The Political Romanticism of Liberal Conservatives
Political Romanticism has transformed conservatism into an ideology of beautiful impotency, trapped in an eternal discussion and incapable of acting upon a decision. Carl Schmitt coined this term in his work Political Romanticism, first published in 1919. The book itself is an extended attack on nineteenth-century German romanticism for refusing to engage in real politics or to decide upon alternatives and for subsequently justifying said refusal as a higher commitment to what is aesthetically beautiful. The core of his critique is that romanticism relativizes all thought and substitutes a true metaphysic for an aesthetic judgement. This is accomplished through opposing concept with reality and then claiming that concept is greater than reality, thus driving us toward an irrationality of the real. What is true, good, and beautiful is possibility, not reality.
What does this study of romanticism have to do with a critique of modern conservatism? Aren’t conservatives those who stand for objective truth and justice, while Leftists are relativists? Schmitt’s study, which “explore[s] the metaphysical and ethical roots of the romantic,” was applied to the conservatives of his day, denying such political romanticism any “genuine conservative credentials,” as he aimed to strengthen the political effectiveness of the conservative option he favored: “Christian counter-revolutionary conservatism.” In the application of his study to issues facing modern Americans, we must first properly understand romanticism as Schmitt presents it; following this, the politicization of romanticism must be understood second. This will, hopefully, illuminate the reason as to why some evangelical conservatives are reacting to this New Christian Right as “Rightwing Wokeism,” and why their opposition reveals their own political romanticism.
Romanticism isn’t just smelling the roses, reading poetry, and reminiscing about castles. It is not a philosophical system; Schmitt says it “transforms the oppositions it sees into an aesthetically balanced harmony.” It does not actually produce an answer to these oppositions; it “reduces [them] to aesthetic or emotional contrasts in order to fuse them” into an ironic or ‘lyrical’ sentimentality. The origin of this romantic irony is “the suspension of every decision,” and the substitution of emotional or ‘aesthetic’ responses. The romantic, as Schmitt defines him, is “the virtual embodiment of the incapacity to make the demanding moral decision,” as he would like to adjourn the decision forever. Thus, the corrupt and fallen man of Christianity, or the rational and Hobbesian “all against all,” are both “repellent to this feeling.” Instead, the romantic co-opts the “state of nature” concept from earlier philosophy and transforms it into a “concrete idyll that takes place in a forest and field, a ‘romantic fantasy.’” The romantic defends his “sovereignty of limitless subjectivism” against the seriousness of reality by playing off one reality against another, “never deciding in this intrigue of realities.” It is his own emotions, and the intensity thereof, that “lend importance to the objects that arouse,” indeed, “the object in fact ideally ought not protrude anything of itself into the enraptured trance of the romantic.”
Schmitt takes an excursion into the developments in metaphysics concurrent with the rise of romanticism — namely, the elimination of God, the “highest and most certain reality.” This vacuum is filled with either Humanity (the god of godless revolutionaries) or History (the god of godless conservatives). These temptations are readily understood in our own context. The Left wants to make universal (or individual) man the chief authority, while conservatives are tempted to make history and tradition the decisive factor. Revolutionaries are thus atheistic anti-traditionalists, while conservatives believe in whatever the past tradition was just because it is tradition. This conservative god restores what the other has revolutionized (that is, once the revolution has taken place, the new status quo is the “tradition” which must be conserved).
But, the essential feature of the romantic is that “in the struggle of the deities he does not commit himself and his subjective personality.” Under the revolution, romantics held strong feelings to play their own creators of both irrational community and world-historical tradition. The romantic not only retreats from the recognition of a personal God, but he “remained undecided in the battle between community and history,” for any recognition of the reality of these (community, history, God) would mean dethroning themselves. Schmitt notes that many found themselves attending Church, and because they encountered the personal God and Creator, they were “overwhelmed” and “seriously wanted to be pious Catholics,” and so they “gave up their subjectivism.” This led to a decisive renunciation. Faced with an Either-Or that could not be continuously held (romanticism or Christianity), they decisively chose, and thus, the “romantic situation was brought to an end.” This is key: when a true choice is made, romanticism dies.
The romantic generation of the eighteenth century was confronted with a preceding generation whose achievements were “classical,” by which Schmitt means truly great. They were the sons of fathers who achieved great things in the world. But romantic productivity lay “in the domain of criticism and character sketches.” Everything beyond was “mere possibility.” How did they respond to the great expectations laid upon them? When the “enormous possibilities” they presented never became reality, their “solution to this difficulty [consisted] in representing possibility as the higher category.” They “preferred the state of eternal becoming and possibilities that are never consummated.” They turned reality and positive content into an empty abstraction. The goal of all philosophical endeavors — that of opening the mind in order to close it again on something solid, such as an open mouth — is never attained. This love of possibility over reality leads into the romanticization of primitive peoples and children, for they have such great potential.
Romanticism is impotence disguised with emotional aesthetics. Schmitt declares it is passive “because the superiorly subjective, aloof, and unengaged disposition of the romantic is inherently linked with an actual enslavement to the objective environment itself.” In their longing for reality, which demanded fulfillment, the romantic “made [himself] master of the universe by deconstructing reality and reducing the sum total of things to points.” This romantic spirit “precluded the possibility of engaging in decisive action.” It is as if he were a bridegroom, preferring to stand at the altar and behold the beautiful potential of his bride, yet refusing to ever actually consummate the marriage. That would be tacky, and it would limit the possibilities of such a beautiful bride. Reality is limited, it is “ a decision that has already been made; disenchanted, disillusioned, it has a dull melancholy.” In the face of hard realities placed against one another, the romantic “ironically avoids the constraints of objectivity and guards himself against becoming committed to anything.” ‘Isn’t this grand?’ he says. His irony protects against the reality of a needed decision, and instead beholds the need as neat, and as something to be discussed eternally. In their indecision, romantics “were closer to liberalism than to a genuine conservative philosophy, never shy to acknowledge political interests.”
Thus, Schmitt moves into the application of romanticism to the political. Romanticism makes no decision — it is the emotional-aesthetic enjoyment of dichotomy itself. Sometimes, romantics could be revolutionary, and sometimes counterrevolutionary. This says nothing about the revolution or counterrevolution themselves — they are real politics. Again, the essence of romanticism is passivity. The romantic cannot hold his own position; he can only attach himself to an emotional-aesthetic regime or counter-regime.
Both actual revolution and counterrevolution are political because they are both oriented towards making real decisions. The subjectivity of the romantic negates any such real-world decisions. We need only “compare the effeminate raptures” of romantics “with Burke’s obstinate defense” of his political decisions. Where real action begins, romanticism ends. Whenever real political dichotomies and choices confront political romantics, either the romantic is put at the disposal of politics, or the choice is “morally reproached” by the inner “untruthfulness” of the romantic. The essential contradiction “is that the romantic, in the organic passivity that belongs to his structure, wants to be productive without becoming active.” Thus, political romanticism is the emotive response of the romantic to political events. The event “evokes a romantic productivity,” which is to wax poetic, beat his aesthetically pleasing principles upon his chest, and begin discussing.
Political romanticism offers the wondrous and unlimited possibilities of politics — an approach of “endless conversation,” with no fixed points or conclusions, and ensures the romantic’s (in)actions stave off the need to make a real political decision. This romantic outlook makes one incapable of deciding on anything moral or legal. It may be aesthetically pleasing, but it is completely lacking in political productivity — political virility and activity — in the real world, where decisions are made for the good ordering (or evil disordering) of society. Engaging in endless discussion and conversation “could not enhance the ability to decide between right and wrong. In the real world of politics, political activity involves making decisions, facing risks and responsibilities, and putting an end to discussion.” It’s an attempt to avoid the forks in the road, because they “could not suffer to burden the autonomous self with decisions that might lead to objective commitments and entanglements.”
The core of this romantic fantasy’s superiority is to “conceal the renunciation of every active alteration in the world, as a passivism whose consequence is that henceforth, romanticism itself is employed as an expedient of unromantic activity.” Yes, because its essence is the refusal to choose and to instead wax poetic, it is thus used to sway the emotions towards very unromantic (revolutionary or counterrevolutionary) activity. Everything that is romantic is at the disposal of unromantic forces, and “the sublime elevation above definition and decision is transformed into a subservient attendance upon alien power and alien decision.” The romantic is beautifully impotent, only desiring the endless discussion of “the issues.”
The politicization of romanticism comes to fruition in what Schmitt terms parliamentary democracy, and more broadly, liberalism itself. In modern American language, synonyms would be terms such as liberal democracy or global democracy — that is, the modern Western-liberal social order. Schmitt in The Crisis of Parliamentary Democracy says, “I regard discussion and openness as the essential principles of parliament.” Describing this liberal desire for constructing politics along “parliamentary” structures, Schmitt says, “Parliament is accordingly the place in which particles of reason that are strewn unequally among human beings gather themselves and bring public power under their control. This appears a typical rationalist idea…” but he asks, “where is there any kind of certainty that the possessors of particles of reason are to be found precisely in parliament?” He goes on to underwrite the emphasis that liberalism places upon deliberation, that “the truth can be found through an unrestrained clash of opinion and that competition will produce harmony.”
Conservatives today will go on about criminalizing abortion, restricting immigration, ending drag queen story hour, and any other talking point. But as soon as certain groups begin to interrupt endless discussion with real, tangible action, especially if said action is predicated on in-group (i.e., American) preference, they are labeled “woke right.” Any harnessing and exertion of power? “Woke right.” Constructive vision for society? “Woke right.” Insufficient egalitarianism? “Woke right.” So on and so forth.
Aggressive populism, as embodied by Donald Trump, is, of course, not very nice. It is uninterested in endless discussion and is therefore not genteel. Never mind the decisions of these types overturned Roe v. Wade — it is about the aesthetically pleasing principles of discussing the issues, not utilizing political power to make things happen.
It is not that increasingly rightwing Christians are going “Woke”; it is that they are rejecting the impotency of political romanticism, which is the emotional-aesthetic foundation of liberalism. As Schmitt wrote, romanticism attaches itself to any political theory. In our day, the political romantics are conservatives who opine over the Founding Fathers, but would never incite a violent (counter)revolution through propaganda like Samuel Adams. That would be Leftist. Instead, these conservative romantics would have Christians long for the day when “discussion itself will be discussed,” when all decisions have been ruled out, and what is left is “only discussion.” Or, conservatives must understand the central question of the political: Who will decide? The romantic has his decision made for him, and waxes poetic about his ideals as either aligning with his rulers or not. Political sovereignty decides for itself and then takes subsequent action. What must be decided, and who will decide, leads into the question of sovereignty, legitimacy, and the political itself.
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