating emotional energy alongside the institutional and intellectual chains. The three chains reinforce each other. The institutional habitat is hospitable to the marriage. The intellectual chain is one the spouse can engage. The marriage is one the institution accepts. The reinforcement produces what Collins predicts when chains align: stable emotional energy across years, the freedom to do work that does not depend on the spike-and-crash pattern, the avoidance of the substitute-ritual desperation that produces the late-career drift visible in other figures.
Compare this to the Scheuer-Bikowsky configuration. The Scheuer marriage runs alongside an agency-symbols ritual chain that the marriage cannot fully accommodate. The result is the silence in the prose, the compartmentalization, the management of the contradiction. The Muller marriage runs alongside chains it can accommodate. The result is prose without the corresponding silence. He can write about everything that interests him because nothing in his marriage is in operational conflict with his writing. The freedom shows. The prose moves. The work accumulates.
The Jewish Identity as Stabilizing Frame
Muller writes openly about being Jewish, about the history of Jews in modern Europe, about the relation of Jews to commercial life, about Jewish responses to modernity. The Jewish identity functions in Collins’s terms as another ritual chain. The traditional Jewish ritual life involves Sabbath observance, holiday cycles, lifecycle events, prayer practice, and study. The modern Jewish identity Muller occupies is a less ritualized version of this older form. He maintains some elements. He omits others. The exact configuration is his own.
What matters for Collins’s framework is that the Jewish chain provides another source of charged symbols the writer can deploy. The book on Capitalism and the Jews could be written by him because the symbols it discusses are symbols the chain has been charging in his life since childhood. He did not have to manufacture standing on the topic. The standing came from participation. The reader can sense the difference between a writer who treats Jewish material as research material and a writer who treats it as inheritance. Muller treats it as inheritance. The prose reflects the difference.
Collins’s framework also predicts that the Catholic University setting and the Jewish identity could have been a source of friction but instead have become a source of energy. Both traditions take religious questions seriously. Both produce dense ritual life. Both have long intellectual traditions a serious thinker can engage. The Jewish historian at Catholic University is in a habitat that does not require him to suppress his Jewish identity to fit a secular norm, and that does not require him to perform a Catholic identity to fit the institution. The institution accepts his identity as it is. The acceptance is the freedom. The freedom is what the prose has been spending across decades.
The Comparison With the Decline Cases
Collins’s framework gets sharper when Muller is placed next to the figures we have been tracing. Scheuer left the agency in 2004 and has spent twenty-two years running substitute rituals at increasingly thin venues to extend a chain whose original site closed. Muller has stayed at his original site since 1984 and has been running the same chains across forty years.
Lind worked at the Free Congress Foundation under Paul Weyrich until 2009, then moved to The American Conservative, then to LewRockwell, then to Castalia House. Each move was a downshift in venue density. Muller has not moved. The chair, the courses, the colleagues, the library, the press relationship, all have stayed in place.
Giraldi was fired from The American Conservative in 2017 and moved to Unz Review and Strategic Culture Foundation, the second of which is a Russian state-aligned operation hosting writers the mainstream has rejected. Muller has not been fired from anywhere. His venues have remained reputable. His Princeton University Press books continue to appear at PUP.
Macgregor’s military career ended without the brigade command he sought, and the resulting grievance has organized his media career. Muller’s career has not been organized by grievance. The institutional path he wanted he received. The chair, the recognition, the books, the readers all came in the expected sequence. There is no wound around which his prose has had to organize itself.
Unz withdrew from any institutional setting and built his own funding apparatus around himself, producing the constructed niche we discussed. Muller has stayed inside an institution that has provided what the constructed niche provides for Unz, but with the discipline that comes from being one professor among others. The institutional check that Unz removed Muller has retained. The prose shows the difference. Muller’s footnotes mean what footnotes mean. Unz’s footnotes mean what Unz wants them to mean.
The composite picture Collins’s framework yields is that Muller is the case where the chains run as designed. Institution, tradition, marriage, identity, all operate as ritual sites that supply emotional energy and charge symbols across decades without the breakdowns the other figures have suffered. The prose is the visible record of the chains running well. The career is the chain history.
The Set
Jerry Z. Muller taught the history of ideas at the Catholic University of America, and the set he belongs to gathers around one conviction: thought moves history, and a man who reads deeply enough earns the right to judge it. They call themselves historians of ideas, intellectual historians, men of letters. They write long essays for serious magazines and thick biographies for university presses. Many hold academic posts while holding the academy at arm’s length, and a few sit close to political movements that they refuse to serve as foot soldiers.
They value erudition before all else, and a hard kind: command of primary sources in the original languages. The set reads Weber in German, not in translation. It takes the German tradition seriously, including its dangerous figures, rather than waving it off. It treats the long review-essay as the high form, six thousand words that a layman can read and a specialist respects, placed in Commentary, The National Interest, The New Criterion, the Times Literary Supplement, Mosaic, Tablet, and for the ones who cross over, the The New York Review of Books. It treats biography and the history of ideas as the prestige genres, because both demand archival labor and the patience to reconstruct a mind in its setting. Muller built his name on exactly this work, tracing how thinkers from Voltaire to Marcuse argued about commercial society in The Mind and the Market: Capitalism in Modern European Thought, and warning in The Tyranny of Metrics that the urge to measure everything corrupts the judgment it claims to improve.
Their heroes share one shape. The scholar-sage. The man who masters a field and then writes for the educated public without flattering it. Berlin is the patron saint, the historian of ideas as public oracle, the fox who distrusts the hedgehog’s single grand idea. Aron supplies the second model, the engaged spectator who keeps his head while his colleagues lose theirs to ideology. Bell and Trilling round out the gallery. The hero reads the unfashionable thinker and resists the fashion of his own hour. He renders measured assessment where lesser men reach for the slogan. He is the man of judgment, and judgment, in their telling, comes only from years of deep reading. Not the activist, not the technician, not the data scientist with his dashboard.
The status games follow from the heroes. A man rises by reading languages, by placing essays in the journals that confer seriousness, by writing the biography of a major figure or an interestingly minor one, and above all by earning praise from both sides at once. To be called thoughtful by people who agree on nothing else marks the highest standing. The grounded contrarian thesis carries weight too, the argument that cuts against the reigning pieties while resting on real evidence. Muller’s metrics book did this, and so did his 2008 Foreign Affairs essay on ethnic nationalism, which told liberal cosmopolitans that the force they thought spent still ran hot. Institutional perches matter less than the journals, though Catholic University, the Hudson Institute, and the German Marshall Fund world supply homes.
Their normative claims run deep and tangle with their essentialism. They hold that human goods resist counting, that the attempt to quantify teaching or medicine or scholarship destroys the good it measures. The metrics argument is a moral one wearing the costume of management critique. They hold that ideas have consequences, that thought is no mere reflection of economic interest, and they read the materialists closely to refute them on their own ground. They prize moderation as a virtue and treat utopia as the standing temptation, a stance they inherit from Berlin and from Edmund Burke (1729-1797). They defend commercial society as a civilizing force while granting its costs, and they read its critics with care to mount the better defense. The Jewish question sits near the center of the moral world for Muller and Kirsch and others: in Capitalism and the Jews, Muller argues that Jews flourished under markets and suffered under the enemies of markets, that anti-capitalism and antisemitism share a braided history. The set treats Jewish modernity as the test case for liberalism’s promises.
Underneath these claims lies an essentialist one they rarely state plainly. Some men have judgment and most do not, and the cultivation of judgment through long reading produces a type of man fit to weigh the world. This is meritocratic and elitist in the old humanist key. It explains their distrust of the crowd and their equal distrust of the expert who claims a neutral authority above judgment.
The moral grammar gives the set away in a sentence. The words of praise are serious, subtle, learned, judicious, capacious. The words of contempt are crude, reductive, tendentious, ideological, presentist. The cardinal sin is the cheap dismissal, the man who has not read the thinker he condemns. The cardinal virtue is the capacity to hold a view in its full strength before you rule against it.
The set is not a single mind, and its fault lines run clear. The Straussians read texts for a hidden teaching; the Weberians read for ideal types and disenchantment, and Muller leans Weberian and historicist, closer to Jay and Moyn in method than to Allan Bloom (1930-1992) or Smith in their Strauss. A sharper split runs between the older neoconservatives and the younger national conservatives, Yoram Hazony (b. 1964) and Patrick Deneen (b. 1964) among them. Muller saw the power of ethnic nationalism early and named it, but he named it as an analyst who fears the thing, not as an advocate who wants it. That distance, the refusal to convert clear sight into a banner, marks where he stands inside his own set and where the set now strains against itself.
Posted inJerry Z. Muller|Comments Off on Jerry Z. Muller and the Limits of System
This is Myers co-authoring with Pini Dunner, who is a complicated figure inside Anglo-Orthodoxy and a rabbi in Beverly Hills. The piece is unusual in the Myers corpus because the primary material does most of the analytical work. Myers and Dunner translate the 1984 broadside from the Jerusalem Briskers and frame it.
Look at the first paragraph. Three superlative-by-committee constructions in three sentences. “Widely considered to be among the most important.” “Of the highest order.” “One of the most respected.” Each one points to consensus, not to evidence. Each one tells you what people think rather than why they think it.
The construction performs JB’s (1903-1993) importance without arguing it on the merits. “Widely considered” asserts stature while citing no source. “Of the highest order” rates the lectures without describing what they accomplished. “One of the most respected, legal or otherwise” expands the category until it includes everything.
Why do the authors reach for cliches? Because the concrete record is thinner than the reputation. JB trained YU rabbis, founded Maimonides School in Boston, gave shiurim his students remember, and wrote philosophical essays intellectuals quote. He produced no Igrot Moshe. He shaped no major area of practical halakhah the way Moshe Feinstein (1895-1986) shaped responsa on medical questions, electrical appliances on Shabbat, or family law. The Boston rabbinate gave him a platform. The platform did not produce a corpus of rulings Orthodox Jews consult. An observant Jew with a question about a feeding tube, a dishwasher, or a get reaches for Igrot Moshe. He does not reach for Halakhic Man. JB was offered the Israeli chief rabbinate three times, by Myers’s own footnote. He declined. A “committed Zionist” who refuses the rabbinic apex of the state he claims to support is committed in a peculiar register. The Mizrachi label gives ideological shelter to a man whose life choices kept him in Boston. The Brisker in Jerusalem made aliyah and built institutions there to live their anti-Zionism. Whatever else one says about them, they paid the cost their beliefs demanded. JB performed seriousness and stayed in Boston.
That asymmetry helps explain the Briskers’ rage. They watch a man who took the Mizrachi label without paying the Mizrachi cost get crowned by Feinstein and Gifter as a perpetuator of the House of Brisk. The crown rests on lineage, not on Brisker halakhic productivity. JB’s published Brisker chiddushim do not match his uncle’s. His talmudic legacy at YU runs through oral transmission to admiring students, the mode of transmission Turner has written about as the most coalition-bound. The honor accrues to the family name, the Berlin doctorate, the philosophical fluency. The honor does not rest on what he did for Torah. JB is a Tocqueville for the YU musmach. He gives the college-educated Modern Orthodox Jew permission to feel his religious life has intellectual seriousness without requiring him to serious study. The Lonely Man of Faith is a permission slip. It tells the reader he is too thoughtful for the herd, too pious for the secular university, too modern for the haredi enclave, and that this triple homelessness is a religious vocation. The reader closes the book feeling chosen.
This is why the rhetorical hedge in Myers’s opening cannot be dropped. Write “JB founded one significant school (Maimonides), trained YU’s rabbinic class, and wrote abstract essays that appeal to intellectuals,” and you have a true sentence. The true sentence does not produce the awe the legend requires. So you write “widely considered to be among the most important,” and the consensus does the work the evidence cannot.
JB’s corpus shows an astounding ratio of status display to merit that becomes legible once you set it next to comparable rabbinic output.
Take Halakhic Man. The book argues that the talmudic scholar approaches reality with a priori cognitive structures the way a mathematician does, that he imposes ideal forms on the world the way Hermann Cohen’s epistemology imposes categories on experience, and that this cognitive posture is religiously superior to the homo religiosus who feels his way toward God through experience. The argument is elegant. The argument also requires the reader to know Cohen, to know enough Kant to follow the neo-Kantian move, and to recognize the talmudic citations as functioning analogously to Cohen’s pure reason. The display is the price of admission. A reader without the philosophical training cannot follow. A reader with the training feels admitted to a club.
What does Halakhic Man do for an Orthodox Jew trying to live his life? Almost nothing. It does not tell him how to learn. It does not give him a method for new sugyot. It does not adjudicate a contested practice. It tells him that his learning, if he learns the right way, places him in a cognitive elite that includes Newton and the Vilna Gaon. The book confers status on the activity its readers already perform.
Compare Feinstein. The Igrot Moshe answers a question about whether a particular brand of milk requires Jewish supervision given American dairy regulations. The teshuva surveys the relevant Talmudic sources, weighs precedent, and concludes. The Jew who reads it knows what to buy. The teshuva displays Feinstein’s learning, of course. All halakhic writing displays learning. The display is subordinate to the application. Strip the display from the teshuva and you still have a ruling. Strip the philosophical pretension from Halakhic Man and you have nothing. The Lonely Man of Faith makes the ratio starker. The essay distinguishes Adam I, the majestic creative man of Genesis 1, from Adam II, the covenantal lonely man of Genesis 2. It argues that modern man feels the tension between these two postures and that the Jew of faith cannot resolve it. The essay is moving. The essay is also a lyric performance of the author’s loneliness. JB tells the reader he is lonely. He tells the reader his loneliness is a religious condition. He tells the reader that anyone who feels what he feels participates in a covenantal community across history. The essay flatters the reader by inviting him into JB’s loneliness as a shared spiritual estate.
What does the reader do with this? He feels seen. He does not pray differently, learn differently, give tzedakah differently, or treat his wife differently. The essay confirms an existing self-image. The self-image is that of a thoughtful, modern, observant Jew who finds the surrounding culture shallow. The essay does not challenge this self-image. It consecrates it. Tocqueville tells the educated American he is right to feel uneasy about democratic mediocrity. JB tells the educated Modern Orthodox Jew he is right to feel uneasy about both secular and haredi worlds. Neither thinker tells his reader to do anything specific. Neither produces work that requires the reader to revise a practice. Both produce work the reader uses to feel superior about his existing position.
Feinstein’s writing, by contrast, costs the reader something. If you accept the teshuva on cholov stam, you change what you buy. If you accept his ruling on artificial insemination, you face a hard pastoral situation differently. The reader of a Feinstein responsum either complies or dissents. The reader of Halakhic Man has nothing to comply with.
The display-to-application ratio is also visible in genre. JB’s major published works are essays and lectures transcribed by students. Hiddushei ha-Gram, Reb Chaim’s Brisker hiddushim, run as terse halakhic analysis with almost no philosophical apparatus and a high density of original arguments about the structure of mitzvot. The Beis ha-Levi works the same way. The Brisker tradition, when it produces text, produces dense halakhic-conceptual analysis whose audience is other lamdanim. The display in that work is the precision of the analysis. The application is the new framework for understanding the sugya. JB’s published writing departs from this genre. The departure is itself a status move. He works in the European philosophical idiom rather than the Brisker hiddush idiom because the European idiom signals a wider cultural fluency. The signal is the point.
His talmudic shiurim at YU followed the Brisker idiom. His students testify to this. The shiurim were not published in his lifetime in any systematic form. The published corpus is the philosophical corpus. JB chose to make his public-facing work the philosophical work. He chose to be known for what required Cohen and Kierkegaard rather than for what required Reb Chaim. That choice tells you what audience he was speaking to and what kind of recognition he wanted. Brisker hiddushim impress fellow lamdanim. Halakhic Man impresses Commentary readers and YU undergraduates with philosophy minors. The constituencies do not overlap.
The exception is The Lonely Man of Faith and the related essays on interfaith dialogue, where he did stake out a position, that Jews could discuss social issues with Christians but not theological ones. That ruling has practical bite. It is also striking how much philosophical apparatus he wrapped around it. The position itself can be stated in one paragraph. He gave it many pages. JB writes spiritual autobiography in philosophical drag. The autobiography is sincere. The drag is the status display. The drag is what makes intellectuals love him. They recognize the costume because they wear it themselves.
The piety of the surrounding rhetoric makes the ratio harder to see. Calling him “the Rav” performs the conclusion. Treating his Boston rabbinate and his YU shiurim as if they constitute a halakhic legacy on the order of Feinstein’s performs the conclusion. Listing his books as if they are halakhic works rather than philosophical essays performs the conclusion. Each piece of the apparatus is itself a status display by the apparatus’s authors, who borrow JB’s reflected stature for their own coalition position. Modern Orthodox apologetics needs JB to be enormous because his enormousness underwrites the claim that Modern Orthodoxy has its own halakhic gedolim and is not merely a watered-down version of yeshivish Orthodoxy. The claim requires a figure of the right size. JB is conscripted to fill the slot.
Strip the apparatus and you have a thoughtful man with a Berlin doctorate who founded a school in Boston, trained the YU rabbinate over four decades, gave brilliant shiurim his students remember, and wrote a small number of philosophical essays of permanent literary interest. That is a real legacy. It is not the legacy of a posek. The display is needed precisely because the application is modest.
Philosophers ignored JB’s work. Look at the comparison cases. Hermann Cohen, JB’s dissertation subject, generated a serious secondary literature in his lifetime and after, with critical engagement from Rosenzweig, Buber, Strauss, and the Frankfurt School. Rosenzweig and Buber were both read and contested by Christian theologians, by secular philosophers, and by historians of religion. Strauss generated a school and a counter-school. Levinas, who was JB’s near contemporary and also wrote in a religious-philosophical register, attracted critical attention from Derrida, Ricoeur, Blanchot, and a wide secondary literature in French and English philosophy departments. Soloveitchik did not.
Philosophers ignored him. The journals of academic philosophy did not review him. The neo-Kantian specialists did not treat his Cohen work as a contribution to Cohen scholarship. The phenomenologists did not treat his Halakhic Man as a contribution to phenomenology, despite its claims to that idiom. Continental philosophers of religion writing on similar questions, on revelation, on covenantal experience, on the dialectical self, did not cite him. He is absent from the standard surveys of twentieth-century religious philosophy that include Buber, Rosenzweig, Heschel, and Levinas.
This absence is striking because the surface of his work invites philosophical engagement. He cites Cohen, Kant, Kierkegaard, Barth, Otto, Scheler, and James. He uses the vocabulary of phenomenology and existentialism. A philosopher reading him would expect to find arguments to engage. The philosophers who picked up the books found something else. They found a homiletic use of philosophical vocabulary in service of a religious argument that did not engage the philosophical literature at the level the citations promised. So they put the books down. Lawrence Kaplan, who translated Halakhic Man and has written sympathetically on JB for decades, has acknowledged that JB was a figure inside Jewish thought rather than inside general philosophy. He does not belong to the philosophy of religion as that field developed in the twentieth century.
The serious critical engagement, when it came, came from inside Jewish studies and arrived mostly after his death. David Singer and Moshe Sokol’s work in the 1980s and 1990s pushed on inconsistencies in the corpus, on whether Halakhic Man and The Lonely Man of Faith describe the same religious anthropology, on whether the dialectical move resolves anything or just renames the unresolved tension. Marc Shapiro’s later work on JB places him historically and asks the right kinds of questions about how the legend formed. Lawrence Kaplan’s more recent essays have grown more critical. William Kolbrener has tried to read JB through Stanley Cavell, an ambitious move that concedes JB cannot be read straight as a philosopher and needs philosophical assistance to be made interesting to philosophers.
The hagiographic literature, by contrast, is enormous. Festschriften, memorial volumes, student reminiscences, Aaron Rakeffet’s recordings, the Rabbi Soloveitchik chumash, the Rabbi Soloveitchik machzor, the Rabbi Soloveitchik haggadah, dozens of volumes of shiurim transcribed and published posthumously by students. The student literature is uncritical by design. The students were trained inside the YU coalition for which JB’s stature was a load-bearing wall. Their job was to transmit, not to assess.
The philosophical critique that would have been most damaging while he was alive came from the haredi side and was not philosophical in idiom. Chaim Dov Keller and others in the Agudah press attacked JB’s interfaith essay and his Mizrachi affiliation. The attacks were polemical rather than philosophical. They did not engage the dialectical anthropology of The The Lonely Man of Faith. They attacked the conclusion about Catholic-Jewish dialogue and the Mizrachi politics that surrounded it.
The Modern Orthodox internal critique was muted while he was alive because his stature was needed. Walter Wurzburger, Norman Lamm, and others wrote inside the JB framework and extended it rather than testing it. Aharon Lichtenstein, his son-in-law and a scholar in his own right, defended the Torah u-madda position and the JB legacy as institutional projects. Lichtenstein’s own writing is more careful and more philosophically modest than JB’s. He did not produce a critical reassessment of his father-in-law’s philosophical claims. The family position prevented it.
The closest thing to serious philosophical engagement during his lifetime came from Eliezer Berkovits (1908-1992), who was philosophically trained, who wrote in similar areas, and who sharply disagreed with JB on several questions including the interfaith dialogue position and the philosophical anthropology of Halakhic Man. Berkovits’s critique is real and has been mostly buried by the YU consensus. Berkovits was a philosopher of religion, a student of Yechiel Yaakov Weinberg (1884-1966)in Berlin, and a man whose Holocaust theology in Faith After the Holocaust is a substantive intervention. Berkovits thought JB’s neo-Kantian framework was the wrong tool for Jewish thought and said so. The Modern Orthodox establishment treated Berkovits as marginal and JB as central. The reverse case can be made on the merits. Berkovits is not central in Modern Orthodox memory because he lacked JB’s institutional position at YU and lacked the Brisker pedigree. Yeshayahu Leibowitz in Jerusalem was JB’s closest philosophical peer in some respects, a man trained in chemistry and philosophy who wrote on halakhah as a self-contained system that needed no philosophical justification. Leibowitz attacked JB obliquely by treating his entire project, the search for philosophical foundations for halakhic life, as a category error. For Leibowitz, you do mitzvot because God commanded them, full stop, and the elaborate phenomenological scaffolding JB built around halakhic experience is a distraction from the obligation. Leibowitz was harsh and reductive. He was also philosophically serious. Modern Orthodox readers in America did not absorb this critique because Leibowitz was Israeli, politically radical, and pugnacious in ways that did not travel. David Hartman started as a JB student, wrote A Living Covenant partly as an extension of JB, and later moved further from him as Hartman developed his own position. Hartman’s critique is mostly implicit, in the form of doing the work differently, but he eventually said in interviews that JB’s tragic-existential register was not where he wanted to live and that the covenantal-relational register he developed at the Hartman Institute was meant as an alternative. Hartman is the rare student who walked away philosophically while remaining respectful biographically.
So the pattern is clear. Philosophers outside Jewish studies ignored him. Philosophers inside Jewish studies who were peers, Berkovits, Leibowitz, eventually Hartman, dissented in ways the Modern Orthodox establishment muted or ignored. Students and admirers produced hagiography. Critical scholarship arrived mostly after his death and arrived from inside the Jewish studies guild rather than from general philosophy. The reception pattern matches the substance. A serious philosophical work attracts serious philosophical critique. JB’s work attracted reverence from his coalition and silence from the philosophical world whose vocabulary he borrowed.
The silence is the verdict. Levinas got Derrida. Buber got the Christian theologians. Rosenzweig got Strauss and the Frankfurt school. JB got his students. JB performed a philosophic seriousness that the philosophically serious found irrelevant.
A philosophical performance that philosophers ignore can fail in two ways. It can fail because philosophers are parochial and miss something real. It can fail because the performance does not contain what the costume promises. The first explanation is available in principle and almost never the right one. Philosophers are catholic about whom they engage when the engagement is rewarding. They engaged Buber, who wrote in a register no less religious than JB. They engaged Levinas, who wrote in a register more religious in some respects. They engaged Kierkegaard, who is the closer model for what JB was attempting. The category was open. JB did not get in.
The reason he did not get in becomes visible if you read Halakhic Man with a philosopher’s eye. The book opens by promising a phenomenology of the talmudic scholar’s cognitive posture. The promise is that you will learn something about how a particular religious type encounters reality, the way Otto’s Idea of the Holy taught readers something about the encounter with the numinous, or the way Scheler’s work on resentment taught readers something about a particular emotional structure. The phenomenology requires careful description of the object, attention to what shows up in experience, and an argument that the description illuminates something general.
What Halakhic Man delivers instead is an extended celebration of the talmudic scholar’s superiority to the homo religiosus, with citations to Cohen and Kant deployed to lend the celebration philosophical weight. The structure is panegyric in phenomenological costume. The talmudic scholar approaches reality with a priori categories, like the mathematician. The talmudic scholar imposes ideal forms on the world. The talmudic scholar is not subject to the weakness of the merely religious man who feels his way toward God. Each move flatters the subject. None of the moves does the descriptive work the genre requires. A phenomenologist reading the book finds a long argument that talmudic scholars are admirable, dressed in vocabulary that promised an analysis of how their cognition operates.
The Cohen citations do not survive scrutiny either. Cohen’s logic of pure cognition is a specific technical project inside neo-Kantian philosophy of science. The project tries to ground mathematics and natural science without appeal to intuition, by deriving the categories from the activity of thought itself. Importing this framework to describe how a Brisker lamdan analyzes a sugya is a metaphor at best and a category error at worst. The lamdan is not deriving the structure of the mitzvah from the activity of pure thought. He is reading texts, applying transmitted methods, and producing chiddushim that other lamdanim recognize as good or bad work within a tradition. The activity is hermeneutic and traditionary. Cohen is the wrong tool. A neo-Kantian specialist reading JB’s use of Cohen sees the wrong tool and puts the book down. The Lonely Man of Faith has the same structural problem in a different register. The essay promises a typology of religious selfhood through a reading of the two creation accounts. Adam I, majestic, creative, social. Adam II, lonely, covenantal, redemptive. The promise is that the typology will illuminate something about religious experience generally, the way Kierkegaard’s three stages illuminate something, or the way William James’s varieties illuminate something. What the essay delivers is an extended self-portrait of a man who feels homeless in modernity, with the typology serving to dignify the homelessness.
A philosopher of religion reading the essay finds Kierkegaard’s vocabulary, James’s vocabulary, Barth’s vocabulary, and an autobiographical lyric that does not engage what those thinkers argued. Kierkegaard’s three stages are stages of existential development, with sharp criteria for what it means to move from one to the next. JB’s two Adams do not move. They coexist, in tension, forever. The dialectic does no work. It names the felt tension rather than analyzing it. The reader who came for analysis leaves with a mood.
The performance is the deployment of philosophical vocabulary in service of religious uplift. The substance would be the philosophical work the vocabulary was developed to perform. JB does the first reliably. He does the second rarely. When he does the second, as in some of the more careful talmudic-conceptual writing in the shiurim, he is operating in the Brisker idiom rather than the philosophical one, and the Brisker idiom does not need the Cohen citations.
The honest description of the philosophical apparatus is that it is decorative. Strip Halakhic Man of the Cohen citations and the Kant references and you have a long essay arguing that talmudic learning is a noble cognitive activity. The argument is true and unobjectionable. The argument also does not need Cohen. The Cohen is there to perform a particular kind of seriousness for a particular audience. The audience is the YU undergraduate or musmach who has done some philosophy and wants to feel that his learning is continuous with the European intellectual tradition. The Cohen citations do that work.
Status performance more than substance captures the structural features of JB’s work. A philosophical work performs in the service of the substance. In JB’s case the ratio is reversed. The substance is religious, communal, and broadly homiletic, the kind of substance a thoughtful Modern Orthodox rabbi might deliver from a pulpit. The performance is European, technical, and academic. The performance does not match the substance. Philosophers reading the work see the mismatch immediately and lose interest. Modern Orthodox readers do not see the mismatch because they want the performance to be real. The performance flatters them by association. Berkovits and Leibowitz saw the mismatch and said so in different idioms. Berkovits thought the philosophical claim was the wrong frame for Jewish thought. Leibowitz thought any philosophical apparatus was the wrong frame for halakhic obligation. Both were philosophically trained and both refused the costume. The Modern Orthodox establishment muted them because their refusal threatened the load-bearing wall. The non-Jewish philosophical world did not need to mute anything. They simply did not pick up the books.
There is a generous way to put this and an ungenerous way. The generous way is to say JB was a serious religious thinker who used philosophical vocabulary as a literary resource, the way a poet might use scientific imagery without pretending to do science. The poetry is real even if the science is borrowed. On this reading, JB is a religious essayist of high quality whose philosophical citations function as literary allusion. This reading saves the work but at the cost of the claim that he was a philosopher. He was not. He was a Modern Orthodox essayist with philosophical taste.
The ungenerous way is that JB’s philosophy was status display in a religious community that needed a figure of philosophical standing to anchor its self-conception. JB filled the slot. The slot did not require him to do philosophy that philosophers would respect. It required him to perform philosophy in a register the community would recognize as serious. He performed it well. The community received the performance as the substance and built decades of memorial literature around the reception. The philosophers stayed away because the performance was not for them.
Both readings concede the central point. The work does not survive scrutiny as philosophy. It survives as religious literature with philosophical decoration. Whether that is a small thing or a large thing depends on what one is looking for. A community looking for an intellectual hero found one. A philosophical world looking for a contribution to the philosophy of religion looked elsewhere.
The reception pattern is doing exactly what reception patterns do when a coalition produces an intellectual figure for internal use. The coalition celebrates. The outside world ignores. Time passes. The celebration becomes its own subject of historical study, as in Marc Shapiro’s work, and the philosophical claims recede further into the background as the historical-coalitional reading takes over. JB will increasingly be read the way Shapiro reads him, as a figure in twentieth-century American Jewish history whose intellectual stature served particular institutional purposes. The philosophical claims will be footnotes to that history. This is the verdict the reception pattern was already pronouncing while he was alive. It has only become harder to ignore as the hagiographic generation passes.
Modern Orthodoxy needed a figure of a particular shape, and JB was the figure available who fit the shape. Berkovits did not fit the shape, which is why his reputation languishes despite his being the greater thinker on the merits.
The shape Modern Orthodoxy needed has several features, and JB has all of them while Berkovits has almost none.
First, lineage. Modern Orthodoxy in postwar America faced a coalition problem. The yeshivish world claimed to be the authentic continuation of the Eastern European tradition. The Modern Orthodox claim to legitimacy required a figure whose pedigree could not be denied. JB descended from R. Chaim of Volozhin, the Netziv, and R. Chaim Soloveitchik. The Brisker name was the highest currency in Lithuanian rabbinic Judaism. A movement headed by a Brisker could not be dismissed as a watered-down compromise. The lineage did the apologetic work. Berkovits was a student of Yechiel Weinberg, a serious scholar, but Weinberg lacked the Brisker resonance and Berkovits had no rabbinic dynasty behind him. He was a Hungarian Jew with a Berlin doctorate and a serious mind. The serious mind was not what the coalition needed. The coalition needed the dynasty.
Second, the Berlin doctorate. The same biographical fact that the Jerusalem Briskers used as evidence against JB, his Berlin University training, was the asset Modern Orthodoxy needed. The movement’s central claim was that Torah and secular knowledge could coexist at the highest level, that an Orthodox Jew could earn a PhD in philosophy at a German university and remain fully observant. JB had done this. His doctorate on Cohen was the empirical proof of the proposition. Berkovits also had a Berlin doctorate, but Berkovits did not pair it with Brisker lineage, and the pairing was the magic. A modernist without yichus is just a modernist. A Soloveitchik with a Berlin PhD is the synthesis incarnate. The coalition needed the embodied synthesis, not the philosophical position.
Third, institutional position. JB held the rosh yeshiva chair at RIETS for forty years and trained the YU rabbinic class. He was the institution’s central figure during the period when Modern Orthodoxy was consolidating as a self-conscious movement. Every YU musmach passed through his shiurim. The personal connection produced a generation of rabbis who revered him and who carried that reverence into their congregations across America. Berkovits taught at Hebrew Theological College in Skokie, a smaller institution with less reach, and ended his career in Jerusalem. The institutional footprint was incomparable. Reputation in religious communities is largely a function of how many students a teacher trained who went on to occupy pulpits and tell their congregants about their teacher. JB’s footprint dwarfs Berkovits’s by an order of magnitude on this metric alone.
Fourth, the right kind of difficulty. Modern Orthodoxy needed a thinker whose work was hard enough to confer prestige but not so demanding that the average educated congregant would feel excluded. JB’s essays hit this target precisely. They contain enough philosophical vocabulary to signal seriousness, enough Hebrew and Aramaic citation to signal halakhic depth, and enough lyric autobiography to be moving on a first reading. A Modern Orthodox lawyer or doctor reading The Lonely Man of Faith feels he has engaged with serious thought. Berkovits writes more clearly and argues more rigorously. The clarity is a liability. A reader of Berkovits on the Holocaust or on halakhah understands the argument and either accepts or rejects it. There is no penumbra of unresolved depth to flatter the reader’s sense of having grappled with something profound. JB’s dialectical irresolution gives the reader a permanent sense of depth. Berkovits gives him an argument. Arguments are less flattering than depth.
Fifth, tragic affect. Modern Orthodox identity in postwar America had a structural difficulty. The community lived comfortably, often professionally, often suburban, and observed Jewish law in conditions that earlier generations would have considered easy. The haredi world claimed the moral seriousness of suffering and sacrifice. Modern Orthodoxy needed a way to claim moral seriousness without the suffering. JB’s lonely man of faith provided the solution. The Modern Orthodox Jew is not lonely because his life is hard. He is lonely because he is too thoughtful, too modern, too caught between worlds, too sensitive to his covenantal vocation to feel at home anywhere. The loneliness is interior and existential rather than external and material. This is a loneliness available to comfortable suburbanites. Berkovits, who lived through the Holocaust as a refugee rabbi and wrote about it with hard clarity in Faith After the Holocaust, offered no comparable consolation. His seriousness was earned through suffering and required theological reckoning. The Modern Orthodox lawyer in Teaneck cannot identify with Berkovits’s experience the way he can identify with JB’s loneliness. JB’s suffering is portable. Berkovits’s is not.
Sixth, ambiguity on hard questions. JB rarely committed in writing on the contested halakhic questions of his time. His position on women’s learning, on conversion standards, on Israeli halakhic disputes, on the ordination of women, on the role of secular studies in yeshiva curricula, on relations with non-Orthodox movements, all of these are inferred from oral statements, student reports, and occasional letters rather than from systematic published rulings. The ambiguity allowed every faction inside Modern Orthodoxy to claim him. Centrists cite him for centrist positions. The left cites him for openness. The right cites him for traditional commitments. A figure who can be claimed by every faction is more useful than a figure who staked out clear positions and alienated some of his potential constituency. Berkovits took clear positions, including controversial ones on agunah remedies, on Jewish-Christian dialogue, and on the relationship of halakhah to ethical sensibility. The clear positions made him enemies and limited his usefulness as a coalition symbol. JB’s ambiguity made him universally available within the movement.
This list explains the functional need. Now the harder question, what the adoration says about the movement’s intellectual condition.
The adoration says that Modern Orthodoxy in America did not develop an intellectual culture capable of producing or sustaining a thinker of Berkovits’s caliber. The movement produced rabbis, lawyers, doctors, professors in the sciences and social sciences, and a strong communal infrastructure. It did not produce a serious tradition of religious philosophy or systematic theology that engaged the modern intellectual situation on its own terms. JB stood as a placeholder for an intellectual project the movement gestured toward but did not undertake. The placeholder was sufficient because the project was not wanted. What was wanted was the feeling of intellectual seriousness, not the work. Tocqueville lets reflective elites feel they have grappled with the costs of democracy without requiring them to do anything about those costs. JB lets Modern Orthodox elites feel they have grappled with the costs of modernity without requiring them to produce a sustained intellectual response to modernity. The Lonely Man of Faith is closing argument and opening argument simultaneously. Once you have read it, you have addressed the question of how to be modern and Orthodox. You have addressed it by feeling the dialectical tension, naming it, and continuing to live exactly as you were going to live anyway.
A movement with a real intellectual culture would have produced critical engagement with JB during his lifetime, would have generated competing philosophical proposals, would have argued openly about whether his framework was adequate, would have built schools of thought that disagreed with each other in print. None of this happened at scale. The movement produced reverent commentary on JB’s work and very little else of philosophical substance. The Edah journal, Tradition, and similar venues published occasional pieces but did not sustain a debate. The contrast with Catholic intellectual life in the same period, with its serious engagement among Rahner, Lonergan, Balthasar, de Lubac, Maritain, and their critics, is humbling. Catholic intellectual culture in postwar America had real depth. Modern Orthodox intellectual culture had JB and a great deal of reverence.
The reverence functioned as a substitute for the work the reverence claimed to honor. If JB had done the philosophical work the movement claimed he had done, the next generation’s job would have been to test, extend, criticize, and develop it. That job was never done because the work to be tested was not there. The reverence preserved the appearance of an intellectual tradition while the absence of critical engagement preserved the comfort of not having to produce one.
This also explains why Berkovits’s reputation suffered inside Modern Orthodoxy rather than outside it. Berkovits’s positions on agunah and on halakhic flexibility were used by the right wing of Modern Orthodoxy and by the haredi world to mark him as dangerous. Modern Orthodoxy, anxious about its own legitimacy on the right flank, distanced itself from him to maintain the alliance with the yeshivish world that JB’s lineage had made possible. Berkovits was sacrificed to the coalition position that JB’s stature secured. A movement willing to defend Berkovits’s halakhic creativity would have had to accept the cost of right-flank disapproval. It chose JB and dropped Berkovits. The choice tells you what the movement valued.
Modern Orthodoxy preferred a figure who confirmed its existing self-image to a figure who would have challenged it to do harder thinking. Berkovits would have demanded more. JB asked nothing the readership was not already prepared to give. A movement that chooses the less demanding thinker over the more demanding one is telling you what it can bear. Modern Orthodoxy could bear the lyric celebration of dialectical loneliness. It could not bear the systematic theology that asked whether its halakhic and communal practices were adequate to the situation Jewish life faced after the Holocaust. Berkovits asked that question. JB did not. The movement chose accordingly.
Berkovits is the better thinker. The reception is inverted. The inversion is explained by the coalition function. Once you see the function, the inversion stops being puzzling. It becomes diagnostic. A movement’s intellectual heroes are the ones who do the work the movement needs done. The work Modern Orthodoxy needed done was the legitimation of its own existence as a comfortable bourgeois religious option with claims to high intellectual seriousness. JB performed this. Berkovits, who was trying to think through the religious situation of Jews after Auschwitz and inside modern liberal democracies, was producing a different kind of work. The different work was less flattering and so less rewarded. This is what reception patterns inside coalitions look like. Weinberg held the position of rector of the Hildesheimer Rabbinical Seminary in Berlin, the central institution of German Modern Orthodoxy, until the Nazis closed it. He was the leading posek of pre-war German Orthodoxy. His Seridei Esh responsa engage the hard questions of Jewish life in modernity with care and halakhic creativity, treating questions about bat mitzvah, mixed singing, autopsies, and the practical situation of Jews after the war that JB never addressed in writing. Weinberg survived the war as a refugee, ended up in Montreux, and continued producing halakhic responsa of the first order until his death in 1966. He trained students who became significant, including Berkovits.
If you set Weinberg’s halakhic corpus next to JB’s, the asymmetry is immediate. Weinberg ruled. Weinberg’s responsa adjudicate contested questions and give Jews answers they can act on. The Seridei Esh is a work of practical halakhah at the level of Feinstein, with the additional qualification that Weinberg engaged Western culture and German Jewish modernity from inside, not as a Brisker who happened to take a Berlin doctorate. Weinberg lived inside German Modern Orthodoxy as its central halakhic authority. JB lived in Boston and gave shiurim. The categories of work are not comparable. Weinberg knew what he was. He knew what JB was. He knew that the institutional politics of YU required JB to be number one, and he understood that no halakhic authority of his stature could function under that arrangement. The arrangement required the senior man to subordinate himself to the figure with the better lineage and the institutional position. Weinberg would not do it.
YU could not have accommodated a figure of Weinberg’s halakhic weight without diminishing JB’s. The Modern Orthodox movement in America had built its identity around JB. A working posek of Weinberg’s caliber on the same faculty, producing responsa, ruling on contested questions, attracting halakhic queries from around the world, would have made JB’s mostly philosophical output look like what it was, namely essays rather than rulings. The institutional position required JB to be the senior figure. Senior figures cannot have peers above them. Weinberg saw this and stayed in Montreux.
The detail also illuminates what the Modern Orthodox movement passed up. Weinberg in New York would have changed the trajectory of American Orthodox halakhah. He would have produced a body of responsa addressing American conditions that combined the German Modern Orthodox tradition’s intellectual openness with serious halakhic authority. The responsa would have provided a counterweight to Feinstein’s stricter rulings on contested questions, not from a position of Modern Orthodox apologetics but from halakhic standing. American Modern Orthodoxy might have developed a distinctive halakhic voice rather than the position it eventually settled into, which is Feinstein’s halakhah practiced by congregants who hold JB’s philosophy.
The current situation, where Modern Orthodox congregations follow rulings from poskim whose social and ideological position is to the right of the congregants who follow them, is the long shadow of this missed opportunity. A Weinberg presence at YU would have created a halakhic tradition that matched the movement’s stated values. Without Weinberg, or someone of his caliber, the movement had philosophical essays from JB and borrowed halakhah from figures whose ideological commitments cut against the movement’s character. This produces the strange contemporary situation where Modern Orthodox rabbis cite JB on the dignity of secular learning and Feinstein on whether their congregants can use a particular brand of cheese.
Berkovits inherited Weinberg’s position, having been Weinberg’s student and having attempted to do the kind of halakhic work Weinberg had done. The movement’s rejection of Berkovits is therefore the second instance of the same pattern. Weinberg refused to come. Berkovits came and was sidelined. Both refusals and rejections served the same coalition function. The movement could not accommodate halakhic seriousness at the level Weinberg represented and Berkovits attempted because such seriousness would have required the movement to take positions, defend them, and accept the costs. JB’s philosophical irresolution was easier to live with.
Weinberg produced halakhic work of the first order. Berkovits produced philosophical and halakhic work that extended Weinberg’s project into the postwar American situation. Both of them did the work that a serious Modern Orthodox intellectual culture would have valued. Both of them were marginalized in favor of JB. The marginalization was not because their work was inferior. It was because their work made demands the movement preferred not to face.
German Modern Orthodoxy from Hirsch through Hildesheimer through Weinberg had produced a synthesis of traditional halakhah and engagement with Western culture. The synthesis was institutional, intellectual, and halakhic. American Modern Orthodoxy, building from the 1930s, could have continued this tradition by importing its surviving figures. Weinberg would have brought the Hildesheimer Seminary’s accumulated wisdom to YU. The transfer would have given American Modern Orthodoxy a continuity with the German tradition rather than a merely rhetorical one.
JB was Lithuanian, not German. His Brisker pedigree connected him to the Lithuanian yeshiva world, which was the world of pure lamdanut without the German tradition’s institutional engagement with secular culture as a structured curriculum. JB’s Berlin doctorate gave him personal exposure to German university culture but did not make him an heir of German Modern Orthodoxy as a movement. He grafted neo-Kantian vocabulary onto Lithuanian lamdanut. The graft did not produce a tradition. Weinberg, by contrast, was the direct heir of the institutional German tradition and could have transmitted it.
The American movement chose the graft over the heir. The graft was more flattering to American Modern Orthodox self-conception because it presented the synthesis as a personal achievement rather than as a received tradition. JB’s Modern Orthodoxy could be presented as something he created, with his lineage and his doctorate, rather than as a Hildesheimer-style institutional product. The American movement preferred the personal-achievement story because it placed the movement in a mythic register, with JB as founder-figure, rather than in a historical register, with the movement as a continuation of older European traditions that had pre-existing authority.
The cost of this preference was the loss of Weinberg and the marginalization of Berkovits. The benefit was the JB legend. Whether the trade was worth it depends on what you value. A movement that wanted serious halakhic and theological work would have considered the trade catastrophic. A movement that wanted a flattering self-image and a comfortable place inside American religious pluralism considered it a bargain.
Weinberg’s refusal to be number two to JB is therefore not just a biographical detail. It is a verdict from the senior generation on what YU was building. Weinberg saw that the institution required its central figure to be the figure of legend rather than the figure of greatest halakhic substance. He declined the role of supporting cast. Most rabbis of comparable stature would have made the same calculation. They went elsewhere or stayed where they were. The result was that YU’s faculty consolidated around JB and his students rather than around the most distinguished available halakhic authorities. The institution got the figure it had organized itself around. It did not get the figure who would have made it a center of postwar Orthodox halakhah.
This pattern, where institutional consolidation around a chosen figure forecloses the recruitment of figures who would have raised the institution’s standards, is common in coalition life. The chosen figure becomes a barrier to entry for anyone who would outshine him. The institution accepts the ceiling rather than risk the disruption of acknowledging that the chosen figure was always less than its own publicity claimed. YU’s intellectual ceiling for two generations was set by JB. It could have been set by Weinberg. The difference is the difference between an institution organized around a figure of legend and an institution organized around a figure of substance. American Modern Orthodoxy lives inside the consequences of that choice and mostly does not know it.
Most American Modern Orthodox Jews have never heard of Weinberg. They have heard of JB endlessly. The asymmetry is the coalition’s work. Recovering Weinberg, and Berkovits, and the German tradition they represented, is part of the project Marc Shapiro and others are slowly carrying forward. It will take another generation before the standard story shifts. The hagiographic generation has to pass. The students who built their careers on JB transmission have to retire. Then the question of what was built at YU, and what was passed up, can be asked openly.
JB’s most famous essay (The Lonely Man of Faith) centers a concept that is structurally Christian and imports a Christian existential mood into Judaism. The essay is moving, but it is doing something foreign to the tradition it claims to represent. It explains Jewish religious life to readers in a vocabulary those readers absorbed from non-Jewish sources, and it does so in ways that flatter both JB and his readers as participants in the high European existential tradition.
The function of the essay therefore changes once you see this. The essay is not a contribution to Torah. It is a translation of a particular kind of Modern Orthodox sensibility into a Christian-influenced philosophical idiom for an audience that has been educated to find that idiom serious. The audience consists of Modern Orthodox Jews who have read Kierkegaard, Tillich, Niebuhr, and Barth in college or seminary, and who want to feel that their own religious life can be articulated in the same register. JB provides the articulation. The articulation lets the reader feel that his frumkeit is on the same intellectual level as the Protestant existentialism his Christian classmates were reading.
The price of the articulation is the importation of a foreign category into Jewish thought. The Modern Orthodox Jew who reads The Lonely Man of Faith comes away thinking of his religious life as a faith struggle, an existential confrontation, a covenantal loneliness. These are not native categories. The native category is naase v’nishma, we will do and we will hear, the famous Sinai response that places action before understanding. Native Jewish religiosity is doing first and articulating second, with the doing not requiring the articulation to be valid. JB inverts this. He produces an extensive articulation of the religious experience as a precondition for the doing being meaningful. The religious life becomes the contemplation of its own difficulty rather than the doing of the mitzvot.
A man whose religious imagination is captured by the Christian-existential category of faith will not naturally produce responsa. The question of whether this brand of milk requires Jewish supervision is not a faith question. It is a halakhic question. The thinker who finds his deepest material in Adam II’s covenantal loneliness has organized his religious mind around something other than the work of practical halakhah. The two orientations can coexist in principle, but in practice they pull attention in different directions. JB’s attention went toward the existential category, and the practical halakhic output suffered accordingly.
Berkovits saw this. His writing on halakhah, particularly his work on agunah and on the relationship between halakhic norms and ethical sensibility, operates in the native idiom. He treats halakhic problems as halakhic problems and brings serious philosophical training to bear on them without dressing them up in existential drag. His God, Man and History attempts a Jewish theology that is recognizably Jewish in its categories rather than a Jewish content poured into a Protestant form. Berkovits’s project was to develop Jewish thought in its own register. The project was less successful in the Modern Orthodox marketplace because the marketplace had been trained to expect the Protestant register. JB had set the expectation. Yeshayahu Leibowitz saw this too and was harsher about it. Leibowitz’s entire position is that the contamination of Jewish religious vocabulary by Christian existential categories is a major error. For Leibowitz, the Jew serves God by performing the mitzvot, period. The interior life of the Jew, his faith, his existential mood, his sense of covenantal partnership, all of these are private psychological matters of no religious significance. The religious significance is in the performance. Leibowitz hammered on this point against Buber, Heschel, and implicitly JB throughout his long career. He was rude about it and made enemies and was largely ignored by American Modern Orthodoxy. He was also right about the structural point. The Christian-existential register is not native to Judaism, and importing it produces a distinctive kind of religious life that is more comfortable for assimilated Jews than for traditional Jews because it speaks the assimilated Jew’s intellectual language.
The Hasidic and yeshivish worlds, which had less contact with Christian theological vocabulary, did not develop a faith literature in JB’s mode. Their religious literature continues the native categories. The Aish Kodesh, the Piaseczner Rebbe writing in the Warsaw Ghetto, produces work of extraordinary religious depth that does not invoke faith as its central concept. He works with bitachon, trust, with emunah in its native sense of steadiness, with the Hasidic categories of devekut and simcha. The Mussar tradition continues into the present in works like Michtav m’Eliyahu by Rabbi Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler (1892-1953), which engages modernity but in the native rabbinic register rather than the Christian-existential one. These literatures are less famous than JB outside their immediate communities because they are not legible to Christian-educated readers. JB’s fame is partly a function of his legibility to readers whose theological vocabulary is Christian.
JB is famous for an essay about faith because faith is the category his target audience knows how to value. An essay about hilchot tefillah or about the structure of a Brisker chiddush would not have made him famous outside the yeshivish world that already had its own canonical figures for that work. By writing about faith in a Kierkegaardian register, JB made himself accessible to the Modern Orthodox reader, the academic reader, the Christian reader, and the secular intellectual reader. The accessibility is the source of the fame. The accessibility is also the marker of the foreign category. Native Jewish religious work is generally less accessible to outsiders because its categories require initiation into the tradition. JB’s work is accessible because its categories were already familiar from the Christian tradition.
This is why JB has Catholic admirers. There is a small but real literature of Catholic theologians and philosophers who have written appreciatively about The Lonely Man of Faith. They recognize the categories. The covenantal community, the redemptive loneliness, the dialectical man of faith, all of these resonate with Catholic religious anthropology in ways that hilchot Shabbat does not. The Catholic admirers are responding to something in the work, namely a Christian-existential register applied to Jewish content. They are not responding to authentic Jewish religious thought, because authentic Jewish religious thought in the native register would not be legible to them in the same way. The cross-religious resonance confirms the diagnosis.
The frum world’s indifference to JB confirms the same diagnosis from the other direction. Yeshivish Jews, Hasidic Jews, Sephardic Jews following their own halakhic traditions, all of these communities have heard of JB but do not center him in their religious imagination. He is a figure of YU, of Modern Orthodox memorial culture, of the American Jewish intellectual scene. He is not a figure of Bnei Brak, Lakewood, Mea Shearim, or the Aleppo tradition. The communities whose religious life operates fully in the native categories find his work foreign. The communities whose religious life operates in the modern hybrid register find his work essential. This is what one would predict if the work were operating in a Christian-influenced register that those native to the tradition recognize as not quite their own. Frumkeit is the native religious sensibility. Frumkeit is what an observant Jew has when he keeps the mitzvot with care and lives inside the tradition’s categories. Frumkeit is not faith. Frumkeit is closer to integrity, steadiness, fear of Heaven, attention to detail in religious practice, and the slow accumulation of religious habit over a lifetime. JB’s most famous essay does not describe frumkeit. It describes something else, a distinctively modern existential mood that intersects with traditional observance but is not identical to it. The reader who comes to JB looking for an articulation of frumkeit gets a different thing. The reader who comes looking for an articulation of his own modern Jewish-American intellectual condition gets exactly what he was looking for.
If Modern Orthodoxy is the synthesis of traditional observance with engagement in modern Western culture, then a thinker who articulates the religious life of that synthesis in the vocabulary of modern Western religious thought is doing exactly what the movement needs. JB performs the synthesis on the page. If Modern Orthodoxy is meant to be an authentic continuation of traditional Jewish religious thought into modern conditions, then a thinker who imports foreign categories at the conceptual center is corrupting the project, even if his work is moving and beautiful. The two views of the movement produce two views of JB.
Berkovits and Leibowitz, in their different ways, took the second view. They thought Modern Orthodoxy should be developing Jewish religious thought in the native register, with whatever modifications modern conditions required, rather than translating Jewish content into Protestant existential form. They lost. JB won. The marketplace chose the translation over the development.
This also explains why The Lonely Man of Faith feels anomalous inside frumkeit. It is anomalous inside frumkeit. Frum Jews do not generally produce or consume faith literature. They produce and consume halakhic literature, mussar, drashot on the parsha, and the like. JB’s essay is read in Modern Orthodox circles, in academic circles, in interfaith circles, but not in frumkeit. The essay sits oddly in frumkeit because it was written for a different audience, in a different register, addressing a different set of religious problems than the ones frumkeit is organized around. The essay is a Modern Orthodox achievement and a Christian-existential achievement and an American Jewish intellectual achievement. It is not an Orthodox Jewish religious achievement in the older sense of that phrase. The older sense of that phrase produces responsa, commentaries, and mussar works. It does not produce essays about lonely men of faith.
The traditional Jewish life problem is structural. A serious frum Jew davens shacharis with kavanah, learns daf yomi or his daily seder, gets to work, makes a living, comes home, learns again at night, makes time for his wife and children, prepares for Shabbos starting Wednesday or Thursday, observes the chagim with their elaborate halakhic requirements, attends a chasunah or bris or shiva visit several times a month, and starts over the next morning. The schedule is full. The mental load is heavy. The halakhic detail is constant. There is no slot in the day for existential brooding because the day is already accounted for.
The tradition is engineered to produce this density. The three daily prayer services, the constant brachot before and after eating, the laws of speech, the Shabbos preparations, the kashrus vigilance, the family purity laws for married couples, the holiday cycle, the learning obligation, all of these together produce a religious life that fills available cognitive and temporal bandwidth. A Jew operating fully inside the system does not have idle hours to wonder whether his life is meaningful. The wondering would require empty time, and the system is designed to leave little empty time. The meaning is generated by the doing, not by the contemplation of the doing.
This is why mussar literature, when it addresses interior life, focuses on character refinement rather than meaning-questions. The Mesillas Yesharim works through middot and their improvement, step by step, with the assumption that the reader is already inside the system of mitzvot and is asking how to perform them with greater integrity. The book does not ask whether the system as a whole is justified. It does not need to. The reader has not stopped to ask. He is too busy keeping the system to step outside it.
Existentialism by contrast presupposes the empty hour. Sartre’s man in the cafe choosing his next move, Kierkegaard’s Abraham trembling on the mountain, Heidegger’s Dasein confronting its own death, all of these figures have time to confront the meaning question. They have time because they are not bound to a daily ritual cycle that fills the hours with required action. The European intellectual existentialists were mostly secular or post-religious men whose religious traditions had collapsed into private interior matter, leaving them with the experience of meaning as something to be sought rather than something received and enacted.
Christian existentialism in particular emerges from a religious tradition that had already moved most religious life into the interior. Protestant Christianity, especially in its post-Reformation forms, hollowed out the external practices of medieval Catholicism and relocated religious significance to faith, conscience, and personal relationship with God. The Protestant Christian has fewer required daily practices than the medieval Catholic. He has more interior life to manage. The same modern conditions that produced the secular cafe-philosopher also produced the Protestant existentialist, because both are working in a context where external religious life has thinned out and interior religious life has expanded to fill the vacated space.
JB writing about faith in a Kierkegaardian register is therefore writing in a register that fits Protestant Christian conditions and modern secular conditions but does not fit traditional Jewish life. The Lithuanian yeshiva world he came from did not produce existentialism because it did not have the cognitive vacancy existentialism fills. R. Chaim Brisker did not write essays about the lonely man of faith. He wrote chiddushim about the lomdus of mitzvot. The chiddushim filled his time. The hours he might have spent contemplating the meaning of religious life were spent producing analyses of how the mitzvah of tefillin works, what its formal structure is, what the conceptual relationship is between its various halachic components. The output is dense, technical, fully absorbing. There is no time left over for existential brooding because the lomdus has consumed the available bandwidth.
This is what Leibowitz was getting at when he insisted that Jewish religious life is exhausted by the performance of mitzvot. He was not denying that Jews have interior lives. He was denying that the interior life has religious significance independent of the practice. The mitzvah is the thing. The Jew’s mood while doing the mitzvah, his sense of meaning, his existential grappling, all of these are private psychological matters that do not enter the religious account. Leibowitz could insist on this so harshly because he saw clearly that the moment one allows the interior life religious significance, one has begun to import a Christian framework into Jewish thought. The Jew who needs to feel his faith for his religious life to be meaningful has stopped being a frum Jew in the traditional sense and has become a Protestant Jew with kosher kitchen.
Existential brooding about meaning has no obvious fitness payoff. The man who lies awake worrying about whether his life signifies anything beyond the bare facts of getting and spending is not, on the face of it, leaving more descendants than the man who sleeps soundly because he is too tired from his work and his religious obligations to ask the question. The brooding is a cognitive expenditure that produces no calories, no offspring, no protection from predators, no coalition advantage. By the standards of inclusive fitness it is waste motion.
The puzzle is therefore why existential brooding exists at all in human populations. The answer is that it does not exist at the population level. Most humans across most of history have not brooded about meaning. They have been busy with subsistence, family, and the ritual life of their communities. The brooding is a marginal phenomenon, found mostly among elites with the leisure to engage in it, and historically these elites have been a small fraction of the population. When the leisure is widespread, as it became in industrial and post-industrial societies, the brooding spreads. When the leisure is rare, the brooding is rare. The brooding tracks the available cognitive bandwidth, which tracks the surplus produced by the surrounding economy.
Brooding about meaning becomes adaptive when the brooder can convert the brooding into status, resources, or coalition position. The man who broods alone in his bedroom is a fitness sink. The man who broods, writes about his brooding, gets the brooding published, attracts students who pay him to teach them about brooding, becomes a celebrated figure whose brooding makes him a candidate for institutional positions, marriage matches, and reputational protection, that man has converted the brooding into fitness payoff. The brooding becomes a peacock’s tail, a costly signal that demonstrates cognitive surplus and attracts allies and mates.
JB’s career fits this pattern. The brooding he engaged in, expressed in essays about loneliness, about dialectical tension, about the man of faith confronting modernity, became the basis for his institutional position at YU, his marriage to Tonya Lewit who came from a distinguished family, his reputation as the leading figure of American Modern Orthodoxy, his ability to attract and command students, his platform for shiurim that drew large audiences, his eventual canonization in Modern Orthodox memorial culture. The brooding paid off. The man who brooded successfully became the central figure of his coalition. His descendants, his sons-in-law, his students, his students’ students, all benefited from the reputational capital his brooding generated. The brooding was a status display, and the status was real, and the resources flowed. The Lonely Man of Faith, considered as religious philosophy, is a thin contribution that imports foreign categories into Jewish thought without developing them significantly. The Lonely Man of Faith, considered as a status display by a man positioned to convert philosophical performance into institutional power, is a brilliant success. The essay does for JB what the peacock’s tail does for the peacock. It demonstrates that he can afford the cognitive expenditure, that he has the cultural capital to deploy Kierkegaard and Cohen and Barth, that he is the kind of figure other ambitious Modern Orthodox men want to be associated with. The display attracts the resources. The resources confirm the display. The cycle reinforces itself across decades.
The Brisker tradition before JB had its own version of this fitness conversion, but in a different register. R. Chaim Brisker’slomdus produced status within the Lithuanian yeshiva world. The status produced a position at Volozhin, then at Brisk. The position produced students, marriages, institutional standing, and the dynasty that JB inherited. The lomdus was a cognitive display that converted to fitness through the yeshivish coalition’s recognition apparatus. The display worked because the coalition valued lomdus and rewarded those who produced it at the highest level.
JB’s innovation was to replicate the fitness conversion in a different coalition, the Modern Orthodox American one, using a different display medium, the Christian-existential philosophical essay. The display had to be different because the audience was different. The YU musmach in 1955 was not impressed by a chiddush in the Brisker mode in the way a Volozhin student in 1880 had been. He was impressed by Kierkegaard, by Cohen, by the European intellectual tradition his secular university classmates were reading. JB built his display in the medium his audience could appreciate. The display worked. The fitness conversion was successful. JB’s coalition position became as central in postwar American Orthodoxy as R. Chaim’s had been in pre-war Lithuanian Orthodoxy, even though the substantive religious work was thinner.
The hagiography has to maintain that JB’s reputation tracks the merit of his work. The sociological reading shows that the reputation tracks his successful conversion of cognitive display into coalition position, with the work serving as the medium of the display rather than as the engine of the reputation in any direct sense. The reputation is what reputations always are, namely a coalition’s recognition of someone whose performance serves the coalition’s needs. The performance and the merit are correlated but not identical, and in JB’s case the gap between them is wider than the hagiography acknowledges.
JB’s particular display worked in his coalition and could not work in others. The yeshivish world was too busy to value an essay about loneliness. They had Gemara to learn. The Modern Orthodox world was less busy in the relevant sense. Its members were professionals, lawyers, doctors, businessmen, who kept Shabbos and kashrus but spent most of their cognitive time in secular work. They had hours of secular intellectual life that they wanted to integrate with their religious life. They had the modern condition of a partly-emptied religious schedule, with secular work filling the hours that traditional Jewish life would have filled with learning. They had the cognitive bandwidth for existential brooding because their religious lives were less totally absorbing than the lives of their yeshivish counterparts.
JB wrote for this audience. His essays addressed the experience of a Jew whose life is not fully filled by traditional practice, who has hours of secular professional life, who reads Western literature and philosophy, and who needs an articulation of his religious life that can sit alongside his secular life as an equal partner in the conversation. The Lonely Man of Faith is the manifesto for this kind of Jew. The yeshivish Jew did not need the manifesto because his life was already filled. The Modern Orthodox Jew needed it because his life was not, and he needed an articulation of his religious life that would justify its place in his bifurcated existence. JB provided the justification. The Modern Orthodox Jew read the essay and felt that his bifurcated life was not a compromise but a higher synthesis.
The whole picture comes together cleanly once you see it. Traditional Jewish life produces no existentialism because it has no empty time for the meaning question. Modern Orthodox life produces a market for existentialism because its members live partly outside the tradition and have the empty time. JB writes existentialism in Jewish costume for this market. The market rewards him with status, position, and reputational capital. The reputational capital flows to his descendants and students. The fitness conversion is complete. The work itself, considered as religious philosophy contributing to the development of Jewish thought, is thinner than the reputation suggests. The thinness does not matter for the fitness story. What matters is that the display was effective for the audience, and it was. The audience was looking for exactly what he produced. The match between supply and demand was excellent. The reputation followed.
Berkovits did not have this match. He wrote in the native register, addressing native Jewish religious problems, in a coalition that wanted the Christian-existential register. His display did not fit the audience’s recognition apparatus. The audience did not know how to value him. He was correctly understood by Weinberg and by other senior figures, but the senior figures were dying off, and the new audience that was rising in the postwar American Modern Orthodox world wanted a different kind of thinker. Berkovits’s reputation languished because his display was wrong for the market, not because his work was inferior. JB’s reputation flourished because his display was right for the market, not because his work was superior. The market is the explanation. Substance is decoupled from reputation in coalition life, which tends to reward flattery more than merit.
Intellectual reputation in high intensity in-groups such as religious communities is not primarily about intellectual merit. The merit and the reputation are partly correlated, because grossly incompetent displays do not produce status, but the correlation is loose. Within the band of competent displays, the reputation tracks the match with audience preferences much more than it tracks the depth or rigor of the work. JB’s work is competent. So is Berkovits’s. So is Weinberg’s. The reputational gulf between them is not explained by competence differentials. It is explained by which display fit which audience and which audience had the institutional power to convert reputation into legacy. JB had YU. Berkovits had Skokie and then Jerusalem. Weinberg had Montreux. The institutional differentials were not random. They reflected the success of the displays in attracting institutional patronage, which reflected the audience preferences of the coalitions doing the patronage.
The coalition’s status game plays out through its preferred intellectual heroes. The hero’s job is to produce displays the coalition values. The coalition rewards the hero with status. The status converts to fitness. The hero’s descendants and disciples inherit the position. The cycle continues until the coalition itself transforms or dissolves. Modern Orthodoxy is currently transforming, as the postwar generation passes and the next generations confront new conditions, and the JB legend is beginning to weaken correspondingly. In another generation the legend will be much weaker than it is now, because the audience that valued the particular display he produced will have been replaced by audiences with different preferences. The work will remain. The reputation will shift toward what the work contains rather than what the postwar coalition needed it to contain. Berkovits’s reputation may rise as JB’s settles. The corrective is already happening in the work of Marc Shapiro and others. It will take time but the direction is set.
Modern Orthodox intellectual tradition has moved through a sequence of performed positions, each suited to its moment’s audience preferences, none of them representing the kind of work serious Jewish thought requires. JB performed dialectical tension for the postwar audience that wanted to feel sophisticated about its modernity. Meir Soloveitchik performs civic alignment for the current audience that wants to feel confident about its political coalition. Neither performance produces the work the tradition needs. The work the tradition needs would look more like Berkovits’s work, or like serious halakhic responsa addressing the questions Jewish life faces, or like rigorous theology in the native register. The audiences have not rewarded that work. So the figures who produce it remain marginal.
The first paragraph of Meir Soloveitchik’s Wikipedia entry retrieved April 27, 2026, says he is “a great nephew of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, the leader of American Jewry who identified with what became known as Modern Orthodoxy.” This is the construction that announces a coalition position rather than reports a fact. American Jewry in JB’s lifetime had no single leader. The community was divided across denominations, regions, institutional affiliations, and ideological factions. The Reform movement had its own leadership through the UAHC and HUC. The Conservative movement had its own through USCJ and JTS. The Orthodox world itself was divided among Modern Orthodox YU-aligned figures, the Agudah world with Feinstein and the Moetses, the Hasidic courts each with their own rebbe, the Sephardic communities with their own rabbinic authorities, the Yeshivish world with figures like Aharon Kotler and his successors, and so on. No single figure led this complex.
Even within Orthodox Judaism alone JB was not the leader. Moshe Feinstein issued binding halakhic rulings to a much larger constituency than JB ever addressed in his published writings. Aharon Kotler built Lakewood and shaped the postwar yeshivish world. The Lubavitcher Rebbe led a global movement that dwarfed JB’s institutional reach. The Satmar Rebbe led a movement of his own. Within Modern Orthodoxy specifically, JB was the central figure at YU but he shared the field with Mizrachi leaders in Israel, with the Religious Zionist establishment, with figures like Lichtenstein later on. He was a major figure. He was not the leader of American Jewry. The phrase is hagiographic rather than descriptive.
The qualifier that follows is also revealing. “Who identified with what became known as Modern Orthodoxy.” The construction implies that JB defined the movement rather than being a figure within it. It also implies that Modern Orthodoxy is what JB identified with, when in fact Modern Orthodoxy is a coalition that needed a figure of his stature and lineage to authorize its existence. The relationship between JB and Modern Orthodoxy is the inverse of what the Wikipedia phrasing suggests. The movement needed him more than he needed it. The phrasing makes him the originator and the movement the identifier of his identity, when in fact the movement constructed itself around him as a legitimating figure.
The opening paragraph of the Meir Soloveichik Wikipedia entry is doing inheritance work. It is establishing Meir’s significance by establishing JB’s, and it is establishing JB’s by claims that exceed the historical record. Meir’s significance is real in his own register, namely as a public-facing rabbi with a Princeton credential and a Manhattan pulpit who has cultivated a particular political-cultural niche. The Wikipedia entry could state this without the JB inflation. It does not state it because the inflation is the point. The inflation supplies the lineage capital that authorizes Meir’s position. Strip the inflation and Meir becomes a competent rabbi with a notable pulpit and a Princeton degree, which is real but not exceptional. With the inflation, he becomes the great-nephew of the leader of American Jewry, and his own activities acquire reflected significance from the lineage.
The Modern Orthodox intellectual tradition is structurally a celebrity-driven coalition product whose central figures have been chosen for their performance capacity rather than their substantive contributions.
The Briskers’ broadside is ugly. Their attack on Karlinsky for writing a biography is small and vicious. The “moridim velo-ma’alim” footnote treats a haredi-aligned scholar as a renegade, which tells you how much pressure the boundary was under. None of that means their assessment of JB’s halakhic weight was wrong. They may have been correct that he was not a continuator of the Brisker line in substance. They may have been correct that the Festschrift was a Feinstein-led courtesy that confused the picture. The ferocity is excessive. The underlying judgment about JB’s halakhic productivity is closer to defensible than Myers’s frame allows.
The Myers-Dunner framing leans modern. “Pious presence” for the Edah Haredis is the tell, paired with “Zionist heresy” for what they came to oppose. They lived in a city they regarded as occupied by a movement aimed at uprooting the religion. “Pious” is a courtesy the secular Jewish historian extends to a faction whose doctrine he cannot endorse. “Heresy” inside scare quotes does the same work in reverse, signaling that the historian does not accept the description. The same care is not extended to the Briskers’ assessment of JB. That asymmetry is the coalition position of American Jewish studies as a field. The Myers-Dunner essay about the Jerusalem Briskers is a professional coalition purity document. The Jerusalem Briskers watch JB collect a Festschrift in 1984 with approbations from the senior Agudah rabbis in America and see the professional coalition line collapsing. Feinstein, a blood relative, writes about “the glory of our family.” Gifter places Soloveitchik “among those who perpetuate the House of Brisk.” The distinction between Modern Orthodoxy and yeshivish Orthodoxy, which the Jerusalem Briskers need to hold firm, is being erased by their own senior colleagues.
The response is the classic move of a professional coalition that feels its purity markers slipping. Escalate the rhetoric against the boundary-crosser to make the cost of further crossing too high. Soloveitchik becomes the “Boston Sadducee,” the “uprooter of Israel,” the “product of the cursed Berlin Haskalah,” the “poisoner of the hearts of the Children of Israel.” The language is maximal because the stakes are low in one sense, Soloveitchik has his own following and institutions, and high in another, the haredi coalition’s claim to be the sole legitimate heir to the Brisker tradition depends on keeping Soloveitchik outside the line. Moshe Feinstein’s warm letter pulled the line inward. The broadside pushes it back.
The Jerusalem Briskers stick it to Hayim Karlinsky, a haredi-aligned rabbi writing a biography of the Beis Ha-Levi, published by Makhon Yerushalayim, which was a center of haredi textual scholarship. Why the attack? Because a biography of the Beis Ha-Levi that draws on sources from R. Simcha Soloveitchik in Brooklyn and acknowledges help from RIETS faculty like Dovid Lifshitz and Berish Mandelbaum re-connects the Brisker lineage to the American Modern Orthodox branch. The book’s existence, regardless of its content, threatens the severed-lineage story the Jerusalem Briskers need. So Karlinsky becomes “wicked and evil H. K.,” a sapling-cutter, and Makhon Yerushalayim becomes “a den in which all the Maskilim of our generation disseminate their false and blasphemous opinions.”
The moridim velo-ma’alim line in the footnote is the escalation tell. The phrase comes from bSan 26b on the treatment of informers and renegades, people one lowers into a pit and does not raise out. The Jerusalem Briskers are applying the classical halakhic treatment of traitors to the staff of a haredi Torah institute that published an uncontroversial biography. The ferocity is out of proportion to the offense. The ferocity is the point. When the boundary is porous, the punishment for boundary-crossing must look disproportionate to deter the next crosser.
The Brisker Rav’s anti-Zionism is the doctrinal core that the Jerusalem Briskers cannot afford to lose. R. Chaim’s letter in Or la-yesharim in 1900, which Myers and Dunner quote in a footnote, called the Zionist leaders “bad people” whose “purpose is to uproot the fundaments of religion.” The Jerusalem Briskers settled in the city because settling there while refusing cooperation with Zionism performs the doctrine. Joseph Ber Soloveitchik’s Mizrachi Zionism inside the same rabbinic family line makes the doctrine look like a choice rather than a commandment. That is unbearable for a professional coalition whose entire position is that the doctrine is the only faithful reading of the tradition.
The phrase “the existence of an alternative Soloveitchik lineage” names the structural problem precisely. The Jerusalem Briskers need a single authentic line running through R. Chaim to R. Velvel to themselves. Joseph Ber’s career threatens the line not because he is a weak scholar but because he is a strong one whose scholarship cannot be dismissed. A dismissible modernist would not require this level of attack. The intensity of the broadside is evidence of Soloveitchik’s legitimate claim.
Orthodoxy contains internal professional coalition conflicts that outsiders rarely see. The standard academic map of American Jewish religious life runs Reform, Conservative, Modern Orthodox, haredi, and treats each as a professional coalition in tension with the others. The coalition dynamics are more granular. The Jerusalem Briskers are not in meaningful tension with Reform Jews, who are so far outside their frame as to be irrelevant. They are in acute tension with Agudah rabbis in America who warm up to Modern Orthodox colleagues, because those rabbis are close enough to matter. Coalition conflicts are usually most intense at the nearest boundary, not the farthest one. The broadside is aimed at Feinstein and Gifter and Ruderman as much as at Soloveitchik, because those three threaten the line from inside.
The document sat in Dunner’s private collection. His family has Anglo-Orthodox roots that touch multiple strands of European Orthodoxy, and he has written on haredi history with an insider’s eye. Myers brings the JQR imprimatur and the academic framing apparatus. The collaboration is productive because Dunner has access to the material and context that a secular Jewish historian might struggle to get, and Myers has the platform and the scholarly register.
The frame is measured but tips. Phrases like “unbridgeable and often unnoticed boundary lines within Orthodoxy itself,” “militant Orthodoxy that not only regards non-Orthodox Judaism as beyond the bounds of legitimacy but treats with mocking contempt one of the most revered and prominent exponents of Orthodox Judaism,” and “a haredi world struggling to beat back the advances of a modern world” position the reader sympathetically toward Soloveitchik and skeptically toward the Briskers. The framing is defensible given what the document contains. A more neutral frame might have said that both sides are making professional coalition-maintenance moves and that the broadside’s ferocity is proportional to the Briskers’ perceived loss, not to any threat Soloveitchik posed to their community.
What the piece does not quite reach was that Joseph Ber Soloveitchik was doing coalition work of a different kind. Torah u-madda was not just a personal synthesis. It was a coalition technology that let college-educated American Orthodox Jews stay Orthodox while participating in American professional life. The synthesis did real work for a real constituency. The Jerusalem Briskers correctly identified it as the rival coalition’s foundational doctrine and attacked it as such. Both sides were defending coalition boundaries. Soloveitchik’s synthesis won the demographic battle in America because the American context rewarded it. The Briskers won the purity battle inside their own enclave because the enclave context rewarded that. The broadside is the sound of one professional coalition watching the other’s victory condition coming into view.
The piece works as a document publication and it works as a glimpse into Orthodox internal politics. What it does not do is push the analysis to the coalition-theoretic register where the broadside becomes legible as a generic move rather than a haredi excess. That move would require stepping outside the field’s implicit alliance with Modern Orthodoxy against haredi extremism. Myers, as an editor of JQR and a figure inside American Jewish studies, does not take that step. He lets the document speak and frames it in a register that treats Soloveitchik as the reasonable party and the Briskers as the unreasonable one. That frame is possibly correct on the merits. It is also the frame his coalition would expect him to produce.
Meir Soloveitchik holds the pulpit at Congregation Shearith Israel, the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue in Manhattan, the oldest Jewish congregation in North America, founded in 1654. He directs the Straus Center for Torah and Western Thought at Yeshiva University. He has a Princeton PhD in religion. He writes a column in Commentary. He delivers public lectures to Christian and political audiences, including at the Vatican and to congressional groups. He podcasts. He appears on conservative media. He has cultivated relationships with the Tikvah Fund, with First Things, with the Catholic intellectual right, with the Republican policy establishment in Washington. He is a fixture of the Jewish-Christian dialogue circuit and of the American conservative intellectual scene.
What he is not is a posek of any standing, a producer of major halakhic works, a builder of new yeshivot or institutions of learning, a developer of original religious philosophy, or a figure with significant authority inside the frum world. His religious productivity by the metrics that mattered to R. Chaim Brisker or to R. Moshe Feinstein is modest. His public productivity by the metrics that matter to American conservative intellectual culture is substantial. The asymmetry tells you what he is doing and for whom.
The lineage gives him the platform. He is a Soloveitchik, descended from JB’s brother R. Aharon, with the family name carrying the accumulated capital we discussed in the prior turns. The name opens doors that would not open for a similarly capable figure without it. A man named Meir Cohen with the same Princeton credentials, the same writing skill, the same political instincts, would not have the Shearith Israel pulpit, the Straus Center directorship, the Vatican invitations, or the Commentary column. He might have a respectable academic career and some public profile, but he would not occupy the position Meir Soloveitchik occupies. The name is the load-bearing element. The credentials and the talent are necessary but not sufficient. The Soloveitchik name is what makes the package legible to the audiences he addresses.
This is exactly the inheritance pattern coalition systems produce. JB converted Brisker lineage into Modern Orthodox philosophical celebrity. Meir converts JB’s accumulated American Modern Orthodox capital into political-cultural celebrity in the Christian-conservative-Jewish dialogue space. The conversion is the same shape, applied to a new market with a new product. JB sold dialectical existentialism to mid-century YU musmachim and their Christian theological counterparts. Meir sells civic religion to the American conservative coalition and to the Catholic intellectual right. The audiences are different but the structural move is identical. Take the lineage, find the audience that values it, produce displays the audience can recognize, convert the displays into status, status into resources, resources into platform, platform into more displays.
The display medium has shifted from philosophical essay to public lecture, magazine column, podcast, and political event. This shift tracks the broader change in how intellectual reputations get built in American culture. Long philosophical essays in journals do not produce careers anymore the way they did in the 1950s. Public-facing media work does. Meir has correctly read the medium of his moment and built his platform accordingly. He gives speeches that are accessible, well-delivered, suitably learned-sounding, and politically aligned with audiences that have resources and influence. The speeches do not advance scholarship. They perform a kind of cultural authority that the audiences want to associate themselves with.
The substance of what he says, when you strip away the delivery and the lineage halo, is mostly conventional American center-right civic religion with Jewish accents. Western civilization is good. Judeo-Christian values undergird American freedom. Israel is the ally of America against shared enemies. The Hebrew Bible contains political wisdom relevant to contemporary debates. Religious liberty is essential. Secular progressivism threatens these goods. None of this is wrong, and none of it requires a Princeton PhD in religion or a Soloveitchik to articulate. It is the standard message of a particular American political-religious coalition. Meir’s contribution is to deliver this message in a register that includes Hebrew Bible citations and rabbinic asides, dressed up with his lineage and his credentials, so that the audience feels it has heard something deeper than the standard talking points.
This is the same operation JB performed in a different register. JB (a lifelong Republican) delivered Modern Orthodox civic-religious comfort in a Kierkegaardian register so that his audience felt they had received something deeper than the standard rabbinic homiletics. Meir delivers American conservative civic religion in a rabbinic-historical register so that his audience feels they have received something deeper than the standard political commentary. Both men work as performers of depth. The depth performed is greater than the depth delivered. The audiences want the performance and reward it generously. The performers oblige.
The Tikvah Fund connection is structurally important here. Tikvah is the institutional vehicle that has organized much of the postwar American Jewish conservative intellectual project, with substantial funding and a network of programs, fellowships, and publications. Meir is one of Tikvah’s central figures. The fund has bet on him as a key public face of the project. The bet makes sense from Tikvah’s perspective. He delivers the goods the fund’s donors and audiences want. He is reliable, articulate, well-credentialed, and bears a name that signals authentic Jewish religious depth to audiences who could not independently evaluate that depth. Tikvah needs figures like Meir to convert its funding into cultural influence. Meir needs Tikvah to maintain the platform that gives his work reach. The relationship is symbiotic and mutually beneficial.
The Catholic-Jewish dialogue circuit is the other major audience. Meir has been welcomed into Catholic intellectual circles, has spoken at the Vatican, has cultivated relationships with figures at First Things and similar publications. The Catholics are looking for an authentically Jewish voice that can speak their theological language and confirm their political-cultural commitments. Meir provides this. He talks about covenant, about Sinai, about the Hebrew Bible’s political teachings, about the dignity of religious liberty, in ways that resonate with Catholic theological vocabulary and Catholic political concerns. The Catholics get a Jewish interlocutor who confirms their priors. Meir gets a prestigious platform and the implicit endorsement of the Catholic intellectual establishment. Both sides benefit.
What is missing from this account, conspicuously, is engagement with the frum world, with halakhic disputes, with the hard problems of contemporary Orthodox life, with the questions that occupy serious posekim and roshei yeshiva. Meir does not write responsa. He does not adjudicate halakhic questions for his community in publications other rabbis read. He does not engage the contested issues, women’s roles, conversion standards, the agunah crisis, the relationship between halakhah and state law, the questions Berkovits engaged. He stays on the public-facing side of the operation, where the audience is American conservatives and dialogue Catholics rather than other Orthodox rabbis and their congregants.
This is consistent with JB’s pattern and intensifies it. JB at least taught Gemara at YU and produced shiurim that students remember as substantive halakhic-conceptual work, even if the published corpus is mostly philosophical essays. Meir does not even maintain the YU shiur tradition in the same way. His scholarly output is in religion-and-politics, in public theology, in the cultural commentary register, not in halakhic lamdanut. The lineage continues to legitimize the position, but the substantive halakhic work that originally generated the lineage’s value has continued to thin out across the generations. R. Chaim produced lomdus. R. Moshe Soloveitchik produced lomdus. JB produced essays with lomdus in his oral teaching. Meir produces public commentary with neither.
This is what coalition inheritance looks like when the original capital was generated by substantive work and the inheritors live off the accumulated reputation. The first generation produces. The second generation curates and extends. The third generation performs. The fourth generation lives on the brand. Modern Orthodoxy is somewhere between the third and fourth generation of the JB inheritance, depending on how you count, and Meir is the figure occupying the position the brand creates.
The Shearith Israel pulpit is itself instructive. Shearith Israel is not a frum congregation in the sense that Lakewood or even YU’s main minyan is. It is a historic institution with a distinguished pedigree that serves a wealthy, educated, mostly traditional but not strictly Orthodox membership in Manhattan. The congregation has a particular character: high-toned, civic-minded, oriented toward American Jewish history and Sephardic tradition, comfortable with engagement in public affairs. Meir fits this congregation perfectly because the congregation is oriented toward exactly the kind of public-facing religious-cultural work he produces. The match is excellent. The pulpit gives him an institutional base that does not demand the kind of internal halakhic work a Lakewood pulpit would demand. He can spend his time on the lecture circuit, on Tikvah programs, on Vatican visits, on Commentary columns, while still being a working rabbi in good standing.
This too is a coalition match rather than a religious accident. The Shearith Israel board chose Meir because he could occupy the pulpit in the way they wanted it occupied, namely as a high-prestige public-facing position that brings cultural credit to the congregation through its rabbi’s national profile. A different kind of rabbi, one focused on internal halakhic work and pastoral care for his congregants, would not have served the congregation’s actual desires as well, even if his religious work were more substantial. The congregation gets what it values. Meir gets the pulpit that supports his platform. Symbiosis again.
The Straus Center directorship at YU performs a similar function. The center exists to articulate the relationship between Torah and Western political thought, to bring Orthodox Jewish thinking to bear on questions of American civic life. The center’s purpose is exactly the kind of public-facing work Meir does. He is the natural director because he is already producing the content the center exists to produce. The center provides him institutional cover and resources. He provides the center its public profile. Mutual benefit.
What this all amounts to, at the structural level, is a coalition that has organized itself around a particular kind of public religious authority and that has found in Meir Soloveitchik the figure best suited to embody that authority for the current moment. The audiences want a Jewish voice of a certain kind. Meir is that voice. The lineage gives him legitimacy. The credentials give him polish. The political instincts give him reach. The Tikvah-and-similar funding gives him platform. The Catholic-conservative dialogue circuit gives him visibility. He delivers the product the system is organized to consume. The system rewards him accordingly.
The questions that are not asked in this system are the questions a more rigorous coalition would ask. Is the work he produces a real contribution to Jewish religious thought, or is it American center-right political commentary in a Jewish costume? Are his Hebrew Bible readings serious contributions to the scholarly understanding of those texts, or are they homiletic exercises designed to confirm his audience’s prior political commitments? Is his Catholic-Jewish dialogue advancing Jewish religious life or advancing the political coalition his interlocutors belong to? Is the Shearith Israel pulpit producing Jewish religious depth in its congregants or producing prestige for its rabbi? These questions have answers, and the answers are mostly unflattering to the operation, but the operation does not ask them because the operation depends on not asking them.
The contrast with what could have been done with the same talent is sobering. A man with Meir’s intelligence, education, and institutional position could have produced serious scholarship on Jewish religious thought, engaged the hard halakhic questions of his moment, built genuine institutions of learning, contributed to the intellectual development of American Modern Orthodoxy in ways that would matter to its future. He has chosen instead to be a public figure of a particular sort, oriented toward audiences outside the Orthodox world more than toward the Orthodox world itself. The choice is not corrupt in any obvious sense. He is doing legitimate work that legitimate audiences value. But the choice does represent a particular allocation of his talent and his lineage’s capital, and the allocation reflects the incentives of the system rather than the religious needs of his community.
The deeper point is that the JB-to-Meir trajectory shows what happens when a religious tradition’s intellectual life gets captured by external coalitions whose interests are political and cultural rather than religious. JB was captured by the postwar Modern Orthodox coalition’s need for a figure of philosophical legitimacy who could justify the movement’s existence to itself and to outside audiences. Meir is captured by the Tikvah-conservative-Catholic dialogue coalition’s need for a Jewish public voice that confirms their commitments. In each case the religious figure performs the function the coalition requires, and the religious work that would be produced by a less coalition-bound figure goes undone.
Berkovits did not have an external coalition organizing his work. He had a small group of admirers and his own intellectual project. The lack of coalition support meant his reputation languished. It also meant his work was less compromised by the need to perform the coalition’s preferred display. He could pursue what he thought important rather than what audiences would reward. The freedom came at the cost of reputation. The reputation cost meant his work has less reach. The trade is unfortunate but it is the trade.
Meir’s career raises the question of whether the JB inheritance has anything left to give in religious terms or whether it has now been fully converted into political-cultural capital with religious decoration. The honest answer is probably the latter. The lineage no longer generates new halakhic or theological substance. It generates legitimacy for figures who do other kinds of work and who use the lineage to authorize that work. This is the natural endpoint of an inheritance that was built on display rather than on deep substance from the beginning. The display capacity has been refined and adapted across generations, but the substantive religious productivity has thinned to a point where it functions as costume rather than as the actual work being done.
The frum world’s lack of interest in Meir mirrors its lack of interest in JB. The yeshivish, Hasidic, and serious Modern Orthodox halakhic communities do not look to Meir for guidance on religious questions. They look to figures whose halakhic productivity is substantial. Meir’s audience is elsewhere, and his audience is the audience that the JB operation always primarily served, namely Modern Orthodox Jews and their non-Jewish admirers who want a particular kind of religious-cultural authority figure to admire and to associate themselves with. The audience has shifted somewhat from JB to Meir, picking up more Catholics and more political conservatives along the way, but the basic structure of the operation is continuous.
Once you see the structural pattern, the entire trajectory from JB to Meir, including the precise nature of the activities each generation pursues, becomes predictable rather than surprising. Each generation performs its lineage in the medium that current conditions reward. The lineage is the constant. The medium changes with the times. JB’s medium was the philosophical essay because that was what mid-century American Jewish intellectual culture rewarded. Meir’s medium is the public lecture, the magazine column, the podcast, the dialogue event, because those are what current American conservative intellectual culture rewards. The Soloveitchik name authorizes both performances and gives both their power. The performances are coalition products through and through.
As American culture continues to evolve and as the audiences change, future generations of the lineage will adopt new media and new registers, but the structural function will remain the same. The lineage will be performed in whatever medium current audiences value. The performances will continue to be rewarded with status, position, and platform. The substantive religious work will continue to be done by figures outside this operation, by working posekim, by serious scholars in academic Jewish studies, by Berkovits-type figures in Jerusalem and elsewhere, while the public-facing celebrity stays with the lineage holders. This is how religious traditions actually work in conditions where intellectual reputation is partly captured by external coalitions. The capture is not necessarily disastrous, but it is a real cost, and the cost is borne by the development of the tradition as a whole rather than by the individuals who benefit from the capture.
Meir is not doing anything wrong. He is doing exactly what the system rewards him for doing, with the talent and the lineage he was given. The question is what the system is and whether it serves the religious tradition that gave it birth. Once you see the system clearly, the answer is mixed at best. The tradition gets a public voice. The tradition does not get serious development of its religious thought, serious engagement with its hard halakhic questions, or serious institution-building of the kind earlier Soloveitchiks performed. The tradition trades depth for visibility, and the trade has been going on for so long now that the depth has thinned considerably. Whether the next generation can reverse this is an open question. The structural incentives suggest probably not.
The question I want to raise is this: Is the crank element—what I shall hereafter refer to as “crankitude”—that manifests itself in the work of Kurzweil and Leibowitz merely a reflection of personal idiosyncrasy or does it point to something more significant?
At the same time, one cannot help but notice that being a crank helps them to function more effectively as Orthodox thinkers— crankitude provides them with nothing less than a full-fledged intellectual stance. In short, my thesis is that Kurzweil and Leibowitz have elevated personal idiosyncrasy into a stylized cultural response—a response that permits them, at once, to take modernity with full seriousness, but also to reject modernity in the name of Jewish faith.
To better appreciate the nature of the enterprise that Kurzweil and Leibowitz engage in as Orthodox intellectual cranks it would be useful to consider the categories employed by sociologist Peter Berger, the leading academic analyst of the modernization process. Berger argues that religious thinkers have available essentially three types of response to the challenge of modernity: “cognitive retrenchment,” “cognitive bargaining,” and “cognitive surrender.” Cognitive retrenchment is the sectarian option, calling for a conscious rejection of modernity as a dangerous heresy. The thinker taking this position in effect states, as Berger puts it: “The rest of you go climb a tree; we believe this, we know this, and we are going to stick to it. And if this is irrelevant to the rest of you, well, that is just too bad.” In cognitive bargaining, in contrast, “there are two conflicting views of the world and they start to negotiate with each other”; an “attempt is made to arrive at a cognitive compromise.” Finally, there is cognitive surrender, in which, in Berger’s terms, “one simply accepts the fact that the majority is right, then adapts oneself to that point of view.”
Most Orthodox thinkers operating in a modern framework have engaged in one form or another of cognitive bargaining. In sharp contrast, Kurzweil and Leibowitz offer us the model of Orthodox intellectuals managing to combine—in equal measure no less—cognitive surrender and cognitive retrenchment. This, to put it mildly, is an astonishing intellectual feat… at one and the same time, embrace and reject modernity.
On the bibliographical side, it is important to note that only a very small sampling of the writings of Kurzweil and Leibowitz are available outside the Hebrew language. This has begun to change, however, with the appearance of James Diamond’s very fine English-language study Baruch Kurzweil and Modern Hebrew Literature This fact underscores the point that the work of these two Orthodox thinkers, in its origin—though certainly not in its reach—is inseparable from the Israeli context.
Proposition 1: The Orthodox intellectual crank centers his work on a religious problematic defined in rigidly either/or terms.
In Kurzweil’s case, this problematic is the absolute gulf separating the world of pre-modern religious faith from the secular outlook of modernity. For Kurzweil, modern and secular are synonymous, and it is the rise of secularization that has made modernity an age of permanent crisis. The starting point of Kurzweil’s thinking is the assumption, as Diamond puts it, that the “only absolute in human life, human history, and human culture is faith in the living transcendent God.” In the absence of faith—which is what secular modernity has brought about—human existence loses its one sure anchor, opening itself to what Kurzweil variously calls the “void,” the “absurd,” and the “demonic.” (These are key terms in his lexicon.) The meaning of this change, as Kurzweil sees it, is described by Diamond in the following manner:
In this new setting man is thrust into a cosmos bereft of certainty. He lives now not in the presence of God but of the abyss, of Nothing. The individual ego becomes the center and gradually enlarges to fill the void. Man for the first time conceives of himself as an autonomous being who is self-sufficient. There is no transcendent source for values and morality, nothing to hold in check man’s instinctive capacity for self-aggrandizement, hubris, domination and destruction. . . . Now man is utterly alone, beyond all values and all relationships with society or his fellow-men—yet he is unsatisfied. He has lost his soul but failed to gain the world, for the demons are insatiable.
A key element in Kurzweil’s thinking is the notion of “late return,” which occurs when an individual, caught in the web of modernity, seeks to escape his situation by turning back to a life of pristine faith. It is just here, however, that the either/or element comes to the fore, in that Kurzweil takes it for granted that no such return is possible for the vast majority of moderns. Kurzweil is not an evangelist calling for the restoration of religious faith; rather, he is a diagnostician of secular unbelief, describing what he takes to be the permanent condition of modern man. If Kurzweil devoted his career to the study of modern literature, it was because he saw it as offering telling testimony to this very condition.
Kurzweil’s interpretation of modern Hebrew literature is clearly set forth in Our Modern Literature: Continuity or Revolt? In this work, now a classic in the field, he argues decisively for the latter position. The emphasis here is on radical discontinuity, on modern Hebrew literature as a product of secularization and the collapse of religious faith.
Kurzweil mocks those who fail to see the “difference between the sacral world of traditional Judaism, in which the Divine Torah structures the totality of life activities, and a world which has become secularized in its totality but still preserves individual corners of interest in religious elements and subjects.” The former—the “sacral world of traditional Judaism”—is the domain of the “vision,” while the latter—a “world which has become secularized in its totality”—is the place of the “void.” Modern Hebrew writers, in Kurzweil’s view, sort themselves out most fundamentally by their varying responses to the confrontation with the “void.”
Proposition 2: The Orthodox intellectual crank displays radical openness to key aspects of the modern experience.
In Kurzweil’s case, this is the openness he shows to modern literary expression in all its forms. Far from spurning modern writing as the illicit fruit of the secularization process, Kurzweil lavishes endless attention on it, producing a body of literary criticism that is nothing short of massive. More importantly, it is also first-rate. Kurzweil’s critics are legion, but even the severest of them would have to admit that he was the very model of the engaged literary scholar.
Consider, then, the strange phenomenon of an Orthodox intellectual identifying the realm of heresy and then settling in for the lifelong study of it. A study, moreover, carried out in loving detail and with a considerable amount of imaginative sympathy for the heretics. That certainly is what Kurzweil offers us in his literary criticism, which yielded brilliant analyses of the work of, among others, Bialik, Brenner, Tchernichovsky, Greenberg, and, of course, Agnon. All that Kurzweil asks of his writers is that they testify honestly to the confrontation with the “void” and the “demonic”—wherever that takes them. What he could not abide, however, were attempts at evasion, such as he saw in the younger generation of Israeli writers. Kurzweil took it upon himself—as if. he needed any prodding!—to expose their “snobby immaturity and inflated nothingness.” With a straight face, he declared Amos Oz’s My Michael to be more dangerous to Israel as a nation than all the Arab armies.
Proposition 3: Despite his receptivity to key aspects of modernity, the Orthodox intellectual crank’s ultimate allegiance is to a version of Orthodox Judaism that negates the basic thrust of the modern experience.
In Kurzweil’s case, this is the meta-historical vision of Jewish history advanced by Samson Raphael Hirsch and his grandson Isaac Breuer. Kurzweil first befriended Breuer during his years in Frankfurt, when, in addition to attending the university there, he enrolled in the yeshivah that Hirsch had founded in the nineteenth century.
Breuer affirmed this model as well, but more importantly, he taught Kurzweil to oppose all attempts at the secularization of Jewish life. When Kurzweil argued that “Jewish existence without God is the Absurd with a capital ‘A,’“ he was directly echoing Breuer. More generally, Kurzweil followed the Hirsch-Breuer school in regarding Judaism and the Jewish people as meta-historical realities. In this view. Diamond explains, the Torah is “God-given, a timeless absolute that transcends the limitations of human history. The Jews, therefore, exist for the sake of Judaism; Judaism does not exist for the sake of the Jews.” “Kurzweil’s commitment to a meta-historical fideism,” Diamond rightly concludes, “is antipodal to the perspective [of] most Hebrew literature in the twentieth century.”
It is precisely here that Kurzweil’s famous attacks on Ahad Haam and Gershom Scholem come into the picture. Kurzweil saw these two “arch culprits” aiming at a secularization of Jewish life, an enterprise he saw as nothing short of “demonic.” To struggle within the world of the “void,” as did modern Hebrew writers, was one thing; to establish the “void” as the new foundation for a Jewish life, as did Ahad Haam and Scholem, quite another. Against this tendency, Kurzweil was unsparing in his criticism, referring to the “palpable absurdities of the Ahad Haamist philosophy.”
This was child’s play, however, compared to his polemic against Scholem, whose sins, in Kurzweil’s view, were threefold. First, he employed historicism as a tool to relativize the Judaic absolute. Second, he assigned “demonic” mysticism a position of importance in the framework of normative Judaism. Third, and most important, he legitimated secular Zionism as an expression native to Jewish history. “There is no more penetrating proof of the absurdity of our time,” Kurzweil railed, “than the fact that Scholem is today the spokesman for Judaism.”
Proposition 4: Crankitude is a coping mechanism that enables the Orthodox intellectual crank to maintain a reasonable equilibrium in a situation of extreme stress.
From everything that I have said thus far about Kurzweil and Leibowitz it should be evident that theirs is not a placid synthesis of Orthodoxy and modernity à la Samson Raphael Hirsch.
On the contrary, their encounter with modernity is characterized by sharply conflicted feelings, by powerful attraction on the one side and violent rejection on the other. The crucial factor here is the element of simultaneity—the fact that Kurzweil and Leibowitz feel drawn to and repulsed by modernity at one and the same time. It is no exaggeration at all to state that the measure of their attraction is the measure of their repulsion, and vice versa. It is precisely this tension that makes the work of these two Orthodox intellectuals so fascinating, and, I would contend, that accounts for their crankitude.
The crucial move Singer makes is distinguishing crankitude from synthesis. Hirsch produced a placid synthesis. Torah im derech eretz harmonized Orthodox observance with German bourgeois civilization in a way that did not require the synthesis to feel like a wound. The Hirschian Jew could be fully observant and fully German without the two identities pulling against each other in a daily existential drama. Hirsch’s followers in Frankfurt lived inside the synthesis as a comfortable inheritance rather than as a daily struggle.
Kurzweil and Leibowitz, in Singer’s reading, refuse this. They live inside the tension. They take both sides seriously to the point of contradiction. They produce work that performs the contradiction rather than resolving it. The crankitude is the residue of the refusal to choose. They will not engage in cognitive bargaining because cognitive bargaining produces compromised positions on both sides. They will not engage in cognitive surrender because surrender means the loss of Jewish identity. They will not engage in pure cognitive retrenchment because retrenchment means the loss of intellectual seriousness. So they hold all the positions at once and let the friction generate their work.
This framework cuts hard against JB and clarifies what JB was doing.
JB is not a crank in Singer’s sense. JB is a synthesizer, but a synthesizer of a particular kind. He produces what looks like crankitude on the surface, the lonely man of faith torn between Adam I and Adam II, the dialectical figure caught between modernity and tradition, the homo religiosus and the halakhic man in permanent tension. But the tension is performed rather than lived. JB tells his reader that the dialectical struggle is the religious condition. He does not require his reader to actually struggle with it. The reader can feel the loneliness vicariously through JB’s lyric prose, and then go back to his comfortable suburban Modern Orthodox life with the warm sense of having participated in profound religious tension.
This is the difference Singer’s framework makes visible. Real crankitude, in Kurzweil’s case, costs the practitioner something. Kurzweil writes brilliant literary criticism of Hebrew writers he regards as agents of demonic secularization. He spends his life on the literature he believes destroys Jewish faith. He cannot resolve this. The cost is psychological. He becomes difficult, intemperate, polemical, isolated. He writes that Amos Oz’s My Michael is more dangerous than the Arab armies and means it. The crankitude is the cost of refusing the cognitive bargains that would have made him comfortable.
JB pays no such cost. He produces philosophical essays that articulate dialectical tension in beautiful prose, gets celebrated for it, occupies the central pulpit of American Modern Orthodoxy, trains thousands of musmachim, becomes “the Rav,” and has his works published in successive volumes by his admiring students. The performance of tension generates status, not crankitude. The performance is rewarded by the coalition. Kurzweil’s actual crankitude isolated him. JB’s performed crankitude crowned him.
The successful conversion of cognitive display into status and resources requires the display to fit what the audience can reward. Kurzweil’s audience could not reward him because his crankitude attacked figures the audience admired and demanded a level of consistency the audience could not perform. JB’s audience could reward him because his performed crankitude flattered the audience’s own sense of dialectical sophistication without requiring the audience to actually live the dialectic.
Singer is being polite when he says Kurzweil and Leibowitz “manage to combine cognitive surrender and cognitive retrenchment.” The polite framing makes their position sound like an intellectual achievement. The harsher framing is that they refused to perform the bargain that would have made them comfortable, and the refusal cost them. Leibowitz spent decades being denounced from every direction. Kurzweil committed suicide in 1972. The cost of real crankitude is real. The reward for performed crankitude is also real. JB chose the rewarded performance. Kurzweil and Leibowitz did not, or could not.
The Berkovits comparison gains another dimension here. Berkovits is neither a crank nor a synthesizer in the JB mode. He is something rarer, a serious thinker working in the native Jewish register without performing dialectical tension. He writes about agunah remedies because the agunah problem is a real halakhic and human problem that needs serious work. He writes about the Holocaust because the Holocaust requires Jewish theological reckoning. He writes about halakhah and ethics because the relationship between them is a genuine question. None of this is performed. None of it is dressed up in existential vocabulary borrowed from Christian theology. It is just the work, done in the appropriate register, addressed to readers who can engage it on its merits.
Berkovits’s reception suffered for the same reason Kurzweil’s did, though in a different mode. He did not perform the tension the audience wanted to see performed. He did not signal his sophistication through dialectical drama. He simply did the work. The audience trained on JB did not know how to value this. They were looking for performed depth. They got actual depth without the performance, and the absence of the performance read to them as the absence of depth. The category error is the audience’s, but the cost is paid by Berkovits.
Singer’s framework also clarifies something about the contemporary scene. Meir Soloveitchik does not even perform crankitude. He performs civic confidence. His work projects a Jewish identity at peace with American conservatism, with Catholic-Jewish dialogue, with Western civilization understood as a Judeo-Christian inheritance. There is no dialectical wound in his prose. There is no Adam I-Adam II tension. There is no homo religiosus struggling against the halakhic man. The crankitude tradition, even in its performed JB form, has been dropped because the audience no longer wants it. The audience wants confident religious-political alignment, not dialectical loneliness. Meir delivers the product the new audience wants. The shift from JB to Meir is the shift from performed tension to performed confidence, both serving as costume for coalition position.
What this suggests about the longer arc is that the Modern Orthodox intellectual tradition has moved through a sequence of performed positions, each suited to its moment’s audience preferences, none of them representing the kind of work serious Jewish thought actually requires. JB performed dialectical tension for the postwar audience that wanted to feel sophisticated about its modernity. Meir performs civic alignment for the current audience that wants to feel confident about its political coalition. Neither performance produces the work the tradition needs. The work the tradition needs would look more like Berkovits’s work, or like serious halakhic responsa addressing the actual questions Jewish life faces, or like rigorous theology in the native register. The audiences have not rewarded that work. So the figures who produce it remain marginal.
The Singer piece also raises a question worth sitting with. He is writing in 1990 in First Things, a Catholic-leaning ecumenical journal that became central to the conservative intellectual project. He is writing about Kurzweil and Leibowitz appreciatively while implicitly setting them against the smoother synthesizers. The fact that this piece appears in First Things rather than in a Modern Orthodox publication is itself a coalition signal. The Catholic-conservative ecumenical world had room for an essay celebrating Orthodox Jewish cranks. The Modern Orthodox world did not. Modern Orthodox publications in 1990 were celebrating JB and his students, not Kurzweil and Leibowitz. The marginalization Singer describes was being enacted in real time by his choice of venue.
There is also a generational point. Singer wrote this in 1990. The cranks he describes were already dead or near it. Kurzweil died in 1972, Leibowitz in 1994. The piece is in some sense an obituary for a kind of Orthodox intellectual life that was becoming impossible. The conditions that produced Kurzweil and Leibowitz, namely the European rabbinic culture that took Western literature and philosophy as serious adversaries, had passed. The American Modern Orthodox world that replaced this European culture did not produce cranks because it did not produce the conditions for crankitude. American Modern Orthodoxy had made its peace with American culture early. The peace was the JB synthesis. The cranks would have been figures who refused the peace. The community did not want such figures and did not produce them.
Kurzweil and Leibowitz were not too busy. They were academics, professors, public intellectuals with the leisure to engage in extended polemical writing. The crankitude required leisure as much as the existentialism required leisure. Both are products of the modern conditions that detach religious figures from the dense daily ritual life of traditional communities. The difference is that JB used the leisure to produce performed tension that flattered his audience, while Kurzweil and Leibowitz used the leisure to produce actual tension that alienated theirs. Both are operations only possible inside modern conditions. Neither would have been produced inside the densely ritualized life of a working frum community.
The piece is also useful for thinking about what serious Jewish religious thought might look like if it were liberated from the coalition incentives that distort it. The cranks show one possibility. Berkovits shows another. Working posekim like Feinstein show a third. None of these involve the performance of dialectical tension as a status display. All of them involve actual work on actual problems, performed by people whose careers were marginal to the public-facing Modern Orthodox celebrity machine. The serious work happens at the margins because the center is occupied by the coalition’s preferred performers.
Singer’s diagnosis is sharper than he probably intended. He frames Kurzweil and Leibowitz as cranks in a tone of bemused admiration, as if their crankitude is a curiosity rather than a verdict on the alternative. The verdict on the alternative is that the smoother figures, the JBs, are not actually doing the work the tradition needs. They are performing instead. The cranks are at least trying to do the work, even if the trying tears them apart. The synthesizers are not trying. They are presenting the appearance of work while collecting the rewards of performance. The cranks pay the cost of seriousness. The synthesizers collect the wages of display.
Singer’s cranks are not philosophically serious in the academic sense, but they are religiously serious in a way JB is not. They actually inhabit the contradictions JB merely performs. The inhabitation produces work that is uneven, polemical, sometimes brilliant and sometimes embarrassing, but always real. JB’s performance produces work that is consistently elegant and consistently empty at the level the philosophical vocabulary promises. The unevenness of the cranks is the signature of their seriousness. The consistency of JB’s elegance is the signature of his performance.
JB performs philosophical depth he does not deliver. JB performs Zionist commitment without paying its costs. JB performs faith in a register foreign to traditional Jewish life. JB performs dialectical crankitude without inhabiting it. The performances are rewarded by the coalition that needs them performed. The actual work of Jewish thought happens elsewhere, by figures the coalition does not reward. Berkovits, Weinberg, Kurzweil, Leibowitz, working posekim, serious academic scholars, all of them marginal to the JB celebrity machine, all of them doing more substantive work than the figure at the center.
The Modern Orthodox intellectual tradition is structurally a celebrity-driven coalition product whose central figures have been chosen for their performance capacity rather than their substantive contributions. This is not a unique feature of Modern Orthodoxy. It is the normal condition of religious intellectual life when external coalitions capture the reward structure. But seeing it clearly is useful, and Singer’s piece, despite its appreciative framing, gives you the framework to see it. Once you see it, the JB phenomenon stops being puzzling. It becomes typical.
Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik and the Problem of Biblical Criticism
Did the Rav, R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, deal with the major theological issues that result from the conclusions of Biblical criticism?[1] On the face of it, he did not. In fact, he seemed generally unconcerned with the historical-critical method that so dominates academia. In part based on this supposed fact, Moshe Sokol and David Singer declare that the Rav should not be considered truly “Modern Orthodox.”[2] This should be surprising to anyone who knows the Rav’s legacy as a great Modern Orthodox leader who courageously confronted the challenges of modernity – modern-day Maimonides. Sokol states boldly, “In my judgment this is the myth of R. Soloveitchik, a myth which for good sociological reasons found enormous currency amongst many Modern Orthodox Jews, who required an authority figure to make sense of and to some degree justify their participation in modernity.”
Sokol suggests several reasons why he thinks the Rav did not deal with these issues.[3] Firstly, he contends, the Rav had a philosophical orientation that did not care too overly much about history and texts, but instead about abstract categories.[4] Sokol’s second suggestion is that the Rav understood all too well the potential religious problems inherent in the study and discussion of Biblical criticism, and decided therefore not to confront it at all. He suggests that this ties into what he believes is a third reason, that the Rav sees the religious “man-child” as an ideal. After all, the Rav has stated:
The adult is too smart. Utility is his guiding-light. The experience of God is not a businesslike affair. Only the child can breach the boundaries that segregate the finite from the infinite. Only the child with his simple faith and fiery enthusiasm can make the miraculous leap into the bosom of God.[5]
Sokol argues that the Rav believed that the “man-child” doesn’t require rational proofs. Only the experience is important to him. To Sokol, this explains why the Rav claims in Lonely Man of Faith that he has “never even been troubled” by Biblical criticism. Thus, Sokol proposes that the Rav idealized an avoidance and aversion to rationality in the God experience, and therefore he did not attempt to resolve historical scholarship when it came to the Bible.[6] As we will see, others have interpreted Sokol’s three reasons for the Rav’s ignoring of the problem of Biblical criticism as themselves answers to the issue, not an avoidance of it.
It pays to see the passage alluded to above regarding the Rav having “never been seriously troubled” by Biblical criticism, since it has become the most often quoted of the Rav on Biblical criticism, arresting in its triggering of the reader’s curiosity. The Rav writes:
I have never been seriously troubled by the problem of the Biblical doctrine of creation vis-a-vis the scientific story of evolution at both the cosmic and the organic levels, nor have I been perturbed by the confrontation of the mechanistic interpretation of the human mind with the Biblical spiritual concept of man. I have not been perplexed by the impossibility of fitting the mystery of revelation into the framework of historical empiricism. Moreover, I have not even been troubled by the theories of Biblical criticism which contradict the very foundations upon which the sanctity and integrity of the Scriptures rest. However, while theoretical oppositions and dichotomies have never tormented my thoughts, I could not shake off the disquieting feeling that the practical role of the man of faith within modern society is a very difficult, indeed, a paradoxical one…[7]
Jonathan Sacks calls this passage “tantalizing, because nowhere in his writings does Soloveitchik explain the reason for his lack of perplexity.”[8] However, the scholars we shall discuss understood there to be a reason behind his seeming disinterest in Biblical criticism. It is almost as if this passage represents a necessary piece of the puzzle to be solved regarding the Rav’s relationship to Biblical criticism.
Shalom Carmy claims that though “the Rav was avowedly untroubled by, and manifestly not preoccupied with, the methods and conclusions” of Biblical criticism and other academic disciplines, it should not “signify lack of curiosity.”[9] Carmy reports that even in the Rav’s old age, he would allude to issues raised by Biblical critics. On the other hand, says Carmy, R. Soloveitchik was not nuanced when it came to refusing to accept any of the conclusions of academic Biblical scholarship. Carmy quotes, on more than one occasion, [10] a letter of the Rav, where he denies any possibility of the RCA’s involvement in the 1953 JPS translation of the Bible.[11]
Despite these interpretations, other scholars of the Rav have considered areas of the Rav’s thought which could be viewed as directly or indirectly responding to Biblical criticism.[12] The following is an outline of several such approaches. These approaches are often mere shades different, sometimes simply a varying angle, but are separated only by a certain emphasis in the approach. Some also complement each other, and can be used to answer questions inevitably raised by others
I. The Man of Faith The Man of Faith
Dov Schwartz suggests that the Rav’s emphasis on the man of faith, as opposed to the man of nature, indicates the Rav’s approach to Biblical criticism. Though Sokol, as we saw above, read the passage in Lonely Man of Faith quoted above as a reason why the Rav didn’t try to discuss Biblical criticism at all, Schwartz sees it as a philosophical outlook that is indeed a response to the issues of Biblical criticism:
He is well aware of the concern that biblical criticism had evoked in the nineteenth century among a considerable number of Jewish thinkers. Nevertheless, he holds that the faith of the modern individual is not at all troubled by this question… Soloveitchik, then, removes the modern concept of “faith” from its traditional contexts and problems.[13]
Why is the man of faith not concerned with such problems? Because, Schwartz writes, the Rav believes that:
“Majestic man” strives to control reality and its forces in his benefit… For this purpose, he creates an array of ideal structures—mathematical and physical—that imitate reality, through which he indeed subdues it according to his needs. In contrast, “the man of faith” “explores not the scientific abstract universe but the irresistibly fascinating qualitative world where he establishes an intimate relation with God.” Soloveitchik’s version of faith is thus closely linked to an understanding of the foundations of concrete existence—removed from ideal existence—and characterizes life as an “existential experience.”[14]
To Schwartz, the man of faith is concerned about the existential dialectic of having a relationship with God in the world. The man of faith is only focused on the constant searching for a solution to the loneliness that pursues him. Schwartz notes that this approach makes the Man of Faith impervious to the kind of issues raised by Biblical criticism. “A faith of this type, allowing a dialogue with the other and with God, cannot be subject to cognitive or pragmatic reduction.”
Another approach that exists within the “Man of Faith” paradigm is the idea that the faith in particular needs to believe in certain non-rational historical truths to maintain meaning and self-worth. We noted earlier that Sokol attributes the Rav’s idealized form of religious cognition, the “man-child,” as one of the reasons why he did not discuss the issue of Biblical criticism. Rational proofs are not necessary for the man of faith.[15] Though this would seem, as Sokol suggests, a non-answer to Biblical criticism, the Rav actually uses this concept of non-rational, “apodictic,” truth when it comes to historicity and the Bible in the same way. In his discussion early on in Abraham’s Journey,[16] he discusses the problem presented by Bible critics, “Jew or gentile,” who “cast serious doubt upon the authenticity of the narrative.” There, the Rav presents two arguments to head off this issue. Firstly, new discoveries are occurring constantly in archeology that could prove or buttress the biblical report, creating a situation now where “skepticism regarding the biblico-historical account has, of late, lost much of its vigor and arrogance… The fury of the historian – the passionate seeker of truth – against the ‘Abraham myth’ has abated.”[17] Secondly, and more importantly for our discussion, the Rav states that “to us, this problem” of historicity is “almost irrelevant.” He goes on, “We need no evidence of the historical existence of our patriarch, just as there is no necessity for clear-cut logical evidence concerning the reality of God.” The Rav posits that just as God is axiomatic to any cognitive activity, so is belief in the historical reality of Abraham. This is because:
As the architect and founder of our nation, Abraham left such an indelible imprint upon our unfolding historic destiny that he has been integrated into our historical consciousness… The narrative about his life is almost, to use a Kantian term, an apodictic truth, a constitutive category that activates our great historical experience and lends it meaning and worth. If we were to deny the truth of the Abraham story, our historic march would be a fathomless mystery, an insensate, cruel, absurd occurrence that prosecutes no goal and moves on toward nothingness, running down to its own doom… If Abraham were a myth, a legend, a beautiful but fantastic vision, then we would be faced with a tragic hoax and the ridicule of the centuries and millennia.
The Rav considers non-rational motives of meaning and loss thereof that require the Jew to cling to a belief in the reality of Abraham. Presumably, this would apply to many other areas of the Biblical account, including the forefathers and Moses, and therefore the Bible’s revelatory event itself. This kind of approach is interesting, as it employs meaning, and the unwillingness to face the “tragic hoax” of Jewish history if it were found to be falsified, as a response to Biblical criticism. While it can hardly establish truth of history, we can say that the Rav was getting at a reticence to rely on falsifying conclusions when other paradigms continue to be worthy. This may be why he puts forth his first answer of archeological findings confirming Jewish history, since that means we can still hold onto the truths present in it.
II. The Use of Typological Categories
A similar approach is taken by Rabbi Reuven Ziegler (citing Rabbi Shalom Carmy),[18] namely that the Rav employs differing assumptions as an exegete of the text of the Bible, as opposed to the common assumptions employed by Bible critics. This is exemplified in Lonely Man of Faith. After saying that he is uninterested in the problems of Biblical criticism, the Rav uses a method of exegesis that resolves a problem of textual scholarship – examining the two incongruent descriptions of man’s creation and his purpose in the Garden of Eden from chapters one and two of Genesis. His resolution, that the two narratives represent the multi-faceted and dialectical nature of man, Adam I and Adam II, can be broadly characterized as providing differing approaches to man’s identity and purpose in the world. The Bible contains dialectical approaches, which don’t have to be resolved or harmonized in any way, but rather interpreted as such. Carmy suggests that this represents the best kind of approach to Biblical criticism, which is to deal with it obliquely by presenting “a compelling alternate understanding.” The other way is to “respond to them point-by-point,” which is problematic because “one is playing in their arena and is constantly on the defensive.”
III. The Halakhic Man and Interpretation of Biblical Narrative
In Part I of Halakhic Man the Rav builds up the personality of the ideal Jew, the Halakhic Man, who successfully harmonizes the dialectic present in every human through the use of the Halakha. In Part II, he describes Halakhic Man’s great capacity for creativity. He takes every theoretical position and converts it to practical Halakha. The Rav describes this man looking at Scripture and deriving Halakhic principles out of even the most mundane narrative. He celebrates the Midrashic passage that speaks of the narrative portions as even more important than the legal portions, and sees practical Halakha even in the eschatological vision. Every line and letter of Scripture “alludes to basic principles of Torah law.”[19] The story of creation is neither mere dogma nor the revelation of metaphysical mysteries, “but rather in order to teach practical Halakha. The Scriptural portion of the creation narrative is a legal portion…that man is obliged to engage in creation and the renewal of the cosmos.”
The Rav’s Halakhic Man may have been able to respond to Biblical criticism through conversion of narrative into Halakhic imperatives and principles. Scripture becomes ahistorical when viewed as a legal textbook that is not bound in time. A Bible scholar’s objections regarding the historical realities of the Bible’s creation are a non-sequitur to the Halakhic Man, who ignores such theories in favor of his own halakhic worldview and vision.
IV. The Halakhic Mind and Epistemological Pluralism
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, in several places,[20] writes about what he sees as the Rav’s idea of epistemological pluralism. In Sacks’s book Crisis and Covenant, he uses this idea to answer the question of the Rav’s response to Biblical criticism. Science and religion never require synthesis because, as Sacks writes, “The scientist, the sociologist and the poet each bring their different methodologies to bear on reality and as a result they see it in different ways, through different concepts.”[21] Sacks identifies this train of thought most explicitly in Halakhic Mind, in which the Rav wrote that “the object reveals itself in manifold ways to the subject,” and that “a certain telos corresponds to each of these ontological manifestations.” Thus, the reason why Biblical criticism and other fields of scholarship seem to conflict with religious belief is because of a misapplication of these categories. The scientific outlook is concerned for causality, but the religionist’s faith is completely unconcerned with how it came to be and is, in the Rav’s words, “aboriginal.” The religious faith in revelation, explains Sacks, “resists explanation in terms of prior causes…The fact that the biblical text, for example, contains apparent contradictions is not the result of its having been written by many hands, but rather evidence that it reflects and endorses conflicting dimensions of the human condition, with which the religious personality has to struggle in ceaseless dialectic.”
Both Sacks, and Walter Wurzburger, see this ceaseless dialectic in the Rav’s emphasis on typological categories. The Rav describes these categories as existing in each person, creating a state of tension that a person must resolve. If so, a similar situation occurs when one is confronted with issues of Biblical criticism. Examining Lonely Man of Faith’s dialectical Adams makes this clear. Adam I (from chapter one of Genesis) recognizes the ways of nature, archeology, and the scientific world. However, Adam II (from chapter two of Genesis) is a man of faith, in a religious, God-conscious mode of thinking through which he seeks to solve his existential loneliness. These will always be in tension, and never be fully and actually resolved. Walter Wurzberger argues that the Rav only accepted scientific conclusions outside of the religious experience:
…for the Rav the endorsement of scientific methods is strictly limited to the realm of Adam I…causal explanations are irrelevant in the domain of Adam II, who can overcome his existential loneliness only through the establishment of a ‘covenantal community,’ enabling him to relate to transcendence.[22]
Both Sacks and Wurzburger see the Rav’s use of Halakha as the response to the crisis found in the tension between the two modes of thinking in the modern world. As Wurzburger puts it, “According to R. Soloveitchik, scientific methods are appropriate only for the explanation of natural phenomena but have no place in the quest for the understanding of the normative and cognitive concepts of Halakha, which imposes its own a priori categories, which differ from those appropriate in the realm of science. It is for this reason that the Rav completely ignores Bible criticism…” Halakha assumes different categories of reality than science does, and thus, the two methods cannot interact. This brings us to the next kind of answer.
V. The A Priori Torah and The Normative Halakha
To Norman Solomon, because the Rav believes halakha to be an “a priori system,” (meaning a system that assumes propositions preceding logical deductions), this “renders it immune to history, just like geometry is unaffected by the historical circumstances of its discovery.”[23] The Rav’s words in Halakhic Man leave no doubt about this: “When Halakhic Man approaches reality, he comes with his Torah, given to him from Sinai, in hand…When Halakhic Man comes across a spring bubbling quietly, he already possesses a fixed, a priori relationship with this real phenomenon: the complex of laws regarding the halakhic construct of a spring.” Can this relate to the problems of Biblical criticism? The Rav uses the phrase, a “Torah, given to him from Sinai,” which stakes a historical claim, yet from the perspective of the Halakhic Man. Solomon assumes that if Halakha is axiomatic to the Rav, the historicity of the Torah would be as well, though this might be conflating the two. However, we might combine this with what we saw in Abraham’s Journey above, that the reality of Abraham is a given, axiological to the historical identity of the Jew. As Solomon puts it, the Rav represents a change from Maimonides’ assertion of the historicity of the Torah, because it has transformed from a “historical claim to a metaphysical, unverifiable, and therefore unfalsifiable one.”
Almut Bruckstein contends that the Rav was something of a neo-Kantian in his view of the halakha, arguing in particular that Halakhic Mind and Halakhic Man are two works which bear the distinctive marks of neo-Kantian methodology. In so doing, she argues toward a new understanding of the Rav’s understanding of Halakha, in which belief in Torah from Sinai is a “halakhic construct,” instead of an empirical claim. She writes:
The traditional formulation of the Halakha as an expression of the divine will is interpreted in neo-Kantian terms as the objectification of a person’s normative relationship to the world within the context of propositions genuine to Halakha… Consider then the following intriguing implication of JBS’s claim that halakhic reasoning is a cognitive act based upon a priori, autonomous, and ideal categories. This claim by definition excludes any external empirical factor (historical, social, psychological or otherwise) from being a constituent of the halakhic process. Taking this proposition rigorously, we will have to reject the idea that the Halakha had a historical beginning. Any attempt to base the genesis of halakhic thinking upon empirical circumstances would be a contradiction in terms – even if such an empirical claim were only to apply to its inception at a single place and a single moment in time; it would abrogate the a priori character of halakhic reason and turn it into an a posteriori affair. The concepts “mattan Torah” and “Moshe kibbel Torah miSinai,” are to be viewed then as halakhic constructs themselves, rather than as historical constituents.[24]
Interestingly, Bruckstein suggests that according to the Rav, normative halakha renders the story of the Sinaitic revelation true through “the ‘perpetuation’ and ‘reenactment’ of that moment of Truth at any moment of a person’s studying Torah.”[25]
Aviezer Ravitzky puts it similarly, that the Rav turned,
…from the logos of the cosmos to the logos of the halakhah, from the knowledge of God’s action (Creation) to the knowledge of God’s word (Sinai)… In other words: the halakhah, like creation, implies construction and formation by means of quantification and definition, distinction and separation. In sum, creation is an “halakhic” occurrence, while halakhic activity is a “creative” occurrence. The Divine creative act, establishing the real, on the one hand, and the human creative act, concretizing and actualizing the ideal, on the other hand, are contiguous… The argument about the mutual connection between the world and the halakhah refers to the very existence of the world, its very being, rather than to its being as it is, its qualities and specific inner laws. It concerns the “is” as such, not the “what” and “how.”[26]
Again, we find the “normative halakha” can create a “halakhic reality” that changes the very meaning of our perception of reality. Creation becomes a task that a halakhic man accomplishes, rendering “God’s creation” a daily ritual that indeed does happen. And from another angle, belief is not toward an empirical reality but a halakhic one. This “halakhic reality” need not align with what we would call “historical facts,” yet are true nonetheless, since they are based on valid “a priori” principles.
VII. Subjective Truth Turned Objective Perspective
By combining several approaches, we can use the approach of the Rav from Halakhic Mind that the halakhic epistemology has a kind of “objective truth” that starts with subjectivity of life. If Halakha is the objectification of a subjective data set, which is what the Rav claims in this work then we can contend that this legitimates other views of religion, because others could have a different objectification using different a priori facts. Thus, one can legitimize Biblical criticism as a different perspective, but not legitimate within one’s own system. This combines Sacks’s approach of epistemological pluralism, with Solomon’s a priori Torah, together with Bruckstein’s normative Halakha.
We find this used most in the Rav’s essay on interfaith dialogue, “Confrontation.” Sokol and Singer consider “Confrontation” as less modern in the Rav’s thinking, containing what they call “vestiges of Brisker” conservatism. But, in fact, “Confrontation” contains a far-reaching philosophical framework that indicates that one can recognize that others maintain a conceptual system that is at odds with one’s own, and their beliefs are legitimate within their system, but not within one’s own. Thus, the reason the Rav was against interfaith dialogue was that engagement in faith dialogue is a philosophical error. Indeed, the Rav applies this even to talking to people of one’s own faith community. “The great encounter between God and man is a wholly personal private affair incomprehensible to the outsider – even to a brother of the same faith community.”[27] Why can’t you speak to a “brother of the same faith community”, a fellow Jew, regarding faith? The Rav says it is completely private and personal, but he does not explain it further. In this author’s opinion, he means to say that everyone carries a subjective view of the world and their religious experience cannot be compared to others. Thus, to speak and be forced to use similar language to communicate, as if they can be compared, is inappropriate and incorrect. Yet, he cannot be calling another Jew’s religious experience incorrect. So he must provide for them a legitimacy outside of his own perspective and his own religious experience.
In fact, the Rav constantly seems to apologize for describing his own perspective on Jewish religious experiences. In his introduction to prayer in Worship of the Heart, he says that he does “not claim universal validity for my conclusions.”[28] He hopes only to allow people to gain insight from his “clear language”, describing his individual experiences of prayer in such a way that it would allow others to gain benefit. He continues this pattern in Lonely Man of Faith, where he states, “Before I go any further, I want to make the following reservation. Whatever I am about to say is to be seen only as a modest attempt on the part of a man of faith to interpret his spiritual perceptions and emotions in modern theologico-philosophical categories. My interpretive gesture is completely subjective and lays no claim to representing a definitive Halakhic philosophy.”[29]
In this author’s opinion, this represents one aspect of the Rav’s perspectivist philosophy. Indeed, the Rav indicates that even among other Jews, it is impossible to relate the perspective of one to another. Yet the Rav does not hold back from doing so in this sense, because it can inform the other Jew about his own observance through the delineation of clear categories. But what can the Jew do in this to help a Christian, who bears no similarity in his conception, for example, to what prayer is and its experience? Creating Jewish categories of prayer and typological categories would not aid the Christian very much. In sum, from one’s own perspective and experience, something can be wrong, while simultaneously others have truth from their perspective. Applied to Biblical criticism, this approach has the advantage of granting validity to it as a notion, but not to someone whose religious experience deems it false. The Rav was not interested in Biblical criticism, perhaps, only within his own religious perspective, but granted the allowance to others who maintained a differing religious perspective. This attitude may seem like maddening nonsense to some (“either it is true or it is not?!” they might fume), but in a postmodern world that refuses to create objective standards of right and wrong, true and false, it can be an acceptable approach.
What we have seen from these various approaches is the use of the vast corpus of the Rav’s writings to respond to the challenge of Biblical criticism from his perspective. There are multiple avenues of understanding, many of which overlap, as one would expect from such a varied array of sources and presentations. So is Sokol right in asserting that the Rav completely ignored the problems of Biblical criticism facing the modern Jew, and thus cannot be correctly deemed a “modern Orthodox” leader? As we have shown, many interpreters of the Rav disagree with this accusation and understand the Rav as having at least laid a foundation that would render the question irrelevant or as an existential dialectic that constantly remains in tension. Instead of wondering why the Rav would not be concerned with the issues of Biblical criticism, as he states in Lonely Man of Faith, we can rest assured that the groundwork already exists in his thought to deal with it and any other empirical issue.
[1] Biblical criticism encompasses many fields and categories. In this essay, it refers to the broadest historical claims of Bible critics regarding the Pentateuch in particular, i.e. denial of the historicity of a revelation at Sinai, claims of multiple authors, and late attribution to much of its writing.
[2] David Singer, Moshe Sokol, “Joseph Soloveitchik: Lonely Man of Faith,” Modern Judaism, Vol. 2, No. 3 (Oct., 1982), 227-272.
[3] ibid. 249-250.
[4] For an explicit claim from the Rav that this is the case, I would suggest one should see especially Alan Brill’s transcription of a speech the Rav gave in 1959 that would become the precursor to his publishing Lonely Man of Faith. The Rav states there that Bible critics make the mistake of not reading the biblical text for its philosophical content, instead “they substituted source criticism for philosophic ideas…I am not interested in the source, [but] rather the literary structure for the two accounts. The story is not something arbitrary. The story of bringing Eve was intended to show that one account is not sufficient.” https://kavvanah.wordpress.com/2012/08/16/rav-soloveitchik-religious-definitions-of-man-and-his-social-institutions-1959-part-4-of-7/.
[5] Joseph Epstein (ed.), Shiurei Harav (New York, 1974), 63-64.
[6] See Joseph B. Soloveitchik, The Emergence of Ethical Man, ed. by Michael S. Berger (Jersey City, NJ: Ktav, 2005), 4-5, where the Rav declares disinterest in resolving the issue of evolution versus creation, since one can easily find a solution to that question. The more pressing issue borne from the narrative, he states, is the “theoretically irreconcilable… concept of man as the bearer of the divine image with the equaling of man and animal-plant existences.”
[7] Soloveitchik, The Lonely Man of Faith. (New York, 1992.), 7.
[8] Jonathan Sacks, Crisis and Covenant: Jewish Thought After the Holocaust, (Manchester University Press, 1992), 191. Interestingly, Tamar Ross, too, calls this passage “tantalizing.” Tamar Ross, “Orthodoxy And The Challenge Of Biblical Criticism,” 11
[9] Shalom Carmy, “Of Eagle’s Flight and Snail’s Pace,” Exploring the Thought of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, 113.
[10] ibid., 114, as well as Carmy, “A Room With A View, But A Room Of Our Own,” Modern Scholarship in the Study of Torah: Contributions and Limitations, (Rowman & Littlefield, 1996), 27; idem, “The Human Factor: A Plea for Second Opinions,” Mind, Body, and Judaism: The Interaction of Jewish Law with Psychology and Biology, (KTAV Publishing House, Inc., 2004), 99.
[11] Soloveitchik, Netan’el Helfgoṭ, Community, Covenant, and Commitment: Selected Letters and Communications of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, (KTAV Publishing House, Inc., Jan 1, 2005), 110. Seth Farber, however, argues that this had more to do with the Rav’s burgeoning position on inter-denominational dialogue, which was becoming more restrictive when it came to ideological issues. See Seth Farber, “Reproach, Recognition and Respect: Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik and Orthodoxy’s Mid-Century Attitude Toward Non-Orthodox Denominations,” American Jewish History, Vol. 89, No. 2 (June 2001), 199.
[12] Rabbi Carmy told me (Feb. 2016 correspondence) that in his opinion, any other opinions on the subject represent “authors speculat[ing] in accordance with their own predilections.”
[13] Dov Schwartz, Faith at the Crossroads: A Theological Profile of Religious Zionism (BRILL, Jan 1, 2002), 38-39.
[14] Ibid.
[15] Indeed, the Rav has high praise for Kierkegaard in a lengthy footnote to Lonely Man of Faith: “Does the loving bride in the embrace of her beloved ask for proof that he is alive and real? Must the prayerful soul clinging in passionate love ecstasy to her Beloved demonstrate that He exists? So asked Soren Kierkegaard sarcastically when told that Anselm of Canterbury, the father of the very abstract and complex ontological proof, spent many days in prayer and supplication that he be presented with rational evidence of the existence of God.”
[16] Soloveitchik, Abraham’s Journey: Reflections on the Life of the Founding Patriarch, (KTAV Publishing House, Inc., 2008) 2-4.
[17] ibid, 2.
[18] Ronnie Ziegler, “Introduction to the Philosophy of Rav Soloveitchik,” 20b http://etzion.org.il/vbm/english/archive/rav/rav20b.htm. See also a much broader discussion of this in his book, Majesty and Humility: The Thought of Rabbi Joseph B. Solovetchik, (Urim Publications, 2012), Ch. 17.
[19] Soloveitchik, Halakhic Man, (Jewish Publication Society of America, 1984), 99-100.
[20] See also Sacks, “Rabbi J. B. Soloveitchik’s Early Epistemology: A Review of the Halakhic Mind,” Tradition Journal, Vol. 23, No. 3 (Spring 1988), 75-87
[21] Sacks, Crisis and Covenant: Jewish Thought After the Holocaust, (Manchester University Press, 1992), 191.
[22] Walter Wurzburger, “Rav Joseph B. Soloveitchik As Posek Of Post-modern Orthodoxy,’ Exploring the Thought of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik (KTAV Publishing House, Inc., 1997), 7.
[23] Norman Solomon, Torah from Heaven: The Reconstruction of Faith, (Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2012), 244-247.
[24] Almut Bruckstein, “Halakhic Epistemology in neo-Kantian Garb: J. B. Soloveitchik’s Philosophical Writings Revisited,” Jewish Studies Quarterly, Volume 5 (1998), 352, 359-360
[25] Ibid 360, n. 68. We can add that the Rav’s description of recreation of the cosmos through the Halakhic process we saw quoted before in Halakhic Man Part II, can render the creation story true as well by virtue of it happening through the study of Torah every day.
[26] Aviezer Ravitzky, “Rabbi J. B. Soloveitchik on Human Knowledge: Between Maimonidean and Neo-Kantian Philosophy,” Modern Judaism, Vol. 6, No. 2 (May, 1986), pp. 157-188
[27] Soloveitchik, Confrontation and Other Essays (New Milford, CT: Maggid, 2015), 109
[28] Soloveitchik, Worship of the Heart: Essays on Jewish Prayer (New York, NY: KTAV Publishing House, 2003), 2
[29] Soloveitchik, The Lonely Man of Faith
The 1982 Singer-Sokol essay in Modern Judaism is the moment when serious scholars said out loud what the hagiographic establishment could not absorb. The fact that the response literature catalogued in this document spends decades trying to wriggle out of the Singer-Sokol charge tells you how much pressure the charge put on the JB legend.
The charge in its compressed form is devastating. JB does not engage Biblical criticism. Biblical criticism is the central intellectual challenge to traditional Jewish faith claims in the modern period, more central than evolution, more central than philosophical atheism, more central than political secularism, because it goes directly to the textual basis of revelation itself. A figure who claims to be the leading Modern Orthodox thinker of his generation and who does not engage this challenge is not actually doing the work Modern Orthodoxy requires. Therefore he should not be considered truly Modern Orthodox. He is something else, a figure who lets Modern Orthodox readers feel they have engaged modernity without actually requiring them to engage its hardest religious challenge.
Sokol’s phrase, which the document quotes, deserves to be set down clearly. He calls the JB reputation a myth that “for good sociological reasons found enormous currency amongst many Modern Orthodox Jews, who required an authority figure to make sense of and to some degree justify their participation in modernity.” This is the same diagnosis we have been developing across this conversation, stated in 1982 by a scholar with the standing to say it in a peer-reviewed academic journal. The JB legend is a coalition product. The community needed an authority figure of a particular shape. JB filled the slot. The shape did not require him to do the substantive work the slot was supposed to represent. He performed the work. The community accepted the performance.
The famous passage Sokol fastens onto, where JB declares he has “never even been seriously troubled” by Biblical criticism alongside evolution and the mechanistic interpretation of mind, is the smoking gun. Sokol reads it correctly. JB is announcing that he has not done the work. The announcement is presented as a kind of spiritual achievement, the man of faith’s freedom from the doubts that beset lesser souls. Sokol reads through the rhetorical move to its content, which is that JB has not engaged the issues. He has bypassed them. He has declared his bypass to be a religious posture rather than an intellectual evasion.
The defenders’ responses, which this document catalogues, are revealing in their structure. Each defender reads the bypass as itself a sophisticated answer. Schwartz reads the man of faith stance as a philosophical response to Biblical criticism. Carmy reads the typological method as a way of dealing with the issues obliquely. Sacks reads epistemological pluralism as the Rav’s solution. Solomon reads the a priori halakha as making historical questions irrelevant. Bruckstein reads neo-Kantian halakhic constructs as transforming historical claims into metaphysical ones. Each defender takes JB’s silence and fills it with content the defender supplies. The defender then attributes the supplied content to JB.
This is the structural feature that makes the Singer-Sokol charge so hard to refute and so easy to deflect. JB did not write a treatise on Biblical criticism. He did not engage Wellhausen, Kaufmann, Cassuto, or any of the major figures. He did not address the documentary hypothesis. He did not write about the dating of the Pentateuch, the historical reality of the Exodus, the historical reality of Sinai, the redactional history of the prophetic books, or any of the specific claims of Bible critics. He gestured. He bypassed. He announced his lack of perplexity. The defenders then build elaborate frameworks on these gestures and announcements and present the frameworks as JB’s response to Biblical criticism. The frameworks are the defenders’ own work, attributed to JB through generous interpretation.
This pattern is itself diagnostic of the JB phenomenon. A figure who had done the work would have left a body of writing engaging the issues directly. The defenders would not need to construct his response from his silences. They would point to the pages where he addressed Wellhausen, the chapters where he discussed redaction criticism, the essays where he engaged the historical questions about Sinai. There are no such pages, chapters, or essays. The defenders construct the response from absence because there is nothing else to construct it from.
Compare what someone serious about these questions would have produced. Mordechai Breuer, the German Orthodox Bible scholar, developed an actual approach to the documentary hypothesis. He accepted some of its textual observations and reinterpreted them theologically through a method he called “shitat ha-bechinot,” the method of aspects. The Pentateuch can be read as containing different perspectives that traditional commentary attributes to the divine author and modern criticism attributes to multiple human authors. Breuer’s work engaged the actual textual evidence, took the critical observations seriously, and built a theological response that Orthodox Jews could potentially use. Whether his solution succeeds is a separate question. The point is that he did the work. He produced engagement with the actual literature.
Cassuto, although not Orthodox in the modern sense, produced detailed scholarly refutations of specific Wellhausenian arguments in his commentary on Genesis and his work on the documentary hypothesis. He engaged the textual evidence, made counterarguments, and offered alternative readings. The Orthodox world has used Cassuto’s work for decades because he did the work that Orthodox apologetics needed.
Yehuda Kil produced the Daat Mikra commentary that engages historical and archaeological questions in a traditional framework. The work is serious, learned, and addresses the issues critics raise. It is not a philosophical evasion. It is a sustained encounter with the textual and historical questions.
Umberto Cassuto, Yehuda Kil, Mordechai Breuer, Yehoshua Bachrach, and other figures, none of them as famous as JB outside their immediate scholarly circles, did the actual work. JB did not. The defenders’ attempt to attribute Cassuto-style or Breuer-style work to JB through generous interpretation of his silences is the apologetic move. It is not a description of what JB actually did.
The Sokol diagnosis goes further than Singer’s coauthored portion. The document quotes Sokol calling the man-child idealization a third reason JB did not engage. JB praises childlike faith that does not require rational proofs. The praise of the child is the praise of the un-philosophical religious posture. A figure who sets up the child as the religious ideal has implicitly conceded that the philosophical work is not necessary. The reader who was looking for JB to do the work is told that the work is not the religious task. The religious task is to be the child, to make the leap, to abandon the demand for rational evidence. This is a Kierkegaardian posture imported into a Jewish setting where it does not fit, and it functions as cover for the absence of substantive engagement with the philosophical issues.
This connects directly to what we have been developing about JB’s importation of Christian existential categories. The man-child as religious ideal is not native to Judaism. Traditional Jewish thought respects rationality and treats the religious life as compatible with intellectual rigor. The Maimonidean tradition, the Talmudic tradition, the responsa tradition, the philosophical tradition from Saadia through the Rambam through Crescas to the moderns, all of these treat reasoned engagement as part of the religious task. The childlike leap as religious ideal is Kierkegaardian and functions in JB to authorize bypassing the philosophical work the audience expected him to do.
There is a sociological point worth naming. The 1982 article appeared in Modern Judaism, an academic journal, written by Singer and Sokol who were academic scholars. The article landed inside the academic world but was largely managed by the Modern Orthodox establishment through containment rather than engagement. The defenders we have been discussing wrote their responses in venues like Tradition, in volumes published by KTAV and Maggid for Modern Orthodox audiences, in lectures and shiurim transmitted to YU students. The Singer-Sokol charge entered academic literature and the apologetic responses entered Modern Orthodox literature. The two literatures barely touch. The Modern Orthodox reader gets the apologetic responses without ever having to confront the original charge in its full force. The academic reader gets the original charge and may or may not encounter the apologetic responses depending on how deep into the field he reads.
This containment is itself a coalition operation. A serious community engagement with the Singer-Sokol charge would have required a YU symposium or Tradition issue devoted to the question, with hostile and friendly contributions, an open argument, the kind of debate that actually advances understanding. Nothing like this happened. The community produced apologetic responses that proceeded as though the charge had been answered while never actually engaging it on its own terms. The Singer-Sokol article is mentioned in footnotes and characterized briefly. The full force of the charge is never confronted in the venues where the JB legend lives.
The essay is sympathetic to JB and takes the position that the apologetic responses succeed in answering Singer-Sokol. But the document’s structure inadvertently demonstrates the opposite. It catalogues seven different apologetic strategies that scholars have offered as responses. The proliferation is the giveaway. A figure who had a clear position on Biblical criticism would generate one or two interpretive lines, not seven. The seven lines exist because each scholar has had to construct his own version of what JB might have meant from JB’s silences. Schwartz’s man of faith reading, Carmy’s typological reading, Sacks’s epistemological pluralism, Solomon’s a priori halakha, Bruckstein’s neo-Kantian halakhic construct, the various combinations and refinements, all of these are scholarly products attributed to JB. They diverge from each other because they are independent constructions on the same silence.
If JB had produced engagement with Biblical criticism, the scholarly literature would converge around what he actually said. It does not converge because there is nothing to converge around. The literature diverges because each scholar is filling the same gap with his own materials.
Carmy’s footnote in the document deserves attention. The author reports that Carmy told him in February 2016 correspondence that other scholars’ opinions on the subject represent “authors speculating in accordance with their own predilections.” Carmy is among the most learned and rigorous of the JB defenders. He is conceding that the apologetic literature on this question is speculation. The concession is honest. It is also damaging. It admits that there is no firm ground on which to stand when defending JB on Biblical criticism. There is only speculation about what he might have thought, dressed up as scholarship.
The hardest move to extract from the document is the implicit one about what Sokol’s phrase “good sociological reasons” actually points to. Sokol is being polite. The good sociological reasons are the coalition needs we have been discussing. Modern Orthodoxy needed an authority figure who could be claimed as a serious philosopher. The community required this figure to legitimate its existence to itself and to outside audiences. JB filled the slot through performance. The community could not afford to acknowledge that the performance was less than the substance because acknowledging this would have collapsed the legitimation function. So the community produced apologetic responses that treated the silence as profound, the gesture as engagement, the bypass as method. The whole apparatus is a coalition operation in which scholars who should have known better participated because they were inside the coalition and depended on its goods.
Singer’s later piece on Kurzweil and Leibowitz makes more sense in light of his 1982 work. By 1990 Singer had moved further from the Modern Orthodox center and was writing for First Things about figures whose crankitude made them unfit for the Modern Orthodox legitimation function. Singer is a scholar who refused the coalition discipline. The cost is that he has been less central to Modern Orthodox memorial culture than other scholars of his cohort. The benefit is that he produced honest scholarship on JB and on the broader Modern Orthodox intellectual scene that has aged better than the apologetic literature. His 1982 article remains the touchstone for serious engagement with the JB phenomenon.
The phrase Sokol gives us, “the myth of R. Soloveitchik,” is the right description. A myth is not nothing. Myths do real work in communities. They organize identity, provide legitimation, and supply the materials around which institutional life cohere. The JB myth has done all of this for Modern Orthodoxy for seventy years. The myth is real as a sociological phenomenon. It is also a myth in the sense that it does not match the substance of what JB actually produced. The myth was needed and was produced. The substance the myth claims to honor is thinner than the myth requires.
JB’s reputation is sociologically required. The work does not have to support it. The community produces the reputation because the community needs the reputation. The work serves as ostensible justification for the reputation, but the reputation does not actually rest on the work. It rests on the community’s need for an authority figure of a particular shape, and JB had the lineage and the credentials and the performance capacity to occupy the slot.
The Singer-Sokol article is therefore a precious document. It is the moment when academic Jewish studies briefly noticed that the emperor was wearing fewer clothes than the courtiers claimed. The notice was contained, deflected, and partially absorbed through apologetic literature, but it was made. Anyone who reads it carefully has the diagnostic apparatus to see the JB phenomenon clearly. The document we are reading is, despite its sympathies, additional evidence for the diagnosis, because its proliferation of apologetic strategies confirms that there is nothing definite to defend.
What Singer and Sokol got at, that the JB reputation rests on coalition need rather than philosophical achievement, is the right reading. Forty years later, the diagnosis has aged well. The defenders’ literature has not. The myth continues to function for those who need it, but for readers who do not need it, the myth has become legible as myth. Singer and Sokol saw the myth in 1982 and said so. They paid the cost of saying so. The cost was real but not catastrophic, because they were academic scholars rather than YU rabbis, and the academic discipline rewarded their honesty even as the Modern Orthodox community contained and deflected it.
The longer arc is that the academic reading is winning. Marc Shapiro, Lawrence Kaplan in his more recent work, the various scholars producing critical scholarship on JB and his milieu, are gradually shifting the conversation toward the Singer-Sokol direction. The hagiographic generation is passing. The next generation will read JB more critically because the institutional pressures that produced the hagiography are weakening as the community changes. The myth will not disappear, because myths rarely disappear, but its hold on serious scholarship is loosening. Singer and Sokol set the trajectory in 1982. The trajectory has continued slowly but consistently in their direction since then. The document we are reading is a rear-guard action, learned and elegant, but rear-guard nonetheless.
The first paragraph of Meir Soloveitchik’s Wikipedia entry retrieved April 27, 2026, says he is “a great nephew of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, the leader of American Jewry who identified with what became known as Modern Orthodoxy.” This is the construction that announces a coalition position rather than reports a fact. American Jewry in JB’s lifetime had no single leader. The community was divided across denominations, regions, institutional affiliations, and ideological factions. The Reform movement had its own leadership through the UAHC and HUC. The Conservative movement had its own through USCJ and JTS. The Orthodox world itself was divided among Modern Orthodox YU-aligned figures, the Agudah world with Feinstein and the Moetses, the Hasidic courts each with their own rebbe, the Sephardic communities with their own rabbinic authorities, the Yeshivish world with figures like Aharon Kotler and his successors, and so on. No single figure led this complex.
Even within Orthodox Judaism alone JB was not the leader. Moshe Feinstein issued binding halakhic rulings to a much larger constituency than JB ever addressed in his published writings. Aharon Kotler built Lakewood and shaped the postwar yeshivish world. The Lubavitcher Rebbe led a global movement that dwarfed JB’s institutional reach. The Satmar Rebbe led a movement of his own. Within Modern Orthodoxy specifically, JB was the central figure at YU but he shared the field with Mizrachi leaders in Israel, with the Religious Zionist establishment, with figures like Lichtenstein later on. He was a major figure. He was not the leader of American Jewry. The phrase is hagiographic rather than descriptive.
The qualifier that follows is also revealing. “Who identified with what became known as Modern Orthodoxy.” The construction implies that JB defined the movement rather than being a figure within it. It also implies that Modern Orthodoxy is what JB identified with, when in fact Modern Orthodoxy is a coalition that needed a figure of his stature and lineage to authorize its existence. The relationship between JB and Modern Orthodoxy is the inverse of what the Wikipedia phrasing suggests. The movement needed him more than he needed it. The phrasing makes him the originator and the movement the identifier of his identity, when in fact the movement constructed itself around him as a legitimating figure.
The opening paragraph of the Meir Soloveichik Wikipedia entry is doing inheritance work. It is establishing Meir’s significance by establishing JB’s, and it is establishing JB’s by claims that exceed the historical record. Meir’s significance is real in his own register, namely as a public-facing rabbi with a Princeton credential and a Manhattan pulpit who has cultivated a particular political-cultural niche. The Wikipedia entry could state this without the JB inflation. It does not state it because the inflation is the point. The inflation supplies the lineage capital that authorizes Meir’s position. Strip the inflation and Meir becomes a competent rabbi with a notable pulpit and a Princeton degree, which is real but not exceptional. With the inflation, he becomes the great-nephew of the leader of American Jewry, and his own activities acquire reflected significance from the lineage.
This is the Wikipedia version of the MO coalition operation across generations. The entry is written by editors who absorbed the standard hagiographic account of JB and reproduced its claims as fact. Wikipedia’s editorial standards on Jewish religious figures track the standard literature in the field. The standard literature is dominated by Modern Orthodox apologetics that produced the hagiography in the first place. The Singer-Sokol corrective has not made it into the popular reference works because the corrective never moved out of the academic journals and into the encyclopedias and biographical reference works the general public consults.
Looking at the entry on JB on Wikipedia, the same operation runs at greater length. The lead paragraphs describe him as a leader, a major figure, a thinker of unique importance, and so on. The entry on Meir borrows from this construction by reference. The whole apparatus is self-reinforcing. JB’s entry establishes him as the leader of American Jewry. Meir’s entry establishes Meir’s significance partly through reference to JB as the leader of American Jewry. The Tikvah Fund’s promotional materials describe Meir as a great-nephew of JB. The Shearith Israel website does the same. Each reference confirms the others. The construction becomes the fact.
A more accurate opening paragraph for Meir’s Wikipedia entry would say something like the following. “Meir Soloveichik is an American Orthodox rabbi who serves as the rabbi of Congregation Shearith Israel in Manhattan and as director of the Straus Center for Torah and Western Thought at Yeshiva University. He is a great-nephew of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, who was a major figure at Yeshiva University and a central thinker associated with American Modern Orthodoxy. Meir Soloveichik is known for his public lectures and writings on the relationship between Judaism, Western civilization, and American politics, and he has cultivated relationships with the conservative intellectual establishment and the Catholic-Jewish dialogue community.”
That paragraph would be accurate. It would also strip the lineage of its inflated authorizing function and would make Meir’s actual position visible as what it is, namely a particular kind of public-facing rabbinic career rather than the inheritance of a great religious tradition’s central authority.
The current phrasing serves the operation by inflating both ends. JB becomes the leader of American Jewry. Meir becomes the great-nephew of the leader of American Jewry. The lineage becomes a mantle of national significance rather than what it actually is, a family connection to a major mid-century figure at YU whose stature was substantial within his community and modest outside it. The Wikipedia entry is doing free promotional work for the Tikvah-Shearith Israel-Straus Center operation by accepting the operation’s preferred description of itself as fact.
This is a small instance of a larger phenomenon worth naming. Reference works track the dominant scholarship of the moment they are written. Wikipedia entries on contested figures often reproduce the views of the most active partisan editors rather than the consensus of careful scholarship. On Jewish religious figures, the most active editors tend to come from the communities that have stakes in particular constructions of those figures’ significance. The Singer-Sokol diagnosis appears nowhere in the Wikipedia entry on JB, despite being the most important scholarly intervention on his reputation in the past forty years. The entry’s bibliography may cite the article. The entry’s substance proceeds as though the article had not been written. The hagiographic construction wins by default in popular reference works because the apologetic community produces more text and more confident text than the critical scholars do.
Most readers of the Meir Soloveichik Wikipedia entry will absorb “the leader of American Jewry” without questioning it. The phrase will lodge in their minds as a fact about the world. Their subsequent encounters with Meir will carry this lodged fact with them. Meir’s lectures will be received with the implicit authorization the lineage supplies. The whole operation continues smoothly. Readers who notice the phrasing and ask whether it actually fits the historical record are doing the work of correcting the operation in their own minds, but they are not changing the Wikipedia entry, which continues to do the work for the next reader.
The phrase is a coalition product that has migrated into a reference work and now performs as fact. It is not a fact. JB was a major figure within Modern Orthodoxy and at YU. He was not the leader of American Jewry. The construction inflates him to authorize the next generation’s position. Meir benefits from the inflation. Tikvah and Shearith Israel and the Straus Center and the Catholic-Jewish dialogue circuit all benefit. The reader of the Wikipedia entry is the only party who does not benefit, because the reader is being given a coalition construction in place of an accurate description.
Once you see the phrase clearly, the entire entry becomes legible as a similar operation throughout. The paragraph after the lead, the description of Meir’s career, the framing of his various activities, the selection of which honors and appointments to mention, the omission of any critical perspective on his scholarly output, all of these are doing similar work. The entry is not a neutral biographical reference. It is a curated presentation of Meir as the inheritor of a great tradition and the appropriate occupant of important positions. The curation is invisible to most readers because it accords with the dominant construction in the broader culture.
This is also why Marc Shapiro’s work on Modern Orthodox figures is valuable. He is a rare scholar who corrects popular constructions, including in venues like the Seforim Blog, where his readers learn to question the standard hagiographic claims. The work is slow and the corrections do not propagate as widely as the original constructions. But the corrections are real and they accumulate over time. Eventually the popular reference works will catch up to the scholarly understanding. By then the current generation of beneficiaries will have collected their resources and the coalition operation will have moved on to whatever its next iteration looks like.
The inflation pattern is everywhere once you start looking. The lineage capital of major rabbinic figures is regularly inflated to authorize the activities of their descendants and successors. The descendants and successors then perform their inherited authority for audiences that absorb the construction as fact. The historical reality, in which most major rabbinic figures were significant within their communities but not “leaders of their generations” in the inflated sense, gets lost in the construction.
I remember sitting in a MO shul decades ago, and the rabbi began his sermon by noting that we had chosen him to be our spiritual leader. I immediately thought this is nonsense. Almost nobody here views the rabbi as their spiritual leader, we belong to the shul for other reasons.
Rare is the Orthodox Jew who has a spiritual leader. They may have a rav or rebbe, but this is not a relationship primarily about spirituality.
The rabbi’s opening sentence made a ridiculous self-inflated claim that the relationship between him and his congregants did not support. The interesting question is what the claim was doing, why he made it, and what the structure of the relationship was.
A Modern Orthodox congregation in suburban America in the early twenty-first century is not primarily a spiritual community organized around a spiritual leader. It is a multi-purpose institution serving several functions for its members, most of which have little to do with the rabbi’s spiritual authority.
The first function is davening. Congregants need a minyan three times a day, a place to say kaddish for parents, a place to be called up to the Torah on important shabbatot, a place to bring their children for bnai mitzvah. The shul provides the physical space and the minyan infrastructure for these obligations. The rabbi is incidental to this function. The minyan would happen without him. The Torah reading would happen without him. The kaddish would be said without him. Many congregations function on shabbat afternoon and during weekday minyanim with no rabbi present at all.
The second function is community membership. Modern Orthodox Jews live in clustered neighborhoods within walking distance of their shuls because halakhah requires it. The shul is where they see their neighbors, find spouses for their children, hear about jobs, learn whose kid got into which school, exchange information about contractors and pediatricians and rabbis to call for halakhic questions, and generally maintain the social fabric of the community. The shul’s social function is largely independent of the rabbi. The kiddush after davening is where the community reproduces itself. The rabbi attends the kiddush but does not generate it. The community would have its kiddush whether or not he was there.
The third function is status display. Where one davens, where one’s children daven, who calls one up to the Torah, who one greets and who one ignores, where one sits in the shul, all of these are markers of social position within the community. The shul provides the venue for these displays. The rabbi is a relatively minor participant in this status game. The major participants are the lay leaders, the wealthy members, the rabbis’ families, the families with yichus, the families whose children have made impressive shidduchim, and so on. The rabbi has his own position in the status structure but he does not create it.
The fourth function is education for children. The shul often runs or hosts classes, youth groups, junior congregation programs. Parents who want their children educated in a Modern Orthodox framework use the shul as one component of an educational ecosystem that also includes day schools, summer camps, and Israel programs. The rabbi may teach some of the classes but the educational function does not depend on him personally.
The fifth function is halakhic consultation. Congregants need answers to specific questions, kashrus questions, shabbos questions, family purity questions, mourning questions. The rabbi answers these questions when asked. The function is real but it is intermittent and transactional. Most congregants ask such questions a few times a year at most. The relationship is more like the relationship to a doctor or a lawyer than to a spiritual leader. You consult the professional when you need professional advice. You do not look to him for spiritual direction in your daily life.
The sixth function is life-cycle officiation. The rabbi performs weddings, funerals, brises, bnai mitzvah. These are real services, valued by the families that receive them. They are also, again, transactional. The rabbi is the professional who performs the function. He is not therefore the spiritual leader of the families he serves.
What is largely missing from this list is anything that would correspond to spiritual leadership in the sense the rabbi’s opening sentence implied. Modern Orthodox congregants do not generally consult their rabbi about their inner religious lives, their crises of faith, their spiritual development, their progress toward God. They consult him about halakhic questions when those questions arise. The inner religious life happens elsewhere, in their own learning, in their relationships with family members, in their private practice. Many Modern Orthodox Jews have a deeper relationship with a rebbe from their yeshiva days, with a teacher they encountered in Israel, with a writer whose books speak to them, than with the rabbi of the shul they attend. The shul rabbi serves an institutional function. He is not generally the figure to whom they turn for spiritual matters.
The rabbi’s claim to be the spiritual leader of those who chose him was a status claim dressed up as a description of the actual relationship. The status claim served his purposes. It elevated his position in the room. It authorized the rest of his sermon. It signaled to the congregation that they should listen to him with a particular kind of attention. It also misdescribed what was actually going on, which was that the congregation hired him to perform a set of professional functions and would replace him with another rabbi if those functions stopped being performed adequately.
The hire-and-replace structure is the key. Modern Orthodox shuls operate on a pulpit market. Rabbis apply for positions. Congregational search committees interview them, check references, negotiate contracts. Rabbis serve at the pleasure of the congregation, which can decide not to renew their contracts when contracts come up. Rabbis who fail to please the lay leadership find themselves looking for new positions. The economic structure is that of an employer-employee relationship, with the rabbi as the hired professional and the lay leadership as the employer.
This structure is incompatible with traditional notions of spiritual leadership. A spiritual leader, in the traditional sense, leads the community because of his religious authority, not because the community has hired him to perform services. The Hasidic rebbe is the obvious case. The rebbe leads his hasidim because they recognize him as the spiritual heir of his predecessor and as a tzaddik in his own right. The hasidim do not hire the rebbe and cannot fire him. The relationship is one of religious recognition, not contractual employment. The rebbe’s authority is real because the recognition is real. The hasidim consult him about their inner lives, their business decisions, their marriages, their children’s education, because they actually believe he has access to spiritual sources they lack.
The Modern Orthodox shul rabbi has none of this. He is not recognized as a tzaddik. His authority does not flow from a chain of spiritual transmission. His congregants do not believe he has access to spiritual sources unavailable to themselves. They believe he has the relevant credentials to answer halakhic questions and perform ritual functions, which is a different thing. Most of them are themselves educated, often holding advanced degrees, and they treat their rabbi as a professional service provider rather than as a religious authority above them.
The rabbi who opens his sermon by claiming to be the spiritual leader of the congregation that chose him is therefore making a claim that does not match the structural reality. The congregation chose him through a hiring process that selected him for his competence at performing rabbinic functions. They did not recognize him as their spiritual leader because they do not generally have spiritual leaders in any meaningful sense. They have a rabbi who works for them, and they relate to him accordingly.
The claim served a function despite its inaccuracy. The claim was performing the relationship the rabbi wished he had with his congregation rather than describing the relationship he actually had. By asserting the relationship from the pulpit, he was attempting to call it into being. If the congregation accepted the framing, they would treat him with the deference owed to a spiritual leader. He would gain the authority the framing implied. The performance might generate the substance. This is a common move in religious settings. The leader claims a position. The followers either accept the claim or do not. If they accept, the claim becomes effective. If they do not, the claim falls flat.
In a Hasidic court the claim does not need to be made because the relationship is already established by the structure of the community. In a Modern Orthodox shul the claim is made because the structure does not establish it. The rabbi is asserting what he wishes were true, hoping the congregants will play along. Most congregants do play along to some degree, in the sense that they extend a baseline of respect to the rabbi’s role. They do not generally play along to the full extent the framing implies. They sit through the sermon, nod at the appropriate moments, exchange a polite word with the rabbi at kiddush, and continue to live their religious lives in ways the rabbi knows little about.
The rabbi’s loneliness in this position is a real phenomenon worth naming. He has been trained at YU or at Yeshivat Har Etzion or at some equivalent institution to think of himself as a religious leader in the older sense. He has learned the texts, internalized the values, prepared himself to guide a community. He arrives at his pulpit and discovers that the community does not actually want guidance in the traditional sense. They want competent professional services and a pleasant social environment. The gap between his self-understanding and his actual position can be painful. Some rabbis adjust their expectations and become reasonably content professional service providers. Others continue to claim the spiritual leader role and grow increasingly frustrated with congregants who do not extend the recognition the role demands. A few burn out and leave the rabbinate.
The structural problem is that Modern Orthodoxy as a movement has not produced an honest account of what its rabbis are. The official ideology continues to use the older language of rabbinic authority while the actual relationships operate on the contractual employment model. The rabbis are caught between the official ideology and the practice. They claim the older role from the pulpit because the official ideology supplies the language. They live the contractual role in their daily work because that is what the actual practice supplies. The contradiction is unresolved and probably unresolvable within the current institutional structure.
This is also where JB’s legacy plays an interesting role. JB at YU was treated by his students as something closer to the older spiritual leader model than most Modern Orthodox rabbis can hope for. He had charisma, lineage, intellectual stature, and a captive audience of musmachim who genuinely revered him. The students who became Modern Orthodox rabbis carried this experience with them into their own pulpits. They tried to replicate the relationship with their own congregations and discovered that congregations do not generally extend that kind of reverence to their hired professional. The expectation that they should have been formed by JB’s charismatic relationship with them. The reality of their pulpits did not match the expectation. The disappointment was structural and widely shared.
This is also why Modern Orthodox rabbis often end up writing books and giving lectures and developing public profiles outside their own congregations. The pulpit work itself does not provide the kind of recognition the rabbi has been trained to expect. The book or the lecture circuit or the public commentary work provides an alternative venue where the rabbi can claim the older role of public religious authority. The rabbi who writes a book about Jewish ethics and is invited to speak at Limmud and is interviewed on Jewish podcasts is functioning in a different mode than the rabbi serving Tuesday night minyan. The two modes coexist in the same career but they serve different psychological needs.
Meir Soloveichik’s career is the elaborated version of this pattern. The Shearith Israel pulpit provides the institutional base, but his fame comes from his performance as the public-facing intellectual celebrity who has Vatican audiences and Commentary columns and Tikvah events. The pulpit alone would not satisfy the role he has built for himself. The pulpit gives him the platform to do other things. The other things are where the recognition he wants is generated. The Shearith Israel congregants are not, in any meaningful sense, his spiritual followers. They are the members of his congregation, which is a different relationship.
The traditional rabbinic authority structure was real in its time and place. The Lithuanian gadol whose ruling settled disputes was actually settling disputes for communities that recognized his authority. The Hasidic rebbe whose blessing was sought was actually being sought by hasidim who believed in the blessing. These structures operated on actual recognition that flowed from actual belief in actual authority. The Modern Orthodox version of these structures is a simulation. The institutional forms are preserved. The relationships that gave them substance are not. The rabbi claims authority. The congregants do not extend it in the older sense. The form continues. The substance has thinned to the point where it functions as nostalgic reference rather than living relationship.
This is not to romanticize the older structures, which had their own problems, including authoritarianism, manipulation, and abuses of power that traditional authority structures everywhere can produce. It is only to note that the older structures rested on something real, namely the community’s genuine recognition of the leader’s authority. The Modern Orthodox structure rests on something different, namely the community’s hiring of a competent professional who is then expected to perform a role the structural realities of the relationship do not support. The rabbi is asked to be a spiritual leader to a community that does not actually want a spiritual leader. He performs the role anyway because the role is what he was trained to perform. The performance is increasingly hollow because the substance behind it is increasingly absent.
The honest acknowledgment of this would require Modern Orthodoxy to revise its self-understanding considerably. The movement would have to admit that its rabbis are professional service providers operating in an employment market rather than spiritual leaders recognized by their communities. The rabbis would have to revise their own self-understanding to match. The congregations would have to be honest about what they want from their rabbis, which is competent professional services and a pleasant social environment, rather than spiritual leadership. Nobody in the system has an incentive to make this acknowledgment because the official framing serves everyone’s interests at the level of public presentation. The rabbi gets the dignity of the claimed role. The congregation gets to feel they belong to a spiritually serious community. The institutional ideology gets to be reproduced. The reality gets to remain unspoken.
Most American religious institutions operate on a similar gap between claimed authority structures and actual contractual employment relationships. The gap is the modern condition of religious institutions in a society where religious authority is no longer underwritten by anything outside the institution itself.
* Human social life is filled with coordination problems: passing each other in a hallway, taking turns talking and listening, differentiating the meanings of “hook up with” and “meet up with,” gathering at the same time and place, etc. But what happens when we suffer a mix-up—for instance, we get stuck dancing back and forth in the hallway, or I casually mention that I “hooked up” with your mother last night? Here, I argue that such mix-ups posed a significant adaptive problem for our ancestors, disrupting cooperation, damaging reputations, fomenting needless conflict, and destroying valuable relationships. Natural selection favored three solutions to this adaptive problem: 1) a sense of humor (i.e., the ability to detect, anticipate, and avoid mix-ups), 2) mutual laughter in response to humor (which creates common knowledge of the mix-up and defuses its costs), and 3) joking as a hard-to-fake signal of one’s ability to detect and avoid mix-ups (and thus one’s value as a coordination partner).
* Many animals have play signals that they use to differentiate play interactions from real interactions. Cetaceans use an open-mouth display (Maglieri et al., 2024), kea parrots use a warble (Schwing et al., 2017), canids use a bow (Bekoff, 1995), and rats use 50-kHz ultrasonic vocalizations (Kisko et al., 2015). More relevant to our purposes, chimpanzees use a panting sound, uncannily reminiscent of human laughter, during bouts of tickling, chasing, or rough-and-tumble play (Matsusaka, 2004). If we could translate this panting sound into words, it might be something like: “I understand that this is play aggression and not real aggression. I am not mad at you or afraid of you.”
* We can think of the costliness, confusability, and mutual recognition of a mix-up as inputs into an emotional system: mirth or amusement—a system that likely overlaps with neural systems for play (Panksepp et al., 1984). The outputs of mirth might include: 1) an urge to laugh, 2) a heightened sensitivity to others’ laughter, 3) a motivation to reciprocate others’ laughter to the degree that it is sensed, matching the observed intensity, 4) feelings of reward in proportion to the magnitude of the costs defused by the reciprocally emerging laughter, as well as in proportion to the updated value of the coordination partnership, and 5) a deactivation of emotions that process costs, to ensure that the (potential) costs are not incurred or represented by either party, and that the process of common knowledge generation is not disrupted.
* Represented costs spread through the brain like wildfire (Sznycer & Lukaszewski, 2019; Sznycer, 2022), making their mutual defusal a difficult adaptive problem. It is often unclear what all the relevant costs to any mix-up might be (e.g., relational, reputational, physical, hygienic, economic), or all the relevant emotions the costs might feed into. A perceived insult could trigger anger, shame, guilt, sadness, regret, disgust, and fear in either the insulted party, the victim, or third parties, depending on the nature of the insult and its social context—and on what actions or events might be expected to follow from it. Insofar as mirth is well-designed, it might produce a general deactivation of emotions that process costs, in order to stop the wildfire of negative representations from spreading throughout the brain and disrupting the process of mutual cost defusal.
* Mirth can transform a person into something rather frightening. It may deactivate their fear, making them impossible to threaten or deter. It may deactivate their empathy for others’ plights, transforming others’ suffering into a joke. Scowls of disapproval would be all but invisible. Threats of punishment and cries for help would fall on deaf ears. It is nearly impossible to get through to a mirthful individual or negotiate with them for better treatment. The only thing they can do is laugh in our faces.
This might explain why mirth can, if one is not sharing it, feel hostile, creepy, or even terrifying. The best example of the menacing nature of mirth comes from the character of the Joker in The Dark Knight, whose mirthful disposition conveys a sense of fearlessness and heartlessness: he cannot be bought, reasoned with, or negotiated with because he takes nothing seriously. He just wants to watch the world burn, unsaddened by—or perversely delighted by—the sight of a world in flames.
* We can think of the phenomenology of seriousness as the opposite of mirthfulness—a state in which social or physical costs, either potential or actual, are being carefully attended to. If I’m angry with you, then you need to process the costs that I’m threatening to inflict on you (Sell et al., 2017). If something terrible has happened, we need to take that seriously and figure out what to do about it. To take something seriously is to devote non-mirthful attention to it—to be sensitive to its actual or potential costs.
But then what is a ‘serious person?’ It is a person who demands non-mirthful attention—a person who can inflict costs on others, either directly, through reputational or physical attacks, or indirectly, by withholding valuable knowledge or resources. A serious person is someone whose interests must be respected, whose threats must be heeded, whose absence is greatly felt. In the show Succession, Logan Roy tells his children they are not serious people. We can now see why his words cut so deep.
And we can also see why humor is so often political. To laugh at something is to not take it seriously—to turn off our fear in the face of a threat, our anger in the face of a provocation, or our empathy in the face of a suffering victim. Politics revolves around what we ought to take seriously as a society—what problems we must work together to solve—and mirth turns these problems into jokes. Authority is maintained by stern threats of punishment and disapproval, and mirth deflates it like a whoopie cushion. Politicians wield negative emotions as political weapons, and mirth leaves them weaponless. It is therefore unsurprising that people with stronger moral identities are less able to appreciate humor and generate jokes (Yam et al., 2019).
Posted inDavid Pinsof, Humor|Comments Off on The Evolutionary Mystery Of Humor
Alliance Theory treats moral language as coalition technology. Words like “evil,” “racist,” “fascist,” and “cancer” do not primarily describe the world. They mark sides, recruit allies, and coordinate action against enemies. The vocabulary tracks who you stand with more than what you observe.
“Cancer” is a high-grade weapon in this vocabulary.
It forecloses negotiation. You do not debate cancer or seek common ground with it. The metaphor pre-loads the only legitimate response: excision. Once an ideology gets the cancer label, anyone who proposes engagement, reform, or coexistence sounds like a man recommending you live with your tumor.
It medicalizes politics, which puts the speaker in the role of healer. The opponent is no longer a fellow citizen with different interests but a sick growth on the body politic. This raises the speaker’s coalition to physicians and lowers the target to disease.
It recruits bystanders cheaply. Few people defend cancer. The metaphor pulls in third parties who might otherwise stay neutral, since opposing cancer reads as common sense rather than a partisan stand. Pinsof emphasizes how moral talk works by mobilizing audiences, and “cancer” optimizes for that mobilization.
It licenses what is otherwise off-limits. You can do things to cancer you cannot do to opponents. Surveillance, exclusion, firing, criminalization, and violence all become defensible once the target gets reframed as a malignancy threatening the host. The metaphor naturalizes severity.
It binds the in-group through shared enemy. Coalitions cohere around what they oppose more reliably than around what they affirm. Calling the other side cancer gives your coalition a unifying threat and a shared mission of eradication.
The symmetry is the giveaway. The right calls wokeness cancer. The left calls White supremacy cancer. Religious traditionalists call secular liberalism cancer. New atheists called religion a cancer. Hamas calls Zionism cancer. Settlers call Hamas cancer. Every coalition reaches for the same metaphor about its primary enemy, as Pinsof predicts.
Trivers adds that the speaker usually believes the framing. Self-deception makes recruitment more effective, since visible conviction persuades better than calculated rhetoric. The man who calls an ideology cancer rarely thinks of himself as deploying coalition technology. He thinks he sees a tumor.
Becker adds the hero-system layer. Calling something cancer casts the speaker as defender of the body against existential threat. That role supplies meaning, identity, and standing. The metaphor places the user in a heroic story about saving the host from death.
Posted inAlliance Theory|Comments Off on Why Do People Call Various Beliefs ‘Cancer’?
Critical preoccupation with “the notion of Israel as a sacred homeland to which Jews in diaspora are longing to return” runs like a subtext through several essays by American-born critics who now live in Israel. Equally persistent is the contradictory notion that American Jews see America as “the new Promised Land.” Philip Roth is said to reject Israel and to choose America as a “homeland” for the sake of “freedom” and “security.” Like most American Jews, however, Roth’s novels develop this issue way beyond the polarity of “either/or,” constructing the personal “home” and the collective “homeland” as facets of an awareness as complicated and as fraught as Roth’s sense of Jewish identity.
Finally, American writers’ complex connection to the Jewish past is also reduced to a simple polarity. As novelists here struggle to relate themselves to the Holocaust — which happened elsewhere, to other Jews — American writers are seen “to be caught in a no-win bind. Forget the past and the Jewish component” of identity “falls away. Remember the past and you write European rather than American fiction.” In this perspective, our writers seem to invoke the Holocaust in order to pursue “other, more primary agendas” — notably the agenda of constructing “Jewish identity in the United States.” A work that seemed to an earlier American critic to develop a “strain of reverence toward Jewish historical experience” is understood in this perspective to serve the cause of “identity politics.” Critical attitude, here, bends the work of memory and mourning toward ego gratification.
Today, many American Jewish writers are struggling to recall a distant past, to clarify and to mourn its losses. The integrity, complexity and seriousness of that effort are harder to see from a critical perspective that assumes American writers’ self-serving exploitation of the Holocaust, that considers our language inauthentic and our culture deviant, that continues to ask whether “the story of the American Jew, in order to get itself going, may well have to rid itself of the past that binds it to Jewish realities no longer pertinent or desirable.”
These are first-rate Israeli critics. But their elegant and polished essays suggest that American Jews who have chosen to stay here, to live and write in English, among people who are not Jews, may have become a troubling puzzle to Jews who have made other choices.
The Menken case is the killer. Meyer Waxman, writing in 1940, declared Menken’s poetry “permeated by a deep Jewish spirit” and heard echoes of Kohelet in her secular verses. Renée Sentilles’s biography shows Menken was almost certainly not Jewish. She married a Jewish musician, published a few poems with Jewish content in Wise’s Israelite, plagiarized some of them from Penina Moise, and abandoned the role within three years. Waxman saw a Jewish soul because he needed to. The Saul Bellow case runs the other direction. Bellow kept telling critics that calling him a Jewish writer flattened him, and critics kept doing it anyway, hunting for hidden Jewish messages he had not put there. Both examples show the same operation. The critic’s identification overrides what the writer or the text supplies.
This Janet Burstein piece in the Forward is the trigger Kramer almost names but does not quite. She reviewed the Cambridge Companion to Jewish American Literature, which Kramer co-edited, and accused him and several other contributors of treating American Jewish writing as inauthentic and deviant. She wrote “our language, our culture” to mean American Jewish, and Kramer caught the slide. The essay is his counter. He says the move from “American Jewish writers” to “our language” is the narcissism, and the function of the move is to shut down the critical perspective that would take Jewish American difference seriously. So the essay is not a quiet editorial statement. It is a confrontation. He names Burstein in a footnote and quotes her at length. The editor who placed this in the issue knew what was being done.
Kramer stops at “critical style.” The four diagnostic questions tell you why the style exists. Critics who depend on the Jewish American studies field for status, income, and protection cannot afford readings that displease the coalition that rewards them. The signals of coalition membership include treating Bellow as a Jewish writer over his protests, finding Jewishness in Menken’s verses, naturalizing the Wissenschaft inheritance, and treating accusations of “inauthentic” as a closing move rather than an opening one. What a critic gives up by reading Lazarus through Longfellow, or Menken as a non-Jewish performer of Jewishness, is membership. Kramer is in a position to say this because he has already been read out. He made aliyah, was labeled an “Israeli critic,” and was told his perspective on American Jewish writing was hostile. The essay is partly a defense of his right to read the literature without coalition penalty.
Posted inJews|Comments Off on Michael P. Kramer: ‘Critical Narcissism and the Coming-of-Age of Jewish American Literary Studies’ (2004)
Hollinger writes as if breaking a taboo. He frames the essay as a brave departure from a field that looks away. The opening does the work: a distinguished historian privately suspects the answer is genetic. The reader feels the chill. Hollinger then offers his own answer, which turns out to be the safest available account.
The argument runs on environmental terrain. Diaspora conditions selected for literacy, calculation, abstraction, mobility. These are the skills modernity rewards. Jews entered the modern era already trained for it. The same framework explains the Bolsheviks, the Nobel laureates, the financiers.
The structure is cultural transmission across generations. No biology. No selection effect on heritable traits. No engagement with the work that motivates the distinguished historian’s private suspicion. Hollinger wants to neutralize the genetic question by not engaging it.
That move has costs. The skills he names, calculation, abstraction, language fluency, are the very traits cognitive ability research treats as substantially heritable. If Jewish communities passed these traits along for forty generations through assortative mating within a literate marriage market, the historical and biological accounts converge rather than compete. Cochran, Hardy, and Harpending make this argument explicit two years after Hollinger writes. He could have anticipated it. He chooses not to.
The “same principles of causation” line is his strongest move and the one he does not follow through on. He says we should use the same toolkit for under- and overrepresentation. Fine. The toolkit used to explain Black underrepresentation includes claims about ancestral conditions, about the heritability of the trait, about the persistence of group differences across environments. Apply that toolkit symmetrically and you reach conclusions Hollinger shows no interest in reaching. Method symmetry requires following the explanation wherever it leads. He prefers a one-sided symmetry.
The Bolshevik passage is the bravest section. He names Trotsky, Kamenev, Zinoviev, Yagoda. He notes the Jewish overrepresentation among the makers of the Revolution and the staffers of the early Soviet state. For 2004 in the Jewish Quarterly Review, this is unusual. Slezkine’s book had just appeared. Hollinger uses it.
But his account treats Bolshevism as a rational career path for ambitious literate outsiders plus a universalist ideology that promised to abolish blood and soil. That is part of the story. The other part, which Slezkine handles with more candor than Hollinger, is that the Pale produced ethnic resentment, and the Revolution gave that resentment institutional expression. Universalist socialism worked among many of its Jewish adherents as a vehicle for tribal grievance against the Christian peasantries that had penned them in. The early Soviet state, among other things, settled old accounts. Hollinger’s framework cannot say this. His skills-and-opportunities account keeps the analysis on safer ground.
The most useful conceptual move comes near the end, when Hollinger separates communal Jewry from descendants of the Diaspora. The expansion lets Jewish studies claim Oppenheimer, Lippmann, Merton, Kuhn, Rand, Albright. He frames the move as methodological honesty: these people were shaped by the conditions, and so the conditions are part of their story.
The move also performs coalition work. It lets Jewish intellectuals talk about Jewish achievement in fields where the achievers did not affiliate. It folds atheist physicists, Cold War liberals, Hollywood moguls, and Republican Secretaries of State into a category that flatters the descent group. The booster reading and the bigot reading both stay on the table. Hollinger wants to escape the booster-bigot trap, but his analytical expansion gives the booster reading a wider field to operate on. Academic essentialism rarely announces itself directly. It works through framing: which questions count as serious, which sources count as authoritative, which conclusions count as decent. Hollinger frames the essay as anti-essentialist. The framing presents environmental explanation as the brave alternative to mystification. But environmental explanation is the field’s preferred resting place. Mystification is not the alternative he suppresses. The genetic account is. He argues against the wrong opponent. Alliance Theory points the same direction. The essay does coalition work for a formation of Jewish American liberal academics who want the freedom to discuss Jewish overrepresentation candidly without conceding any ground to the antisemitic right or to the cognitive ability literature. The piece supplies a vocabulary that lets that group hold the topic at the center of its inquiry while keeping the conclusions safe.
Hollinger picks the right target. The avoidance is a problem. The mystification is a problem. His own account replaces them with a more refined avoidance. The questions worth asking after Hollinger are the ones his framework rules out: how much of the Jewish achievement pattern survives controls for cognitive ability, how much of cognitive ability is heritable in the relevant range, what happens to the explanation when Diaspora conditions end and the achievement pattern persists into the third and fourth American generations. Klingenstein’s institutional history, Novick on the consensus school, and Slezkine’s portrait of the Soviet Jewish intelligentsia all bear on these questions. Hollinger gestures toward the territory and stops at the border.
Hollinger uses Coleman Silk to illustrate that family-level cultural capital, not skin color, accounts for educational and professional achievement. The framing flatters the environmental account. But Roth’s novel cuts the other way too. Silk’s success rests on inheriting from a Black family that already had what most Black families did not have: rabbinical-like learning in the father, social solidarity, literacy across generations, commercial experience. Roth uses that family precisely because it is unusual. Hollinger reads the unusual family as evidence that conditions, not biology, do the work. The reading is plausible. It is also the reading that lets him keep the analysis on the side of the question he prefers.
Posted inJews|Comments Off on David Hollinger: ‘Rich, Powerful, and Smart: Jewish Overrepresentation Should Be Explained Instead of Avoided or Mystified’ (2004)
What happened at the Washington Hilton on Saturday night might have seemed extraordinary because President Trump and so many people in the presidential line of succession were in the ballroom when shots were fired outside.
But we need to say out loud that it was actually all too ordinary. In America, this is all too common: a shots-fired moment, a chaotic lockdown, a spasm of violence interrupting a peaceful gathering.
Thousands of media and political elites have now gone through what countless millions of other Americans have experienced in their schools, offices, malls and churches.
And on most of those occasions, there were no Secret Service agents.
Stelter performs a recognizable coalition move. A targeted political assassination attempt against the president and his cabinet becomes a generic story about American gun violence. The shooter wrote a manifesto naming administration officials as targets by rank. He took a train across the country. He attended No Kings protests. He donated to Harris. He belonged to a group called The Wide Awakes. None of that appears in Stelter’s column.
The frame dissolves particulars into a general category. Stelter equates the WHCA dinner experience with what ordinary Americans go through at schools, offices, malls and churches. That formulation does a lot of work. It re-categorizes the event from political violence to ambient gun violence. It performs class solidarity, the elites now know what ordinary people feel. It routes the reader toward a familiar policy conversation rather than an unfamiliar political one.
The Sciutto quote completes the pivot. “There won’t be any substantive discussion about access to weapons, right? There just won’t.” Advocacy disguised as observation. The discussion routes to gun policy and away from the manifesto, the train ride, and the targets.
Test the symmetry. If a Trump supporter had taken a train to a Democratic gathering with a manifesto naming senior Democrats as targets by rank, the framing might not be a story about what ordinary Americans experience at the grocery store. The ideology might be central. The radicalization pathway might be examined. The rhetoric of the broader coalition might be implicated. Stelter might not write a column whose emotional climax is his six-year-old son texting him.
The asymmetry tells you what coalition Stelter sits inside and what tacit rules govern how political violence gets coded when it travels in different directions. Violence from the left gets coded as gun violence. Violence from the right gets coded as political violence and indicts a movement.
Stelter’s hero system runs on the journalist as truthteller-against-power. When the violence comes from his own coalition’s flank, the script breaks. You cannot indict your own side if there are no sides, only Americans and guns.
The closing image of the six-year-old son works as sentiment laundering. It moves the reader from analytical questions, who, why, what does the manifesto say, to the warm bath of parental feeling. By the end of the column you are not thinking about Cole Allen’s politics. You are thinking about your own children.
America has a gun violence problem. America also has a political violence problem. One side’s violence gets coded as ideology. The other side’s violence gets coded as mental illness or ambient cultural sickness.
Posted inJournalism|Comments Off on Brian Stelter: ‘An extraordinary moment for America’s media elite is all too ordinary in America’
"This guy knows all the gossip, the ins and outs, the lashon hara of the Orthodox world. He’s an [expert] in... all the inner workings of the Orthodox world." (Rabbi Aaron Rakeffet-Rothkoff)