Red Pill Without Roots

This piece was originally published at The American Reformer.

The Crisis of the Modern Right

The greatest internal threat to genuine conservatism stems from modern ideological impulses that seek to reduce all human activity to simple precepts meant to explain the entirety of human existence. Today, this primarily takes the form of a neutralist liberalism masquerading as conservatism. In the post-war era, the conservative establishment increasingly compromised with liberal ideology, to the point that, before Trump, national politics had essentially become a choice between competing liberal visions. This dynamic gave rise to sayings like, “There’s not a dime’s worth of difference between a Republican and a Democrat,” and “Conservatism is just liberalism driving the speed limit.”

Sure, some paleoconservatives attempted to break into national politics, but they were often stopped short—Pat Buchanan and Mel Bradford come to mind. Their vision of ordered liberty, rooted in religious tradition, heritage, and social hierarchy, clashed with the liberal order’s emphasis on neutrality, multiculturalism, and market participation. To the prevailing establishment, they represented a relic of a bygone era—one associated with patriarchy, feudalism, and other so-called bigotries. Or at least, that’s how the story goes.

Over time, genuine conservatives were steadily replaced by liberals, and tradition gave way to ideology, leaving today’s Right to question what, if anything, they are truly conserving as so-called conservatives dutifully enshrine the Left’s egalitarianism from a decade ago. Same-sex marriage, the civil rights regime, and women’s liberation are now framed as conservative achievements—co-opted, we are told, by social justice operatives.

Everything seemed to be moving along for these pretend conservatives—until 2020 shattered the mold.

A Generation in Turmoil

Of course, the shift did not begin in 2020. For the past decade, the post-liberal Left had been making significant strides, weaponizing the very things ordinary, decent Americans held dear—their heritage, sacred institutions, and hard-earned success—against them.

Into this chaotic fray entered a younger generation of right-wingers who clearly recognized their enemies but carried their own burdens. They resembled the generation from Exodus 1—those who did not remember Joseph and found themselves trapped in a nightmare not of their own making.

Many came from unstable homes, raised by divorced parents, and moved frequently. In school, they were told they bore the stain of America’s sins if they were white, male, or Christian. Unlike their fathers, who found belonging in once-thriving institutions like the Boy Scouts, sports teams, and hunting clubs, they sought solace elsewhere—online, through video games and chat forums, where others in similar circumstances offered them a sense of camaraderie.

They watched as the authority figures their parents had taught them to respect—teachers, pastors, community leaders—surrendered to the woke mob at every turn. They had no memory of stable households, functional communities, or the post-9/11 era of American unity. They only felt the absence of those things, as if something vital had been taken from them.

Desperate for answers, they questioned why they couldn’t afford a home, secure a good job, or earn respect. In their search for explanations, they pointed to forces beyond their control—boomers, the deep state, the Jews, and others they believed had robbed them of the future they were promised.

These are obviously generalizations, but they must be understood in order to understand what is happening now.

Red Pills with No Anchor

Since 2020, people on both the Left and Right have searched for explanations as to why their lives were upended in so many ways. Both sides pointed to foreign interference—the Left blaming Russia, the Right accusing China.

The QAnon conspiracy particularly resonated with boomers and older millennials, a generation that still trusted institutions but not the people currently in charge of them. Meanwhile, many conservative-leaning Christians sought theological answers in more culturally aggressive traditions, such as theonomy.

On the political Right, a significant divide began to emerge. Establishment liberals blamed the post-liberal “woke” Left, while a growing faction rejected liberalism altogether. Today, defenders of the liberal order label these dissenters the “woke Right,” as both the Left and an increasing number of young conservatives reject neutralist liberalism.

As many predicted, this ideological break has led to a scattered and often disjointed understanding of the Right’s decline. Without a comprehensive framework to interpret historical developments, many anti-liberal dissidents piece together explanations in isolation. Did things go wrong in 2015 with the acceptance of so-called “gay marriage,” or was it the Hart-Celler Act? Was the real turning point the outcome of the American Civil War or World War II? Or does every problem ultimately trace back to Jewish influence or universal suffrage?

Depending on which rabbit hole one goes down, there are countless justifications for each position, fueled by an endless stream of online content. With no trusted institutions to guide them, many rely on their instincts and the internet voices they’ve chosen to trust.

There is merit to many of these explanations. I have personally sought to revive one critical strand—the exposure of the “proposition nation” fraud and its connection to the Northeast’s imperial spirit. Yet, this is only one piece of the puzzle. To believe otherwise would be to ignore other significant forces at play.

History is shaped by the convergence of multiple factors, but ideologues often fixate on a single narrative. This is one reason why online discourse on the Right feels so fractured. People are breaking free from an ingrained liberal framework at different rates, in different ways, and drawing different conclusions about what a positive vision should look like. At this point, the MAGA movement remains the only unifying force holding them together—however loosely.

The Only Pole Left

In a clever attempt to counter liberal framing, the online Right began using its own metrics of valuation. Rather than adopting the labels their opponents used against them—racist, misogynist, homophobe—they started using their own language of critique, calling their enemies effeminate, cringe, and gay. Likewise, instead of upholding liberal virtues like diversity and equality, they elevated terms like “based,” “trad,” and “Chad.” While this was largely internet slang, at its core, it reflected a rejection of egalitarianism in favor of hierarchy and order.

Of course, some people grasped these concepts more deeply than others, which is to be expected. But one quickly notices that these competing standards often exist only in relation to the Left’s destructive standards. Something is deemed “based” simply because it transgresses “woke” egalitarianism—regardless of whether it upholds anything truly positive.

Take Andrew Tate, for example. To many, his views on women are “based.” He is a “Chad,” his lifestyle is “trad.” Yet his outlook blatantly contradicts the Christian norms that once defined the West. Tate recognizes that men and women are different, but his conclusions—glorifying a world of money, sports cars, and exploitation—fail to offer a meaningful alternative to the liberal order. His philosophy thrives in opposition to liberalism but does little to establish a coherent vision of what should replace it. Adolescent boys may find his persona appealing, but the issue for conservatives is not just that his worldview conflicts with their traditions—it is that his vision is inseparable from the very liberal order he claims to reject. It both feeds on that order and defines itself against it merely because that is the prevailing system.

This pattern repeats across various ideologies vying for influence on the Right. Whether it’s biological reductionist white supremacy or the Nietzschean vitalism championed by Bronze Age Pervert, these movements exploit liberalism’s weaknesses but exist largely as abstracted, reactionary counterpoints rather than as fully developed alternatives. Many who delve deep into these ideas find themselves increasingly detached from the people around them and from the tangible aspects of life that truly matter.

The initial appeal of these ideologies often stems from a deep resentment toward the chaotic liberal order—where men can become women, white people are blamed for all evil, and nothing is sacred. In an effort to escape, young right-wingers push themselves to ever greater levels of “basedness.” If something offends the Left, it must be correct. The more transgressive, the more true.

A young content creator recently told me he used Nazi imagery purely to break the Left’s narrative. Since conservatives are already labeled as Nazis, he argued, why not embrace the label and neutralize its power? In a certain sense, this logic tracks. But in practice, it elevates Nazi leaders as positive figures worthy of emulation rather than just tools for rhetorical subversion. They cease to be historical relics and instead become a new standard of “good” simply because they stand in opposition to the Left. Yet, as one can see, their function in this framework is purely reactionary—they are not rooted in heritage, tradition, or a substantive vision of what should replace liberalism. They are, in essence, ideological scarecrows set up for the sole purpose of challenging the Left.

The problem is that in this formulation, the farther one moves from liberalism, the more “right-wing” they are considered. But liberalism remains the standard because “right-wing” in this paradigm exists only in opposition to it. There is no independent pole on the Right with a holistic vision by which to determine whether something is genuinely conservative—it is simply a matter of negating the Left. And as long as that remains the case, the Right will continue to define itself on liberalism’s terms rather than creating a meaningful alternative to it.

The Airplane Test

I was recently a guest on the Contra Mundum podcast to discuss my new book, Against the Waves—Christian Order in a Liberal Age. One of the hosts, C.J. Engel, asked me a thought-provoking question that really gets to the heart of the challenge conservatives face within our own ranks. He said, “You know that feeling you get when you see a World War II plane?” Naturally, I immediately imagined the pride and nostalgia that comes with images from America’s past. Then C.J. added, “Yeah, I don’t think Zoomers feel that.”

That moment struck me more deeply than any of my previous attempts to explain what is missing in much of the online discourse. At one time, our grandfathers openly displayed their virtues for all to see. As the last breath of the Cold War generation, I grew up attending air shows and patriotic events, sometimes with my grandfather, who served as an armorer in the South Pacific.

As the three of us on the podcast started geeking out about World War II, it occurred to me that, although we all challenge what R. R. Reno calls the Post-War Consensus (modern liberalism), the shared experience of our families bound us together in ways that are difficult to explain to deracinated Zoomers.

We had a shared heritage to protect and pass down. Our people did great things. We remember when heroes walked the earth, and we heard stories about those who no longer walked among us—their shadows still felt in our land. This was not mere sentimentality; it was a connection to the foundation of a shared society with all its customs and arrangements.

But because our parents’ generation failed to pass down the religion, legends, and folkways they once took for granted, we now find ourselves in a precarious moment. Ideology becomes tempting to a deracinated people. As nature abhors a vacuum, people will turn to reductionist ideologies when they lack a meaningful tradition of their own. As Russell Kirk wrote in The Conservative Mind, “The Nazi and Fascist parties were destructive instruments, made possible by the hysteria and loneliness of the masses who enthusiastically supported them. Though now and again these ideologies might endeavor to disguise themselves by talk of ‘family’ and ‘tradition,’ this was no better than sham: their nature and object was revolutionary.”¹ Similarly, Richard Weaver described European fascism as “the rebellion of youth, the repudiation of bourgeois complacency, the attempt to renew the sense of ‘holiness and heroism.’”² Even though it was fueled by resentment and inverted Christian ethics, it was still a vulgar substitute for the void left by a civilization bereft of transcendence.

Some argue that we are approaching a time when simplistic answers and heavy coercion are necessary to reform identity and maintain order. If it is the case that this is the only path open for civilizations survival it will not be met with joy from traditional conservatives, but tears. John Wayne’s comment in the film Hondo when he was confronted with the end of the Apache civilization would capture our sentiments—“Too bad. It was a good way.”

There’s much to be encouraged about regarding the Right’s rejection of woke supremacy. But we are also in the midst of a profound identity crisis. What people feel when they see a World War II plane, hear the Declaration of Independence read, or smell Thanksgiving dinner should be of great concern. The answer will tell us whether American identity is even being passed down. If it is not, then we no longer have a cohesive tradition or a people to defend.

The Path Ahead

As I argue in my book, political alignment cannot be measured along a single axis of “right” and “left.” In the Anglo-American tradition, two distinct poles have historically shaped political thought: one driven by a progressive, egalitarian impulse that often fuels revolutionary movements, and the other rooted in a deep respect for hierarchy and civil order, often expressed through populist resistance to change.³ The former seeks to remake America or uphold an abstract, hollowed-out version of its defining “proposition” of equality, while the latter strives to preserve the conditions that allow Americans to fulfill their duties to God, honor their ancestors, and pass down their unique heritage.

Conservatives should—and still must—maintain a unique, positive vision. One should not be considered to the right of those who faithfully promote and protect traditional America simply because they transgress against the Left. Were Bavarian Catholics who opposed Hitler positioned to his right or left?⁴ Were traditional Southerners who opposed fascism to the right or left of fascists?⁵ These are questions worth pondering because the answers help us understand what a truly conservative posture is.

Conservatives do not adhere to a simplistic, totalitarian ideology, which is often misinterpreted as weakness today. However, as one reads older conservative thinkers, it becomes clear that there is no inherent aversion to using force when necessary. Perhaps the conservative “beautiful losers” had difficulty recognizing that liberals were not only deceptive but also used traditional rules against their opponents. More should be said about how to navigate such challenges, but Donald Trump, who shares some of these conservative instincts, is an example of someone who applies propriety in certain contexts while adapting it in others to confront threats. There is nothing innately stronger about adopting a leveling social theory in place of traditional ways of life.

Regardless, I believe our efforts should focus on reconnecting people to God’s good order and the traditions that have sustained it. This means understanding God and His order, remembering one’s heritage and identity, and engaging in community and leadership. It also means adjusting our standards to this second, more grounded pole. We should view actions as “based,” “trad,” or whatever positive term we choose when they move the needle toward our vision of rebuilding our Anglo-Protestant civilization and the hierarchies and arrangements that sustain it.

I recently visited the great American painter Thomas Cole’s homestead, only to find that half of it had been converted into an anti-American feminist art gallery, with tour guides focusing as much on the slaves who lived there—whom we know little about—as on Cole himself. These are the kinds of things that must be reversed immediately. If we fix foreign policy, the economy, and even remove DEI from our military without restoring the honor of our land, we will have been taken over without a shot.

This may sound dismal, but it is not because Providence is manifest in history. When one takes the long view, one knows that sometimes people must go through the wilderness before they can enter the promised land. History has always ebbed and flowed. This is no excuse for passivity. Rather, it is an encouragement that we have the amazing ability to save our land. We have arrived at just the right time to make a real difference. I also find it especially encouraging that the transcendentals never truly go away. God exists, and those things that are good, true, and beautiful reflect eternal realities that cannot be taken away, regardless of present earthly conditions. As traditional conservatives and Christians, we have a tremendous opportunity to offer something more fulfilling than any ideology.