A Short Rant on "Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me"

I used to listen to Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me, NPR's very funny weekly news quiz, as a podcast. Some time in 2016 (I think roughly after the Florida primary), I abruptly stopped doing so, because the snark about the GOP process was just too depressing for me. (Also, my cheap phone has such little capacity.)

I was in the car this morning, though, returning from the grocery store, and I happened to flip to NPR, just when this week's Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me, was airing. The show starts "Who's Bill This Time?," where velvety-voiced announcer Bill Kurtis reads quotes from the previous week and asks a caller to identify the .

I didn't hear the first quote, but in context, it was pretty clearly about Trump. The host and the panelists went back and forth with some amusing bits about Trump and the truck, the fact that he doesn't share a bedroom with his wife, and his casual relationship with the truth. (The joke there was that "truth died after the Republicans took away its health insurance.")

But the second quote was the galling one. It was a Ryan quote. I'm transcribing the section below:

Bill Kurtis: "We've been dreaming of this since you and I were drinking at a keg."
Peter Sagal: "That was Speaker of the House Paul Ryan last week talking about his days as an idealistic college student drinking some beers with his bros and dreaming of taking away what from people?"

After a short pause, the caller guessed... "Medicaid?"

Sagal's response: "Close enough! Yes, health care! That's exactly right."

The caller actually was closer to Ryan's point than was the Wait Wait! staff, though. Ryan had not been "dreaming about taking away" people's health care since he was in college. He was dreaming about capping the growth rate of Medicaid and block granting it to the States, which has been a GOP wonk policy proposal for decades. Republicans passed it in 1995, and Bill Clinton vetoed it. But Democrats were of mixed minds on block grants for a long time. Democratic Governor Howard Dean of Vermont noted, "I have an open mind on block grants for Medicaid. The flexibility of a Medicaid block grant is extraordinarily appealing, but we need to work out some protection for children." Then two years later, Clinton himself proposed a version of Medicaid block granting that didn't go anywhere.

It's just a comedy quiz show--sort of The Daily Show, but a bit more clever--and I shouldn't take it seriously.  But it's one of those reasons why politics is so frustrating these days. Block granting Medicaid is not a monstrous proposal. It's a reasonable response to explosive cost growth that may or may not result in added efficiencies at the state level, and small-government-minded GOP folks like Ryan have supported the concept for a long time. But here, it's treated by the show's writers like some sort of draconian, cruel idea.

The inability to step outside of a given worldview and evaluate an idea on its own terms is destructive to the discourse. And yet it continues, unabated, as we careen further and further towards extremism.

Defending Conservatism, Part 8: The Way Forward and Additional (Better) Reading

So far, I have mostly spoken in favor of approaches to politics and policy, rather than details. This is in the interest of being somewhat ecumenical; I think these approaches can work for people across the political spectrum, and I want to avoid too many landmines in making that case. But for me, the final piece of the puzzle is more specific, and less philosophical than actuarial. In short: I think the trajectory of America’s entitlement programs, specifically Medicare, is simply unsustainable. Progressives wish to continue expanding those commitments, or adopt mostly-destructive top-down solutions (like the rationing of care) to reduce their costs. Most of what I believe in terms of making changes to existing and venerable programs comes down to my read of the math. (This is why I have insisted for years that it is appropriate for middle- and upper-class people pay more for predictable health care expenses.) I do not trust the top-down solutions to solve those problems optimally. For years, I have believed that Republicans were more likely to solve this issue than Democrats, and as such, I have voted for Republican after Republican.

Alas, the election of Trump changes all that. Trump does not recognize the problem. It is likely that he will be followed as president by a Democrat who also does not recognize this, or who places it below the desire for additional government spending. That would take us to 2024 or 2028 before we’d even have a slight chance of fixing this problem. Meanwhile, every year, the problem will get worse. So now we have two parties that refuse to grapple with this problem, and the party that used to rhetorically has abandoned its position.

It’s hard to say where things go from here, but I suspect the answer is in a very negative direction. American politics for the next few decades will likely be a constant fight over health care spending and benefits: what services are required, what services are non-essential, what experimental drugs are available, what drugs are not covered, what treatments get subsidized, etc. I expect health care delivery to become increasingly mechanical, with less and less personal care and attention from medical professionals, and more and more from standard operating procedures, written by technical experts and vetted and approved by bureaucrats. At the same time, I expect medical innovation to slow to a trickle, as government increasingly regulates prices, and research and development budgets get slashed.

This is a bleak vision, and we will never know the lives lost--or at least shortened--by the errors that will emerge in this process, and the lost or delayed medical advances.

It actually gets worse, though: what I have outlined above is essentially a society governed by the politics of scarcity, which are substantially scarier than the politics of abundance that characterized much of the 20th century. Scarcity is terrible, and we should expect people to vote out of desperation. The first salvo in that new world was election of Trump. We should not expect it to be the last.

This all means that it is critical that we do what we must to avoid the further fraying of the social ties that bind us. The approach I have outlined here is specifically tailored to avoid backlash. Give people more of an investment in their communities through decentralization. Avoid politicizing every sphere of life, so that people can form stronger, lasting connections. Create predictable laws so that the government treats people equally, and people don’t get frustrated by favoritism. Don’t push policy that destroys or weakens the hold of traditional institutions without extreme caution and care. Take the broad population’s concerns to heart by not reflexively dismissing populist movements. In a world we don’t understand, these are prudential steps to deal with uncertainty.

The alternative, in my estimation, is a society that continues to fracture as people are constantly disappointed, and a political order that swerves violently between the political poles, driven by aggressive executive action rather than prudential lawmaking. Our victories will be temporary, our struggles permanent. That is the future I wish to avoid.

I’ll close with Lincoln. Though I don’t anticipate violent civil war, we are drifting in a bad direction, and Lincoln’s conciliatory words closing his First Inaugural are always worth remembering:

We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.

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OK, so you’ve made it this far and you don’t hate yourself for wasting your time. Who should you be reading instead? By and large, right-leaning media is horrendous (see: Breitbart, FOX, etc.), but the Right commentariat is really quite good: they engage thoughtfully with their progressive interlocutors in different ways and from different perspectives, and they often engage with one another over their various differences on policy and priority.

I’ll offer a few people:

Nassim Nicholas Taleb’s writings helped crystallize some sentiments I had about the social sciences; I started to read him right after I got out of college, at a time where I was open to his ideas. I’m glad I did! Taleb has persuasively written on the problems of living in a world we don’t understand, and saw the financial crisis coming years in advance. The Black Swan is the essential text. Antifragile is a tougher read, but worthwhile as well.

Next, the Catholics: Michael Brendan Dougherty, Ross Douthat, and Pascal Emmanuel-Gobry are sort of on the same spectrum, with Dougherty the most skeptical about foreign entanglements and Emmanuel-Gobry the most enthusiastic (though also measured). All are probably best described as “reform conservatives,” and all are deeply influenced by their Catholicism. Douthat is both a wonderful prose stylist and the most consistently thoughtful writer I read. Dougherty and Emmanuel-Gobry write at The Week; Douthat retains his perch as the New York Times’ token conservative columnist.

Next, the libertarians. Tyler Cowen should probably win a Nobel Prize in Economics for his prolific blogging, writing, and general status as a polymath. He is always interesting. His stuff is compiled at Marginal Revolution, where he blogs with Alex Tabarrok. Megan McArdle is an equally-prolific blogger over at Bloomberg, and her writing has greatly influenced how I make and evaluate an argument. She is a principled, pragmatic libertarian.

Reihan Salam is a brilliant writer and journalist. He has taken a special interest in how conservative ideas can interact with urban societies. He writes a column for Slate and is an editor at National Review.

The most intelligent, thoughtful “movement conservative” I read regularly is Ramesh Ponnuru. He also has a column at Bloomberg (a trend here), and works for National Review. You’ll also periodically hear him sparring with EJ Dionne on NPR if David Brooks isn’t available.

Jay Cost of The Weekly Standard has been a great political commentator for over a decade, and is a recently-minted PhD from the University of Chicago. He has an encyclopaedic knowledge of history, which gives him the ability to put current events in perspective, and is also somewhat heterodox on key conservative policy issues. He left the GOP over Trump.

Mollie Hemingway of The Federalist is the best media critic on the Right writing today; she’s absolutely fearless and quite compelling. She relentlessly identifies double standards and weak logic.

For environment and technology questions, I tend to defer to Jim Manzi. Manzi doesn’t write often, but he’s always excellent. I’ve adapted some of the ideas in his excellent book, Uncontrolled, as part of the framing here.

But on the Right, Yuval Levin towers above all. He’s not on Twitter or social media, but he blogs (periodically) at National Review Online, and his contributions are always the most thoughtful on the site. He is also the editor of National Affairs, a policy journal released once per quarter.

Defending Conservatism, Part 7: The Virtues and Vices of Populism

Populism, in short, is an emphasis on the wisdom and preferences of common folk at the expense of an educated elite. From the perspective of a world we don't understand, populism offers promise and peril.

One large advantage of populism is that common folk are often more attuned to traditional wisdom, as laid out in Part 6. They may not know why or how they believe what they believe, but populists can serve as a necessary corrective to elite opinion, when elite opinion falls prey to passing intellectual fads. At their best, populists keep us grounded in the known, and hesitant to dive headfirst into the new and untested.

But at its worst, populism leads towards hero worship of a tribune: a leader who proclaims that (s)he can fulfill the desires and needs of the people by virtue of his/her will and good intentions. While the populist may connect to valuable and forgotten ideas (like the preeminence of the nation-state in the face of an increasingly cosmopolitan and detached elite), they often delve into discredited ideas and conspiratorialism. Populism demands a villain: whether it be immigrants or bankers, it's toxic for thoughtful policymaking and governance. (In a world we don't understand, the contention that there is a grand conspiracy causing our problems seems particularly rich. As if the conspirators know enough to pull the strings!)

Although prudence demands a healthy skepticism of elite pieties and schemes, populists often take it too far, disdaining all of the conclusions of scholarship as biased and corrupt, and choosing to “wing it” instead.

But we must also acknowledge the potency of the populist appeal, particularly when popular concerns are ignored. The prototype is the European Union. Since World War II, gradually, technocratically-minded officials have accumulated more and more power for the largely-unelected European Union bureaucracy. National sovereignty has been frayed, and voters in those countries have gotten angry. As mainstream parties have largely acceded to this course, extremist parties on the Far Right and Far Left have grown more competitive in elections: the public demands a voice in a democracy, and in getting ignored, they turn to destructive voices and ideas. Or, to quote Alfred from The Dark Knight: “... in their desperation, they turned to a man they didn’t fully understand.”

Moreover, populists often identify valid and important policy problems that demand thoughtful attention. People generally point to problems that they are experiencing, even if elite opinion doesn’t. A classic example: elites in American society are deeply concerned about the costs of a four-year education. In my estimation, this is because most of them had a four-year education and resent paying their student loans, or resent hearing about their friends paying their student loans. But a plurality of students in higher education are starting in community colleges, or going part-time. These stories are ignored, or, the square peg of these experiences is jammed into the round hole of the four-year residential college experience, in much policy development.

We may not fully understand it, but we see it as a refrain in the history of democracies. It is a force to be reckoned with, and one that should serve as a constant reminder: do the people's business and care about their concerns, or face their wrath. It’s important to start by listening. Elite expertise is essential, but it must be grounded.

I close this series tomorrow with a review of where all of this leads, and some suggestions for future (and better) reading.

Defending Conservatism, Part 6: The Legitimacy of Tradition

While written law and regulation is critical in our society (see Part 5), much of what makes society work is actually unwritten, even in a highly-litigious society like our own. The US constitution is a remarkable document, but the constitution is not the source of our prosperity or stability as a society; it is merely a written institution surrounded by an array of unwritten institutions. The Federalist Papers are wonderful philosophical treatises on the role of government and the balance of powers, but they are not an “instruction manual” for building a good society; they are merely an approximation of the lived reality of the 18th century, and offer wisdom for the 21st.

So then, where does this unwritten wisdom come from? In short: tradition.

“Tradition,” as the philosopher GK Chesterton put it, “means giving a vote to most obscure of all classes, our ancestors. It is the democracy of the dead.” He continues, “Democracy tells us not to neglect a good man’s opinion, even if he is our groom; tradition asks us not to neglect a good man’s opinion, even if he is our father.”

Unfortunately, we can’t ask the dead why it is they did what they did. We can comb their books and their writings for insight, and we still do. (Again, read The Federalist Papers! Brilliant political philosophy, and still eminently comprehensible and appropriate.) But even Madison, Hamilton, and Jay might not have fully understood why what they did worked.

As an historical digression, it’s worth comparing some 18th century revolutions. As a young writer in the 1830s, future British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli reflected on the American constitution and why it worked:

Why has the republican constitution flourished in New England, and failed in New Spain? Why has the Congress of Washington commanded the respect of civilised Europe, and the Congresses of Mexico, or Lima, or Santiago, gained only its derision or disgust? The answer is obvious: The Constitution of the United States had no more root in the soil of Mexico, and Peru, and Chili [sic], than the Constitution of England in that of France, and Spain, and Portugal: it was not founded on the habits or the opinions of those whom it affected to guide, regulate, and control. … The electors and the elected were both suddenly invested with offices for the function of which they had received no previous education and no proper training; and which they were summoned to exercise without any simultaneous experience of similar duties.

If the US constitution were a perfect document, we should expect that its precepts would work everywhere they were tried. But it’s not, and they don’t. So, why did the American experiment work? To Disraeli, the answer was simple: experience and tradition.

He is a short-sighted politician who dates the Constitution of the United States from 1780. It was established by the Pilgrim Fathers a century and a half before, and influenced a people practised from their cradles in the duties of self-government. The Pilgrim Fathers brought to their land of promise the laws of England, and a republican religion; and, blended together, these formed the old colonial Constitution of Anglo-America. … The Anglo-Americans did not struggle for liberty: they struggled for independence; and the freedom and the free institutions they had long enjoyed secured for them the great object of their severe exertions. He who looks upon the citizens of the United States as a new people commits a moral, if not an historical, anachronism.

In other words, the American constitution worked because it solidified institutions that had been built over generations of experiential learning. It did not attempt to build new habits from scratch, or destroy the existing order entirely. While firebrands like Thomas Paine saw the opportunity “to begin the world over again,” the more responsible American approach was to tinker with existing habits and structures.

The opposite, of course, was the French Revolution, where the desire for rationalization and “newness” led to silly things like a brand new calendar and the utter destruction of the old regime. The great Edmund Burke, a supporter of the American Revolution, reacted to the French approach with well-deserved scorn:

All your sophisters cannot produce anything better adapted to preserve a rational and manly freedom than the course that we [in England] have pursued, who have chosen our nature, rather than our speculations, our breasts rather than our inventions, for the great conservatories and magazines of our rights and privileges. You [in France] might, if you pleased, have profited of our example, and have given to your recovered freedom a correspondent dignity. Your privileges, though discontinued, were not lost to memory. Your constitution, it is true, whilst you were out of possession, suffered waste and dilapidation; but you possessed in some parts the walls, and, in all, the foundations, of a noble and venerable castle. You might have repaired those walls; you might have built on those old foundations.… but you chose to act as if you had never been moulded into civil society, and had everything to begin anew. You began ill, because you began by despising everything that belonged to you.

The proof is ultimately in the pudding: American society was built on solid ground, en route to a centuries-long process of expanding the promise of American life to a larger and larger span of the population. France descended into chaos and tyranny and was “rescued” only by a once-in-a-generation historical figure, Napoleon Bonaparte. (Meanwhile, America’s Napoleon, Alexander Hamilton, was channeled by the structures of government and society into the productive tasks of constructing an effective financial system. But that’s a different story.) Burke was right; Paine was wrong.

At the risk of mischaracterizing my progressive friends, much of the project of the progressive Left is about the rejection of tradition in its quest for greater public equality. To quote Damon Linker, when progressives do study the past, “it is often in a spirit of antiquarian curiosity about how the oppressor classes and benighted masses of past ages managed to defend the indefensible,” rather than an effort to glean wisdom for our current day. The past that is actually written down is rejected, as we are smarter than they were; the unwritten past--the source of the world we live in at present--is just ignored, or accepted as vestigial and unimportant, a speed bump in the way of progress, rather than a map that hints at something vital and essential.

The core conservative insight is that social harmony (see Part 3) is endogenous; in other words, it grows out of a deep historical context, and it is fragile. George Will writes about this in his Statecraft as Soulcraft:

... when the social sciences do their work well, they convey a sense of complexity and necessity in the life of society. In this regard, not even journalism is invariably a net loss to understanding. It too occasionally helps people understand that the milieu in which politicians operate is not the light, open space of Newtonian philosophy; rather, the milieu is more the thick, clinging mud in which Darwin embedded mankind's sense of itself. Liberalism thinks of society too much the way the eighteenth century thought of the heavens (and society): as clear, tidy and timeless. Liberalism is political astronomy--anachronistic astronomy, unaware that even the planets do more wobbling and wandering and banging about than the eighteenth century thought. Conservatism is political biology. It emphasizes the indeterminateness, the complexity of things, and the fact that there is more to a social system than meets the eye. (156)

Will rightly emphasizes the fundamental mystery of the world around us. We can learn things, but to conservatives, much of what makes society work is not necessarily knowable. (Indeed, the unseen plays a large role in conservative thinking in general; unintended consequences lurk behind every plan.) Contrary to this, the Left often seems to believe that the foundations of society are indestructible: whatever preexisting social harmony, stability, and prosperity we have are just the canvas onto which they can paint their desired reforms and changes. It all just happens, regardless of what we tinker with, so we should tinker with anything and everything to achieve our aims, rather than recognizing the complex, deep balancing act that we must keep in mind when pushing forward.

The progressive aims are noble, and ones that I often admire and share. But to pursue them in a way that ignores tradition and attempts to shunt aside well-established institutions, like the family, can lead to unintended consequences. This is not to say that we should be slaves to tradition or resistant to change at all. But we should accept that there may be things that have worked for years, or centuries, for reasons that we do not fully understand, and opting to dislodge those institutions is something that we should only do with great caution. When we do feel compelled to make changes in pursuit of fairness or justice (as we should at times), we should attempt to do so within the confines of existing structures, rather than from scratch.

A final comment: in addition to traditional structures, we should also be mindful of traditional personal virtues. Things like personal honor are out of vogue these days, but striving for virtue can be a source of meaning. We dispense with this sort of meaning--particularly in a world where remunerative work is often scarce or tedious--at our peril.

In the next piece, I will offer some thoughts on populism in a world we do not understand.

Defending Conservatism, Part 5: The Imperative of Predictable Laws and Regulations

Consequentialism is tempting.

It is easy to look at a situation, see the aggrieved or oppressed party, and believe that government must step in with whatever resources it has available. (In general, this is a good impulse, but it must be backed by the text of the law.) This was, essentially, what the Obama administration opted to do, time and time again. After losing the House in 2010, and the Senate in 2014, rather than being chagrined by his electoral defeats, President Obama declared that he had a “pen and phone” to make the changes he wanted to make. This was a tendency throughout his entire administration: in the face of resistance from the American system, Obama attempted to circumvent it using extralegal powers, rather than attempting to work within its confines.

That the Congress refused to act on his priorities should not have been an invitation to do so unilaterally. But he did, over and over and over. A few examples: he dramatically expanded the scope of the waiver power in the implementation of No Child Left Behind; he took executive discretion to unprecedented levels in the enforcement of immigration laws with his “deferred action” programs; he modified the Affordable Care Act over and over; he restructured the auto bailout in ways contrary to standard bankruptcy practices; and he expanded the scope of federal regulation dramatically beyond that of his predecessors, in ways often far beyond what a plain reading of statute would allow.

The American system of government has millions of procedural roadblocks to getting things done. While this is often frustrating for those in power, it is by design that the system requires broad consensus, or multiple elections pointing in the same direction, to make changes. After 2010, President Obama never had that consensus. But President Obama wanted a legacy, and he wanted to make a difference in people’s lives, so he felt compelled to act where he could and to stretch the limits of executive power.

These sorts of actions breed toxic policy uncertainty: when the executive branch has such discretionary power, businesses must operate scared, and markets don’t work as intended. There are intrinsic benefits to policy certainty, even if it doesn’t lead to the outcome that we desire. Predictability is a valuable asset for personal and business planning. An example: some businesses may well benefit from the impending destruction of the Affordable Care Act, but any such benefits could be destroyed by the costs of planning for the impending upheaval.

The best example of “policy uncertainty” in the Obama administration would be the bailout of General Motors. President Obama opted to give the secured creditors a “haircut” in the bankruptcy settlement in the interests of the United Auto Workers. While it must have been satisfying to pay back a client, and to help autoworkers instead of investment bankers, American bankruptcy provisions work because they are predictable and stable. A world where secured creditors do not get the first bite at the apple is a world with less investment and less stability, as businesses avoid the risk of getting hammered on a bad investment and an unfavorable White House.

Policy uncertainty also requires that businesses develop a greater footprint in Washington DC. This is a wholly-negative development in American politics and society. Every dollar that a medical research company spends on lobbying to get a more favorable deal from the government is an unproductive dollar, in terms of potential research. A lobbyist can buy a nicer house in Fairfax County, Virginia, and the local economy there booms (as it has for decades). But this is not--and should not--be the end aim of government. (This is, of course, what Jeb Bush was alluding to when he suggested that Washington DC needs a recession.) The more that government can grant a business, the more likely that businesses are to dedicate resources towards swaying the government.

If I’m an investor in the post-GM world, it might make more sense to focus on the regulatory climate and how favorably or unfavorably I am viewed by the powers that be than on my core business. The real risk here is favoritism and cronyism: where businesses get a better or worse deal from government based on the whims of the current executive. This is deeply unfortunate, and has only been expanded by President Trump, with his “government by Twitter” approach to industrial policy.

This is a long-winded way of suggesting that we are better off operating in a world where laws mean what they say and are enforced accordingly, rather than subject to flexible interpretation by the executive branch. The implementation of the Affordable Care Act was a textbook example of the alternative. Because of the election of Scott Brown, the Democrats never had the chance to form a “conference committee” to clean up errors in the Senate and House versions of the bill. The bill that became law was the sloppily-drafted Senate bill. The Obama administration unilaterally opted to modify the law with broad executive discretion. (One count suggests 70 separate changes to the law by executive action.)

We should accept a bipartisan limit on executive power and discretion because sometimes, the person in office is one we’d like to restrain. One has more moral and practical power to oppose executive overreach if one critiques it even when it ostensibly furthers one’s policy priority. In other words, we should oppose the Obama administration’s ad hoc conference committee of executive discretion that implemented the Affordable Care Act, as well as the Trump administration’s sweeping executive order granting overly broad enforcement discretion on the ACA to his Cabinet agencies.

Consequentialism also underlay President Obama’s philosophy in picking judges, which is also worth critiquing. In a 2007 speech, he said,

We need somebody who's got the heart, the empathy, to recognize what it's like to be a young teenage mom. The empathy to understand what it's like to be poor, or African-American, or gay, or disabled, or old. And that's the criteria by which I'm going to be selecting my judges.

In opposing the nomination of John Roberts (who, oddly enough, saved the Affordable Care Act from destruction), Obama went further:

In those 5 percent of hard cases, the constitutional text will not be directly on point. The language of the statute will not be perfectly clear. Legal process alone will not lead you to a rule of decision. In those circumstances, your decisions about whether affirmative action is an appropriate response to the history of discrimination in this country or whether a general right of privacy encompasses a more specific right of women to control their reproductive decisions or whether the commerce clause empowers Congress to speak on those issues of broad national concern that may be only tangentially related to what is easily defined as interstate commerce, whether a person who is disabled has the right to be accommodated so they can work alongside those who are nondisabled -- in those difficult cases, the critical ingredient is supplied by what is in the judge's heart.

This is, in short, a consequentialist’s manifesto: in the tough cases, put your thumb on the scale. Use your power not out of a desire for uniform, principled, or predictable exercise of power, but to address wrongs. Stated differently, “you’re only president (or justice) once!” But this sort of view is ultimately dangerous for the rule of law, as we become more subject to the personal whims of those in power, rather than the text of a law itself. Text is predictable; people are not. A mode of judicial interpretation that focuses on the original meaning of text in its analysis--as advocated by the late Antonin Scalia and the extant Clarence Thomas--is the fairest way to get to a society founded on the rule of law. This is aspirational, of course; one may never get to the beau ideal of the form. But the alternative is explicit discretion.

Discretion, too, has cascading effects: if legislatures know that courts will read for “intent,” they can draft more haphazardly. Contrarily, if legislatures know that courts will read their words closely, then they will draft laws more carefully and circumspectly, which is for the better.

In general, our approach should be less focused on consequence and more focused on process. Conservatism, well understood, gets us there.

In part 6, I will argue for the legitimacy of tradition.