The Latent Wisdom in Our Constitution

Yuval Levin’s American Covenant is of course pitched at a much more serious level than most of this online signaling, but the fact that anti-​constitutionalism gets “likes” these days means that the book comes at an opportune time. Burke once observed that English intellectuals, “instead of exploding general prejudices, employ their sagacity to discover the latent wisdom which prevails in them.” Levin’s project is to reveal “the latent wisdom” in our Constitution, much of which has been obscured by years of both derision and misguided praise.

Levin does not evade what is obvious: that our constitutional system is in rough shape, and our politics has operated for a long time according to principles that cut against it. Nevertheless, he makes a learned and systematic case for why we need constitutionalism. If the Constitution is broken down, then, our aim must be to repair it, not transcend it. He does not present the Constitution as holy writ—as something we must obey out of pious reverence to the Fathers. Nor does he present it as the “best regime” according to reason, trans-​historical principles, or philosophy. Nor as a gentleman’s agreement or strategic calculation—a reluctantly agreed-​upon restraint that we cast aside as soon as it becomes clear that others have. He defends it as a framework that was tailored to the needs of the American political system, and that provides the incentive structures necessary for a healthy politics in a country with significant differences.

The theme that ties this analysis together is unity. To a federalism extremist like the present author—more inclined to think we ought to stop trying to be so unified—this is initially jarring. But it quickly emerges that what Levin means by unity is not homogeneity in thought or deed. Rather, he has in mind a limited and distinctly civil sense of unity that allows a people, despite potentially serious differences, to act together. It is a unity “that is rooted in the practical nature of political life and that works to make common action possible.”

Moreover, what has upset this sort of civic unity is a desire for a greater, purer form of unity: an insistence that “every institution in our society, private and public, must be engaged in the same social crusade—no exceptions, no exemptions—and implicitly that there can be no society without a single, comprehensive common project.” This is what Levin calls an “integralist” spirit which stands as the great opponent of constitutionalism. This tendency, which I’ve discussed elsewhere as “comprehensive politics,” often appeals to deep moral and spiritual yearnings, channeling them into political life. But in doing so, it writes a check that politics cannot cash. As Levin points out, the more we seek such pure unity, the more disunited we become.

This kind of limited, civic unity is the result not of thinking alike but of “acting together.” The Constitution establishes institutions that do not allow any part of society to grab control of government and run with it. Rather, it demands a high level of consensus from a society in which agreement does not come naturally. If we are to act, therefore, we must act together, and to do so requires negotiation, compromise, and conciliation.

One of the most important sub-​themes of the book is its treatment of the way these consensus requirements of the Constitution and its institutional forms offer a kind of moral formation of citizens. Levin recognizes a limited truth in the argument that “the law is a teacher.” But this does not necessarily mean that the law simply tells us what is right or wrong. In the case of the Constitution, he emphasizes the incentives that its institutions establish for those who seek influence under its forms. The consensus-​based political process can be undertaken in a cynical, partisan spirit, but insofar as accommodation and negotiation are the standard language and practice of politics, they inevitably inform “how people speak” and eventually “how people think” about political activity. By forcing us to act together, the Constitution establishes habits of thought, word, and deed that can gradually establish a sense of civil community—what he calls a “constituted public.”

Levin examines America’s federal system, each branch of the federal government, and our party system with this kind of unity and republican virtue in mind. Though this is well-​worn ground, he brings a fresh angle and new insights by focusing on how these institutions influence our political culture. He covers the ways in which our institutions and safeguards have been transformed—mostly out of a desire that our national institutions do more for us than they can reasonably deliver. Accordingly, we now have a highly centralized politics that promises everything, and the politician’s primary concern is now finding ways to blame the other party—or the Constitution itself—for his inability to keep his promises. This leaves us with a politics that inhabits the forms of the Constitution, but has escaped enough of its limits that it can operate according to very different principles. And this form of politics is mostly about posturing: “National issues now too often reach us as abstractions and seem to require us only to identify with one political tribe or another.”

The problems with our politics, then, have come from our gradually abandoning the Constitution’s forms, not from the Constitution itself. Levin therefore approaches the Constitution with what he calls a “spirit of repair”—seeking ways to reimpose limits on our national institutions and thereby restore the consensus constitution. If I could select any recent book to set the agenda for contemporary conservatism, it would be this one.

That is not to say that I agree with everything in American Covenant. A book that sweeps across our Constitutional landscape is bound to generate disagreement on any number of points. Indeed, one of the merits of the book is that almost every page contains some formulation that could—on its own—be the topic of a vigorous and productive dinner conversation. I focus on just two historical points of disagreement—both of which are more matters of emphasis than substance.

For one, I wonder if the tension between the kind of constitutionalism that Levin presents and the “integralist” impulse is not more deeply embedded in American history than he suggests. For the most part, his presentation places the blame almost entirely at the feet of the Progressives and their ideological heirs (who, undoubtedly, deserve most of it). But I think it is fair to say that there has always been a desire for the purer kind of unity that is made manifest by the efficient exercise of power. James Madison is Levin’s primary guide (more on that below), but I think he is too easy on Madison’s fellow Federalist penman, Alexander Hamilton. A strong case can be made that Hamilton was no friend of the kind of constitutionalism presented here. He was certainly no friend of federalism. And he was often keen to dismiss those he disagreed with as corrupt and parochial, getting in the way of the pure vision he had for America’s future. While Levin puts a favorable spin on Hamilton’s appreciation for “energy in the executive,” his activity in the 1790s can certainly be seen as grasping—as far as could be grasped amidst a people jealous of their liberties—for a transformative politics of unified vision and unified control. Hamilton is just one such example—the broader point is that early America likely had more devotees of a certain kind of “integralist” politics than the book’s presentation suggests.

Second, Levin relies extremely heavily on James Madison as his guide, such that it sometimes comes across as if the Constitution were Madison’s own personal project—very carefully and intentionally designed to achieve these particular aims. I, too, rather like Madison (though I prefer Version 2.0 of the 1790s). But I think it is a mistake to treat the Constitution as primarily his handiwork. As Levin acknowledges from time to time, Madison was denied by the constitutional convention many elements of the Constitution he thought were extremely important. And many of the features he famously defended in The Federalist were ones we would not have today if delegate Madison had gotten his way in Philadelphia. Madison’s contribution in The Federalist was in identifying and displaying the unplanned merits—the latent wisdom—of the system that emerged from political practice. The Constitution was not only a framework that allows for and encourages compromise and conciliation. It was also a product of them.

I bring up these historical points only because they may have implications for the present. One question that is almost sure to arise from readers of American Covenant is the proper path for recovery. Levin does not have a complete answer to that; nor do I; nor does anyone. But in making the case for constitutionalism, it may be important to recognize that the opposing tendencies—toward a constitutional politics and an “integralist one”—both have deep roots in the United States and in all modern states. The distinction is not simply one of conservatives versus progressives, and the case can’t be made just by rhetorically elevating one particular group or time period over another.

And as we make that case, it may also be encouraging to realize that, like the Constitution’s initial establishment, we do not need a rare Great Mind to lead us out of our confusion. That amidst clashing interests, limited mindsets, and extremists on all sides, it may be possible—as opportunities arise—to find a consensus of the reasonable around constitutional limits if we can demonstrate the benefits that they offer for all of us here and now. And that is precisely what Levin does exceptionally well.

Our constitutional order has been broken down for some time. American Covenant can help us get serious about repair.