Of paradigm shifts

How do genuine political transformations occur?

Amongst our American friends, there have been many proclamations of a supposed ‘vibe shift’, with some going as far as to claim the entire liberal world order is under threat. We are undergoing — so the line goes — a radical and seismic change in the nature of governance and culture owing to the ascendancy of Donald Trump and the MAGA movement. Though emanating from America, it is hoped, if not entirely believed, that this movement will become a harbinger of a wider Western revitalisation, and perhaps even a ‘return to tradition.’

That Trump’s return to office marks a momentous occasion in world affairs is hardly to be denied. But is it correct to say that this truly constitutes a paradigm shift analogous to Versailles, or the abandonment of the Gold Standard, or the New Deal? If not, could Trump’s return herald at least the seeds of this transformation?

Early signs are somewhat mixed. A shift in Euro-American relations is surely overdue, though judgement will have to be reserved for now. In the meantime, if the Right is to be successful, it will surely be fruitful to think about what such political transformations involve and how we can hope to bring them about. To some, such matters may seem pointless or at best unnecessary. Yet much of the Right remains a rabble of inchoate noise with no serious conception of what it truly means to be political. It is all good and well to speak of ‘elite rule’ and the need for ‘counter-elites’, but without understanding how paradigms actually emerge, the Right will remain ineffective in attaining these grand aims.

What we require, then, is an account of political change that can illuminate the way to seriously challenging the prevailing paradigm, whatever that might be.

I. The Nature of Political Paradigms

Though originally Greek, the word ‘paradigm’ garners much of its contemporary significance from Thomas Kuhn’s 1962 work The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. Kuhn argued that the standard model of slow, incremental scientific progress was false; instead, he advocated for what may loosely be called a ‘revolutionary’ model of scientific development. Central to this model is that science advances through brief periods of radical change in prevailing scientific models: think of the likes of Newton, Copernicus, and Darwin. These revolutionary episodes then set forth a paradigm, which Kuhn roughly understands to be a complex of concepts and practices that define a scientific discipline. It is within these paradigms that Kuhn finds that normal, commonplace, science can take place. Normal science therefore seeks to advance scientific knowledge from within the constraints of the prevailing paradigm, and neglects to challenge any of its central attachments; a worthy goal, perhaps, but in some circumstances insufficient. Kuhn’s model is thus one of radical change followed by settlement.

Given the history of radical political change, there is much to suggest this theory equally applies to the political realm. On this picture, political change occurs primarily through revolutionary episodes which radically alter the basic outlook and constitutions of state, but in doing so they precisely set forth a ‘norm’, or standard by which politics is to occur at both the level of belief and practice.

Kuhn’s model is also revealing in a second, albeit more obscured, sense. If the work of normal science is conducted within the constraints of a paradigm it follows that, strictly speaking, it can never address the core of a scientific discipline. Its function is thus of a peripheral nature as regards science enhancing human understanding. By contrast, the work of the true revolutionary scientist is one directed towards the core of a scientific discipline.

In a political context, a core matter, or a conceptual commitment, is defined as one which is central to the values or function of the paradigm, whereas a peripheral matter is either contingent or emerges on the basis of the core foundation. Thus it was that the ancien régime retained a foundational commitment to Absolutism, albeit tempered (theoretically) by the Estates-General. It was this principle of the absolute authority of the King that saw Louis XIV cultivate an almost exclusive dependence of the aristocracy upon his own personage. Indeed, so strong was this drive that it was a not-insignificant motivation in the construction of the Palace of Versailles, for its esteem, location, and expense burdened the elite in an effort to remain close to the centre of power.

One can also observe certain peripheral commitments which emerged from the core settlement of Absolutism. While it was the King’s pleasure to levy the gabelle and taille taxes on the peasantry, successive monarchs declined to apply this tax to the first and second estates as, under the Absolutist system, he was duty-bound to preserve their interests. Deriving his legitimacy from God, he was also determined to be the protector of the Church not just in France, but in Europe more broadly, with the greatest Bourbon prince, Louis XIV, ending the balance struck between Protestants and Catholics by revoking the Edict of Nantes, which was logically viewed as a challenge to his own authority.

This then leads us to a final point which entirely eludes Kuhn’s narrow focus on science: namely, that paradigms are undergirded by a mythology. Though one could perhaps argue this point also applies to science, as Carl Schmitt’s work has attained wider influence it has become increasingly undeniable that the political is predicated on such a mythological basis. What do we mean by this? Political mythologies take many different forms, owing to the particular exigencies and experiences of a given polity, though they all share in performing a foundational narrative function. In the case of the ancien régime, while the foundations of Christian theology were able to justify the supreme power of the King, it also created the secondary effects of privileging the second Estate — enabling it to levy its own taxes, own considerable lands, and influence state policy à la Richelieu.

The present age is certainly no exception to this rule, and many mythologies proliferate: for the ill-constituted conservative, the annihilation of worldly evil in the war; for the social democrat, the blessings of the hallowed Attlee; and for the deracinated liberal, the divine grace of ‘human rights’ and ‘international order’. Since, however, these mythologies are predicated on transient historical episodes — all in the ’40s — much of their purchase, and perhaps even their legitimacy, has begun to wane. It is not surprising, therefore, that we should see the recent threats posed to these mythologies met with the hysterical wails of those wedded to the established order. Even so, if the Right is to be effective then it is important that we seek to radically alter the central mythology that underlies these less significant political myths.

In this regard, one need look no further than the universalism that has become so fundamental in the West. Whether it be in the positive project of liberal globalism, or in society’s opposition to any genuine expression of particularism — be it nationalism, reaction, and most of all, fascism — the fundamental belief in the equality of man is readily observable. Its results, too, are obvious: a socially retarding myopia that is blind to sex, national, and cultural differences; the elevation of foreign cultures, though especially those supposedly ‘dispossessed’ historically; and the myth of the ‘will of the people’. It is this last point which is most important to our considerations, for lacking the historic Christian core, ‘the people’ now constitutes the sole legitimating ground of the state.

II. Paradigm Shifts

How, then, do political paradigms dynamically shift and change over time? Just as with Kuhn’s analysis of scientific progress, political paradigms typically develop slowly and in accordance with a basic disposition or idea. Far more interesting for our purposes are those occasions in which this change is more radical and pronounced, for it is these cases which constitute paradigm shifts. In the truly revolutionary cases, that shift occurs at the level of the entire state as well as the nation itself — or, in a word, the political settlement as such, which the revolutionary seeks to radically overturn by establishing a new order.

These shifts contrast with what have all-too frequently been termed political revolutions. This is an unfortunate term which often encompasses both genuine paradigm shifts and less significant shifts in political outlook and values which do not upset the common order — compare genuine paradigm shifts, such as the French and Russian Revolutions, to such events as the creation of the Fifth Republic, the collapse of Francoist Spain, or even the triumph of New Labour, for instance. Political paradigm shifts thus always occur at the level of the core beliefs, values, and attachments that are embedded in the conceptual framework of a given political dispensation. By contrast, minor political transformations merely reconfigure the marginal attachments of a paradigm, and thus do not threaten the core of a dispensation.

Again, the case of France is instructive. Immediately prior to the events of 1789, the ancien régime had carelessly delegitimised its right to govern through both the gross mismanagement of the state and the haphazard way it wished to resolve these issues — the case of Necker, the Assembly of Notables, and the parlements. At the same time, however, it is important not to understate the wider shift in society that had occurred in the eighteenth century. Central to this process was the emergence of enlightened ‘opinion’, for this created the condition for the emergence of new values, ways of thinking, and ultimately approaches to politics. Taken together, the principles espoused by enlightened opinion coalesced around the promise of a new mythology — the mythology of the people. Indeed, it was this idea of ‘the people’ more than anything else that would come to motivate political action as the basis of the revolution’s legitimacy. In his seminal work Interpreting the French Revolution, François Furet writes:

The ‘people’ was not a datum or a concept that reflected existing society. Rather, it was the Revolution’s claim to legitimacy, its very definition as it were; for henceforth all power, all political endeavour revolved around that founding principle, which it was nonetheless impossible to embody.

The notion of ‘the people’ was thus far more than a mere slogan or signifier; it was instead the central organising principle of the revolution. In this capacity, what motivated revolutionaries of different stripes, from the Montagnards to even the Feuillants, was some general underlying belief in the myth of the people. Throughout the revolution, journals and newspapers began to advocate for increasingly radical policies designed to relieve the condition of the Parisian populace and at once catapult their ‘interests’ into the realms of power. So overt was this nascent mythology that these journals sought not only to appeal to the people, but even styled themselves as their advocates, as in Marat’s L’Ami du peuple, Tallien’s L’Ami des citoyens, and even Fréron’s anti-Jacobin L’Orateur du peuple.

Yet the myth of the people also achieved a good deal more than this. For, in addition, this generalisable abstraction served to ground and therefore justify the revolution’s foundational commitments. Of course, we have all heard the trite and endless articulation of Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité, but in reality only one of these stood true in the revolutionary mind — Égalité. An equality neither of strength nor of character, but rather a Kantian political equality of the inherent rationality of all men; in short, the equality of citizenship. Essential to this conception of the citizen were at once English ideas like ‘equality before the law’, and yet also more radical Jacobin principles, like meritocracy, which they wielded against the entrenched hierarchy of the old regime.

Underlying these ideas of meritocracy, equality, and reason was the wider Enlightenment belief in universalism. At the core of this revolutionary universalism was the unequivocal belief in the endowment of human reason to all men. This not in the sense of an absolute equality of man’s rational abilities, but rather as a faculty common to all, alike to emotion and appetite. As such, reason itself became a guiding principle of the revolutionary platform, as is apparent from the later break with the Church, replacement of the Grigorian calendar, and introduction of the metric system. Of course, it must be admitted with Tocqueville that a great many of these political attachments were already widespread tendencies in the ancien régime. But this is precisely the point: paradigm shifts occur because the formerly marginal and/or dormant conceptual commitments displace the conventions of the prevailing settlement. Indeed, what makes the French example so pertinent is that, when provided an opportunity, the radical political element was able to sweep away entire centuries of entrenched power.

And yet, why did this radical element win out? Because the Jacobins constituted the sole political cadre that was attuned to the needs, ideas, and the spirit of the day. It was thus a movement which expressed the inner logic and mythology of the explosion of 1789, a logic which could brook no compromise with the old ways of doing things. This is not to say that it could not have been otherwise, nor is it to deny that figures like Marat, Saint-Just, and Robespierre were essential as individuals to the success of revolutionary Jacobinism. Rather, it is to say that the immanent logic of that original revolutionary moment — its mythology of the people, its faith in equality and reason, and so on — inexorably drove the revolution towards a radical transformation.

Indeed, as a testament to this stands the personage of Robespierre himself. For what stands out in such a figure is not the great and noble traits of a Napoleon or a Bismarck, but simply his utmost and extreme fidelity to cause and country. An unremarkable lawyer, he nevertheless came to embody the spirit of the revolution, and this not just in the popular imagination. It was Robespierre who crushed caution and moderation in the service of saving the promise of the revolution. It was Robespierre who brought forth the truest expression of the revolution’s core discursive commitments in the form of the Republic of Virtue and Cult of the Supreme Being. And it was Robespierre who remained true to the revolution to the last, where others had so roundly failed. In short: one detects in Robespierre an absolute fidelity to the spirit of the revolution.

III. A New Vision

Needless to say, none of Trump’s set would seem to embody Robespierre’s radical fidelity — with perhaps the only exceptions being Stephen Miller and the consummate outsider Bannon. Still less do they appear to possess an overarching vision that might steward them from the inevitable turbulence of confronting the contemporary regime. The source of these issues is not primarily that they are ‘controlled opposition’, and it is certainly not because they are ‘Zionists’. The root problem lies elsewhere — in the Right’s lack of the necessary conceptual grasp to truly overcome the entrenched power of the regime.

Where, then, do we stand? We are faced with the same predicament as the French radical of the 1770s, or the Russian anarchist of the 1890s. Then, as now, the radical finds himself confronted with an intolerable sense of injustice at the corruption of his society, but which he can only meet with inarticulate rage and, failing that, violence of a rather ugly kind. Neither will do us any good. Granted, the contemporary Right has certainly become far better at diagnosing the problem — the decay, spiritual and material, the lack of will, the lack of any sense for what is higher. Essential to this process will be the discrediting of the central edicts and shibboleths of the regime that had characterised much of the work of the philosophes. In this, too, the Right is showing increasing promise.

What is lacking, however, is a coherent unified alternative to the present paradigm. Not only do we lack a binding mythology: we even lack a core political programme that could be taken up as the foundation of a new paradigm. Far worse: we barely understand such things to be necessary. So-called right-wingers will routinely descend into parroting the very shibboleths of the old-school Tory — ‘British values’, flag and army — and even, bizarrely, the risible screeching of the Old Left — the trite talk of community, but certainly never a national community! Even where there is a clear right-wing sensibility, all too often there is a focus on the peripheral, on the hum-drum of political issues — abortion, gender, sexuality — when greater priority ought to be the core issues of identity, sovereignty, and our historical existence. It simply will not do to focus on tawdry ‘political issues’ and the ‘cut and thrust of politics’, as if we could salvage our predicament by playing the game on the enemy’s terms.

Even amongst the best of us there is scarcely any vision of what such a long-term settlement might be for Britain and for Europe. This is not to say that there have been no concrete developments in our intellectual scene, but it is to say that we have not gone nearly far enough, nor have those attempts hitherto truly hit upon the core of the matter. Nowhere is this clearer than in the issue of growth. That Britain, and Europe more broadly, need to grow is undoubtedly the case. The growth advocates have indeed won the day. And yet some would have it that growth is all we need: growth, a little reform of the political system (especially of welfare), and a ‘sensible’ approach to immigration is what will save the day. This is a fantasy. For one, growth is no end in itself; it is a mere means of realising one’s ends. There is no sense in growing for growth’s sake. Acknowledging this simple fact immediately reveals the problem with this perspective, for it assumes our great problems are ultimately material in nature. Given the past century of European history with its immense increase in economic prosperity, this supposition is obviously ludicrous. Yes, the absence of any substantial growth is of deep concern, but it is not the root of the present crisis. Of course, recognising the limits of growth does not mean we ought to forego our drive to grow and excel as a nation. On the contrary, it merely requires that we appreciate the need for a far deeper political struggle.

That this is true is obvious from the fact that economic growth cannot seriously orientate a people’s will, nor can it stimulate great works nor grand achievements. The great men of ages past did not navigate the seas, conquer skies, and stamp European man’s image onto world purely out of a desire to increase the ‘general material prosperity of the nation.’ No: they were animated by some inner need, by some higher ideal, whether by a desire for greatness, by a faith in their civilisation, by the transcendental power of God. Common to each of these types was that they were actuated by a higher spirit, the spirit of a higher culture, a culture which has been thoroughly destroyed in our decadent age. What we require is a political vision set upon creating such a culture once more so that our people might grow to ever greater civilisational heights.

What ought this political vision be? This matter will have to be taken up at length by more adept heads in the articles of Pimlico Journal. For now, it will suffice to offer some early suggestions of how we might orientate ourselves. Certainly much has been said (and there is even more to commend) the developing trend towards ‘meritocracy’ in our circles. Broadening our perspective, given the nature of the current universalist liberal regime, the natural reaction is of course, as with Brexit, to return to the national as the foundation of an identity which opposes the encroachment of global modernity. However, at the same time, we must bear in mind the history of the past century; of the War and all that means to our present society. Accordingly, if the Right is to adopt this approach it is critical for us to accept that a simple return to an older nationalism is no longer viable. Having been thoroughly dissected and denuded of its allure, the once great significance of the European nation-state, including Britain, has dwindled in the face of self-doubt and Europe’s virtual international irrelevance. The old nation-state is no longer the force it once was.

In this respect, some of the recent focus on a civilisational perspective is certainly more appropriate, though as yet this is an ill-thought-out project bereft of anything substantial. Doubtless this approach will enable the Right to frame the key issues of migration, sovereignty, identity, and so on in their correct conceptual dimension — namely, as centred in a rejection of the last half century or so of liberal modernity. With this, it becomes possible to articulate a real and salient distinction between us and our enemies. Where the liberal establishment stands for the globalisation and homogenisation of the world into one single, mediocre biomass, it is we who can stand for European civilisation, for genuine historical existence and for a culture that leaves its mark on posterity.

That said, it is also critical that the right eschews the desire to construe this civilisational aspect as a restoration or return to the Europe of old. The old forms of history are gone and cannot be retrieved. But more to the point: if the Right is to succeed, it must present a vision of the future that is vibrant, energetic, and youthful so as to galvanise the spirit of our age.

Whatever this vision ultimately proves to be, one thing is already certain: that fidelity to cause will be essential. A fidelity to a devotion to the mission that would see the people of Europe secured to their rightful place. Fidelity. This is the inner truth of all political action. In dedicating ourselves to overturning the present paradigm, the Right will have to learn from its enemies, from the likes of Robespierre and Lenin, for these are people who remained stalwart in their commitment to political destiny. They were true partisans. We, too, must become true partisans, partisans of the promise of a new future, and perhaps we might just find this in a common European destiny.

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This article was written by an anonymous Pimlico Journal contributor. Have a pitch? Send it to pimlicojournal@substack.com.

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