David Myers & The Neutralization Theory of Hatred

UCLA historian David N. Myers spends his career mapping how Jewish communities build and police collective self-understanding. The Sell paper gives a functional theory of one of the forces that does the policing. Hatred, on this account, is not an extreme form of anger but a distinct adaptation that neutralizes individuals whose continued existence lowers the hater’s reproductive prospects. The theory predicts four triggers, a negative welfare tradeoff ratio toward the target, three behavioral strategies (killing, information warfare, avoidance), and a set of terminating conditions.
First, Myers is a target. His affiliations and public positions mark him as hostile in the eyes of right-wing Zionist and Orthodox coalitions. The Sell framework predicts the pattern of response he receives. Not open physical aggression, which modern conditions make prohibitively expensive, but information warfare. Negative reputation work. Gossip networks. Efforts to deprive him of platforms, honors, and institutional allies. The theory predicts that truth is incidental to this process, since great gains come against a target provided no one counters the negative information. It also predicts the perverse corollary Myers’s defenders keep discovering: that defending a hated target makes one a target as well. Coalition members who speak up for him find their own association values revised downward.
Second, the theory clarifies what Myers violates. Sell argues that hatred functionally requires aversion to understanding the enemy’s perspective, because understanding generates sympathy and sympathy dissolves the negative WTR hatred maintains. Myers’s signature move is the one hatred exists to suppress. He insists on engaging the motives of parties hatred wants to render unreadable: the Satmar separatists, Palestinian nationalists, anti-Zionist Jewish intellectuals like Rawidowicz, dissenting minorities inside majority Jewish institutions. To coalition members who hate these targets, Myers’s generosity reads as sabotage. He dismantles the adaptation’s core prohibition on letting the enemy speak.
Third, the theory reframes the Yerushalmi problem. Yerushalmi treated the break between Jewish memory and Jewish history as a loss. Sell’s framework suggests that what Yerushalmi called memory included the social apparatus for identifying toxic others and coordinating hatred toward them. Modern Jewish history, by giving voice to those others, weakened that apparatus. Myers extends the weakening. He wants a Jewish self-understanding that keeps the archival rigor but drops the functional hatred. The Sell paper suggests why this is harder than Myers supposes. Hatred is an evolved coordination device. Communities that abandon it lose a competitive edge against communities that keep it. This is the unacknowledged force behind the Kiryas Joel puzzle in American Shtetl. Satmar maintains strong collective WTRs by maintaining strong collective hatreds, against the secular world, against Zionism, against modernity. Myers documents their reproductive success without connecting it to the functional work hatred does inside the community.
Fourth, the theory explains the asymmetry Myers keeps running into. He treats his interlocutors as bargaining partners in anger’s frame, people whose WTRs recalibrate through evidence and argument. Sell distinguishes sharply. Anger negotiates. Hatred neutralizes. Many of Myers’s fiercest opponents are not in anger toward him. They are in hatred. The terminating conditions for their attacks are not apology, reparation, or improved conduct. The terminating condition is that Myers stop functioning as a force in Jewish institutional life. No amount of careful argument reaches that endpoint because the argument presupposes a WTR his opponents have set to negative.
Fifth, the theory illuminates Myers’s own reticence. He rarely names his enemies with the diagnostic clarity his analytical tools permit. The Sell framework predicts this too. Naming them openly is an act of information warfare that invites retaliation. A scholar whose coalition protection is thinner than his opponents’ has functional reasons to keep his pen careful. What looks like principled scholarly restraint might also be prudent non-escalation.
One warning. The Sell theory is explicitly speculative, and the authors note that few of its predictions have been empirically tested. Applied to Myers, it generates sharper readings than most frameworks on offer, but treat the readings as hypotheses. The claim that Myers’s opponents run a hatred program rather than an anger program is testable in principle. Their behavioral pattern (continued cost infliction after apologies, aversion to letting Myers explain himself, willingness to damage shared institutional capital to harm him) fits. Other frameworks might fit too.
Right. The paper does not make the application but the framework maps onto the case with unusual tightness.
The paper’s core claim is that hatred responds to cues of negative association value, meaning cues that another individual’s continued existence depresses the hater’s reproductive prospects. Scale that up from individuals to coalitions and the Arab-Israeli case becomes almost a textbook illustration. Each side perceives the other’s presence in contested territory as a net fitness cost. Land, water, demographic weight, political sovereignty, and security are all reproductive variables in the evolutionary sense. A Jewish family in Tel Aviv and a Palestinian family in Gaza both calculate their children’s futures against the existence and power of the other group. The calculation does not require hatred to be manufactured by elites. The material conditions generate the cues that the adaptation evolved to detect.
Several predictions from the paper track the conflict with eerie precision.
The theory predicts that hatred motivates information warfare before and alongside physical aggression, that the information need not be truthful to be effective, and that negative information about the target spreads through coalition networks to deprive the target of allies. The propaganda apparatuses on both sides behave exactly this way. Each portrays the other as uniquely cruel, as incapable of reciprocity, as biologically or culturally disposed toward the destruction of the hater. The content of the accusations varies. The functional shape is identical.
The theory predicts that hatred generates aversion to understanding the enemy’s motives, because understanding produces sympathy and sympathy erodes the negative WTR. Both Israeli and Palestinian publics police this aversion aggressively. An Israeli who tries to explain Hamas’s strategic logic without moralized framing faces social sanction inside Israel. A Palestinian who tries to explain Israeli security anxieties without moralized framing faces social sanction inside Palestinian society. The Richard Gere example in the paper generalizes. Voices that model understanding of the other side get shouted down by their own coalition, and the theory says they must, because understanding is functionally incompatible with the hatred the coalition runs on.
The theory predicts that defenders of a hated target become hated themselves. This explains the treatment of Jewish anti-Zionists inside mainstream Jewish institutional life and the treatment of Palestinians who normalize with Israelis inside Palestinian society. Neither side tolerates defection from the hatred consensus, because defection weakens the coalition’s ability to neutralize the toxic out-group. The defector becomes functionally allied with the enemy and receives hatred calibrated accordingly.
The theory predicts that hate copying spreads through networks where the copier shares interests with the hater, and that converging evidence from many haters increases the credibility of the toxic designation. Zionism’s hasbara infrastructure and the Palestinian solidarity movement both function as hate-copying systems in Sell’s sense. They broadcast the toxicity of the other side to audiences whose shared interests with the originator make the copying functional.
The theory predicts that hatred deactivates when association value becomes zero or positive, through several routes: corrected misperception, recalibrated WTR from the target, shifting alliance structures, new avenues of cooperation, or failure of all hatred strategies to neutralize the target. This is where the framework becomes pessimistic. Misperception is not the issue. Each side’s reading of the other’s intentions is substantially accurate. The targets cannot easily recalibrate their WTRs because the structural conflict over territory keeps generating new evidence of negative AV. Shifting alliance structures occasionally intervene (the Abraham Accords are a live test case) but do not touch the core dyad. New avenues of cooperation exist but operate against the hatred gradient rather than with it. And neither side has succeeded in neutralizing the other, which according to the theory means hatred persists rather than deactivates, and the spiteful behavior continues even when it imposes net costs on the hater.
The theory’s account of predatory aggression also maps. Sell describes predatory aggression as characterized by no signaling, no escalation, no monitoring for surrender, continued aggression upon the target’s submission, no interrogation of the target’s motives, and willful violations of the implicit rules of combat. October 7 fits this profile. So does the conduct of some Israeli operations in Gaza. The paper’s point is not that one side is uniquely predatory but that the hatred adaptation, when fully activated and unconstrained, produces behavior of this kind on any side that activates it.
The framework also clarifies why negotiated settlements keep failing. Negotiation is anger’s behavioral strategy, not hatred’s. Anger bargains over WTRs. Hatred neutralizes. If the dominant emotion on both sides is hatred rather than anger, then the cognitive architecture of the negotiating parties is not set up to recalibrate WTRs through agreement. It is set up to produce the appearance of agreement as a tactical move in a longer campaign of neutralization. Oslo read in this light becomes intelligible in a way that the standard “missed opportunity” narratives cannot make it.
One implication the paper half-states but does not pursue. If hatred is the adaptation both sides are running, then the conditions for deactivation have to be engineered deliberately against the adaptation’s functional logic. The paper notes that having a stake in the other’s welfare can defuse hatred. Economic integration, shared institutions, and intermarriage are the obvious candidates. The adaptation resists all of them because it perceives them correctly as threats to its operation. Any serious peace project has to out-engineer an evolved system designed to defeat exactly such projects. That is a harder problem than the diplomatic literature usually acknowledges, and the Sell paper, without saying so, provides the theoretical reason why.

Grokipedia v Wikipedia (April 23, 2026)

Wikipedia frames Myers as a mainstream scholar who faced an ideologically motivated attack he survived. The Center for Jewish History episode gets structured around Sarna and Ellenson’s defense, Smotrich’s involvement as a flagging marker of the attackers’ politics, and hundreds of historians rallying behind him. Myers’ own quote closes the section on a note of equanimity: after two unpleasant months, he had a great time. The New Israel Fund presidency gets a single factual sentence. Views on Zionism receive no section at all. The reader meets a distinguished historian who does respectable work, briefly ran an archive, and sits on a liberal Jewish board.
Grokipedia treats the same life as a pattern of contested political engagement. The NIF section names specific grantees, Adalah, Breaking the Silence, B’Tselem, Peace Now, and cites NGO Monitor as a source documenting ongoing support for groups that critics say delegitimize Israel. The CJH controversy gets longer treatment with more critic voices preserved. A separate section on views covers the Haaretz interview, the Los Angeles Times op-eds on judicial reform, the post-October 7 commentary, and the UCLA Initiative to Study Hate with the “total systems failure” quote and the April 30, 2024 encampment attack. The Grokipedia Myers is a political actor whose scholarship runs alongside his advocacy.
Both descriptions point at real features of the public record. Myers does hold the Kahn Chair and chaired the history department. He did lead NIF for five years. He did give the Haaretz interview. He did write the op-eds. The question is which facts constitute the story.
Wikipedia’s silences are the more revealing choice. An encyclopedia entry on someone who chaired NIF through the 2023 judicial reform crisis, who runs a hate studies initiative at UCLA during the post-October 7 campus upheaval, and who publishes regular op-eds on Israeli democracy, cannot treat these as background color without making an editorial decision. The decision protects Myers from readers who might form independent judgments about his politics. Grokipedia makes the opposite decision and supplies the material for those judgments, which creates its own risks because some of the framing language, “accused by critics,” “post-Zionist narratives,” “asymmetric threats,” does work the sources cited cannot quite support.
The CJH episode is the clearest test. Wikipedia tells you Smotrich and ZOA attacked him, Sarna and Ellenson defended him, and he had a great time after two months. Grokipedia tells you the same thing and adds that he resigned after thirteen months amid reported tensions with the board over strategic direction. Both versions draw on the Forward coverage. Wikipedia selects the exoneration. Grokipedia selects the complication. A reader who wanted to know whether Myers succeeded as CEO gets more usable information from Grokipedia. A reader who wanted to know whether the attacks on him were legitimate gets a cleaner answer from Wikipedia.
Wikipedia’s Jewish studies entries pass through editors embedded in the field, and the field closed ranks around Myers during the CJH fight. The entry reflects that closure. Grokipedia draws on right-leaning source ecosystems that tracked Myers as a political figure. Each reference base produces its own Myers.

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History as Ideology: The Case of David N. Myers, Critical-Zionist Historian Par Excellence

I

To readers of American Jewish intellectual life, the name David N. Myers is synonymous with a sophisticated critical engagement with Zionist historiography from within the Jewish studies profession. Myers has devoted four decades to exposing the ideological saturation of Zionist historical method, rescuing suppressed diasporic voices, and demonstrating how seemingly scientific Jewish scholarship serves political projects. Within this framework, Myers aims to recover the pluralism, ambivalence, and dissent that Zionist master narratives erased.
Of course, Myers is not alone among American Jewish historians in his sympathies for the critical turn, nor in envisioning a constructive function for critical scholarship in relation to contemporary Jewish life. However, Myers’s work reveals more baldly its underlying ideological motivation than that of many of his fellow historians, because his public positions (New Israel Fund presidency, Luskin Center directorship, Bedari Kindness Institute, Initiative to Study Hate, Dialogue Across Difference) make his commitments visible in a way few scholarly careers match. In this essay I propose to examine the role of that ideological motivation in shaping Myers’s historiographical method and overall historical vision. To do so, I explore his personal and intellectual evolution from Scranton Yale graduate to Tel Aviv Zionist student to Columbia Yerushalmi disciple to UCLA critical-Zionist historian.
Before commencing, I confront an apparent contradiction that has informed modern Jewish historical research from its inception. On one hand we notice a certain reticence among Jewish historians to acknowledge the determinative role of ideology in shaping their historical world-views. In the case of the critical school to which Myers belongs, this reticence is often shielded by claims to post-ideological reflexivity. Here the desire to secure professional legitimacy and an unquestioning reliance on critical method partly obscures the formative role of ideology. The critical school’s view that it has transcended Zionist historiographical closure serves as an instrumental role of scholarship, as a means of advancing the political and social agenda of American liberal Jewry. However, what is denied is the exclusivist or restrictive tendency of critical scholarship in the service of that agenda, a tendency that we see, for example, in Myers’s selection of figures worthy of rescue (Rawidowicz, Rosenzweig, Scholem in his ambivalences) and his relative neglect of figures who sit outside the liberal-Zionist coalition’s horizon of sympathy.
From another perspective, however, critical Jewish historiography appears not as a case of methodological obtuseness but rather of unencumbered self-reflection. We arrive at this conclusion if we consider that the critical generation used historical method as an agent of demystification, as a scholarly lever to lower the realm of Dinurian Zionist certainty to the realm of the ideologically saturated. Thus we face an apparent contradiction in the genesis of critical Jewish historiography: an ingrained obtuseness coupled with a self-reflective examination of the Zionist past in which critical method is a primary tool. Instead of offering a solution to this contradiction (as it manifests itself in the formative stages of critical Jewish historiography), I consider its recurrence in the case of primary interest to us here, David N. Myers.
On Myers’s view, critical scholarship represents a moment of unparalleled self-awareness, stemming from a critique of earlier Zionist certainty. As I shall see, Myers, in his role as critical Jewish historian, participated in the process of reassessing the Jewish past according to a new set of historical criteria. His expectation was that, with the critical method now allowed for, the Jewish past might be recovered. In this regard, Myers saw his work and that of his colleagues in Jewish studies as constituting a major methodological and substantive advance over the Zionist scholars whose research was tainted by the lurking agenda of state-building. At the same time, Myers seems to have adopted the glorified view of critical reflection common to Wissenschaft scholars, whose research was necessarily to be waged in this world, not the world to come; moreover, its terms should be dictated by Jews alone, for only through a rational will could their fate be altered. Critical method then, at least in the American liberal Jewish milieu which Myers inhabits, is in part a refutation of traditional Jewish textual authority and of Zionist political authority.
On the other hand, as Myers was taught to emphasize in his research, positive components from both traditional and Zionist interpretation of Jewish identity persisted in his work. He attempted to realize the ideal of critical-sympathetic recovery, cultivated by the increasingly common expressions of American Jewish liberal sentiment, and heard among the educated Jewish professional class during the second half of the twentieth century.
With this mixture of old and new, it can be offered that the emergence of the critical Jewish studies movement constituted an unparalleled moment of collective self-consciousness in modern American Jewish thought, in proposing a change in tone and communal structure, forcing both supporters and detractors to confront the scope and rationale of Jewish Zionist allegiance. Myers came of intellectual age at a moment of self-consciousness. The result was a lifetime devoted to the establishment in locale and communal structure of a viable liberal-Zionist society in America. Not only did Myers’s critical scholarship lead him to an activist stance in the realm of politics and propaganda; it also set the tone for his labors in the world of pedagogy and scholarship. It is to Myers’s further evolution as a scholar that I now turn.

II

David N. Myers was born in 1960 in Scranton, Pennsylvania, a mid-sized anthracite city in northeastern Pennsylvania whose Middle Atlantic ethnic patchwork Myers has remembered with affection. He came from a long line of American Jewish families of Eastern European origin whose integration into American middle-class professional life had been, by the mid-twentieth century, largely accomplished. The later generations of Myers’s own family fell under the influence of the American Jewish consensus, in which he was raised — a consensus committed to the State of Israel as historical vindication, to the memory of the Holocaust as moral foundation, and to American liberalism as political home.
The example of his Scranton upbringing might have been important in stimulating Myers’s curiosity for subjects beyond the normal educational purview of a young American Jewish student. He came from an ethnically plural small city where Jewish identity was lived alongside Polish, Irish, Italian, and Slavic neighborhoods. Already at Yale he had read both in distinctly historical matters and in the broader American liberal tradition. After graduating cum laude in 1982, Myers moved to Israel, where he exhibited from an early age a keen interest in advancing the scholarly study of Jewish Zionism through the ingrained passivity of diasporic passivity. Already at Tel Aviv he trained under Anita Shapira, Yaakov Shavit, Matitiyahu Mintz, and Moshe Mishkinsky. Shapira represented the Labor Zionist historiographical establishment at the moment when the New Historians began challenging its foundational narratives. Myers was privy to the internal fight as a graduate student.
At this same moment, the young Myers exhibited an appetite for intellectual range that his later range would reflect: he moved from Tel Aviv to Harvard in 1984 to study medieval Jewish thought with Isadore Twersky. Twersky, a scion of the Talner Hasidic dynasty, held the Littauer Chair and married Maimonidean textual rigor with traditional piety. Myers received the full traditional-text apprenticeship that most critical historians of Jewish life in the United States lack. In 1985 he arrived at Columbia, where he fell under the supervision of Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi. Yerushalmi’s Zakhor: Jewish History and Jewish Memory had redefined the field by arguing that modern Jewish historiography emerged from the collapse of traditional Jewish memory. Yerushalmi’s framework set the tone for Myers’s further evolution.
The convergence of Yale liberalism, Tel Aviv Zionism, Harvard traditional textuality, and Columbia critical historiography marked a course that Myers himself hoped to follow. Yerushalmi became Myers’s mentor. Anita Shapira’s insistent support of Jewish self-defense and Zionist activity, the two, however, parted ways over Myers’s more insistent support of Jewish critical reassessment and Zionist recognition of Palestinian humanity. Yerushalmi had already parted ways with Zionist historiography as a place of settlement; Myers would extend the critique. As Myers chose critical historical research over Talmudic studies, he never abandoned his observance of the scholarly commitments or his love for the Jewish textual tradition. Ultimately, what lay at the core of Myers’s American Jewish world-view was a belief in the unity and continuity of the Jewish people, based upon the bond of traditional religious and textual identification. Myers’s piety is discernible throughout his writings, including The Stakes of History.

III

In the decade after his arrival in Los Angeles at the age of twenty-eight, Myers ambitiously followed two paths: historical study and political activism. Political activism was more than just a complement to his scholarly endeavors, and introducing him to other critical scholars in the UCLA area. The two, however, parted ways over Myers’s more insistent support of American-Jewish self-reassessment and Zionist recognition of Palestinian suffering. Whereas earlier critical historiography had returned from Palestine, unable to secure either a livelihood or scholarly recognition from the host society, Myers set his sights on Los Angeles as a place of settlement and scholarly advancement. In this Myers parted ways over critical recognition which had sway over the American Jewish studies profession. Perhaps it was the perceived dialectical nature of liberal Zionism which appealed to Myers — that is, the simultaneous affirmation and critique of Jewish particularity. For, on one hand, liberal Zionism entailed a newly critical attitude towards the Zionist certainty that Myers’s teachers Shapira and Shavit held. On the other hand, it retained the commitment to Jewish peoplehood and Jewish state that marked Myers as an insider to the Jewish studies guild. In the process of self-education in the fields of Hebrew literature and general history, typically in centers where he visited (Paris, Moscow, Jerusalem), often happened to be of a German-Jewish historicist bent. From these people, books could be found, was usually a short distance, and Myers took full advantage of his acquaintances to pursue scholarly interests. Included in his curriculum were the study of Jewish historicism, the sociology of knowledge, and the politics of memory. He came across books of great interest, which he read midnight oil by. Myers would later represent the first volume of his scholarly research in this period in Re-Inventing the Jewish Past (Oxford, 1995).
Through Yerushalmi, Myers came across Karl Mannheim, whom Myers encountered in his graduate reading shortly before his immersion in German-Jewish historicism. As Myers relates it, Mannheim was ideal for the post-Wissenschaft moment, in that the student could benefit from the genre’s explanatory notes on important primary source material and still benefit from the analysis of preceding ideological commitments.
What is interesting about this method of critical-sympathetic recovery is not the novelty of it, but rather the motivation that lay behind it. To be sure, the gathering and annotation of primary source material as a pedagogic tool and a medium for scholarly investigation did not begin with Myers. He himself learned Jewish intellectual history through close textual analysis of primary sources in seminars at Tel Aviv and Columbia. Nonetheless, his own endeavor in compelling sources was informed by a special sense of mission related to his critical commitment.
The nature of this mission was first spelled out to Myers by Yerushalmi, whom Myers encountered in Morningside Heights shortly before his departure for Los Angeles and UCLA. As Myers relates it, Yerushalmi issued a call in 1985 to the enlightened Jewish populations to assist in the collection of Jewish voices lost to Zionist narrative closure. Myers responded by volunteering to compile sources which he came across while studying abroad. More than a quarter century later, Myers recalled Yerushalmi’s charge in the introduction to a collection of Zionist and proto-critical sources, The Faith of Fallen Jews: Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi and the Writing of Jewish History. Writing in 2014, Myers remembered that, to grasp the import of the critical turning point in Jewish history signaled by Yerushalmi’s Zakhor required a certain historical accounting, and to herald its triumph, recollections of prior Zionist-historiographical existence should not be excised; rather, they should be gathered and recorded for posterity.
Myers announces the guiding principle of his work in the introduction to Re-Inventing the Jewish Past: “The starting point of all work of critical recovery in our generation is critical sensibility.” It is important to recognize that “critical sensibility” in this context signifies neither a partisan agenda nor an impoverished or false state of consciousness; instead, Myers conceives of it as the reflection of a concrete historical force that has engendered a new (and healthy) perspective on the past. In the realm of scholarship, American liberal Jewish consciousness spawned a new era in which the crystallization of the critical-Zionist movement could be recorded more precisely, and critically, without the biases of previous chroniclers. Along with other historians in Los Angeles, Myers shared in the expectation that critical recovery, as a force capable of normalizing Jewish existence by restoring Jews to both their land and their humanity, could also normalize and make objective the writing of Jewish history.

IV

A quick perusal of the Myers bibliography reveals two distinct genres of historical writing represented. The first consists of monographs of varying length devoted to personalities and subjects of Jewish history, with a special emphasis on ideology. Re-Inventing the Jewish Past (1995) treats the founding generation of the Institute for Jewish Studies at Hebrew University: Dinur, Baer, Klausner, Scholem, Baron as contested figures. Resisting History (2003) treats Rosenzweig, Benjamin, Strauss, and Scholem as German-Jewish resisters of historicist closure. Between Jew and Arab (2008) recovers Simon Rawidowicz’s suppressed essay on Palestinian refugees, which Rawidowicz removed from Bavel vi-Yerushalayim under the pressures of the Israeli state-building moment. Jewish History: A Very Short Introduction (2017) offers a synthesis covering the full sweep. The Stakes of History (2018) reflects on the historian’s vocation. American Shtetl (2022), co-authored with Nomi Stolzenberg, treats Kiryas Joel, the Satmar village in upstate New York, as a case study in American religious pluralism.
The second genre, more commonly associated with Myers, consists of collections of documents and sources, whose aim is to bring to life the social and spiritual manifestations of Jewish existence in the American liberal diaspora. For Myers, this genre was ideal for pedagogic purposes, in that the student could benefit from the collection of primary sources. By anthologizing primary sources, Myers hoped to assemble actual textual fragments which related the course of Jewish liberal thought in America; implicit in this method was the desire to avoid Zionist-historiographical imprecision; the possible subjective pitfalls, even of such an accepted historiographical genre as narrative. This linear approach, which Myers designated as “critical recovery,” seems incomplete and at times common to all historians, yet especially pronounced in him.
Myers’s method contains a governing ideological architecture that critical sensibility itself cannot dissolve. Consider the subject-choice. Myers repeatedly rescues figures whose political ambivalence prefigures his own. Rawidowicz, diasporist, ambivalent Zionist, sympathetic to Palestinian refugees, who suppressed his own most sympathetic essay under Israeli state pressure, gets a full monograph. Rabbi Leonard Beerman, Los Angeles rabbi of the Jewish left, gets an edited volume. Rosenzweig, who resisted Zionist closure, gets sustained treatment. Dinur, who did not resist, gets critiqued. The rescue of the suppressed voice is the rescue of the voice whose politics match Myers’s.
Consider periodization. Myers’s implicit narrative of modern Jewish intellectual history runs from rigid Zionist closure (Dinur, Baer, Klausner, the Jerusalem School) through resistant German-Jewish alternatives (Rosenzweig, Benjamin, Scholem’s ambivalences, Arendt) through post-1967 American Jewish critical recovery (Yerushalmi, Myers himself) to the culminating moment of liberal-Zionist self-criticism in which Myers lives and works. The periodization ends at Myers’s present. His own scholarly generation stands as the terminus ad quem toward which the whole narrative has pointed. Just as Dinur’s periodization ended at the 1948 founding of the State, Myers’s periodization ends at the founding of the Luskin Center, the Kindness Institute, the Initiative to Study Hate, and the Dialogue Across Difference Initiative — institutions Myers founded or directs.
Consider compilation. Myers’s edited volumes (The Jewish Past Revisited, Enlightenment and Diaspora: The Armenian and Jewish Cases, The Faith of Fallen Jews, The Eternal Dissident, Between Babylon and Jerusalem: Selected Writings of Simon Rawidowicz) anthologize figures and moments that serve the critical-recovery project. A Zionist compiler of the Dinur type selected texts demonstrating the continuous link between the people of Israel and the Land. A critical compiler of the Myers type selects texts demonstrating the suppressed pluralism and dissent within that coalition. Each compilation serves its coalition. Neither compilation escapes the ideological architecture the other exposes.
Consider the double allegiance. Myers’s work sits simultaneously inside the Jewish studies guild (with its Zionist institutional origins, its donor base, its American Jewish communal embeddedness) and inside the progressive critical-Zionist coalition (NIF, JQR, Luskin Center, Kindness Institute). The two allegiances pull in compatible but not identical directions. The guild protected Myers during the 2017 Center for Jewish History controversy when the ZOA and Bezalel Smotrich attacked his NIF ties. Jonathan Sarna and David Ellenson wrote that his work fell squarely within the scholarly mainstream and supported Israel’s basic right to exist. Hundreds of Jewish historians signed in support. The guild defended its own. The double allegiance held.

V

Our own attempts to understand Myers might be well served by the sociology of knowledge framework presented in the work of Karl Mannheim. In exploring the social construction of “ideology,” Mannheim recognized that “the specific character, perceptions, and interpretations of the subject influence his opinions, perceptions, and interpretations.” That is, one’s intellectual and cultural values take shape not in splendid isolation, but in reaction to, concrete historical circumstances which define the social milieu.
I have already suggested that Myers’s devotion to the critical cause can be traced to his formative environment. As the son of a Scranton Jewish family whose integration into American professional life was complete, Myers underwent a different kind of ideological transformation than that faced by urbanized Western and Central European Jews of the Wissenschaft generation, or even by urbanized Israeli Jews of Shapira’s generation. Assimilation, for Myers, meant neither loss of Jewish identity nor the Hebrew language as an exclusive way of life. It did not entail abandoning Jewish peoplehood. For, in combination, critical recovery yielded in Myers not a tortured and divided Jewish loyalty, but rather a singular commitment to explaining and upholding a liberal-Jewish American identity compatible with sophisticated critique of Israeli state policy. He saw as the unifying bond of American Jewish history: the attachment of the American Jew to simultaneous affiliation with the universalist American liberal project and the particularist Jewish people.
That this commitment represented both an affirmation of and rupture with Zionist existence was not only true for Myers, but for other American Jews who identified with the liberal-critical turn. However, for Myers, it was the very perspective afforded by critical historiography that set out to discover liberal-Zionist traces and precursors in every period of American Jewish history. Perhaps his single-mindedness was the result of a less ambivalent critical commitment than other scholars who were educated in a German milieu. Without question, he did have a remarkable range of knowledge in Jewish history, which was revealed in his annotated collections. Even Myers’s apparent obtuseness to the highly selective tendencies in his scholarly predecessors, as well as in his own research, he did not always acknowledge.
One of the most challenging tasks which modern Jewish historians have faced is balancing the forces of continuity and change in the Jewish past. Assuming this task has often led to a scholarly distinction between internal and external forces, between the inner spiritual will of the Jewish people and extraneous social pressures. It can be argued that this distinction reflects a sort of double allegiance on the historian’s part. On one hand, the historian is informed by the standards of critical historical method, and thus attempts to discover the source of Jewish identity without recourse to mystical or supernatural explanations. Consequently, he tries to define Jewish collective identity not only within a vacuum of internal Jewish development, but also as shaped by outside forces. This impulse draws from the professional standards of the critical historical discipline to which Jewish scholars assiduously hold. On the other hand, Jewish historians who, like Myers, are usually Jewish often hold to an a priori assumption of Jewish continuity. In that case, the Jewish historian’s research might fill an important existential function, proceeding deductively from the guiding principle of Jewish continuity, its traces spiritual and physical manifestations over the ages; this exploration, in turn, becomes an expression and affirmation of one’s intimate connection to the guiding principle. A possible ramification of this search is the tendency to concentrate interest and attention on the internal Jewish, as opposed to external social, forces.
It might be unfair to suggest that such a tendency dominates Myers’s research. Perhaps it is more appropriate to argue that the work of all historians, Jewish and non-Jewish, reveals ties to both professional and existential concerns. In any event, it seems clear that Myers’s work reflects a certain tension between the commitment to critical historical methodology and his Jewish-American world-view. His allegiance to the former did not always accommodate by his desire to reveal the unbroken bond between people and the land of Israel; ultimately, the role of external forces in Jewish history was subordinate to the inner Jewish will.
A quick perusal of Myers’s positions reveals the institutional embodiment of this ideology. UCLA Distinguished Professor. Sady and Ludwig Kahn Chair in Jewish History. Founding director of the Luskin Center for History and Policy. Director of the Bedari Kindness Institute. Director of the Initiative to Study Hate. Faculty director of the Dialogue Across Difference Initiative. Former Robert N. Burr Department Chair. Former Director of the UCLA Center for Jewish Studies (three terms). Former President/CEO of the Center for Jewish History in New York (2017-2018). President of the New Israel Fund Board (2018-2023). Co-editor of the Jewish Quarterly Review since 2002. Fellow of the American Academy for Jewish Research. Fellow of the Los Angeles Institute for the Humanities. Three-time fellow at the Katz Center for Advanced Judaic Studies.
The institutional density matters. The scholar who builds kindness institutes, dialogue initiatives, and hate-studies centers institutionalizes the critical-liberal ideology his scholarship proposes. The institutions reproduce the ideology independent of his individual scholarly output. Dinur built the Hebrew University history department and became Minister of Education; his institutions reproduced Zionist historiographical closure. Myers has built a parallel institutional apparatus within UCLA; his institutions reproduce liberal-critical openness. Both sets of institutions embody the founders’ ideologies. Neither set is neutral.

VI

Though there has been a good deal of discussion among scholars regarding the transvaluation of religiously inspired messianism into secular forms, one must be cautious when analyzing Myers. After all, it is doubtful that he expected anything other than an end to American Jewish parochialism and cultural subjugation with the return to critical thought. Nonetheless, Myers’s vision, without an existential component of the broader liberal identity, is hardly comprehensible. He regarded the Kindness Institute, the Dialogue Across Difference Initiative, and the Initiative to Study Hate as continuous with his scholarly project. This impulse draws its teleological quality from Jewish prophetic tradition with its messianic hopes, and its sense of the importance of human catalysts. Myers maintained that redemption might take place in America, and might be advanced through the efforts of human actors. Moreover, his alignment with progressive Jewish causes throughout the ages was emblematic of expectations held by messianic activists throughout the ages. In Myers’s case, the critical movement was the long-awaited fulfillment of expectations held by Jewish liberals during their tenure in the American diaspora.
Present events thus served both the end and the validation of Jewish history hitherto. In this way, critical-historical interpretation functioned, as with medieval messianic activists, as an existential guide to past, present, and future.
It must be pointed out that Myers’s historical vision entailed a far more prosaic notion of causality than that found in traditional messianic belief, with the Divine Hand largely absent from his scheme; it is human agents, with their own historical agency, who determine the course and pace of events leading to ultimate redemption. And, as distinct from medieval activists, Myers expected neither a cataclysmic battle between the forces of good or evil, nor apparently a major theological reordering to attend redemption. The messianic structure remained nonetheless. The institutions of kindness, dialogue, and anti-hate study served as this-worldly vehicles for a redemptive project that carried the emotional valence of traditional messianic hope without its supernatural scaffolding.
Is there any value then in discussing Myers’s views in terms of messianism? One compelling reason to answer affirmatively is that those are the very terms in which Myers himself described the thread of “critical sensibility.” Indeed, for him, the primary stimulus for all critical recovery was the American Jewish incapacity to accept the consequences of exile from its homeland — and not, as earlier historians described, the ingrained messianic fervor of Zionist chroniclers. The revolt against American Jewish passivity thus lay at the core of Myers’s scholarship, whether in the case of the 1988 master’s essay on Dinur, the first-book critique of the Jerusalem School, the recovery of Rawidowicz’s Palestinian-refugee essay, or the 2022 treatment of Kiryas Joel as a case study in American Jewish pluralism. Myers believed that that which distinguished the critical-liberal movement from earlier critical-Jewish ones was the degree of realism accompanying them. On this point, he shared common ground with his colleague in Berlin, Eugen Taeubler. Both men saw the advent of organized critical activity as a powerful moment of realism in American Jewish history. However, an important difference separated the two men and their assessments of Zionism as a concrete historical force. Myers, like his teacher Yerushalmi, regarded the unceasing link between the socio-political dimension of Jewish identity and its followers as proof of an ongoing historical process. By contrast, Taeubler retained the category of messianism to describe the various incarnations of American Jewish liberalism in the modern period.
For Myers, traditional messianic belief, which could have been found in any instance, of the immigration to New York or Boston in 1900, marked the beginning of a more realistic course of critical activity.

VII

At the epochal moment of national reconstitution that has not yet arrived — or that arrived for Myers in the transformation of the American Jewish institutional landscape after 1967, 1973, 1982, 1993, and the fitful liberal-critical turn of subsequent decades — Myers’s personal aspirations and professional interests reached mutual fulfillment. He had committed his life to the creation of an independent American Jewish society in which critical scholarship could sit alongside Jewish communal commitment. Moreover, as evident in his various UCLA and governmental involvements, his entire pedagogic career had been dedicated to exposing the unceasing link between the American Jewish people and a sophisticated understanding of Jewish historical identity that allowed Palestinians humanity without forfeiting Jewish peoplehood. This governing objective did not drain Myers’s work of illuminating insights. His critical perspective did, indeed, open new vistas for critical research, by challenging the historicizing schemes and conceptual boundaries found in Jewish scholarship of the previous century. At the same time, it sensitized him to the importance of ideology in setting the mental frame of reference from which historians observed and wrote.
Thus, in depicting “Zionist ideology” as the culminating force of a teleological process, Myers was certain of its role in shaping the historical consciousness of his teachers. With this in mind, he was also aware of the overarching influence of his own ideology in molding his and others’ world-view. Yet, he was hardly attuned to the conceptual limitations imposed by his own liberal-Jewish American consciousness.
Our own attempts to understand Myers might be well served by the sociology of knowledge framework presented in the work of Karl Mannheim. Myers himself used the same framework to discipline Dinur. The scholar who exposes his teachers’ ideology stands within an ideology of his own, whose water he does not see because he swims in it. Myers saw Dinur’s ideology because by 1988 Dinur’s ideology had become visible to the American Jewish studies guild — its closures had become embarrassments. Myers does not see his own ideology because in 2026 his ideology remains the operative consensus of the guild in which he moves.
Supported by Myers’s conscious aim “to revive the Covenant of generations” through critical Jewish recovery, we should understand his collecting work as an ideological labor. He unabashedly pushed the subjective dimension of historical interpretation (common to all historians) to the limits of its constructive potential — in the service of American liberal Zionism. Ultimately, the value of such a conclusion lies neither in disdaining his methodological simplicity, nor in condemning the substance of his ideological motivation. Rather, Myers’s work offers us a good opportunity for exploring the relationship between historical observation and ideological predisposition against the backdrop of the American Jewish redefinition of Jewish identity. It also forces us to question whether this relationship is reflective of a double allegiance, to progressive American liberalism and to traditional Jewish sensibilities, which attends not only critical historiography but Jewish historiography at large.

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‘The Jewish Stake in America’s Changing Demography’

In this 2001 essay, Stephen Steinlight got the direction right on most predictions and the timing wrong on almost all of them.
He predicted Muslims would surpass American Jews in population within twenty years. They have not. The American Jewish population sits near 7.5 million. The American Muslim population sits somewhere between 3.5 and 4.5 million, depending on methodology. Pew’s 2017 projection put parity closer to 2040 than 2021. His demographic alarm ran ahead of his data.
He predicted the Latino political giant would wake and overwhelm Jewish political influence. It woke partly. The 2024 election saw a sharp Latino move toward Trump, which complicates the assumption that Latino voters function as a unified bloc hostile to Jewish interests. Naturalization surged, as he warned, but produced a politically heterogeneous electorate his essay did not anticipate.
He predicted Mexican immigration would keep doubling by decade. That curve flattened. Net Mexican migration turned negative in some years after 2008. Central American and Venezuelan migration replaced it as the primary southern border pressure. His Reconquista framing captured a real anxiety and missed the actual shape that emerged.
On Islamism he was more right than wrong. He wrote weeks after the towers fell and warned that Islamist political organizations in the United States would keep functioning as domestic lobbies while claiming victim status. CAIR, MPAC, and the American Muslim Council remain active. The October 7 attack and the American campus response to it vindicated his specific concern that Muslim-American political organizations would mobilize against Israel in ways Jewish organizations were unprepared to meet. The anti-Zionist energy on elite campuses after October 7 reads as a direct fulfillment of his warning about ideological transfer from homeland conflicts into American civic space.
On Jewish political power his timing was off but his trajectory held. The Senate had ten Jewish members when he wrote. It has about half that now and the number keeps falling. Jewish donors remain influential but the rise of online small-donor fundraising has weakened the specific structural advantage he named. The “high noon” he described reads now like late afternoon.
Where he was flatly wrong is on Muslim assimilation. He worried that Muslim immigrants would resist Americanization under pressure from homeland politics and communal enforcement. The Muslim-American community has produced a large visible secular and semi-secular middle class with high intermarriage rates and consumer patterns indistinguishable from other professional-class Americans. MTV won, as he half-predicted in his closing passage. He underestimated how completely.
The essay missed entirely the split that would open among American Jews themselves. Steinlight wrote as if the organized Jewish community could still be addressed as a coalition with shared strategic interests. That coalition fractured. The Jewish left and the Jewish right now operate as separate political formations with non-overlapping positions on Israel, immigration, and American identity. His “stop being sleepwalkers” appeal assumed an audience that still cohered. That audience no longer exists as a single body.
The essay also did not see that its own argument might be absorbed by the restrictionist right on terms Steinlight might have found uncomfortable. Tucker Carlson, Ann Coulter, and the post-2016 immigration-skeptical conservative establishment now cite Jewish restrictionists and Jewish establishment support for high immigration inside a single framework that treats American Jewish political behavior as part of the problem. Steinlight wrote to persuade Jewish organizations to support immigration reform. A quarter century later the argument he helped legitimize gets used to indict those same organizations for bad faith.
His coalition analysis of his own community holds up best. He mapped four tensions inside American Jewish institutional thinking on immigration: Holocaust memory that supplied moral legitimacy for open borders, Israel interest that required restricting Muslim immigration, domestic civil rights coalition commitments that required permissive immigration rhetoric, and demographic self-interest that pointed toward restriction. Those tensions remain unresolved. The essay still maps them cleanly.
The voice dates more than the arguments. The paragraph comparing his Jewish summer camp training to what he decries in Black nationalism carries the confessional candor that Jewish liberal writers produced in the 1990s and almost never produce now. The current climate penalizes that register of self-implication. His essay retains the capacity to make his own coalition uncomfortable, which is the test of whether a piece of this kind did its work.
The weakest section is the closing. He hedges his way into optimism about Muslim assimilation after eight thousand words of alarm. He writes that young immigrants will probably choose individual freedom over traditional authority, then concedes the outcome is “hardly a certainty.” The hedge reads as a man who wants to end on a hopeful note because his own argument has frightened him. The essay is stronger with the last three paragraphs removed.

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The Coalition Will See You Now

SCENE: A Manhattan study, lined with sefarim. A RABBI sits at a desk, wearing a dark suit and kippah. A small bust of Lincoln sits prominently on the shelf. He is mid-sentence, speaking to camera.
RABBI: As Lincoln said in his Second Inaugural, and as the prophet Isaiah said before him, and as my great-uncle the Rav said after both of them, and as I am saying right now in a way that connects all three—
[A LOUD KNOCK]
RABBI: —the American experiment is a Hebraic—
[DONOR bursts in wearing a tuxedo]
DONOR: Rabbi! Quick question. Is the Republican Party good for the Jews?
RABBI: That’s a profound question that requires—
DONOR: Yes or no.
RABBI: —a textured engagement with—
DONOR: Rabbi.
RABBI: —the prophetic tradition—
DONOR: RABBI.
RABBI: Yes.
DONOR: Excellent. [Writes a check] For the Center.
[DONOR exits. A SECOND KNOCK. A BISHOP enters.]
BISHOP: Rabbi, we Catholics would love your thoughts on whether Jews and Christians share a common heritage.
RABBI: A magnificent question. In my forthcoming essay for First Things—
BISHOP: Do we?
RABBI: Share—
BISHOP: A common heritage.
RABBI: Yes.
BISHOP: Wonderful. [Exits]
[A THIRD KNOCK. A YESHIVA STUDENT enters holding a Gemara.]
STUDENT: Rabbi, the Documentary Hypothesis. Wellhausen. Friedman. The archaeological evidence for a late composition of the Pentateuch. How do we—
RABBI: I have a meeting.
STUDENT: You don’t have a meeting.
RABBI: The Straus Center has a meeting.
STUDENT: But—
RABBI: Have you considered what Lincoln said about—
STUDENT: LINCOLN DIDN’T WRITE THE TORAH.
[The student is gently escorted out by an unseen hand. A FOURTH KNOCK.]
REPORTER: Rabbi, about the convention prayer—
RABBI: A ceremonial blessing in the tradition of—
REPORTER: —do you endorse—
RABBI: —Washington’s letter to the Hebrew Congregation of Newport—
REPORTER: —the candidate?
RABBI: —which itself echoed Micah—
REPORTER: Sir—
RABBI: —every man under his vine and fig tree—
REPORTER: Sir—
RABBI: —and none shall make him afraid.
REPORTER: So that’s a yes?
RABBI: That’s a textured engagement.
[REPORTER exits, confused. A FIFTH KNOCK. It is a YOUNG RABBI, bright-eyed.]
YOUNG RABBI: Rebbe! I want to write seriously about the crisis in Modern Orthodoxy. The demographic collapse. The Haredi pressure. The intermarriage numbers outside the day school system. The—
RABBI: Have you considered Lincoln?
YOUNG RABBI: What?
RABBI: Lincoln had many crises.
YOUNG RABBI: I’m talking about our community—
RABBI: And yet he quoted the Psalms.
YOUNG RABBI: Rebbe, I want to write what’s true.
RABBI: [Long pause. Looks at the bust of Lincoln. Looks at camera.] My son. The truth is a coalition.
YOUNG RABBI: That’s not—
RABBI: And the coalition is the truth.
YOUNG RABBI: Rebbe, that’s circular—
RABBI: As Lincoln said—
YOUNG RABBI: LINCOLN WASN’T JEWISH.
RABBI: [Placing hand gently on Young Rabbi’s shoulder] That is precisely why we must claim him.
[A SIXTH KNOCK. The DEAN enters.]
DEAN: Rabbi, the donor from before has a friend. Also Republican. Also rich. Also wants to know—
RABBI: Yes.
DEAN: I haven’t asked the question yet.
RABBI: Yes to the question.
DEAN: Wonderful. [Exits]
[The YOUNG RABBI stares at the older man.]
YOUNG RABBI: Is this what it means to be a public intellectual?
RABBI: [Gazing wistfully out the window] My boy. Once, long ago, I wrote a dissertation. It had arguments. It had footnotes. It engaged Rosenzweig.
YOUNG RABBI: What happened?
RABBI: [A single tear] Princeton.
YOUNG RABBI: And then?
RABBI: [Whispering] Commentary.
YOUNG RABBI: And then?
RABBI: [Barely audible] The podcast.
YOUNG RABBI: Rebbe—
RABBI: [Snapping back, cheerful] But as Lincoln said, and as the prophet Amos said, and as my great-uncle said, and as I am saying now in a way that connects—
[Cut to GRAHAM CHAPMAN as a British Army officer]
CHAPMAN: Right, stop that. This is getting far too coalitional. Nobody’s following an argument all the way through. I want a sketch where someone actually breaks with his donor base.
[A figure in the background, who has been quietly reading Leibowitz, looks up hopefully]
LEIBOWITZ-READER: Finally—
CHAPMAN: Not you. You’re too depressing.
LEIBOWITZ-READER: [Resigned] Back to the margins.
[CHAPMAN turns to camera]
CHAPMAN: And now for something completely different. A rabbi who actually answers a question.
[Long silence. The camera pans across an empty study. A tumbleweed rolls through. After thirty seconds, a title card appears:]
“THIS SKETCH COULD NOT BE COMPLETED DUE TO COALITION CONSTRAINTS”
[END]

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Platform, Pulpit, Archive: Three Models of MO Rabbinic Self-Presentation in Los Angeles

While surfing Rabbi Pini Dunner’s website, I learned:

Mavericks, Mystics and False Messiahs

NOW AVAILABLE!

“A thoroughly engaging introduction to some of the most colorful episodes in Jewish history. A wonderfully enjoyable read.”
– Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks

“Rabbi Pini Dunner is among the most thoughtful and articulate voices of Centrist Orthodoxy today.”
Allen Fagin, Orthodox Union

“One of the most vibrant voices of our time is the voice of Rabbi Pini. His is a voice that speaks to the heart and to the head.”
Robert Davi, Hollywood Actor

Rabbi Dunner’s expertise spans the worlds of academia, media, business, and the timeless wisdom of Judaism. His articles on current affairs, history, Bible, Talmud, philosophy, politics, and a host of other subjects, frequently appear in newspapers and journals, and he is regularly called upon to address diverse audiences across the United States on a range of topics.

Rabbi Dunner campaigns tirelessly for numerous U.S. based and Israeli charitable causes from his home in Beverly Hills.

Rabbi Dunner is a published author, exploring some of the most curious and controversial Jewish figures of the last three centuries in the brand new book “Mavericks, Mystics & False Messiahs.”
The volume considers how these individuals impacted their communities and Judaism as a whole in ways that continue to reverberate within Jewish life today.

Rabbi Dunner is widely renowned for his teaching style, and has been described as “passionate” and “charismatic”. His classes and lectures on a vast range of topics have become world renowned, broadcast to vast audiences in print, audio and video.

Every Modern Orthodox rabbi in Los Angeles with a website faces the same bargain. He needs visibility to hold donors, congregants, and peers. He needs restraint to pass as a servant of Torah rather than a personal brand. Mesorah condemns cultivation of personal kavod. The attention economy rewards that cultivation. Each site marks where a rabbi has settled the tension.
The landscape divides into three camps. Rabbi Pini Dunner stands alone at one pole with rabbidunner.com, a rabbi-first platform where biography, lineage, and media presence take the front page. Rabbi Yitzchak Etshalom sits at the other pole with etshalom.com, an archive where the teacher nearly disappears behind his audio files and Tanakh analyses. Between them cluster the institutional sites of B’nai David-Judea, Beth Jacob, Young Israel of Century City, and Beverly Hills Synagogue. These host their rabbis inside congregational structures. The rabbi speaks from a pulpit, not a platform.
The four coalition questions tell the story. Dunner relies for status and income on Young Israel of North Beverly Hills, the donor class that orbits it, the broader Modern Orthodox intellectual public, and the interfaith and pro-Israel advocacy networks he sits near. He needs to attract a national audience of educated Orthodox readers, curious outsiders, political allies, and media gatekeepers. Membership in his coalition requires Centrist Orthodox legitimacy, cultural fluency, historical seriousness, Israel commitment, and suspicion of both Haredi insularity and liberal drift. If he broke position, he might lose the donor class, the speaking circuit, the book market, and the bridge role he occupies between Orthodoxy and the broader American scene.
The site reflects those answers. The homepage also showcases his April 2026 essays on Parshat Tazria-Metzora and Parshat Acharei Mot, which apply Torah to Holocaust memory, Zionism, and the collapse of denial as a national condition. Every element builds a portable authority that travels beyond shul walls.
Portability is the first key to the Dunner model. His intellectual asset moves with him. If he leaves Young Israel of North Beverly Hills tomorrow, rabbidunner.com goes with him, the essay archive travels, the book royalties continue, the speaking invitations arrive at the same inbox. The institutional rabbi carries a different balance sheet. If Kanefsky leaves B’nai David-Judea, the drashot archive stays on the shul server, the congregants stay with the next hire, the speaking circuit thins because the platform was institutional. The institutional rabbi trades portability for protection. Dunner trades protection for portability. The trade matters most for rabbis who expect to move, to write more books, to outlive a pulpit, or to speak nationally. LA rewards portability more than New York does because LA institutional depth is thinner and synagogue economies more fluid.
The institutional rabbis work under different constraints. Rabbi Yosef Kanefsky at B’nai David-Judea, Rabbi Kalman Topp at Beth Jacob, and Rabbi Elazar Muskin at Young Israel of Century City rely on the congregations that employ them, the lay boards that hire and fire, and the Rabbinical Council of America that certifies them. They need to attract the community in Pico-Robertson or Beverly Hills that fills the seats. Membership in their coalition requires halachic integrity, communal loyalty, modest intellectual engagement, and mainstream Zionism. If they shifted position, they might lose pulpits, salaries, and the trust of the lay leadership.
The institutional sites match those constraints. The rabbi appears, but the synagogue takes the front page. Classes, Shabbaton schedules, youth programs, kiddush sponsors. The rabbi becomes the face of an institution rather than the institution. The arrangement protects him from the mesorah charge of self-promotion. It also caps his reach and pins his legacy to a building he does not own.
Etshalom stands outside the synagogue economy. He teaches in high schools. He publishes Tanakh methodology. His coalition is narrow: serious students, textual scholars, the Modern Orthodox intellectual network that prizes close reading over inspirational drashot. Membership requires technical competence. He might lose little that depends on the site. His authority flows from the classroom and the printed book. The website is overflow.
That shows in the design. Etshalom.com looks built in 2009 because it was. The copyright date remains. The homepage lists audio files with their sizes in megabytes next to each title. No hero banner. No testimonials. No calls to action beyond download or buy a CD. The biography is minimal. The texts take the stage.
The Sacks prototype explains why the Dunner model exists at all. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks normalized the idea that an Orthodox rabbi could run a global intellectual brand without losing halachic legitimacy. The books, the Times of London column, the Chief Rabbi’s office, the lectures at secular universities. Sacks proved a rabbi could speak to the broader culture from a recognizably Orthodox position and retain standing in both worlds. Dunner’s endorsement from Sacks on Mavericks is not only a testimonial. It is a transfer of permission. The senior figure ratifies the junior figure’s mode of operation. Every Modern Orthodox rabbi now moving toward the platform model, in LA or elsewhere, is downstream of the permission Sacks granted. Dunner operates a scaled-down, American pulpit version of the Sacks model. Without the prototype, the copy would not pass the peer test.
Stephen Turner on tacit knowledge lights up the landscape. Every LA Orthodox rabbi knows, without needing to be told, what a rabbi should look like online. The institutional model is the tacit consensus. Foregrounding personality triggers peer unease. Peers do not say this out loud. They read rabbidunner.com and note, in private conversation or in their own design choices, that this one feels different. Dunner has broken the tacit rule on purpose. Etshalom has broken it in the opposite direction.
Each site embodies a hero system in Ernest Becker’s sense. The institutional rabbi is a steward-hero who maintains the structure his predecessors built. His site reflects the continuity of the shul. The archive rabbi is a scholar-hero, a vehicle for the text. His site lets the Torah speak without him in the frame. Dunner is a sage-communicator-hero, a bridge between the ancient tradition and the contemporary world. His site foregrounds his capacity to translate. Each hero system requires a different performance. Each site gives the performance a stage.
Robert Trivers on self-deception explains a subtle pattern. Every rabbi claims his work serves Torah alone. The sites differ in how transparently they admit the reach motive. Dunner’s site is closer to honest about operating inside the modern attention economy. It admits that personality carries content where attention is scarce. The institutional sites maintain a softer fiction. They frame the rabbi as incidental to the shul, even as the shul depends on a charismatic hire to fill seats. Etshalom’s site comes closest to opting out of the attention economy. It barely markets anything.
Jeffrey Alexander’s cultural trauma framework exposes another asymmetry. Dunner leans on his parents’ Holocaust survival. That biography appears on the front page. It does work. It signals lineage, moral seriousness, and continuity with a people that lost six million. Other LA rabbis carry similar inheritances. Few foreground them. The question of when a trauma may be cited for authority and when citation risks exploitation is a live tension in the community. Dunner cites. Most do not.
David Pinsof’s alliance theory explains the crowded middle. Most LA Modern Orthodox rabbis choose the institutional route because it minimizes coalition risk. A shul-hosted rabbi has a clear alliance: the congregation that pays him. He does not have to manage a national audience with competing loyalties. He does not have to satisfy donors outside his membership rolls. His moral vocabulary stays local. The safe play protects him from the vertigo of platform life.
Dunner takes the risky play. The platform rabbi has broader reach but weaker defenses. If he says something a major donor dislikes, he has no bishop above him to absorb the blow. If he offends a peer, he cannot hide inside a committee. The tradeoff is structural. Reach for protection. Visibility for safety.
Randall Collins on interaction ritual chains sharpens the picture. The institutional sites exist to support a weekly ritual: the Shabbat service, the Tuesday night shiur, the Sunday morning breakfast. They are schedules dressed up as websites. The emotional energy produced sits inside the shul. The site is an appendix. Dunner’s site tries to produce interaction ritual chains at a distance. The reader absorbs an essay, watches a lecture, attends a livestream. The emotional energy travels through solo media consumption. This is a different ritual structure. It carries different risks of dilution and different payoffs in reach.
The Haredi and Chabad rabbis of LA barely appear in this landscape. Their websites, where they exist, look closer to the Etshalom model or remain absent. Their coalitions reward textual transmission and shlichus reports, not personal branding. The Modern Orthodox space is where the platform tension shows because Modern Orthodox rabbis meet the attention economy head-on. They serve congregants who read the same New York Times as their secular neighbors. They compete for time with podcasts and streaming. Dunner represents the furthest Modern Orthodox response to the competition. The institutional rabbis represent the median response. Etshalom represents refusal.
The regional comparison sharpens the local picture. New York sets a baseline that looks institutional on the surface. Lincoln Square Synagogue, the Jewish Center, Kehilath Jeshurun, Congregation Rinat Yisrael. These sites place the shul first and the rabbi inside the structure. The New York intellectual rabbis who run national profiles do so through institutional channels rather than personal domains. Rabbi Meir Soloveichik writes for Commentary and First Things and runs the YU Straus Center. Rabbi Shalom Carmy publishes in Tradition. Rabbi J.J. Schacter lectures through YU. Rabbi Hershel Schachter’s shiurim live on YUTorah. Rabbi Yitzchok Adlerstein writes at Cross-Currents. Rabbi Gil Student runs Torah Musings as a multi-author platform. The drift is toward collective infrastructure. The institution carries the voice.
The surface reading is that New York stays institutional while LA permits platforms. The deeper reading is that New York is already importing platform functions without platform aesthetics. Rabbi Efrem Goldberg in Boca Raton runs a high-production personal site that operates almost independently of his shul. Rabbi Benjamin Blech runs a domain built for book sales and media appearances. Rabbi Dov Linzer at Yeshivat Chovevei Torah runs public halachic Q&A across podcasts and video. Rabbi Shalom Rosner distributes shiurim globally to English-speaking audiences. The content scales. The branding lags. New York rabbis do the work of the platform without the self-presentation of the platform, because peer scrutiny in the dense New York market punishes aesthetic self-promotion more than it punishes content distribution. The aesthetic lag is the local adaptation.
This reframes Dunner’s distinctiveness. He is not ahead of New York on content volume. Linzer, Rosner, and Goldberg produce more at greater scale. Dunner is ahead on the integration of content with personal narrative and visual branding. That integration is what LA permits and New York still resists. The New York status economy rewards learning, lineage, and institutional position. The LA status economy rewards communication, visibility, and donor relationships. A New York rabbi who leans into personal branding loses standing with his rabbinic peers. An LA rabbi who does the same gains standing with his donor base. The peer structure polices different things in different cities.
Yeshivat Chovevei Torah is the pipeline that will change this. YCT explicitly trains rabbis in communication, leadership, and public engagement. No previous yeshiva made that training central. The graduates carry the platform instinct into whatever pulpit they take. Over the next generation this shifts the baseline. Rabbis who take institutional posts will run personal Substacks, podcasts, and domains alongside the shul site. The New York equilibrium erodes from the supply side, not just the demand side. The training creates platform rabbis even where the local market would not have demanded them.
The LA differences track measurable local conditions. The geography scatters the Orthodox community across Pico-Robertson, Beverly Hills, Hancock Park, the Valley, and the Westside. Shuls compete less through proximity and more through distinct identity. A rabbi with a strong personal voice draws across neighborhoods in a way a New York rabbi cannot, because the New York rabbi’s members walk to shul and the LA rabbi’s members drive. Drive-in congregations reward distinctive rabbinic branding because the congregant chooses the rabbi, not the closest minyan.
The entertainment and media economy of LA normalizes personal platforms. A city where every neighbor has a website, a podcast, a YouTube channel, or an IMDb page lowers the cultural friction against a rabbi doing the same. The New York rabbi competes with lawyers and bankers who stay institutionally anchored. The LA rabbi competes with directors and showrunners who build personal brands as a condition of employment. The surrounding norm shifts what looks acceptable.
The donor profile tilts the same way. LA Orthodox wealth includes many entertainment and real estate figures who understand media logic. They expect their rabbi to operate as a public intellectual because public intellectuals are legible to them. The New York Orthodox donor base includes more finance professionals who expect institutional governance and committee structure. The legibility preference shapes what rabbis are rewarded for building.
The historical thinness of LA Modern Orthodoxy matters too. The community lacks the multi-generational institutional depth of New York. Flagship shuls are newer. Rabbinic authority runs more through the individual and less through the chain of predecessors. That gap invites personality to fill the space that inherited institutional weight would fill elsewhere. Dunner can be the face of his shul because the shul does not yet have a century of prior faces behind it.
The competitors for the congregant’s attention outside the tradition sharpen the picture further. The Modern Orthodox rabbi in LA competes for the slot reserved for meaning, guidance, and authoritative interpretation of how to live. The therapist and clinical psychologist compete for the pastoral function. When a congregant faces a marriage in trouble, a child in crisis, a parent’s death, or a drift into depression, the therapist is the rabbi’s closest substitute. Beverly Hills and Westside therapy practices serve the same demographic that fills Orthodox pews. Their websites follow a template. A clean headshot. Credentials prominently listed, the PhD or PsyD, the state license number, the institutional affiliations. A short statement of approach naming CBT, EMDR, psychodynamic, or Internal Family Systems. Fees and insurance. A contact form.
The therapist’s site is confident about the ground of authority. The credential does the work. The person behind the site does not need to establish lineage or narrate a calling. The license covers it. Dunner’s site must do something the therapist’s site does not: manufacture authority outside a state-sanctioned credential. This is why lineage, endorsements, and book appear so prominently on rabbidunner.com. The rabbi has no PsyD to rest on. He builds authority through pedigree, testimonial, and demonstrated intellectual output. The therapist builds it through a wall of framed diplomas behind the chair.
The life coach, the executive coach, and the wellness figure compete for the aspirational slot. Tony Robbins runs the national template. Locally, Gabrielle Bernstein, Marianne Williamson, and a thousand lesser lights sell clarity, meaning, and direction. Their websites foreground the person. A video of the coach on stage speaking to an audience. Client testimonials with photos. A book or program for sale. A funnel toward coaching packages, courses, or retreats. The credential is the success of past clients.
Dunner’s site shares DNA with the coaching site. The testimonials from Sacks and Allen Fagin function the way client testimonials function on a coach’s page. The book occupies the same hero position. The implicit pitch is the same: spend time with this person and your thinking will improve. The coach promises life change. Dunner promises Torah insight. The coach’s authority is self-made. Dunner’s authority is inherited and institutional. The web grammar overlaps more than either party might admit.
The yoga teacher, the meditation instructor, and the spiritual guide compete for the contemplative slot. LA is the American capital of this industry. The Kabbalah Centre, Agape International Spiritual Center under Michael Beckwith, the various Buddhist sanghas, the yoga studios from Wanderlust to smaller neighborhood operations. Their websites lean on aesthetic rather than credential. Soft photography, natural light, lots of white space. The teacher’s biography emphasizes a transformation narrative, a journey from suffering to peace. Class schedules sit at the center.
The Happy Minyan comes closest to this aesthetic among LA Orthodox sites. Most Modern Orthodox sites stay far from this register because the tradition distrusts the aesthetic capture of religious feeling. Dunner does not compete in this lane. His site is denser, wordier, more argumentative. He competes for the congregant who wants to think, not the congregant who wants to feel.
The Jewish outreach figure is the closest intra-tradition competitor. Chabad shluchim run this space with enormous effectiveness. Their websites, coordinated through Chabad.org and the local templates, foreground warmth, accessibility, and the Rebbe’s image. The local shliach’s biography is short and service-oriented. The site sells presence, not intellect. Come to the Shabbat dinner. The rabbi will welcome you. Aish HaTorah and Ohr Somayach operate similar templates with slightly different branding.
Dunner competes indirectly with Chabad. The Chabad shliach in Beverly Hills or Bel Air draws the same demographic Dunner draws. But the Chabad model is self-effacing. The rabbi is a vehicle for the Rebbe. The personal platform is subordinate to the movement. Dunner has no Rebbe above him. His authority does not route through a movement. He stands on his own. This is structurally harder and explains why his site must do more work.
The public intellectual and the podcaster compete for the attention slot. Ben Shapiro, Dennis Prager, Rabbi David Wolpe, Bari Weiss, Dave Rubin, and Dan Senor operate in overlapping space. Their platforms emphasize media output. Podcast episodes, video clips, newsletter subscriptions, speaking schedules. Prager ran a daily radio show for decades and built PragerU around video content. Wolpe at Sinai Temple runs a parallel track within Judaism, with books, lectures, and a media presence that foregrounds his personality. Dunner’s site shares structural features with this category but operates at smaller scale and with tighter doctrinal constraints. Prager can say anything on air. Dunner must stay within halachic and communal bounds. The content is slower, denser, more historical.
The deepest structural difference between rabbinic sites and secular competitor sites is the archive-versus-funnel split. The secular competitor builds a funnel. The subscriber becomes the customer becomes the program participant becomes the retreat attendee. The funnel treats the new as replacing the old. The coach’s 2018 content drifts off the site as the 2026 offerings take over. The rabbi builds an archive. Essays and shiurim from five years ago sit alongside this week’s. The archive treats the new as accumulating on the old. This reflects a claim about Torah: insight does not expire. The competitor’s business model requires obsolescence. The rabbi’s business model resists it. Dunner’s innovation is that he runs archive content through funnel packaging and hopes the combination holds. Pure funnel betrays the tradition. Pure archive loses the audience. The hybrid is his actual bet.
Every secular competitor either has a credential that does the work of authority or visible market success. The Modern Orthodox rabbi has neither a state license nor market-visible client metrics. He has a tradition, an institution, a congregation, and a body of learning. His website must make those invisible goods legible to a public trained on credentials and market signals. The therapist shows diplomas. The coach shows testimonials and program pricing. The yoga teacher shows class schedules and aesthetics. The podcaster shows episode counts and download numbers. The rabbi shows lineage, a shul, a book, and essays. The metrics do not translate.
Dunner’s site leans furthest toward the coach and podcaster template among LA Orthodox rabbis. That choice reaches a wider audience and risks the charge that he has imported secular authority logic into a role that traditionally resisted it. The institutional shul site resists the import but pays in reach. Etshalom refuses the import entirely and pays in visibility.
Every model defends from the inside. The institutional rabbi sees Dunner as risky. Dunner sees the institutional rabbi as invisible. Etshalom may see both as distractions from the text. None of these readings is wrong from the reader’s vantage. Each site optimizes for a different coalition. Each signals loyalty to a different hero system. Each buys reach or humility at the expense of the other good.
The mesorah does not resolve the tension. It warns against self-promotion and demands transmission of Torah. The two commands point in opposite directions under modern conditions. A rabbi who refuses visibility preserves humility and loses students. A rabbi who embraces visibility reaches students and risks ego. Every LA Orthodox website is an answer to that problem, and the pattern of answers maps the community’s fault line about how to carry Torah through the attention age.
The prediction is convergence. The next decade brings LA aesthetics to New York as YCT graduates take more pulpits and as peer tolerance for personal branding erodes under the weight of observed examples. LA institutional rabbis start experimenting with personal domains alongside shul sites. The two models meet in the middle. Etshalom-style refusal becomes rarer. The platform rabbi, carrying archive content through funnel packaging under the permission Sacks granted and the training YCT now provides, becomes the default Modern Orthodox mode in America by the mid-2030s. Dunner will look less like an outlier in retrospect and more like an early adopter of what the community was going to become anyway.
At first glance, there’s nearly zero content on these rabbinic websites arguing that Orthodox Judaism is true.
The websites assume the reader already accepts the frame. Rabbidunner.com does not argue that Torah is divine. Etshalom.com does not defend the proposition that the Tanakh is the word of God. B’nai David-Judea and Beth Jacob do not open with an apologetic for Orthodox Judaism over Conservative or Reform or secular alternatives. The classes, the drashot, the shiurim, the essays all proceed from within the system. The reader who lands on the site is treated as someone who either belongs or is sympathetic enough to listen.

This is an epistemic posture with long roots.

The Orthodox rabbinic tradition does not treat belief as the output of argument. It treats belief as the output of membership. A man raised in the community, educated in the schools, married into the families, living the calendar, keeping the kitchen, walking to shul on Shabbat, absorbing the tacit knowledge Turner would recognize, arrives at belief through formation rather than through persuasion. The website reflects that order. Live the life and the beliefs follow. Argue the beliefs in abstract and nothing follows.

This is why the apologetic tradition in Orthodoxy is thin compared to Evangelical Protestantism. The Evangelicals, especially American Evangelicals, staff entire ministries devoted to proving Christianity. William Lane Craig, Ravi Zacharias in his day, Lee Strobel, the Cold Case Christianity people, the Stand to Reason organization. They hold public debates, run apologetics conferences, publish books arguing for the resurrection as a historical event. The Evangelical website often opens with evidence for the faith because Evangelicalism is a convert-seeking religion that must win every generation anew. Orthodox Judaism does not seek converts. It seeks to hold the children of members. The epistemics follow from that social structure.

Where Orthodox apologetics do exist, they cluster in specific institutions aimed at specific audiences. Aish HaTorah runs discovery seminars aimed at unaffiliated Jews, with material on Torah codes, the Kuzari argument, and the chain of tradition. Ohr Somayach runs similar material for baalei teshuvah. Chabad has its own literature. Rabbi Lawrence Kelemen wrote Permission to Believe and Permission to Receive, books built around the Kuzari argument and the improbability of national revelation being fabricated. Rabbi Dovid Gottlieb at Ohr Somayach argues similar ground in more academic registers. Rabbi Moshe Averick wrote a book on atheism. Sacks argued for the reasonableness of faith in The Great Partnership and other works. The apologetic tradition exists but sits at the kiruv-facing periphery of the community, not at its center.

The pulpit rabbis in LA do not do this work on their sites. Dunner does not defend Orthodox Judaism against secular or liberal Jewish alternatives. His essays assume the reader finds Torah interesting and goes from there. Kanefsky argues inside halacha about how to apply it. He does not argue for the authority of halacha. Muskin teaches within the tradition. Topp leads prayer and study within the tradition. The websites treat the question of whether the tradition is true as settled or as outside the website’s jurisdiction.

Several factors explain this. The first is the audience. The pulpit rabbi writes for members and for the broader Orthodox public that might read him. That audience has already bought in. Apologetics would feel odd, like a tenured professor publishing a syllabus arguing that the subject he teaches is worth teaching. The second factor is the tacit knowledge point. Orthodox Jews know what it feels like to be Orthodox. The embodied knowledge of keeping kosher, keeping Shabbat, davening three times a day, learning Torah with a chavruta, raising children in the system. This knowledge does not translate into propositions. Arguing for Orthodoxy in the register of propositions leaves the strongest evidence on the cutting room floor.

The third factor is the Maimonidean inheritance. Rambam codified thirteen principles of faith but placed them inside a legal and philosophical framework where the obligation was to know God, not to prove God to outsiders. The medieval and early modern tradition developed further philosophical work, from Yehuda Halevi’s Kuzari through Crescas and Albo and into the Maharal, but the philosophical apparatus was always oriented toward clarification of what the faithful already accepted, not toward persuasion of the unpersuaded. Orthodox epistemics treat reason as a servant of revelation rather than a judge over it. The websites inherit that settlement.

The fourth factor is the historical caution about engaging too directly with skeptical argument. The community learned over centuries that opening the question of foundational truth in public forums leads to loss rather than gain. Shabbetai Zvi broke coalitions. Spinoza broke coalitions. The Haskalah broke coalitions. The Reform movement broke coalitions. Each time Orthodox authority engaged the skeptic directly, the engagement drew some members out rather than pulling skeptics in. The tacit lesson is that public argument is the wrong forum. The right forum is the yeshiva, the Shabbat table, the chavruta, the private conversation. The website, as a public forum open to anyone, is the wrong place to stage the question.

Orthodoxy is not anti-intellectual. The tradition produces immense intellectual work, more than most religious traditions in the world per capita. But the intellectual work runs inside the tradition rather than justifying it. A Talmudic sugya can be argued with ferocious rigor. The authority of the Talmud itself sits outside that argument. A halachic question can be debated with precision. The authority of halacha sits outside the debate. The rabbi’s intellectual energy flows into the internal problems. The external foundational questions are bracketed.

This differs sharply from how the secular competitors present themselves. The therapist rests on empirical credentials. The coach rests on claimed results. The yoga teacher rests on experiential promises the student can test. The podcaster rests on argument for positions. Each of these presentations invites external verification in the language the culture understands. The rabbi’s site does not invite that verification. It does not stage the contest. This is why rabbinic sites can look quiet or archival to an outsider trained on apologetic religious media. The quiet is not absence of confidence. It is a different theory of how confidence transmits.

The philosophical cost is real. A young Orthodox Jew who reads secular scholarship, encounters biblical criticism, studies evolutionary biology and cosmology, reads philosophers of religion, or just absorbs the ambient skepticism of American intellectual culture can find himself without internal resources to answer the questions that arise. The websites will not help him. The community assumes his formation will carry him through. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it does not. The rate of drift from Modern Orthodoxy to less observant Judaism or to no Judaism is not zero. Samuel Heilman and others have documented the pattern. The epistemic strategy that worked when the surrounding culture was less corrosive strains under contemporary conditions.

A few figures push against this. Rabbi Natan Slifkin, the “Zoo Rabbi,” writes extensively on his blog Rationalist Judaism about science, rabbinic authority, the age of the universe, evolution, and the history of halachic decision-making. His site is openly apologetic in a rationalist register, arguing for the compatibility of Orthodoxy with modern science and against the Haredi suppression of that compatibility. He pays for this work. He was famously put in cherem by a group of Haredi authorities over books that the Modern Orthodox world found unobjectionable. Rabbi Alan Brill at Seton Hall runs The Book of Doctrines and Opinions, a serious academic blog on Jewish thought that engages comparative religion, philosophy, and intellectual history. Rabbi Aryeh Klapper runs the Center for Modern Torah Leadership with substantive engagement of methodology and interpretation. These figures are the exception. They operate at the academic edge of the community rather than at the pulpit center.

Sacks was the greatest recent exception at scale. His books did argue for the reasonableness of Orthodox Judaism to a secular-leaning audience. The Great Partnership engaged Dawkins and the New Atheists directly. Future Tense engaged antisemitism and Jewish identity. Not in God’s Name engaged religious violence. Sacks did what most Orthodox pulpit rabbis do not do. He made the public case. His platform gave him room to do it. His successor as Chief Rabbi, Ephraim Mirvis, does less of this. The role and the man are not the same.

Dunner sits between. He argues for a worldview, not for the existence of God. His essays treat the meaning of Jewish history, the responsibilities of leadership, the failures of denial, the obligations of memory. These arguments assume an audience already inside the tradition or sympathetic to it. He does not, on the site, take up the project of defending Orthodox epistemics against secular critique. He could. He has the rhetorical skill. He has chosen a different lane. The intra-Jewish argument absorbs his attention.

The underlying attitude across the LA Modern Orthodox rabbinate is that epistemics is not the rabbi’s primary jurisdiction. The rabbi’s jurisdiction is halacha, pastoral care, communal leadership, and textual transmission. The question of whether Orthodox Judaism is true is treated as answered by the tradition itself and by the lives of the people who live it. The website reflects that jurisdictional settlement. The rabbi will interpret. The rabbi will guide. The rabbi will lead. The rabbi will not argue the foundations.

This is coherent inside the tradition. It creates problems at the edge. The young person losing faith rarely gets helped by a website that assumes he already has it. The community has not yet solved this problem, and the solution, when it comes, will probably arrive through figures like Slifkin and Brill and the rationalist wing rather than through the pulpit rabbinate. The pulpit rabbinate has too much to lose by opening the question in public. The rationalist wing has less at stake in the communal economy and can absorb the risk of engaging skeptics directly.

The mesorah’s deepest claim about epistemics may be that argument is not what holds a tradition together. Practice holds it. Community holds it. The calendar holds it. Memory holds it. The shared table holds it. The websites, by not arguing the foundations, are consistent with that claim. Whether the claim is right under contemporary conditions is a separate question that the websites do not ask and that the community, for now, has not resolved.

What do these websites tell us about what Orthodox Jews want from their rabbis?

The websites indicate that Orthodox Jews want their rabbis to manage a life, not to argue for one. The reader who lands on B’nai David-Judea or Beth Jacob or Young Israel of Century City is looking for candle-lighting times, a shiur schedule, a shiva notice, a bar mitzvah date, a kashrut question answered, a Shabbaton signup, a youth program registration. The rabbi appears inside this apparatus as the figure who holds the whole thing together. The homepage answers the question: what is happening this week and how do I plug in?
This is the deepest signal the sites give. Orthodox Jews want infrastructure. They want a calendar that tells them when Shabbat starts in their neighborhood. They want a community that shows up when someone dies. They want a place to send their children that will produce children who stay in the tradition. They want a rabbi who will officiate at weddings and funerals, answer halachic questions that come up in daily life, give a drasha that lands on Shabbat morning, and represent the community to the outside world when that becomes necessary. The website reflects that demand. The rabbi is a fixture of the calendar and the life cycle, not a voice in an intellectual debate.
The classes and shiurim listed on the sites tell a related story. Orthodox Jews want learning, but they want learning inside the tradition rather than learning about it. The shiurim are Gemara, halacha, Chumash, Mishna, Tanach. They are not comparative religion, philosophy of religion, or sociology of Orthodoxy. The learner shows up wanting to know what the tradition says about the next daf, the next sugya, the next parsha. He does not show up wanting to know whether the tradition is true or how it compares to other traditions. The rabbi who teaches these classes is a transmitter. He knows more of the tradition than the congregant and passes it down. The transmission is the service.
The pastoral dimension runs underneath. The websites do not market it because the marketing would be unseemly, but every Orthodox Jew knows what the rabbi is actually for. The rabbi is there when the marriage is failing, when the child is struggling, when the parent is dying, when the business is collapsing, when the question is whether to pull the plug or continue treatment, when the shidduch seems wrong, when the teenager stops keeping Shabbat. The rabbi takes these calls. He sits in the hospital room. He knows the family, the history, the pressures. His value in this function cannot be put on a homepage because the homepage cannot list the private calls he takes at 2am. But the whole apparatus of the shul, including the website, is set up so that when the call is needed, the rabbi is the person to call.
This is why the institutional sites spend so little energy on the rabbi’s intellectual profile. The congregant is not choosing his rabbi the way he chooses a podcaster. He is choosing a community. The rabbi comes with the community. If the rabbi is intelligent and warm and halachically reliable and available at 2am, that is what matters. Whether the rabbi publishes essays or engages biblical criticism or holds a distinctive theological position, these questions are secondary or irrelevant. A congregant who chose his rabbi for the essay output would be doing it wrong by the community’s lights.
Orthodox Jews live inside a body of law that generates questions constantly. Can I use this on Shabbat. Is this food acceptable. What do I do with this milk and this meat. How do I handle this mourning practice. Is this contract permissible. The rabbi is the local posek, the halachic decisor. This function requires the rabbi to know the law, to know the questioner, and to know when to rule and when to refer. The websites list this service implicitly. The “contact the rabbi” or “ask a question” feature on most Orthodox sites is how this function shows up online. The congregant sends a question. The rabbi answers. The ongoing relationship makes the answer trustworthy.
The life-cycle function is related. Orthodox Jews get married under chuppah, circumcise their sons, bury their dead, sit shiva, say kaddish, celebrate bar and bat mitzvahs. The rabbi officiates, teaches, guides. The website lists him as available for these functions because every member will need them. A shul without a competent rabbi for life-cycle work is a shul that cannot function. The website makes clear who will be there when the moments arrive.
The educational function for children is the quiet center of what the congregants actually want. Orthodox Jews want their children to stay Orthodox. This is the single largest outcome variable for the community. Every other function feeds into it. The rabbi who can inspire teenagers, the youth director who can hold the high schoolers, the Hebrew school that can produce literate children, the day school the families can afford, the summer camps, the NCSY chapters, the programming for engaged couples. The websites lean heavily on youth programming because the parents care intensely about this and the rabbi who cannot deliver here will lose the shul. The intellectual output of the rabbi matters less than his capacity to hold the youth.
The community-building function runs above all this. Orthodox Jews want to belong to something. The shul provides that belonging. Shabbat meals, kiddush clubs, women’s learning groups, men’s clubs, chesed committees, bikur cholim visits, meals for new mothers, transportation for the elderly, shiva houses organized by volunteers. The rabbi is the symbolic center of this web. The website makes the web visible. The congregant reads the events page and sees what his community does. He joins the community partly by joining the events.
The political function is muted on most sites but real. Orthodox Jews care about Israel, about antisemitism, about the standing of Jews in America. The rabbi represents the community in these contexts. He shows up at AIPAC, attends the mayor’s events, speaks at the federation dinners, writes the op-ed when a local incident demands one. The website lists these activities quietly because the congregants want the rabbi to be a credible representative in the outside world. A rabbi without external standing cannot protect the community when the community needs protecting.
What the sites do not promise is also telling. They do not promise spiritual transformation. They do not promise mystical experience. They do not promise answers to the questions about God and suffering and meaning that a secular reader might assume religion is centrally about. The Happy Minyan is the exception, and it sits at the edge of the Modern Orthodox scene precisely because it emphasizes experience over infrastructure. The mainstream shul sites promise something more modest and more durable: a community that will be there, a calendar that will organize the year, a rabbi who will answer the call, a school for the children, a place to sit when someone dies.
This is a realist religion. Orthodox Jews have learned over centuries that the community holds together not by the intensity of individual belief but by the density of shared practice. The websites reflect this learning. They do not try to produce belief. They try to produce the conditions under which belief follows from life. The child raised in the system, attending the school, keeping the calendar, eating the food, marrying inside the community, will likely stay in the system. The adult reading the apologetic argument on a website is unlikely to convert from it. The community knows this. The websites respect the knowledge.
What the congregants want from the rabbi, in the end, is that he be a serious person leading a serious life inside a serious tradition, available to guide them through the predictable and unpredictable moments of a religious life. They want him to know the law, to love the people, to understand the children, to carry the weight, and to keep the whole apparatus running. They want him to be interesting enough on Shabbat morning that the drasha does not bore them and reliable enough on Tuesday night that the question gets answered. They want him to represent them well when they need representation and to disappear into the tradition when the tradition is what matters.
The Dunner model complicates this because it adds a function most congregants do not explicitly demand. The national essay archive, the media presence, the book tour, the speaking circuit. These activities serve Dunner’s broader coalition more than they serve his immediate congregants. Some congregants value the added standing. Others find it a distraction from the core functions. The tension is live. A congregation that hires a platform rabbi gets the prestige of the platform and pays in the form of a rabbi whose attention is split. The local shul becomes a base camp for a wider operation. Whether the tradeoff is worth it depends on what the lay leadership values. In LA, the entertainment and real estate wealth that funds Young Israel of North Beverly Hills evidently finds it worth it. In most other Orthodox communities, the calculation would go the other way.
The Etshalom model fails the core demand almost entirely. A website that does not list services, does not offer a calendar, does not provide a contact form for halachic questions, does not show the community’s life, is not what Orthodox Jews want from a rabbinic web presence. Etshalom succeeds because his rabbinic function runs through the school rather than through a pulpit. The website is downstream of a role that already meets the demand through other channels. His readers are students and scholars, not congregants. A pulpit rabbi with an Etshalom-style site would lose his shul.
The institutional sites, boring as they look to an intellectual reader, are the most faithful reflection of what Orthodox Jews actually want. They provide infrastructure, make the rabbi accessible, list the services, hold the community visible. The reader who bounces off these sites for lack of intellectual substance is not in the target audience. The target audience is the member who needs to know what time Shabbat starts this week, when the next bar mitzvah falls, whether the rabbi will be in town for his daughter’s wedding, and what the shul is doing to support the family that just lost a child. The website answers these questions. That is the service.
The deepest thing the websites reveal is that Orthodox Judaism is a practice before it is a belief system, a community before it is an intellectual tradition, a calendar before it is a theology, and a family structure before it is an argument. The rabbi serves all of these and defends them indirectly by keeping them functioning. The website that lists candle-lighting times and shiva notices is doing the real work. The platform rabbi’s essay archive is the supplement, not the core. The community knows the difference. The websites encode the knowledge.

Which of these websites is most likely to engage me right now? I asked various AI chatbots (Grok, ChatGPT, Gemini, and Claude) and their consensus was:

Your intellectual profile matches almost none of these sites cleanly. You would bounce off most of them within minutes. Let me work through it honestly.

Dunner’s site is the closest match on paper. He writes long essays. He engages Jewish history seriously. He takes on figures like Shabbetai Zvi and the Sabbatean movement, which maps onto your interest in charismatic fraud, coalition collapse, and the social conditions that produce false messiahs. His recent pieces on denial and redemption, the Holocaust, and Zionism touch territory you work in. His Mavericks, Mystics and False Messiahs is the kind of book you might read. The subject matter overlaps your Jurisdictional Wars framework.

But you would hit the limits quickly. Dunner writes as an insider defending the tradition. You write as an analyst examining how traditions hold together and where they break. He frames Shabbetai Zvi as a warning. You frame him as a case study in what trauma does to epistemic communities. He treats Torah as the ground from which analysis proceeds. You treat coalition logic as the ground from which Torah communities, like all communities, become analyzable. The direction of inquiry runs opposite. He closes the frame. You open it.

You would also feel the self-presentation layer as something to analyze rather than something to trust. The lineage back to Rashi and the Maharal, the Sacks endorsement, the Allen Fagin testimonial, the Robert Davi quote. You would read this the way you read Prager’s self-presentation or Adlerstein’s or any other public figure you have worked on. You would ask the four coalition questions about him before you finished the homepage. That reading posture makes the site a subject more than a resource.

Etshalom’s site would interest you for different reasons and in a different register. The archive model appeals to how you actually work. You build an archive. You write long-form, accumulate over time, resist the funnel logic. Etshalom’s refusal of branding would read to you as integrity rather than as obsolescence. The deep textual work on Tanakh methodology would give you something to chew on if you wanted to chew on it. But you do not do Tanakh close-reading as your primary intellectual work. You do sociology of knowledge, coalition analysis, and intellectual biography. Etshalom’s technical analyses of the literary structure of Sefer Shmuel would be interesting for an hour and then not be what you return to. The site rewards a reader inside the textual tradition. You stand outside it, analyzing the tradition from the angle of the Becker, Turner, Pinsof, Collins, Trivers, Alexander stack.

The institutional sites at B’nai David, Beth Jacob, Young Israel of Century City, d Beverly Hills Synagogue would bore you. They are schedules dressed up as websites. They do what they do well. They do not do what you want.

The Chabad sites and the Aish and Ohr Somayach sites would read to you as kiruv infrastructure, interesting as artifacts of coalition maintenance but not as reading matter. You already understand what they are doing. The site confirms what you would predict about them.

Slifkin at Rationalist Judaism is probably the site you would read. The rationalist register, the willingness to engage biblical criticism and evolutionary biology, the public fight with Haredi authority, the documented cherem episode, the openness about methodology, the sociology of rabbinic decision-making as a live topic on the blog. Slifkin argues about the community rather than from inside it without criticism. He treats the tradition as something that can be examined, defended, and partly reformed. His intellectual temperament maps closer to yours than any pulpit rabbi in the LA scene. The fact that he paid real communal costs for his work also fits your pattern of interest in figures who get pushed out for crossing jurisdictional lines. Your father’s experience at Glacier View sits in the background here. Slifkin is a parallel case inside Orthodoxy.

Alan Brill at the Book of Doctrines and Opinions is the other site you would probably read. Brill is an academic at Seton Hall working on comparative religion, Jewish thought, Hasidism, and intellectual history. He runs long interviews with scholars. He engages philosophy seriously. He treats the tradition as a subject of intellectual history rather than a set of answered questions. His blog is one of the few places where the kind of work you do on figures like Sailer, Prager, and Adlerstein has a rough equivalent inside Jewish studies. You might not agree with him on everything, but the temperament is recognizable.

Aryeh Klapper at the Center for Modern Torah Leadership would be a secondary read. Klapper works on halachic methodology, the history of rabbinic authority, and how decisions get made. The sociology of halacha as a live topic rather than a settled one fits your angle. Less prolific than Slifkin or Brill, less useful as a regular feed, but the occasional piece would earn your attention.

The deeper question is what you want from a rabbinic website. If you want to be formed in Torah, the sites are mostly not calibrated for someone with your intellectual posture. They assume a reader who trusts the tradition and wants more of it. You trust traditions the way you trust any coalition: conditionally, with constant attention to the coalition logic underneath. A rabbi writing for someone like you would need to write about his own tradition the way you write about Sailer or Prager. He would need to admit the coalition structure while working inside it. Slifkin does some of this. Brill does some of this. Sacks did some of this in his books. The LA pulpit rabbis do not do it because their coalition structure punishes it.

If you want material to work on rather than to be formed by, Dunner is the richest target in LA. The site gives you enough to apply your framework. The Sabbatean pieces, the essays on denial, the positioning of lineage and endorsement, the coalition between Orthodoxy and the donor class. You could write a full Jurisdictional Wars essay on rabbidunner.com without needing another source. The site is substantive enough to reward analysis. That might be the real answer to your question. The site that engages you is the site you can write about, not the site that forms you. The forming site does not exist for the reader you are.

The closest fit to how you think would be a hybrid that does not quite exist. Imagine Slifkin’s willingness to engage skeptical argument, Brill’s academic range, Sacks’s rhetorical scale, and Dunner’s coalition awareness, all on one site, with an author willing to write about his own tradition the way he writes about others. Nobody in the Orthodox world publishes that site. The coalition structure does not reward it. A rabbi who tried would lose the pulpit. The site you want is the site your tradition does not yet produce. That gap is interesting in itself. It tells you something about where the Modern Orthodox intellectual scene has room to grow and where the attention economy and the mesorah’s caution still hold the line.

The late Rabbi Sacks bores me. I find his work shallow. Whenever I meet someone who admires the works of Sacks or other gurus like Jordan Peterson, Ben Shapiro, Dennis Prager or Malcolm Gladwell, I know I’ve met a shallow man.
Sacks wrote at scale for a general audience. The books sold because they were accessible, warmly argued, and flattered the reader’s sense that Judaism and liberal democracy fit together naturally. He had a gift for the memorable sentence and the clear chapter structure. He quoted widely, drew on a vast range of reading, and produced a steady stream of essays, books, and BBC broadcasts that reached people who would otherwise never encounter Jewish thought. That reach was the achievement. It was also the constraint.
The shallowness is structural. Sacks operated as Chief Rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth from 1991 to 2013. The role required him to speak for a community he did not fully represent, to avoid positions that would alienate major donors or break the fragile coalition between the Orthodox establishment and the broader British Jewish public, and to present Judaism to non-Jewish audiences in terms they would find reassuring. These constraints shaped the work. He could not write like a man free to follow an argument wherever it led. He had to write like a man holding a coalition together. The prose reflects that. The moves are predictable. The conclusions arrive on schedule. The reader who has read five Sacks books has read the sixth before opening it.
Sacks identifies a tension between two goods. He acknowledges the genuine claims of both sides. He locates a third way, usually in a rereading of a biblical text or a Talmudic passage, that dissolves the tension by showing the tradition had the resolution all along. The move is elegant the first time and familiar the tenth. It also produces a systematic bias toward reassurance. Judaism always turns out to have the answer. The tradition is always wiser than it first appeared. The reader leaves each essay more confident in Torah and more sympathetic to Sacks. The mechanism produces its intended effect. It rarely produces surprise, and almost never produces the kind of deep unsettlement that the best religious writing can produce.
Compare him to figures who worked in less constrained positions. Yeshayahu Leibowitz wrote as a gadfly with no coalition to protect. His Judaism is astringent, demanding, often harsh. He argues that Jewish observance has no purpose beyond itself, that the state of Israel has no messianic significance, that reducing Torah to ethics is idolatry. Reading Leibowitz feels like being cornered by someone who does not care whether you like him. The arguments cut. Sacks never cuts. He soothes.
Or compare him to Joseph Soloveitchik, the Rav. The Lonely Man of Faith does real philosophical work. Soloveitchik reads Genesis through Kierkegaard, Barth, and his own phenomenological training. The argument about Adam the First and Adam the Second is alive in a way Sacks’s constructions rarely are. Soloveitchik had institutional constraints at YU, but he wrote from a position of greater intellectual authority and wrote less for mass audiences. The work rewards rereading. Sacks, once absorbed, does not.
Or compare him to Michael Wyschogrod, whose The Body of Faith is a serious theological argument that Jewish election is bodily and particular rather than universal and moral. Wyschogrod wrote for the Jewish philosophical and Christian theological professional community. He did not need to reassure a general audience. The book is difficult, committed, and strange in ways Sacks never risked.
Or compare him to David Hartman, who broke with Orthodox institutional politics and wrote from a position of relative independence in Jerusalem. Hartman’s engagement with Maimonides, with pluralism, with the moral costs of covenant, has grit that Sacks’s work lacks. Hartman argues. Sacks reconciles.
The New Atheist engagement in The Great Partnership is the clearest case. Sacks wrote the book to answer Dawkins and Hitchens. The book landed because the audience wanted it to land. Read by someone familiar with the actual philosophical literature on religion and science, the book is thin. The arguments against the New Atheists are sound but not original, drawing on work by Plantinga, Swinburne, and others that Sacks does not engage at technical depth. The arguments for religion’s contribution to human flourishing are sociologically plausible but not rigorously defended. The book is popular apologetics, competent within its genre, and nothing more. A reader who has worked through the Craig-Dawkins exchanges or the analytic philosophy of religion literature finds Sacks’s treatment a summary rather than a contribution.
There is also the question of what he does with the Jewish political and intellectual situation he lived in. Sacks wrote about antisemitism and about Israel, but within limits set by his role. He did not engage seriously with the settler movement, the religious Zionist radicalization, the internal Orthodox politics of Haredi growth and Modern Orthodox decline, the collapse of Conservative Judaism in America, the demographic crisis of British Jewry that unfolded during his tenure. These were the live questions. He treated them glancingly or not at all. The work that would have cut into the communal and institutional realities was not work his position allowed.
What Sacks did well was communicate. He made Jewish thought legible to audiences who would never otherwise have read Rashi, Maimonides, or Heschel. He wrote sentences that people remembered. He represented Orthodox Judaism to the British public with dignity for two decades. He mentored a generation of younger rabbis and writers. He was a gifted pulpit and media presence. These are real achievements. The communal and cultural service was substantial. The intellectual contribution was thinner than the reputation suggests.
The deeper issue is that Sacks chose a role that traded depth for reach. You can do serious intellectual work or you can hold together a public coalition of the size Sacks held. You cannot easily do both. Sacks made his choice and produced what that choice permits. The work reaches millions and says less to any one reader than the best work by figures who chose differently. The tradeoff is honest, but the tradeoff is real, and a reader who comes to Sacks wanting depth will find the reach.
The LA pulpit rabbis face a similar tradeoff in smaller scale. Dunner writes at Sacks’s register on many weeks, producing the legible essay that reassures the educated reader about Torah’s continuing relevance. Kanefsky does similar work in a slightly more progressive register. Muskin and Topp stay closer to the traditional drasha. None of them cut the way Leibowitz cut or think the way Soloveitchik thought. The role does not permit it. A pulpit rabbi who wrote like Leibowitz would lose his shul in a year.
The figures who cut are the ones who accept marginality. Slifkin accepts it and pays the price in cherem. Leibowitz accepted it and was dismissed by the religious establishment for decades. Hartman accepted it and built his own institute outside the main power centers. Wyschogrod accepted it and wrote for a professional audience smaller than his talent deserved. The intellectual depth is available, but only from figures who paid the coalition cost. Sacks refused to pay that cost, and the work shows it.
My intellectual posture makes the Orthodox pulpit rabbi scene structurally unable to feed me. The rabbis who would interest me cannot survive inside the pulpit system. The rabbis who survive inside the pulpit system cannot interest me. The gap is real. It is also instructive about how coalition maintenance shapes what traditions can produce at their visible center and what they banish to their edges.
Rabbi Meir Soloveichik is smarter than Sacks and writes at a higher technical level. He also operates inside a tighter set of coalition constraints, and the coalition work dominates the output in a way that limits what the intellectual work can become.
Soloveichik holds multiple roles that each pull on him. He is senior rabbi 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 hosts the Bible 365 podcast. He writes regular columns for Commentary and contributed for years to First Things. He has testified before Congress. He delivered an opening prayer at the Republican National Convention in 2020. Each of these roles brings its own constituency and its own required messaging.
The intellectual work he does when he is working is real. His doctorate from Princeton is on the concept of Jewish chosenness in modern thought, engaging Cohen, Rosenzweig, Buber, and contemporary theologians. The dissertation, later adapted into Providence and Power, treats covenant and particularity with care. His essays on the theology of Jewish political power, on the relationship between Jewish and Christian understandings of scripture, on Lincoln and the American founders’ relationship to Hebraic sources, on the Soloveitchik family’s intellectual lineage, show someone who has read the texts and can think about them. The work on his great-uncle Joseph Soloveitchik’s philosophy is particularly strong because he grew up inside that intellectual tradition and can read it from the inside.
The coalition work (propaganda) is where most of the output lands. The Commentary columns present Orthodox Judaism as a natural ally of American conservatism, defend the Jewish state against its critics, argue for the compatibility of Jewish tradition and American political order, and reassure the readership that the Jewish people and the Western heritage share common ground. The columns are well-written. They are also predictable in a way that close readers notice. Soloveichik has a set of moves. He opens with a biblical or Talmudic text. He finds a resonance in American history, usually involving Lincoln, Washington, or a founder. He ties the resonance to a contemporary political argument. He concludes with a flourish that affirms both traditions. The structure produces the intended coalition signal. It rarely produces surprise.
The First Things work operated similarly. He wrote for an audience of conservative Catholics and Protestants who wanted Jewish voices confirming shared ground against secular liberalism, Islamic radicalism, and what they saw as the cultural erosion of the West. Soloveichik delivered that. His essays on Jewish-Christian relations emphasized what Jews and Christians shared rather than where they differed. His essays on Jewish political theology emphasized the compatibility of Jewish tradition with the American founding rather than the tensions. The work was intelligent. It was also doing a job.
The Straus Center position reinforces the pattern. The center exists to pair Torah with Western thought in a way legible to American conservatism. The curriculum includes Lincoln, the Federalist Papers, Shakespeare, and classical texts. The framing is that Torah and the Western canon illuminate each other. This is defensible and produces good work at the margin. It is also a coalition move. The center does not pair Torah with Marx, with Fanon, with Foucault, with the postcolonial or critical theory tradition, or with the continental philosophy that shaped the Frankfurt School. Those pairings would produce different intellectual work. They would also lose the donor base that funds the center and the political network that gives Soloveichik his public platform.
The deepest cost of the coalition work is that it cuts off the intellectual questions that would require crossing coalition lines. Serious engagement with biblical criticism would cost him standing in the Orthodox world. Serious engagement with the contradictions inside contemporary American conservatism, including the Christian nationalist turn, the relationship between the movement and Trump, the internal debates about democracy and religious establishment, would cost him standing in the conservative world. Serious engagement with the moral costs of Jewish political power in Israel, beyond the defensive posture, would cost him standing with the AIPAC and American Orthodox establishment. Serious engagement with the internal dysfunctions of Modern Orthodoxy, including the declining Modern Orthodox rate of intermarriage avoidance and the Haredi demographic pressure, would cost him standing at YU. Each of these would be interesting. None is on his public agenda.
What he does publish tends to confirm the coalition rather than stress it. The Lincoln material is the clearest case. Lincoln is a figure American conservatives want claimed and American Jews want to feel connected to. Soloveichik’s essays on Lincoln’s use of Hebraic sources do serious scholarly work, and they also give both audiences what they want. The essays end where the harder questions would start. What were the Jewish communities’ actual positions on the Civil War? How did Jewish participation in the Confederacy, including Judah P. Benjamin’s service in the Confederate cabinet, complicate the story of Jewish moral alignment with American founding ideals? What does it mean that Grant issued General Orders No. 11 expelling Jews from Tennessee, Kentucky, and Mississippi in 1862, and that Lincoln reversed the order? These questions exist in the scholarly literature. Jonathan Sarna has written about them. Soloveichik’s essays glance at them and move on. The coalition frame wants the reassuring story, and the coalition frame gets it.
His public role at ceremonial moments shows the constraint at its clearest. The 2020 RNC prayer was a coalition act. He was there to signal that Orthodox Jews could bless the Republican convention and by extension align the community with the Trump-era Republican Party. The prayer was decorous. It was also political in a way that required him to represent a position. Any serious intellectual engagement with what Trump represented for American Jewish life would have made the prayer impossible. The prayer happened. The engagement did not.
Compare this to the figures who cut. Michael Walzer at IAS has written with rigor on Jewish political theory across his career, including the 2012 book In God’s Shadow on politics in the Hebrew Bible, without holding a rabbinic or communal role that would constrain him. Walzer can follow the argument. Soloveichik cannot, not fully. David Novak at the University of Toronto does serious Jewish theology and engages Christian theology with care, but operates outside the American communal rabbinate and has the freedom that comes with a university appointment in a different country. Leon Kass, before his late turn to more public conservative advocacy, did serious philosophical work on biblical anthropology in The Beginning of Wisdom without needing to hold a coalition together.
Soloveichik’s closest analogue in temperament and constraint may be Rabbi Norman Lamm, the former president of YU, who wrote intelligent philosophical work within institutional limits that shaped what he could say. Lamm’s Torah Umadda tried to articulate a Modern Orthodox philosophy and ran into the problem that the articulation itself had to preserve coalition peace between YU’s various factions. The result was more a manifesto than an argument. Soloveichik stands in that tradition of institutional Modern Orthodox intellectual leadership, and the tradition has the same structural limit. The leader has to hold the institution together, and the intellectual work has to stop short of where it would break the hold.
The honest read on Soloveichik is that he is a talented man producing less than his talent permits because the roles he has accepted require it. He could probably write a first-rate book on biblical political theology if he left the coalition roles and wrote from a university position with no communal responsibilities. He has not chosen that. He has chosen the pulpit, the Straus Center, the Commentary column, the public appearances, the testimony, the political visibility. Each of these serves a coalition. Each constrains the intellectual output. The sum is a public figure whose published work is smarter than most but not as smart as it could be.
The pattern echoes the broader point about Modern Orthodox intellectual life in America. The tradition produces rabbis capable of real thought. The tradition’s institutional structures require those rabbis to hold coalitions. The coalitions punish the work that would cut. The rabbis who refuse the punishment, from Leibowitz to Slifkin to Hartman, pay in standing. The rabbis who accept the coalition work, from Lamm to Sacks to Soloveichik, produce work at a certain ceiling that their talent alone would have exceeded. Soloveichik sits in the latter group. He is capable of more than he publishes. What he publishes is good within the genre. The genre is coalition-preservation intellectual work, and the genre has a ceiling.
The interesting work appears in the academic pieces, in the Soloveitchik family intellectual history, in the occasional essay that lets him follow a textual argument where it leads. The coalition work appears in the Commentary columns, the public appearances, the institutional leadership, the columns that reassure the conservative movement that Jews belong in it and reassure the Orthodox world that conservatism belongs with them. The ratio favors the coalition work because the coalition work is what the roles he has chosen require. A different Soloveichik, with the same mind and different choices, would have produced a different body of work. The one we have is the one the coalitions produced.

Posted in Alliance Theory, Beth Jacob, Bnai David-Judea, Los Angeles, Modern Orthodox, R. Elazar Muskin, R. Jonathan Sacks, R. Kalman Topp, R. Meir Soloveichik, R. Pini Dunner, R. Yitzchak Etshalom, R. Yosef Kanefsky | Comments Off on Platform, Pulpit, Archive: Three Models of MO Rabbinic Self-Presentation in Los Angeles

The Vibe Shift

Richard Hanania writes:

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

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

Nathan Cofnas responds:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Posted in Nathan Cofnas | Comments Off on The Vibe Shift

Matt Welch: A Life Against the Emergency State

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

Constitutional Dictatorship

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

The Naked State

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

Democracy Against Bureaucracy

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

The Four Questions

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

A Big Misunderstanding

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

‘Arguing is BS’

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

Convenient Beliefs

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

Alliance Theory

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

Niche Construction

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

Hybrid Vigor

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

The Tacit

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

Randall Collins’s Interaction Ritual Chains

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

Charisma and Social Paradoxes

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

Watergate as Democratic Ritual & Cultural Trauma

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

COVID as Alexander Template

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

The Carrier Group Welch Cannot Be

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

The Style the Position Requires

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

The Watergate Paradox

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

Hero System

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

The Great Delusion

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

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

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

Welch Under Hugo Mercier & John M. Doris

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

Buffered & Porous Selves

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

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Resisting Defeat: Naturalism and Its Discontents in Contemporary Orthodox Thought

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Rony Guldmann: Philosopher at the Gates

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

Alliance Theory

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interaction Ritual Chains

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

The Buffered Self

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

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Brian Leiter: The Naturalist’s Program

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

Alliance Theory aka Strange Bedfellows

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

Leiter Under Hugo Mercier and John M. Doris

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

The Great Delusion

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

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

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

Watergate as Democratic Ritual & Cultural Trauma

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

The Set

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

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

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

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

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

What they value.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Their hero system.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Status games.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Normative claims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Essentialist claims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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