Michael: Alright, Kevin, before we dive in, give me your one-sentence, gut-reaction definition of a 'conservative'. Kevin: Easy. Someone who wants to keep their lawn perfect and thinks the good old days were in 1955. Also, probably yells at clouds. Michael: Perfect. That's the caricature, right? The person clinging to the past. What if I told you one of the most brilliant conservative philosophers of our time argued it all starts with love, loss, and finding truth in your enemies' ideas? Kevin: Okay, now you have my attention. That sounds less like yelling at clouds and more like… well, something I actually want to understand. Michael: It's exactly the stereotype that the late Sir Roger Scruton dismantles in his 2014 book, How to Be a Conservative. And Scruton wasn't some armchair philosopher; his views were forged in the fire of real-world events. He was an English academic who became a conservative after witnessing the 1968 student riots in Paris, which he saw as a joyful vandalism of civilization. Kevin: Wow, so he saw it firsthand. Michael: He did. And it was solidified when he started working with underground academic networks in Communist Czechoslovakia in the late 70s, a risk that actually got him arrested and expelled. This book is his personal, deeply philosophical answer to the chaos he witnessed. Kevin: So his conservatism wasn't inherited, it was a reaction to… chaos? A defense against things falling apart? Michael: Exactly. And that’s the perfect place to start. For Scruton, conservatism begins not with a political theory, but with a simple, powerful human sentiment: the feeling that good things are easily destroyed, but not easily created.

Kevin: That’s a very relatable starting point. It’s the feeling you get when you see a beautiful old building being torn down for a parking lot. It’s easy to wreck, but you can never get it back. Michael: Precisely. Scruton gives this feeling a name: 'oikophilia'. It's a Greek term that means 'the love of home'. But 'home' for him isn't just the four walls of your house. It's your neighborhood, your language, your shared customs, the landscape—everything that makes up the 'we'. Kevin: Okay, 'oikophilia' – that's a mouthful. Can you break that down? Is it just a fancy word for patriotism? Michael: It's deeper and more personal than that. Patriotism can be abstract, about a flag or a nation. Oikophilia is concrete. It's the love of the particular, the actual place and people you belong to. And the most powerful story he tells to illustrate this isn't about a politician; it's about his own father. Kevin: Oh, I like this. Go on. Michael: Roger Scruton's father, Jack, was a staunch, card-carrying socialist. He was a trade unionist, believed in the class war, and deeply resented the aristocracy. He saw the Conservative Party as the enemy of the working class. Kevin: So, the absolute opposite of his son. That must have made for some interesting family dinners. Michael: You can imagine. But here's the twist. Despite his socialist politics, Jack Scruton had this profound, unspoken love for his corner of England. He loved the countryside, the old stone buildings, the history embedded in the landscape. And when developers and motorway fanatics threatened to destroy the character of his local town, High Wycombe, what did this socialist do? Kevin: I have a feeling he didn't write a letter to a Marxist journal. Michael: He did not. He founded the High Wycombe Society, a local association dedicated to conserving the town's heritage. He fought to protect the very things he loved. His son Roger realized that this instinct—this oikophilia—was a deep conservative impulse that lay hidden beneath his father's socialism. Kevin: That's incredible. A socialist with a conservative heart. So Scruton is arguing that this instinct to protect your 'home' is pre-political? It’s more fundamental than being left or right. Michael: That's the core of it. It’s a philosophy of attachment. It starts from the love you feel for the things that have nurtured you. Politics, for Scruton, should be about protecting the space where these attachments can flourish. The quote that captures it all is, "Conservatism starts from a sentiment that all mature people can readily share: the sentiment that good things are easily destroyed, but not easily created." Kevin: I can see that. But how does that scale up? It's one thing to protect your local village. It's another to run a country. How do you get from this personal feeling of 'oikophilia' to a national political philosophy? Michael: That’s the genius of his next step. He argues that to protect the home, you have to understand the forces trying to change it, for better or for worse. So he goes on this intellectual journey to find the 'truth' in other ideologies, even the ones he fundamentally opposes.

Kevin: Wait, hold on. Scruton, this famous conservative, is saying there's truth in socialism? That sounds like a major contradiction. Most political books are about proving the other side is 100% wrong. Michael: And that’s what makes this book so unique and, frankly, so valuable. It’s not a polemic. It’s an exercise in wisdom. He doesn't just dismiss his opponents; he tries to understand the valid human need or moral insight that gives their ideology its power. Kevin: Okay, I'm intrigued. What on earth is the 'truth' in socialism, according to Scruton? Michael: He says the core truth of socialism is the recognition of our mutual dependence. It's the understanding that we are all in this together, and that a just society has a duty to spread the benefits of social membership to those who can't get them on their own—the poor, the sick, the vulnerable. It’s an appeal to solidarity. Kevin: That sounds… pretty reasonable. It’s the basis for things like public healthcare and social safety nets, which most people support to some degree. Michael: Exactly. He acknowledges that this impulse is noble. But then he identifies what he calls the 'lie' or the 'poison' that often comes with it: the zero-sum fallacy. Kevin: The zero-sum fallacy. What's that? Michael: It's the belief that for every winner, there must be a loser. The idea that the success of one person must come at the expense of another. If someone is rich, it must be because they made someone else poor. It breeds resentment and envy, and it leads to policies that aim to tear down success rather than build up opportunity. Kevin: Can you give me an example of how he sees that playing out? Michael: He gives a devastating one: the destruction of the British grammar school system in the mid-20th century. These were state-funded schools that admitted students based on academic merit, not wealth. For bright working-class kids, they were a golden ticket, a ladder out of poverty and into the top universities and professions. Kevin: Right, so they were engines of social mobility. Michael: Incredible engines of social mobility. But socialist politicians at the time, like Anthony Crosland, saw them through a zero-sum lens. They argued that because some children 'passed' the entrance exam and got in, the ones who 'failed' were being left behind and stigmatized. The success of the few was seen as the cause of the failure of the many. Kevin: So what did they do? Michael: Driven by this ideology of 'social justice' and equality of outcome, they systematically dismantled the grammar schools. They replaced them with comprehensive schools where students of all abilities were taught together. The goal was to eliminate the 'inequality' of the old system. Kevin: And what was the result? Michael: The result, in Scruton's view, was a catastrophe. The ladder was kicked away. The very institution that gave the brightest poor kids a chance to compete with the wealthy elite was destroyed in the name of equality. Educational standards fell, and social mobility for the intellectually gifted but poor actually decreased. The people who benefited most were the wealthy, who could now just pay for private schools and face less competition. Kevin: Wow. So in the name of fairness, they actually made things less fair for talented kids from poor backgrounds. That's a powerful and tragic example of an idea having unintended consequences. Michael: It's a perfect illustration of his point. He honors the socialist motive—to help the disadvantaged—but condemns the method when it's based on the fallacy of resentment. He does this for other 'isms' too. He finds the truth in liberalism—the sanctity of the individual and the need for limited government—but warns against 'rights inflation,' where every desire becomes a 'human right' that imposes a duty on the state. Kevin: It’s a pattern, then. Find the truth, identify the lie. Michael: Exactly. It's a way of building a more robust and humane philosophy by learning from everyone. But this process also brings him face-to-face with a very difficult reality. Kevin: Which is? Michael: That many of the institutions he's trying to conserve, like the grammar schools, are already gone. And that sense of loss, Kevin, is central to the book's conclusion. What do you do when you feel the things you love—tradition, religion, even beauty—are fading away?

Kevin: That’s the big question, isn't it? If conservatism is about preserving things, what happens when you fail? Do you just become a bitter nostalgist, constantly complaining about how things used to be? Michael: That's the temptation, and Scruton says we have to resist it. The final part of the book is titled "A Valediction Forbidding Mourning, but Admitting Loss." The title itself is a reference to a famous John Donne poem about parting without grief. Scruton's message is not to curl up in the past or give in to despair. Kevin: So what's the alternative? Michael: The alternative is to acknowledge the loss, but to reframe it. He argues we must see our losses not as defeats, but as sacrifices. He uses the powerful metaphor of Remembrance Day, or as it's known in the US, Veterans Day. On that day, we don't just mourn the dead; we honor their sacrifice, recognizing that it purchased the peace and freedom we still enjoy. Kevin: I see. So the loss of a traditional institution isn't just a failure; it's part of a history that has still left us with something valuable. Michael: Precisely. He writes that we should live in the spirit of Remembrance Sundays, "seeing our losses as sacrifices that have purchased the reprieve that we still enjoy." This transforms the conservative disposition from one of mourning into one of trusteeship. You are a steward of what remains. Your duty is not to lament what is gone, but to shore up the structures that are threatened and pass on the inheritance, however diminished, to the next generation. Kevin: That's a beautiful and much more active way of thinking about it. It's not 'the good old days are gone,' but 'we are the guardians of what their sacrifice preserved.' It turns conservatism from a backward-looking stance into a forward-looking responsibility. Michael: It's a profound shift. He argues that in a secular age, where the comforts of religion are fading for many, this sense of trusteeship is more important than ever. We have to find meaning in our connection to those who came before and those who will come after. He believes beauty, in art and nature, is one of the key ways we do this. Beauty, he says, reminds us that we are at home in the world, even in a world of loss. Kevin: It feels like he's offering a philosophy for living with grace in difficult times, which seems incredibly relevant right now. It’s not about winning every political battle, but about how you conduct yourself in the face of change and decay. Michael: That's it exactly. It’s a call to find value where it exists, to defend it with intelligence and courage, and to live with a sense of gratitude for the inheritance we have, rather than resentment for the one we've lost.

Kevin: So when you pull it all together, this book is so much more than a political manual. It’s a guide to a certain way of being in the world. Michael: Absolutely. And that's the core of Scruton's vision. Conservatism isn't a checklist of policies about taxes or regulations. It's a disposition. It’s the courage to love your home, which he calls oikophilia. It's the wisdom to learn from your opponents, finding the truth in socialism or liberalism. And finally, it's the grace to bear loss with a sense of duty to the future. It's about stewardship. Kevin: The idea of stewardship really sticks with me. It’s not passive. It’s an active, daily commitment to maintaining the good things around you, whether that's a local park, a community institution, or just a standard of decency in how we talk to each other. Michael: And it’s a responsibility that falls on everyone, regardless of their political label. His father, the socialist, was a steward. Scruton, the conservative, was a steward. The book is really an invitation for all of us to become one. Kevin: It really makes you think... what are the 'good things' in your own life, your own community, that are easily destroyed but not easily created? And what does it mean to be their steward? Michael: A profound question. We’d love to hear your thoughts on that. Find us on our social channels and share what this idea of 'stewardship' means to you. It’s a conversation worth having. Michael: This is Aibrary, signing off.