Conservatism, as a political and moral philosophy in the Anglo-American tradition, has a long history that is usually traced back to Edmund Burke’s Reflections on the Revolution in France (1790). Burke, the Irish-born philosopher and politician, was not against all change. He generally supported the American colonies, seeing American independence not as a revolution but as an exercise in British citizens directing their own affairs instead of being mismanaged from afar.
The French Revolution, however, was another matter. Burke thought it folly for the French to think they could start over as a people or that human nature could be made anew. Burke thought people were guided by passions and sentiments more than by reason. He feared that if you strip away everything you know, something worse and more tyrannical will take its place. For Burke, we are born into the world with a civilizational inheritance to maintain, whether we like it not, much like parents are obliged to care for their children, and children are obliged to obey their parents. Burke insisted that Britain should be grateful for the habits, institutions, and principles that gave them unrivaled freedom and prosperity, and that this cultural heritage ought to be conserved rather than violently overthrown (for more on Burke, see Yuval Levin’s excellent book The Great Debate).
This is not the place to sketch out the history of conservatism, but suffice it to say it has been, like every other earthly ism, a diverse and imperfect tradition, including (in broad strokes): politicians like Benjamin Disraeli, Winston Churchill, and Margaret Thatcher in England and Calvin Coolidge, Barry Goldwater, and Ronald Reagan in America; authors like Whitaker Chambers, Henry Jaffa, George Santayana, Richard Weaver, and Roger Scruton; economic theorists like Frederick Hayek and Milton Friedman. In its American form, conservatism has counted groups as varied as classical liberals, early Federalists, and southern agrarians among its intellectual heroes. In its more recent form, conservatism became mainstream with the rise of William F. Buckley, Jr. and the launch of National Review in 1955.
What’s the Point?
I’m not writing about conservatism because I think the Christian religion requires a conservative political philosophy, let alone because I think the two are identical. And yet, there are good reasons for Christians to know more about conservatism than they do. 
(1) For starters, most white Christians in America think of themselves as conservatives, but I imagine few have read much, if anything, from the centuries-old conservative tradition. 
(2) It has often been assumed that Trump and conservatism are the same thing, or that Republican policies and conservatism are the same thing, or that conservatism is the same as a disdain for the elite nexus of Hollywood, the media, and the academy.
(3) Conservatism, without any definition, is often invoked as an explanation for someone’s political views. This happens from the right (“but I’m a conservative”) and from the left (“you are too beholden to your conservatism”). In both claims, the moniker “conservative” is little more than an ideological label that quickly identifies someone’s views as obviously trustworthy or obviously hijacked.
(4) While I’ve argued before that Christian pastors and ministry leaders would be wise to provide less in the way of political punditry, this does not mean Christian theology and political philosophy have nothing to do with each other. If we can talk on the level of moral philosophy and anthropological assumptions and political first principles (away from the constant clamor of the 24-hour news cycle and polarization of national elections) we may be able to have a more meaningful conversation. If nothing else, the conversation will be deeper and richer and (likely) wiser for reading and evaluating the most important thinkers in the conservative tradition of the last two centuries rather than just listening to the loudest voices who claim to speak for conservatism today.
Concise Guide to Conservatism
With that last point in mind, I thought it would be worthwhile to look at one answer to the question posed in the title of this post. If someone wants a short, straightforward, and seminal exploration of conservatism he can do no better than to read Russell Kirk’s Concise Guide to Conservatism (Regnery Gateway, 2019). Originally published in 1957 as The Intelligent Woman’s Guide to Conservatism (a jab at George Bernard Shaw’s Intelligent Women’s Guide to Socialism and Capitalism), the Concise Guide is much more accessible than Kirk’s larger work (a revised dissertation of all things!) The Conservative Mind (1953). 
Kirk was born in 1918 in Plymouth, Michigan (now a suburb of Detroit) and went on to earn degrees from Michigan State, Duke, and the University of St. Andrews in Scotland. After teaching for several years at his alma mater, Kirk left Michigan State in 1959 and returned to his ancestral home in Mecosta, a rural community an hour north of Grand Rapids. In 1963, Kirk converted to Catholicism and married Annette Courtemanche. Together they had four children and often welcomed guests, literary figures, refugees, and vagrants to “Piety Hill” (their country home). Through his teaching, his writing, and his involvement in the leading conservative journals of the day, Kirk gained the reputation as a key theorist, moralist, historian, novelist, and philosopher of post-war conservatism. Russell Kirk, lauded by his friends as “the benevolent sage of Mecosta,” died in 1994.
In the Concise Guide, Kirk lays out ten characteristics of conservative thought.

“Men and nations are governed by moral laws; and those laws have their origin in a wisdom that is more than human—in divine justice” (2). Kirk made clear that “Christianity prescribes no especial form of politics” (9). At the same time, he believed that conservatism was built on a religious foundation and that religion in the modern world was largely defended by conservative people (9). “The conservative believes that the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom” (10)
“Variety and diversity are the characteristics of a high civilization. Uniformity and absolute equality are the death of all real vigor and freedom in existence” (2-3). In rejecting absolute equality, Kirk did not mean equal treatment under the law, but an equal outcome enforced by the state.
“Justice means that every man and every woman have the right to what is their own—to the things best suited to their own nature, to the rewards of their ability and integrity, to their property, and their personality” (3). Society, said Kirk, is a partnership in which all have equal rights but not all have equal things.
“Property and freedom are inseparably connected: economic leveling is not economic progress” (3). Kirk argues that the three fundamental rights in the Anglo-American tradition have been life, liberty, and property (what Thomas Jefferson described more expansively as “the pursuit of happiness”). If there were no private property, we would not all be rich together; we would all be poor together (56-57). Private property is not only a good in itself; it is also a means to culture and freedom. The role of the state is to protect man’s property, not to allocate it. For his part, the virtuous citizen understands that property comes with duties, and by our property and possessions we ought to serve God and serve our fellow men (60).
“Power is full of danger; therefore, the good state is one in which power is checked and balanced, restricted by sound constitutions and customs” (3-4). Kirk is not anti-authority, nor even anti-government. He considers government “a necessary good” provided it is just, balanced, and restricted. Men with power cannot be trusted, so ambition must be made to counteract ambition.
“The past is a great storehouse of wisdom; as Burke said, ‘The individual is foolish, but the species is wise’” (4). The conservative knows he was not born yesterday. He is eager to listen to the “democracy of the dead.” The conservative does not idealize the past, but he believes that we will be wiser if we listen to the wise men and women of the past.
“Modern society urgently needs true community: and true community is a world away from collectivism” (4). Conservatives are public-spirited. They believe in doing one’s duty to town and country, to his business and to his church, to his school and to his union, to his civic association and to his charitable fund (44). In genuine community, decisions are made locally wherever possible, and philanthropy and neighborliness are voluntary virtues.
“In the affairs of nations, the American conservative feels that his country ought to set an example to the world, but ought not to try to remake the world in its image” (5). Kirk is less interested in a specific foreign policy than in a general inclination that urges America to be virtuous, without necessarily being interventionist.
“Men and women are not perfectible, conservatives know; and neither are political institutions. We cannot make heaven on earth, though we may make a hell” (5). Human nature is not malleable. We must deal with people as they are, not as we wish them to be. This means, as Kirk says elsewhere, “politics is the art of the possible, not the art of the ideal.”
“Change and reform, conservatives are convinced, are not identical: moral and political innovation can be destructive as well as beneficial” (5-6). The conservative does not believe in change for the sake of change. He is not eager for revolution. He does not believe in the abstract cult of progress. When in doubt, permanence should be favored over progress. Choose what is old and tried, even if it is imperfect, before what is new untried. Conservatives prefer the devil they know to the devil they don’t know.

Summary
Kirk was writing in the 1950s so the great enemy, as he saw it, was collectivism and totalitarianism. Like many conservatives, he did not see the injustices in his country as well as the injustices in other countries. In general, the conservative movement since World War II has been proven right on the issues of communism and socialism but has often been proven slow (or wrong) on the issue of race. Of Kirk’s ten points, I’d say 1 is undeniably Christian and 4, 5, 6, and 9 can be drawn from Christian principles, but they are certainly not the last word on moral philosophy or a Christian approach to society and politics. As I said earlier, I do not offer this summary of conservatism because I think it should become a confessional standard for Christians. Perish the thought! We have an inerrant Bible, not to mention our own dogmatic tradition. But I do believe Kirk’s definition of conservatism (or something like it) is worth our careful consideration, not least of all from those Christians who call themselves conservatives.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.

One of the great needs in our day is for pastors and Christian leaders to think theologically about the pressing issues of race and justice. To be sure, general biblical principles are discussed and promoted. We know that every person from every race has been made in the image of God and has inherent worth and dignity. We know that the Bible presents a beautiful picture of heaven where people from every language, tongue, and tribe gather around the throne to worship the risen Christ. We know that we are called to love our neighbor and that the Lord hates injustice. These are precious truths, and we ought to be reminded of them often.
But once these important convictions are quickly affirmed, then what? Can theological reflection—relying on the Bible and the best of the Christian tradition—help us sort through any of the questions that divide us? Do pastors—trained in Greek and Hebrew and steeped in centuries-old creeds and confessions—have anything meaningful to say? Should people who have spent years—in formal education and in daily study—learning 2,000 years of Christian doctrine (and only a few weeks reading articles about police brutality) try to contribute to the discussion?
Recently, I served on our denomination’s study committee dealing with issues of same-sex attraction and identity. These are highly charged, personal issues just like race. But at least in talking about sexuality, one can find immediate help from our confessional documents and from the best of the church’s theological tradition. Christians have done a lot of thinking over the centuries about marriage, sex, desire, temptation, original sin, actual sin, indwelling sin, and progressive sanctification. Even if the reason for the sexuality debate is new, many of the church’s categories and careful nuances—developed over centuries of reflection, argument, and codification—overlap with the most important theological questions Christians are facing.
It feels different with the most vexing racial issues. And on the one hand, it is different. The Bible can tell us about injustice, but it will not tell us what is going on (just or unjust) in American policing. The Bible tells us clearly that racism is a sin, but it will not tell us the reasons for continuing racial disparities. This doesn’t mean Christians shouldn’t write on these issues. We should care about them deeply, read about them widely, and put forward our best arguments with open hearts and with open minds.

These are massively important questions. And even if a basic consensus can be reached that we must do better in the areas above, we then have to determine how policing can be best improved (better training? end qualified immunity? break up police unions? get rid of the bad apples? rebuild from the ground up?) and how disparities can be best reduced (reform the criminal justice system? invest in education? teach personal responsibility?). All that to say, these are difficult, complicated issues, and we should not mistake our preferred YouTube explainer video—from the left or from the right—as the final word on the subject or the way that all good Christians should think.
Need for Theological Reflection
So where is this argument going? My point is not to discourage Christians from caring about these things, becoming experts in these things, and working for change where change is needed. I am not calling for less engagement in the political and civic issues of our day. I am calling for more theological work to be done on a number of related issues. The issues swirling around us are not just about disputing policing data, about which the Bible says nothing. The issues are also about sin and guilt and holiness and justice, topics about which the Bible speaks an authoritative word.
Over the coming weeks I hope to explore several theological issues related to our ongoing racial tensions. I fear that we are going about our business in the wrong order. We start with racial issues we don’t agree on and then try to sort out our theology accordingly, when we should start with our theology and then see how racial issues map onto the doctrines we hold in common. Good theology won’t clear up every issue, but we might be surprised to see some thorny issues look less complicated and more hopeful.
Lord willing—and with the caveat up front that this list could change as we go along—I’d like to write about three topics over the next month:

The image of God
Sin and guilt
Life together in the church

In short, I want to explore how Christian anthropology, hamartiology, and ecclesiology might encourage, confirm, clarify, and correct our thinking.
Concluding Thought
One last personal note as I wrap up this introduction.
I realize there is almost nothing harder to talk about in America than race. The pain is deep, the anger is often justified, and the fear on all sides—of being misunderstood, of being hurtful, of being hurt, of being canceled—is not irrational. For the past several weeks, my head and heart have been in constant turmoil. Like most pastors (or most people for that matter), I have wrestled with what to say and how to say it. Given the complexities and personal intricacies of these issues, I’m hesitant to say anything at all.
There is no way to speak about these issues that can possibly hit all the right notes. Even among those who agree on the same big ideas, there is still the question of what to emphasize and which audience we are trying to reach.

Are we trying to rebuke neo-Confederate sympathizers?
Are we trying to guard against a godless, entirely mainstream, leftist agenda seen all around us in sports, media, and entertainment?
Are we trying to correct Christians who see everything through the lens of electoral politics?
Are we trying to convince black brothers and sisters that we care and that we are listening?
Are we trying to help honest Christians worried about mobs and riots?
Are we trying to encourage godly police officers who feel discouraged and abandoned?
Are we trying to critique woke pastors dividing their churches?
Are we trying to critique timid pastors who don’t dare say anything?
Are we trying to express lament for obvious racial injustices past and present?
Are we trying to help confused white Christians who wonder if they are guilty of sins they didn’t commit or if they can disagree with any part of the social justice agenda without being racists?

These are all important questions, and one would be right to address any of them. But short of an entire book, it would be hard to meaningfully address all of them. My aim is to work theologically through a few issues, trusting that many of the audiences can be appropriately addressed along the way. No approach will be without its critics. Like everyone else, my read of the current situation depends on an imperfect sense of what I see in my circles, among my friends, and on my social media feed. Inevitably, I will emphasize some points more than others, highlighting those points I think are either underappreciated or misunderstood. I’m sure I won’t say everything that needs to be said.
And yet, sometimes it’s worth saying something even if you can’t say everything. As Christians we should always be eager to reason carefully and winsomely from God’s Word. While I don’t believe every controversial issue surrounding race in this country is theological in nature, I do believe that every culture-wide conflict is bound to have a number of theological issues at its core. The issues in the early church may have looked like practical disagreements about meals and food and ceremonies, but the apostle Paul saw in them the most important issues of the gospel. Paul always brought his best theology to bear on the most intractable problems facing his people. We ought to do the same.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.

If you want every blog to be about theologizing, exegeting, and theorizing, feel free to skip this one. If nothing else, the members of my church like to hear what I did with my summer break.
In addition to the blog posts on race (boy, did those take more time than I bargained for), I had two main projects over my summer study leave.
I finished my part for The Biggest Story Storybook Bible. I’m teaming up with the talented Don Clark again to expand on The Biggest Story. This new book will have 104 stories (400 to 500 words each), with 52 from each Testament. I turned in a draft of the writing. Don is about halfway through the illustrating. Crossway plans to publish the book in fall 2021.
I also submitted my manuscript for Men and Women in the Church: A Short, Biblical, Practical Introduction. Think: Complementarianism 101 without an axe to grind. I’m also working with Crossway on this book, due out in spring 2021.
More immediately, I planned out my preaching schedule for the rest of the year: Genesis in the morning (we’ll get through the first 11 chapters, I think) and 2 Peter in the evening. After being out quite a bit over the summer, Lord willing, I’ll be preaching almost every Sunday (usually AM and PM) through December.
I never get through as many books as I hope during the summer, but I did manage to finish several (I think Collin Hansen read 16 books!).
The Fire Is Upon Us by Nicholas Buccola analyzes the famous Cambridge debate between James Baldwin and William F. Buckley Jr., using Baldwin and Buckley as a window into the race debate in America. Buccola is a self-proclaimed former conservative who matured (as he puts it) beyond his earlier views, so his interpretation decidedly favors Baldwin over Buckley. I’ve read most of Shelby Steele’s books over the years, but I hadn’t read The Content of Our Character. I think it may be his best. Steele is unflinchingly honest and unusually insightful about race in America.
Moving from race to gender: Bavinck’s book on The Christian Family is excellent. Just keep in mind, Bavinck’s cultural views on women (though not his theological views) grew more accommodating to changes in society. Calvin’s three sermons on Men, Women, and Order in the Church is a quick, worthwhile read. From a different angle, you might try Harvey Mansfield’s book on Manliness—a secular and learned defense of the possible virtues of manliness (he points out vices as well).
Joel Beeke and Greg Salazaar have edited a nice introduction to the life and thought of William Perkins: Architect of Puritanism. Few of us know as much about Perkins as we should.
The biggest book I started and completed over the summer was Amity Shlaes’s Great Society: A New History. Part politics, part economics, and part cultural history—Shlaes covers the key ideas and personalities behind the programs meant to alleviate poverty in America. The book ends in 1976 with the destruction of the Pruitt-Igoe housing project in St. Louis, a metaphor for Shlaes’s largely negative assessment of what the Great Society accomplished.
More beach reading: Albertus and Christina: The Van Raalte Family, Home and Roots, edited by Elton Bruins, et. al. Actually, a fascinating book about the legacy of the man (and his wife) who founded Hope College and Holland, Michigan.
Finally, each year I try to read through a big and/or old theology book. This January, I started with Shedd’s Dogmatic Theology, which I finished over the weekend. I think I’ll tackle Ursinus’s Commentary on the Heidelberg Catechism next.
Yes, I did fun things too (like reading and writing aren’t fun!). We went to Michigan for a week to see family and friends. I took my boys to cross country practice early in the morning and got in lots of running miles as a result. We spent time in the pool as a family (even mom once in a while!) and watched some of the best cinematic masterpieces of all time: What About Bob?, The Sandlot, and both Paul Blart movies. The Mrs. and I watched Mr. Jones, an amazing story, based on true events, about the Welsh journalist who exposed the hypocrisy of Walter Duranty (whose New York Times Pulitzer Prize has never been revoked) and helped the world see what was really happening with Stalin’s man-made famine in Ukraine (note: I was told ahead of time to skip the 25:00-30:00 minute mark in the movie; there is a lewd party scene that is not essential to following the plot).
I hope your summer was fun and fruitful. Back to (regular) work for me.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.