For those who feel that the state of western democratic politics has gone bananas, you are probably right – both literally and figuratively.
Consider that there are about 1000 species of banana in the world, growing in 135 countries. Of those, 500 are edible. Yet one of those species – the Cavendish – accounts for 47 percent of all bananas consumed and, more importantly, about 95 percent of what you see in your grocery store. That means that virtually all of you will only have eaten 1/500th of the edible types of banana available on earth – even if you have eaten a banana a day for years on end.
But the dominance of this one type above all others has certain trade-offs:
They are unable to reproduce sexually, instead being propagated via identical clones. Due to this, the genetic diversity of the Cavendish banana is very low. This, combined with the fact the Cavendish is planted in dense chunks in a monoculture without other natural species to serve as a buffer, makes the Cavendish extremely vulnerable to disease, fungal outbreaks, and genetic mutation, possibly leading to eventual commercial extinction.
Some of you will be getting hungry while others will be asking why am I talking about bananas?
‘American conservatism’ is but one species of conservatism, just like what I call ‘Westminster Conservatism’ (which is indigenous to CANZUK countries like Canada, Britain, Australia and New Zealand). But the rise of American power – hard and soft –created a push to standardize the marketplace. Hollywood and Washington spent 80 years convincing themselves and whole swaths of the English-speaking world to ditch their own local variant of conservative for the shinier and tastier American one.
It happens subtly at first because one accentuates the similarities: the commitment to liberty and personal freedoms. You may not necessarily love the imported version over what you grew up with, but it is cheaper, more accessible and the taste is only marginally different – that and the big marketing push.
But, at some point, the new brand takes over more and more shelf space while the old brand steadily disappears. This was the crux of what George Grant was saying in his 1965 book Lament for a Nation. Combine that with the work of another great Canadian, Marshall McLuhan, and you cover both means and motive.
There is some predictability to it all. In every imperial age, the habits and customs of the metropole get transmitted outward. But we are not talking about Orientalism design aesthetics in Victorian London. We are talking about a political influence that causes the great-great-great grandchildren of United Empire Loyalists to express solidarity with the descendants of the Sons of Liberty who had made their ancestors refugees.
The sad reality is that despite the trend to displace local variants of conservatism with the US version, American conservatism was never actually meant for export. Consider that portion Washington’s Farewell Address published in 1796:
The great rule of conduct for us, in regard to foreign nations, is, in extending our commercial relations, to have with them as little political connexion as possible. So far as we have already formed engagements, let them be fulfilled with perfect good faith. Here let us stop.
We forget that America’s foray into these aforementioned ‘political connexions’ began in earnest in the aftermath of World War II, 149 years after Washington’s address. Liberal democratic powers continue to grapple with a United States that is becoming more isolationist and transactional, but this was essentially the default position for 60 percent of its existence.
Regardless of the back and forth of Washington politics, both Republicans and Democrats do take the concept of ‘American exceptionalism’ as a given. At its core is the belief that the truest expression of liberal democracy in human history is found in the origin story of the United States. By definition, this means that all other forms of governance external to the United States are, at best, imperfect and corrupted, and at worst, sinister and soulless.
Politically, in the context of Canada, our homegrown variants of liberalism and conservatism are viewed as being either quaint or an act of apostasy.
But here is the conundrum: if American exceptionalism says Canadian conservatives are following an illegitimate form of conservatism, and it holds that America is the only truly legitimate democracy in the world, then the only way you gain legitimacy is through conversion to the true path.
But American exceptionalism is a story meant for Americans to tell themselves, just as every nation on earth has their own histories and stories to interpret who and what they are. To devotees of the MAGA movement, Canadians may appear to be “lousy at being American.” This is true, but it is also true that they also make lousy Canadians. Neither take is morally superior to the other.
Canada was founded by peoples who, when presented with the choice in the late 1770s, rejected the American Revolution. They were not anti-democratic, but they did not believe democracy’s highest ideal was expressed by an organized mob who threatened to burn your house or string you up from the nearest tree. The Crown represented a stability that defied the vagaries of changing fashions, emotions and factionalism. The fact that the leaders of the American Revolution scrambled to draft a Constitution to restrain those vigilantism tendencies is of little surprise.
Like the Cavendish banana, the American variants of liberalism and conservatism have dominated the global marketplace. History and geopolitics made it better capitalized and gave it a better distribution network, to say nothing of the highly effective marketing campaign throughout the 20th century. But American conservatism, in particular, is not a monopoly, nor is it necessarily the best product for the tastes of the Canadian market.
Whether or not one wishes to apply the “Red Tory” moniker to what is needed is a point of worthy debate, but what should be of interest to all is the rehabilitation of organic forms of liberalism and conservatism that speak to the Canadian experience and are not simply ill-fitting hand-me-downs from south of the border.
This inaugural bi-monthly newsletter previews our upcoming articles for June, offering a brief introduction to each forthcoming piece. As our first letter to readers, we also take this opportunity to outline the purpose, content, and tone that will define The Red Tory Standard, along with a short description of the site’s current and future navigational tools.
The Red Tory Standard “exists to explore, articulate, renew, and promote a distinctly Canadian strain of conservatism, one rooted in tradition and oriented toward the common good”. Readers can expect articles in the form of historical commentary, book reviews, literary analysis, theological discussion, commentary on current events and issues, and personal reflections. (We invite you to read our full Mission Statement.)
It is our hope that we attract a thoughtful readership, uninterested in the latest contention for contention’s sake. We prefer timelessness, not timeliness; the enduring issues, not the most recent outrages. We are not journalists or social media personalities who rely on manufactured controversy for income; this frees us to provide thought-provoking commentary, not mere provocation. Our content is free and a “donate” button will not be found anywhere on our site. Neither are we aspiring partisan hacks positioning ourselves for future roles in party politics, nor are we aligned with any lobby groups, industries, or donor-driven organizations. We are like-minded Canadians of various occupations – academics, educators, writers, artists, clergymen, students, and other professions – who love our nation and have no vested interest in The Red Tory Standard other than it being an outlet for classic Red Tory thought.
Visitors to the journal will encounter a deliberately minimalist layout. We appreciate national symbols and heraldry, but they will not decorate our journal. Ideas are our focal point. As the journal grows, we will introduce a navigable table of contents organized by themes and topics, along with a general index.
An ongoing topic that our readers will naturally encounter is the definition of the term “Red Tory” itself. Our contributors are various shades of red, but we are all committed to correcting the mistaken notion floating about that Red Tories are “fiscally conservative, socially liberal” (a description that better fits Blue Grits). Likewise, while we maintain that a sense of moderation is a fundamental aspect of any authentic conservatism, we wholly reject the disparaging notion that a Red Tory is somehow “Liberal Lite”.
The first few months of publications will naturally contain a fair amount of definition and explanation of Red Toryism. Clif Clemotte argues that Red Toryism, although a label often misused today, is a political tradition that continues to express itself in voting patterns and beliefs. He draw four principles from historical Red Toryism to guide Canadian conservatives today: active governance, intervention and welfare, communitarianism, and internationalism. Victoria Savage explores the historical roots of Red Toryism, identifying the earliest thinkers and figures in Canadian history that informed the ideology. Mitch Proctor observes that while the modern Conservative Party of Canada often claims Sir John A. Macdonald as its founder, its actual ideological lineage is far more complex and now owes more to the Reform movement and Western populism than to Macdonald’s nation-building tradition. In a more general question of the direction of Canadian conservatism, Clif Clemotte makes the case that Benjamin Disraeli’s account of civil rights in connection to the notion of elevating equality is relevant to contemporary debates on the nature of Canadian conservatism, as it creates an intellectual space for a political vision which is neither classical liberalism nor post-liberalism.
Respect for the enduring relevance of our established institutions, history, and heritage lies at the heart of Red Tory thought. Our most central institution is our constitutional monarchy. Dave Langille reflects on the warm American reaction to King Charles’ recent speech to Congress, exploring what Canada’s tradition of “Peace, Order, and Good Government” and our living constitutional monarchy can still teach us about allegiance, continuity, and ordered liberty. Mark Graham explores George Grant’s argument that the Loyalists, by rejecting the American Revolution, rejected John Locke’s liberalism in favour of the older political philosophy of Richard Hooker. He also highlights the profound influence of classical Anglicanism on Canadian Toryism and later Red Tory thought. Brent Cameron argues that the powerful monoculture of American conservatism has displaced organic local variants of both conservatism and liberalism, leaving nations like ours with ill-fitting imports that ignore our historical rejection of American revolutionary excesses.
Literature, read through a Red Tory critical lens, will have a constant presence in the journal. Even books we read as a child are central to the formation of our political instincts and outlook. Kieran Wilson takes us to the world of Jill Barklem’s Brambly Hedge stories, arguing that they offer glimpses of Tory utopia to kindle the conservative imagination of young and old alike.
We hope this inaugural edition offers a meaningful glimpse into the character and substance of The Red Tory Standard. We invite you to enjoy the journal, subscribe for free to receive new articles directly in your inbox, and join us in exploring our Canadian tradition that values ordered liberty, continuity, and the common good.
Abstract: Benjamin Disraeli, a nineteenth century British Conservative prime minister, believed that the British tradition of civil rights was founded upon an elevating form equality which raises individuals higher, in contrast to ideals of equality which sought only to level the field of talent and privilege. The latter conception of equality remains common today, whether among progressives or right-leaning populists. Disraeli’s account of civil rights in connection to the notion of elevating equality is relevant to contemporary debates on the nature of Canadian conservatism, as it creates an intellectual space for a political vision which is neither classical liberalism nor post-liberalism.
Canadian conservatives have recently been debating whether conservatism should be strictly identified as classical liberalism or can be expanded into alternative political philosophies distinct from classical liberalism. The former frequently claim, in defence of the identification of conservatism with a form of liberalism, that they are conserving the classical liberal values upon which Canada was founded. In contrast, conservatives on the so-called new right have tended to identify themselves as post-liberal conservatives. I suggest that this latter identification is an error in at least two ways: it is an inaccurate way to characterize the philosophical debate, and it is politically unwise given that international post-liberalism is led by political figures such as J. D. Vance and Viktor Orban, whose governing impulses are contrary to the rule of law and incrementally disposed towards authoritarianism instead of freedom and fairness, backed up by a slew of academics creating intellectual excuses for those impulses. I will briefly return to the philosophical point at the end of this piece. Against the backdrop temptations of defining conservatism either as classical liberalism or post-liberalism, I will offer no definitions of conservatism. Instead, I suggest that contemporary conservatives in general (and red tories in particular) can gain valuable philosophical insights from Benjamin Disraeli.
Benjamin Disraeli (1804 – 1881) was a Conservative prime minister of the United Kingdom in the late nineteenth century, and an active partisan for several decades prior to his premiership. His first premiership began and ended in 1868, and his second premiership lasted from 1874 to 1880. His writings are a window into anglophone political thought near the period of Canadian Confederation, and his earlier writings in particular are a fascinating example of British political thinking in the early nineteenth century.
Of particular interest to me and my purposes is his 1835 text Vindication of the English Constitution in a Letter to a Noble and Learned Lord (hereafter Vindication). It is readily available as a reprint, though I have been unable to find a critical edition – or any edition meeting contemporary academic standards for a primary source. This is unfortunate, as Disraeli’s insights are surprisingly relevant to contemporary political debates, in addition to reflecting the intellectual and political climate of the time. I will not suggest that Canada’s founders and the British North America Act were directly influenced by Disraeli’s thought, but rather that Disraeli’s thoughts on constitutional principles and political values are indicative of the breadth of mainstream political thought in the early nineteenth century. And as I will show, it is extremely anachronistic to describe Disraeli as either a classical liberal or a post-liberal.
Disraeli’s primary focus in Vindication is constitutional principles, but his analysis and reflections also extend to partisan political ideals. The first portion of the text is devoted to a historical analysis of the development of the English Constitution. Setting aside the historical accuracy or inaccuracy of his narrative history, two key points quickly become clear: first, Disraeli thought of the English parliamentary tradition as a tradition pre-existing the socio-political movements we collectively label as the Enlightenment, rather than as a product of the Englightenment; and second, he understood liberty (which he describes as the “equality of civil rights”) to be the indispensable element of English law, and ultimately the element which enabled British stability and prosperity.
These two key points are inseparable in Disraeli’s analysis. Interestingly, Disraeli does not view the “glorious” legal framework structured around the “equality of civil rights” as a bounty provided by John Locke. Instead, he viewed this legal and cultural premium on freedom as the legacy of the fourteenth and fifteenth century Lancastrians. “Liberty flourished under the Plantagenets,” Disraeli argues, because this period’s governance was structured by the accountability of government to the House of Commons and the existence of a legitimate opposition. Again, ignore questions of historical accuracy: the important point is that Disraeli clearly understood civil liberties and the bicameral Parliament to be the enabling context within which liberal political philosophies emerged, and not the reverse. Nor is Disraeli unusual in this view. As Janet Ajzenstat has argued, Canada’s founders likewise viewed the institution of Parliament as the institution which enables civil liberties. It was common at the time to understand civil liberties and Parliamentary government as a broader political tradition than liberalism as a political philosophy.
Disraeli’s target in the Vindication is the Utilitarians of his day – at least those Utilitarian thinkers interested in constitutional reform. Their goal, in his view, was “to submit the institutions of the country to the test of utility, and to form a new constitution on the abstract principles of theoretic science,” so as better to represent the entirety of the English people. In this regard, the Utilitarians of the time shared a common principle with contemporary progressives and populists alike: the legitimacy of a system of government increases proportionally to the level of democratic representation it embodies. Much contemporary criticism of the Canadian Senate or the first-past-the-post voting system stems from such attitudes.
Against this, Disraeli notes that such an approach tended to create an elected body which claimed to speak on behalf of ‘the People’. He then argues that the natural tendency of such elected bodies is to treat opposition to the government as an illegitimate attack upon ‘the People’. In the name of ‘the People’ opposition is crushed, legitimizing a tyranny of the majority to the detriment of the previously legitimate minority. Appeal to ‘the People’ excludes minority dissent. And again, this is not an idea unique to Disraeli; a few decades later, none other than Sir John A. Macdonald rejected calls for referenda on Confederation on the grounds that referenda are an instance of oppressive majoritarianism, which he terms “an unbridled democracy” (Macdonald, Canadian Legislative Assembly, February 6 1865). This idea was clearly part of the political culture of the time.
Against such unbridled democracy, Disraeli reflects at length on the importance of non-elective representation in the English Constitution, primarily focusing upon the House of Lords. However, especially conjoined to the dangers presented to minority opposition by a government claiming to represent ‘the People’ in total, it is worth considering the unelected elements of the Canadian Constitution also. The Senate is the most obvious example, but I think we often overlook about the most fundamental unelective element of our nation: the Constitution itself. Insofar as the Constitution is a constraint on the will of the majority (something Macdonald very clearly intended it to be) it is an obstacle to pure democracy and a check against ‘the People’ themselves. If contemporary conservatives are to preserve the central principle of the Parliamentary tradition, they would do well to consider the risks created by claiming to represent ‘the people of Canada’ and populist politics in general.
Whereas the Utilitarians advocated for “an equality that levels,” such that “no one should be privileged,” Disraeli instead advocates for “an equality that elevates,” such that “every one should be privileged.” By this, he means what we might today describe as equality of opportunity. More broadly, this is enabled by the “equality of civil rights,” including especially “the right of expressing my free thoughts to a free people.” In each of these ideas, Disraeli expresses ideas surprisingly salient even to contemporary political debates. In spite of this, however, Disraeli should not be considered a classical liberal.
Despite endorsing “equality that elevates,” Disraeli also endorsed the class distinctions of the time. For him, the “equality that elevates” meant that an individual was not forcibly retained in one class nor prevented from rising to higher offices (a possibility well reflected in Disraeli’s own remarkable life).
As Equality is the basis, so Gradation is the superstructure… Our equality is the safety valve of tumultuous spirits; our gradation the security of the humble and meek. The latter take refuge in their order; the former seek relief in emancipating themselves from its rank.
A crucial part of this societal gradient is the constitutional role filled by the hereditary Lords. And admittedly, this aspect of Disraeli’s thought should rightly raise doubts about his relevance today. Even in the nineteenth century the idea of a Canadian hereditary peerage seemed absurd. And after all, the notion that some types of inequality are both inescapable and essential to a functional society is one already articulated by contemporary authors such as Roger Scruton. Disraeli might seem superfluous at best, antiquated at worst.
However, when establishing the Senate, the Canadian founders did so in the belief that a non-elective chamber was important to good government, and that this role would be fulfilled by individuals demonstrating the necessary merit – or at least talented ambition. And here lies a kernel of truth to Disraeli’s praise for gradation: talents and privileges are unevenly distributed, and this unevenness makes possible the elevation of the under-privileged by the privileged. Too often, progressive ideals aspire to a society which compensates for such uneven distribution; Rawls’ famed “veil of ignorance” was proposed as one such compensating conceptual mechanism.
Instead of seeking to eliminate uneven distribution of talents and privileges, Disraeli sees this unevenness as a mechanism for building and uplifting a nation. He does not merely note that some inequalities are inescapable, or even that they can enable beneficial outcomes; his unique contribution is the idea that elevating equality is inherently linked to the existence of other inequalities. One might characterize this as a conceptual analysis of the concept of equality itself, in which Disraeli identifies an internal conceptual tension. His political vision is intended to resolve that tension.
If one takes seriously Disraeli’s idea that gradation in society enables aspirational opportunities, that without a graded plane of merited and unmerited achievements there would be nothing ‘higher’ to which to aspire, then individual differences become more important to policy than class differences. For instance, the red tory ideal of an active government implementing policies which support and raise up the vulnerable is an example of the more secure elements of society (namely, the state itself) ensuring that those further down the gradient are not abandoned. But this political approach is not purely financial; it extends more broadly across human life, as apparent in Disraeli’s defence of the House of Lords.
Disraeli thought of the Lords as an essential element of the parliamentary body – not just when engaged in public deliberation, but also in cultivating education, culture, and other social goods for the benefit of the nation as a whole. The entire life of the Lords was a contribution to the state, despite the Lords’ frequent failings. (The novel Brideshead Revisited presents with profound vividness an interpretation of that value’s endurance through imperfect vessels.) The importance is not really the Lords themselves, but rather the comprehensiveness of their potential contributions. Thus, the generalizable principle from Disraeli’s particular focus on the Lords is that the state ought to contribute actively towards building the economic and cultural institutions on which a nation’s life depends, and not merely on wealth redistribution.
While Disraeli’s ideal of class harmony seems far too rosy compared to the actual past, he nonetheless leaves us with a valuable conceptual framework: a society that values the “equality that elevates” must also be a society with inequalities through which the state can elevate the under-privileged. And if the pairing of elevating equality with unequal privilege is ever going to supply “the security of the humble and the meek,” then the state must take a lead in supplying such security on behalf of its privileged members. When stripped of its classist original meaning, Disraeli’s conceptual pairing of equality and gradation carries striking philosophical implications for policy ideals.
Returning to my philosophical concern with the implied meaning of ‘post-liberalism’ as a political label, Disraeli’s reflections on both constitutional thought and partisan political principles are valuable to today’s intra-conservative debates. Too many conservatives identify not only their conservatism but also parliamentary democracy itself with classical liberalism, such that those who reject classical liberalism are automatically presumed to oppose free and fair democratic society altogether. Yet the parliamentary tradition has historically been understood as pre-existing liberalism, as encompassing political ideologies other than liberalism, and as in fact supplying the laws and traditions which inspired and enabled liberalism in the first place.
When conservatives who reject classical liberalism label themselves as post-liberals, they implicitly concede the classical liberals’ claims to exclusive ownership of parliamentary democracy. They inadvertently imply that their approach to conservatism is one which comes only after the prior stages of the parliamentary tradition, when in fact many of the concerns they rightly raise against liberalism were freely debated by the historic parliamentarians themselves – and debated in defence of freedom.
Critiques of liberalism first appeared in the context of a free and fair deliberative society with a proud tradition of civil rights. We would do well to revisit that tradition in its authentically expansive form, and to resist the temptation to identify its freedoms and equalities with only one political philosophy. Disraeli shows quite well that the aspirational ideals of freedom and elevating equality can be articulated, defended, and implemented from within a traditional tory framework, and his reflections remain highly relevant today.
