For many historians and political commentators in general, the strength and resilience of American conservatism is an anomaly in search of an explanation. This conservatism is made of separate strands, both cultural, in expressions of religious fervor, social conformity to “family values,” and economically in belief in a (largely) unregulated commercial marketplace. Individualism as opposed to equality is perhaps the fundamental tenet of this creed and perhaps the single idea that links everything together. But there are other visible elements: hostility to immigrants. In a nation made up entirely of immigrants, Americans have repeatedly expressed hostility to new immigrant groups: first to Germans, then the Irish, Catholics, Jews, Eastern Europeans, and now Latinos, and, of course, toward involuntary immigrants from Africa. In many cases, conservatives have been reluctant moderns, or at least deeply conflicted men and women of their times who cling to what they define as traditional values, yet who happily surround themselves with consumer gadgetry and use the latest fruits of technology, especially in political organizing. Perhaps the one thing they are not is Luddites, neo-primitives and rejectionists, although even a few of these sorts camp outside the big tent of the movement.

Perhaps the best way to describe American conservatism (and liberalism) is to say that it is situational, defined by the dictates of the moment. While conservatism is fairly consistent in opposing Federal intervention into the economy in areas other than defense and protection of trade, positions on social issues may vary widely. For example, conservatism was once openly segregationist, but is today much more tolerant of diversity. Above all, conservatism fancies itself based upon the American reverence for the Constitution and its “original intent.” This makes the dead hand of the past into a vital and sometimes imaginary tradition from which to seek guidance in a mental process that resembles nothing so much as Protestant Biblical exegesis. To say the least, this is a complex and variegated political persuasion that has, for most of American history since the Civil War, been the default position of politics, the New Deal notwithstanding.

Is post World War II conservatism then, something different, something new, something demanding explanation? This is the implicit question in David Farber’s new examination of the rise and fall of modern conservatism. In biographies of five architects (and one wrecker) of post-war conservatism, Farber sketches the growth of the movement from Robert Taft’s opposition to the New Deal to ideological ruination as George W. Bush’s Presidency smashed on the shoals of reality. In other words this book takes us via leading personalities from a series of disparate and unconnected movements, false starts, hopeful beginnings, to the final, failed test of conservative principles during the 43rd President’s two-term debacle.

There are several important and interesting arguments that Farber makes along this narrative and one inspired choice of subject matter – Phyllis Schlafly – that have much to commend. He is certainly right to emphasize the importance of conservative Catholicism in addition to the better known Protestant fundamentalism as a crucial factor in building the movement, although I believe he underplays the way Catholicism structured the thought of William F. Buckley and Schlafly. He is also correct to see the importance of race as a factor in developing a conservative position, although here, too, I think, he underplays the issue, certainly in building a more monolithic Republican Party. And while he notes fear-mongering as a perennial tactic of conservatives (and sometimes liberals, too), he makes no effort to ascertain why fear, anxiety, envy, lack of confidence, fatalism, and other kindred negative emotions are so important in American politics and where they come from, and if they differ from other political cultures. Surely it is important to explore why American politics has been so consistently driven by obsessions with Communists, liberated women, African-Americans, criminals, homosexuals, and the ubiquitous minion of evil, the taxman.

While Farber pens a lively narrative, there is not a great deal that is new; what is new is the focus on these six individuals. Most of the chapters are derived from secondary sources; only the Taft biography benefits from manuscript sources. There are occasions when Farber seems to try too hard to be fair to a political philosophy he does not appear to support. Thus Phyllis Schlafly is “brilliant” and William F. Buckley is endlessly “witty,” and Ronald Reagan possesses not a “misanthropic bone in his body” - this from a man whose administration classified ketchup and pickle relish as vegetables for children in publically funded lunch programs and whose accusations about fictional “welfare Queens” were cruel and racially coded. The problem is a pervasive chattiness and I fear in the end, not as serious a discussion of the American Right as it merits. He does touch on the most important development since World War II which is the creation of an ideologically unified Republican Party and the elimination of its more liberal wing. But this crucial development does not receive the attention it deserves.

Farber’s final evaluation reveals the implications of this presentation. He ends this way: “The modern conservative movement had fallen [with the election of Obama].” (p. 256) Perhaps it looked that way when the manuscript was finished, but today it appears merely a stumble, and tomorrow, who knows? That is the trouble with the rise and fall genre of history; those who have fallen sometimes refuse to stay down. The effect, in the end, is to underestimate the resilience and centrality of conservatism to American history.