Day: June 19, 2025

William F. Buckley defined the conservative movement in America. For decades now, friends and critics alike have been anxiously awaiting Sam Tanenhaus’s massive, authorized biography, which has sharply divided readers. Buckley was a complicated man, and this is a complicated book. Senior Writer Richard Reinsch and Contributing Editor John O. McGinnis offer their takes on this major new publication.

The art of biography from Plutarch onwards shows how character is destiny. And superb books in the genre show how that character was shaped by upbringing and environment. In this respect, Sam Tanenhaus’s Buckley: The Life and the Revolution That Changed America is magnificent. Tanenhaus shows in detail “how everything Buckley learned and everything he became began at home.”

A middle child in a pack of ten, he had to become a performer from the start simply to be heard over his siblings. In such an articulate and rambunctious family, the young Buckley cultivated his innate talents for listening and then responding with witty repartee. From a father who was a wildcatter, as often on the cusp of bankruptcy as of great wealth, he inherited a risk-taking, almost swashbuckling, persona. Even his famous transatlantic accent was not a later life affectation but a holdover from his formative years at a British boarding school, one of the many stops in a meandering journey of early learning.

And most of all, he grew up a cradle conservative. While his family’s principal residence was in Connecticut, his parents were emphatically not Yankees. His father was the son of a Texas sheriff, and his mother the daughter of a Louisianian cotton broker. His father hated the New Deal, and the Buckley children competed to improve on their father’s denunciations. Thus, when Buckley arrived at Yale, he had the preparation and confidence to astonish his classmates by making powerful arguments against his liberal professors on politically and economically contentious topics. But despite his verbal facility, Buckley did not become a scholar. He absorbed ideas quickly in conversation but rarely pursued their depths through sustained study. What made him the biggest man on campus was the brio of his chairmanship of the Yale Daily News, not the originality of his academic contributions.

This background prepared him for what he became—the greatest controversialist in the nation and the broker of the most important political movement of his time, transforming conservatism from a moribund and reactionary philosophy to an effective ideology of governance. Tanenhaus is at his best in describing the sheer improbability of the achievement. Republicans had enjoyed substantial success in electing Eisenhower, a Republican, but not a man of the right, because he had made his peace with the New Deal. But Buckley recognized this kind of Republicanism would merely prove an interregnum between eras of increasing liberalism. The right needed to argue for a fundamentally distinct set of principles, not merely slow the implementation of the consensus liberalism of the time.

Just as his father had the confidence to drill where there was no assurance of striking oil, Buckley was willing to set up National Review as a conservative magazine of opinion where there was a likelihood of failure. He assembled a group of writers that encompassed the entire spectrum of conservative opinion from traditionalist Russell Kirk to fusionist Frank Meyer to the ex-Marxist, anticommunist dialectician James Burnham. These were a cacophony of voices, but Buckley here, too, was a good listener, allowing each to make his case in the magazine and making a politically astute synthesis of his own. Buckley’s empathetic nature enabled the kind of open tent that modern conservatism required if it was to corral different factions to create an effective movement.

But Buckley also recognized that he needed to police the boundaries of conservatism, keeping out the crazies and extremists. Tanenhaus shows how he outmaneuvered Joseph Welch and the John Birch Society, exiling them from the respectable right. Much later, he would do the same to its strand that threatened to be antisemitic, represented by the mercurial Joseph Sobran.

He was also willing to put his money where his mouth was. Journals of opinions are notorious financial sinkholes. And thus, Buckley needed to first support National Review with family resources and then with speaking engagement fees. But no political magazine has ever earned such a good return on investment.

As Buckley made conservatism a vibrant intellectual force, it attracted a new generation who had tired of consensus liberalism. While much of the literature on the 1960s has focused on the SDS and other left rebels, Buckley midwifed the Young Americans for Freedom, who set forth their charter at his estate. His brother-in-law and fellow NR contributor, Brent Brozell, ghostwrote Barry Goldwater’s Conscience of a Conservative, the book which propelled him to the 1964 Republican presidential nomination. Goldwater lost the election in a landslide but made Republicans, for the first time in a generation, an indisputably conservative party. Tanenhaus rightly credits Buckley as the single most important architect of conservatism’s twentieth-century revival.

In the face of disagreement with other conservatives, including many at NR, Buckley backed Nixon in 1968. This move was a matter of calculation: he did not believe the newly elected Governor Ronald Reagan was ready to be a successful national candidate. Buckley’s pragmatic dictum to support the most electable conservative candidate (surprisingly not quoted by Tanenhaus) was decisive here. When Nixon was elected, Buckley enjoyed substantial influence: Nixon needed him to protect his right flank. Tanenhaus shrewdly contrasts his ready access with the more standoffish treatment he received in the Reagan administration. Reagan did not need the magazine’s protection and may have been annoyed by National Review’s announcement on his election that “we now have a country to run.” Reagan was a far shrewder and more calculating politician than most observers ever realized.

For all his successes, Buckley had his limitations. Tanenhaus is correct that he was not an original “thinker, still less a theorist.” But a complex society enjoys a division of intellectual as well as physical labor. Men like Friedrich Hayek were deep thinkers, but they were not great controversialists. Milton Friedman was both, but he did not have the encompassing vision and charisma to renew and hold together a political movement.

Buckley was also late in embracing equal rights for African Americans. This flaw, too, stemmed from his upbringing. His parents were Southern paternalists when it came to race. They treated their black servants so well that descendants of those servants had tears in their eyes when they described the family’s kindnesses. But they also secretly funded a newspaper in their second residence of Camden, South Carolina, that championed white resistance to desegregation. Though one of the great debaters of his time, Buckley’s blind spot on race caused him to lose his most famous encounter, his debate with James Baldwin at the Cambridge Union. He came across as wholly without compassion to the degradations that African Americans had suffered as a group. But in time, he changed his views on the color line, welcoming and jousting with black radicals like Eldridge Cleaver and Jesse Jackson on his talk show, Firing Line, just as he did with other leftists.

More troubling is the evidence that Buckley’s risk-taking sometimes morphed into recklessness. He loved sailing but took unnecessary risks, resulting in two major insurance losses and a costly lawsuit after a man was lost overboard. He was sanctioned by the SEC for his manipulation of the radio company of which he was the dominant shareholder.

The book is full of revelations. While the popular image is that Buckley was rich because of his family’s money, that fortune rapidly dwindled. His wealth had in fact two sources. His wife inherited about $30 million, measured in today’s dollars. (Tanenhaus should have translated such past sums into present value. Because of inflation, the numbers he quotes are misleadingly small.) Every year, Buckley himself earned enormous sums—over $5 million a year from Firing Line and ample royalties from his books. He was the only author of his time whose fiction and non-fiction were regular bestsellers.

Tanenhaus also shows that Buckley knew about the origins of the Watergate break-in even earlier than Woodward and Bernstein. His friend from CIA days, Howard Hunt, had organized the burglary and, distraught after the death of his wife in a plane crash, confessed much of it to him. Tanenhaus is extremely critical of Buckley for his silence, thinking it a violation of professional ethics, perhaps even the law, to withhold this information. But Buckley was concerned about Hunt’s troubled children. His Catholic faith made his role as a godfather paramount.

Even a great biography, like a great man, has its flaws. Tanenhaus is a liberal, sometimes out of his depth or out of sorts in addressing conservatism. For instance, he argues that Buckley and National Review argued against civil rights by invoking John C. Calhoun, whom he characterizes as simply trying to protect the rights of minority slaveowners. But this analysis flattens the theories of Calhoun. To be sure, he was a defender of slavery, but his defense of minorities more generally, as John Stuart Mill recognized, made him one of America’s most distinguished political theorists. Tanenhaus faults Buckley for failing to have assimilated great works of political theory, but he himself shows no evidence of having read Calhoun’s Disquisition on Government. He also trots out the tired cliché of conservatism creating a New Gilded Age without analysis of the prosperity it helped bring to middle America and, through free trade, to many of the world’s wretchedly poor.

The book also feels rushed at the end. After the Reagan administration, we hear little of Buckley’s political analysis or ideas, despite his continuing to write a widely read column until his death in 2008 and appearing on Firing Line until 1999. Tanenhaus skates especially lightly over the succession crises at National Review—the magazine that Buckley recognized was his great legacy to the nation and conservatives. Like many company founders, he anointed heirs and then found them wanting. While Buckley got along famously with conservative titans like Burnham and Meyer in the early days, he could not find a replica for himself.

And Tanenhaus almost completely ignores his personal life. Chris Buckley’s Losing Mum and Pup provides evidence of complex, contentious, yet loving and loyal relations between husband and wife and father and son. Perhaps Tanenhaus sees Buckley the husband and father as irrelevant to Buckley the conservative revolutionary, but public and private selves are rarely so neatly severed.

Yet this biography unfurls a remarkable canvas. It is, at once, a vivid portrait of a singular man, skilled in all ways of contending, and of the broad sail by which he caught the prevailing winds to steer his nation on a new course.

Conservatives have been waiting for Sam Tanenhaus’s official biography of William F. Buckley Jr. for too long. Twenty-seven years, to be precise. The last line of text in the acknowledgments on page 868 quotes Buckley shortly before his death, “I know I won’t see my biography.” So much procrastination and delay on the part of the author indicate a divided mind and an inability to focus on the project. Things change over 27 years, including authors, potential audiences, and even the public memory of a figure like Buckley. This disappointed reader must ask: Does the biography give us Buckley, or rather, a disconnected series of reflections about who the American liberal mind needs Buckley to be?

Buckley: The Life and the Revolution That Changed America is a work of immense research and thorough study, replete with archival work, oral interviews, and an exhaustive examination of the subject’s life and career at every turn. Tanenhaus had untrammeled access to Buckley’s personal papers and calendar, and other materials. He presents a picture of the man enmeshed in a complex web of cultural, familial, educational, social, political, and interpersonal contexts. In certain respects, the reader now possesses more of Buckley than perhaps was wanted, or that even most closely informs what Buckley believed was his life’s mission. Almost no stone is left unturned in Buckley’s parents’ and siblings’ lives either.

One of the problems is that the book is not proportional to Buckley’s life. In a tome of almost 1,000 pages, fewer than 100 are devoted to the momentous period in Buckley’s life and the conservative movement, ranging from Reagan’s election to the presidency in 1980 to Buckley’s death in 2008. The one thing most needful is lacking, that is, an appreciation and evaluation of the precise contours of the Revolution that the author identifies in the subtitle as Buckley’s chief contribution to American life. What was this revolution? On that crucial topic, Tanenhaus seems reluctant to offer an opinion.

Since Tanenhaus took decades to write the book, one must take note of the significant shift in the American Left over the last few decades. Did this change in left-liberalism influence the biography that Tanenhaus ended up writing? The Left in America has moved from existing as a relatively benign force routed by conservative victories in the 1980s and 1990s and therefore content to manage the welfare state, keep tax rates reasonable, and ensure stable economic growth, to becoming a revolutionary force incapable of affirming American citizenship, race-neutral policies, or even articulating the biological differences between men and women. Race and plasticized gender became its calling cards, weapons wielded to fashion an America in the image of egalitarian humanism. Crucial political, educational, and cultural institutions, most crucial to constitutional democracy, have been locked into racial stories, struggle sessions, or patriarchal oppression plays. Because the book is rooted in race, family, culture, and historical sweep as opposed to the distinct presentation of Buckley’s ideas, it is not an easy question to dismiss. Did a similar movement permeate the mind of Sam Tanenhaus?

Historically, conservative readers loved Tanenhaus’s magnificent 1997 biography of Whittaker Chambers, which became a finalist for the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize. A former editor of The New York Times Book Review and a liberal in good standing with the ideology’s professional accreditation unit, Tanenhaus, while researching the book, had reevaluated many of his convictions about anti-communism and the somewhat dismissive or complacent attitudes that liberals had long held regarding communist infiltration into the federal government during the New Deal and World War II. In the biography’s thorough examination of Chambers’s sources and files, he came to know the truth and realized that Chambers had told the truth about the espionage accusations against Alger Hiss, and much more besides. The strength of this biography, plus the favorable opinion of his son, Christopher, convinced Buckley that Tanenhaus should write his biography.

In 2009, Tanenhaus authored The Death of Conservatism, a post-George W. Bush-inflected account of how movement conservatism was spent. The book’s thesis was that conservatives had held power and brought the country to the brink of domestic and international ruin. (He also hubristically argued that conservatism should only serve as a modest corrective to ascendant liberalism and not a real alternative.) It now fell to the Obama presidency to rearticulate America’s meaning and purpose in a second New Deal policy matrix. Ironically, six months into Obama’s term, the Tea Party emerged, and the Obama presidency, following a pyrrhic victory on healthcare, was reduced to administrative state machinations. Tanenhaus had fallen in love indiscriminately with a moment in time and was badly exposed, having opened himself to being attacked by reality checks.

A few years later, Tanenhaus penned an essay asserting that American conservatism was one long footnote to the concurrent majority thesis of former vice president and political theorist John Calhoun. In his works of political theory, Calhoun conceived of additional limits on the Constitution’s requirements for passing legislation in order to further protect certain minority interests, including those of slaveowners. In arguing that conservatism should only be understood in a Calhounite context, Tanenhaus was saying that the effectual truth of conservatism in America is that it is a heretical, ahistorical, and cloaked attempt to grab rights and liberties for various subgroups like greedy corporations, racists, and religious fanatics by exploiting supermajority requirements in the federal government’s constitutional architecture. Tanenhaus’ message: The country would be better off without it. And Tanenhaus was already not so subtly playing the race card.

These points are worth mentioning, not merely to criticize Tanenhaus, but because they provide the background for understanding a book about a man of ideas, politics, and high culture who is reduced in many respects to the mere product of family and historical circumstances. In short, Tanenhaus seems fundamentally incapable of grasping that conservatives believe that ideas have consequences, that they take shape through the interaction of men’s minds with reality, nature, and God, and that we can articulate a philosophical foundation for American constitutionalism and the morality that underpins it. Tanenhaus, as a good American liberal, bows, however “moderately,” before the altars of class, race, and gender. These become the deft arrows he repeatedly shoots into Buckley’s oeuvre, rendering it a corpse instead of a foundational work capable of intelligently guiding future efforts.

In this biography, Buckley’s revolution remains undefined, not because of Buckley’s inability to limn its definition but because of Tanenhaus’s intellectual limits. The book opens oddly with an epigraph from Marcel Proust’s Swann’s Way:

Facts do not penetrate the sphere in which our beliefs are cherished. They did not engender those beliefs and are powerless to destroy them. They can inflict on them continual blows of contradiction and disproof without weakening them. And an avalanche of miseries and maladies succeeding one another without interruption in the life of a family will not make it doubt either the benevolence of God or the competence of its physician.

From that opening encounter, the discerning reader knows that this biography is not just about Buckley but also about Tanenhaus and his intellectual prejudices. And what of the line about family never doubting or seeking a physician, refusing to seek any other source of wisdom? Did Buckley not let facts intrude upon his thinking and action? Should we only understand Buckley within the context of his family? Tanenhaus’s words diminish Buckley—the man who lived a life arguing, writing, speaking, interviewing, and attempting to rebuild the principles of faith, freedom, patriotism, and a commitment to the highest ideals of western civilization—to a figure ultimately lost in impenetrable prejudices and belief structures that remained impervious to the finer points of emergent reason and logic.

Praised and read by Ronald Reagan, Margaret Thatcher, Barry Goldwater, Henry Kissinger, among other leading statesmen of his day, a man who founded National Review in 1955, whose thousands of syndicated columns and essays, numerous books and novels, and years of his famous PBS Firing Line program elevated the status of American discourse and made conservative thought a non-negotiable force in American life is ultimately sealed within his time, incapable of being a living presence to future thinkers and political actors. Nonetheless, Tanenhaus does praise Buckley at the end, adding: In his death, many gathered “in affectionate remembrance of one it seemed natural to speak of as a great man.” He had been “the country’s greatest conservative,” and “left a vacuum no one since has been able to fill.” But this is all too little and too late.

The book is organized mostly along chronological lines. It begins with William F. Buckley Sr. and his ill-fated attempt to build an oil empire in late nineteenth and early twentieth-century Mexico. He succeeded, only to have the socialist revolution confiscate his business, leaving him with almost nothing. Determined to strike again, he successfully did—this time in Venezuela. The family was Southern and devotedly Catholic, with Buckley Sr. from the border region of Texas and his wife, Aloise Sterner, from a New Orleans family. They would have eleven children, with Bill Buckley as the fourth child. They split time between an imposing estate, “Great Elm,” in Sharon, Connecticut, and “Kamschatka,” a restored plantation in Camden, South Carolina.

Tanenhaus repeatedly reminds the reader of the father’s antisemitism, and his less-than-enlightened attitude about race and equality for blacks. He does note that the Buckley family’s attitude was also characterized by Christian charity, although this charity did not fully extend to advocating for civil rights and full legal equality. To his credit, Tanenhaus quotes Edward Allen, a former black servant in the Buckleys’ South Carolina home, who observed the decency and warmth of the family, including Buckley Sr., towards its mostly black servants. Allen noted that a white man once attempted, right in front of his father, to take his father’s job as a groundskeeper at Kamschatka. Buckley Sr. responded forcefully, “I wouldn’t hire ten of you.” Telling the man, “Get off my place.” Years later, after the Buckleys had sold Kamschatka, Allen, by then in his eighties, said that he remembered the Buckleys well. Sometimes he said he strolled past their home, and “every time, I look up to the heavens and thank God for the Buckleys.”

Seemingly, Tanenhaus’s overall purpose in writing this part is to link Buckley, National Review, and conservatism within a web of Southern racism. He spends entire chapters detailing race and the Buckleys. He reveals, for instance, that Buckley Sr. encountered and approved of the earliest manifestation of the infamous “Southern Strategy,” (at the time, a Republican electoral strategy meant to increase votes among the white electorate by stirring up racial anxiety about social change) and one that the family knew from its connection to South Carolina Senator Strom Thurmond who ran on the “Dixiecrat” ticket in 1948. Quoting Buckley’s father as saying in 1949, “I can’t exaggerate the interest in the East in a combination between dissident Southern Democrats and the Republicans,” Tanenhaus proposes that much of the opposition in the South to the New Deal and its economic program was rooted in racism, and the fear that the regulatory power of the government would lead to integrated workplaces and greater economic equality for blacks. In short, the through line for Tanenhaus, as it is for most liberal observers, is that the Southern Strategy and its incipient racism drove conservative politics to the present day, and helped create Goldwater, Wallace, Nixon, and Reagan, with Buckley riding the wave.

Tanenhaus notes that Buckley made racialist comments about blacks and intelligence at his prep school, Millbrook Academy, in the 1930s. He apparently opposed an interracial dance as an undergraduate in the 1950s at Yale, but supported the social event. Tanenhaus reminds us that National Review originally did not support civil rights legislation, although its stance would change as later thinkers, such as Harry Jaffa and Charles Kesler, among others, influenced the publication. Willmoore Kendall, Buckley’s academic mentor at Yale and a legendary early editor of National Review, also reversed his position. Tanenhaus does mention that Buckley later regretted and admitted fault for opposing the Civil Rights Act, but is unable to resist the temptation to add (his own personal view) that some of Buckley’s famous editorials on race and the South, most prominently “Why the South Must Prevail,” continue to make it difficult for many to take conservatism as a set of ideas not informed by racial animus. Really?

Tanenhaus goes too far here and fails to recognize how Buckley and the larger conservative movement he led became a salutary force on this issue, right up to the Supreme Court’s 2023 decision in Harvard v. Students for Fair Admissions, where the Court ruled that affirmative action violated the Constitution and the Civil Rights Act. Liberals on the Court, in the academy, and from their various cultural perches denounced the decision. Dividing people up by race has become their core ideological position. Conservatives repaired to the Declaration to recover truthful thinking on race, while liberals further uncovered their progressive ideology rooted in group rights, collectivism, and the rejection of the American Founding’s constitutional principles. The results speak for themselves. Tanenhaus can’t even bring himself to admit this. He approaches race and racism in a hopelessly Manichean way.

Buckley apologized and changed his mind about the issue. Conservatism itself would become the only significant force in American politics advocating for a color-blind constitution. But it’s not enough for Tanenhaus. The undertone of the book is that Buckleyite conservatism and racial discrimination are as thick as the morning dew on the South Carolina grass.

Another driving impetus of Buckley’s conservatism, Tanenhaus opines, was the “America First” antiwar movement led by Charles Lindbergh. The Buckley family rapturously followed Lindbergh, until Pearl Harbor. They were opposed to America entering the war and assisting the British. They believed that involvement in Europe’s war would lead to grave ills at home. Buckley followed his father’s lead, of course, and he was in prep school for most of this period. He later served as an officer in the Army, but never saw combat or left the United States. Tanenhaus’s rooting of Buckley’s conservatism in the America First movement seems a strange choice, completely belied by a deeper consideration of the ideas and the actions Buckley took after World War II.

While Buckley and his entire family were a part of the Lindbergh movement, so were many others in America. It was not an exotic position. That tune changed dramatically for everyone when Japan attacked Pearl Harbor. Moreover, far from isolationist politics, what Buckley expressed after the war, when the Soviet Union rose in opposition to the US, was a belief that America must defeat its communist foe. He believed in the rollback of communism globally. Tanenhaus documents at length Buckley’s defense of the principles behind Senator Joseph McCarthy’s anticommunist pressure campaign, which he expressed in a 1954 book, McCarthy and His Enemies, jointly authored with his close lifelong friend, Brent Bozell Jr. (who was also his brother-in-law, married to his sister, Patricia Buckley). Both Buckley and Bozell were more supportive of the galvanizing anticommunist thrust of McCarthy’s program rather than his tactics and bruising personality.

There seems to be little here linking pre-World War II America First-ism with the postwar conservative movement that Buckley brought into being. Buckley closely hewed to the counsel of former New York University professor and famous public intellectual James Burnham, who was National Review’s chief foreign policy theorist. Both favored “psyop” campaigns against communists and domestic sympathizers to create the right images in people’s minds of what they were fighting against during the Cold War. Opposition to communism was one piece of glue uniting figures as diverse as Milton Friedman, Russell Kirk, and Frank Meyer, with Buckley the winsome leader of it all.

What we hear even less of in the book is Buckley’s opposition to the real revolution within the nation, that of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s election in 1932 and his dramatic expansion of government, dismissal of separation of powers, blurring of the lines between government and business, and the creation of a welfare state in America. The opposition to the principles undergirding this progressive constitutional and economic project was the other main source of unity for the disparate band of libertarians, anticommunists, classical liberals, and religious and cultural conservatives that Buckley assembled in the pages of National Review. This practical fusion of thinkers, forged in anticommunist fervor and the need to roll back domestic power in the federal government, is crucial to understanding Buckley’s legacy. Its reason for existing was not in racism or America First-ism, but in a collection of ideas, principles, and actions that loosely cohered intellectually and were forged together in the fires of national political combat.

Tanenhaus faults Buckley repeatedly for failing to write a theoretical conservative treatment that could stand the test of time, and seems to use this to relieve himself of any serious appraisal of the principles at stake in the conservative revolution. While Buckley attempted to do so, writing a few chapters in a book that would have been titled The Revolt Against the Masses, it wasn’t Buckley’s comparative advantage. As most readers know, the conservative movement has never really been at a loss for theorists. Their names and books are well known and remain worthy of study and reflection. If we are in doubt about Buckley’s principles, perhaps this statement from Up from Liberalism (1959) offers guidance: “freedom, individuality, the sense of community, the sanctity of the family, the supremacy of conscience,” and “the spiritual view of life.” These pillars come into full view when “political power is decentralized.”

The liberal mind can easily relativize and dismiss the quote above, but for Buckley, each term is thick with theological, philosophical, anthropological, and constitutional content. In various ways and with different emphases, Buckley would draw on these pillars throughout his career. Conservatism is not an ideology or a rigid interlocking program of action with coin-in-the-slot answers, but is rather the attempt to preserve the Good, that which is bigger than man’s will or the momentary interests of a group or generation. “Each age must find its own language to represent an eternal meaning,” Whittaker Chambers poignantly stated. This definition, offered by one of Buckley’s closest friends and confidantes, one that Buckley admired, represents conservatism at its best. To pretend as Tanenhaus does that “in his time, as in our own, no one really could say what American conservatism was or ought to be. Buckley himself repeatedly tried to and at last gave up” is to avoid the evidence and the seriousness of thought and purpose that a man like Buckley put into a lifetime of forging the American conservative movement. It is both wrong and ungenerous.

The supremacy of conscience and the spiritual view of life were the most important principles of Buckley’s life, emanating as they do from his profound Roman Catholicism. Tanenhaus never really considers Buckley’s faith, a faith that directed his life in full. What kind of biography misses the essence of its subject? Perhaps Buckley’s attempt to fully integrate his life with the teachings of Christianity is a bridge too far for a secular liberal to grasp, much less analyze. Buckley even wrote a book about his Catholic faith, Nearer, My God, the contents of which are barely mentioned, though it traces back to his familial origins. Strange, then, that Tanenhaus wouldn’t evaluate it.

Sharper bones must be picked here at the end. Included in a book meant to be about William Buckley’s conservative revolution, inexplicably, Tanenhaus repeats the rumor that William Rusher, an early publisher of National Review, was gay, and avers that Buckley was considered by peers and enemies to exhibit gay attitudes and tendencies despite his opposition to homosexuality. All without a scintilla of hard evidence produced to support these insinuations. This calumny seems out of place and indicates a lack of sophistication when writing about a man and his family who were equally at ease in New York’s high society or the smoke-filled rooms of political discussion.

This book will come to be seen by many as the final word on the life of William F. Buckley Jr. It should not. In the end, it is dishonest, ungenerous, and unworthy of its subject.

Win or lose, the 2024-25 Indiana Pacers are something special. After an undistinguished start to the season, they were the fourth-best team in the National Basketball Association, amassing a regular season record of 34-14 since the start of the year. In the playoffs, after defeating underdog Milwaukee, they beat the odds and defeated heavily favored Cleveland and New York. As of this writing, they have taken two games from one of the teams most heavily favored to win the championship in decades, the Oklahoma City Thunder. And in so doing, they have exemplified key features of classical liberalism.

In the best sense of the word, they are an individualistic team. That doesn’t mean that every player is thinking about himself, but rather that everyone on the roster is a unique threat, and it is common for a different player to shine in each game. The players themselves bring distinctive sets of abilities to the court, and the Pacers thrive not by making each player fit into a mold but by allowing each to remain true to his identity. The team is one of the most hyperkinetic in the league, which means that each player on the floor needs to work hard the whole time. And the coaching staff, led by Rick Carlisle, encourages each player to do what he judges best in the moment, while owning his choices.

The Pacers embody many of the principles of one of the greatest coaches in any sport, fellow Hoosier John Wooden, the first person to be inducted into the basketball Hall of Fame as both a player and a coach. Wooden’s classic championship teams varied dramatically from one another, as did their winning strategies. His first championship team was also his shortest, with no players taller than 6 feet 5 inches. Yet they went 30-0 because each player knew how to “play tall,” intimidating opponents with a full-court press. Yet Wooden could also win with teams built around big men such as Lew Alcindor.

To watch the Pacers play is to behold freedom and autonomy in action. The players are unpredictable, creative, and always improvising. Instead of implementing a top-down plan, they focus on adapting moment to moment to opposing players. This often renders the game exhilarating, the ball moving up and down and around the court at breakneck speed. Offense and defense meld into one another with nearly unprecedented fluidity. Whether the players get the ball on a rebound, turnover, or score, it often reaches the opposite end of the court in just seconds.

Wooden trusted his players to exercise their judgment in the moment. Never was he seen diagramming a play on the sidelines. The winner of twice as many men’s national collegiate championships as his closest competitor—10—he delighted in challenging his much younger, fitter players to beat him in a race down the court. When they took off sprinting, Wooden would throw the ball to the opposite end, a lesson the Pacers have learned well. Likewise, when it comes to improvisation, Wooden often said that he hoped to be as surprised by what his players did on the court as the opposing coach.

The Pacers also embody equality of opportunity. It is not uncommon for more than five players to finish the game having scored in double digits, and their approach is balanced in an unusual way. They are not afraid to let a player or two shine, but the player in the limelight typically changes from game to game. There is no star that the rest of the team consistently relies on to pull them through. Each player is free to work his magic on the court on both offense and defense, and stymying opponents’ attempts to drive, stealing the ball, and blocking shots on defense is as highly prized as a hot hand.

During the regular season, seven Pacers averaged at least 10 points per game, and in the playoffs, the difficulty they present to opposing teams has been likened to a game of Whac-a-Mole. If the defense tries to key on one player, they seamlessly shift the ball to others, and when things are going well, their play resembles poetry in motion. They can drive the lane for a layup and then suddenly rocket the ball to a player on the perimeter, turning two points into three. A player who has an off night one game can come back and score 30 or more points the next.

Again, there are echoes of Wooden. During after-game press conferences, Wooden typically devoted considerably more attention to the squad’s unsung heroes than superstars such as Bill Walton. Most spectators saw what was happening only during game time, but Wooden took into account the many hours of conditioning, drills, and scrimmages that went into preparing each player to perform at his best. Wooden knew that his players had been prepared to excel, and only someone actually on the court could adapt quickly enough to the continuously evolving flow of the game.

In essence, the Pacers feel like more of a team than most NBA teams, precisely because they function more collaboratively. They embody one of Wooden’s favorite sayings, that the player who makes the team great is better than a great player. The Pacers often play 10 or 12 players per game, and their bench usually contributes far more points than their opponents’ bench. Players come and go, but the rapid flow of the Pacers’ game continues unabated, literally taking the breath away from many opposing players, who often begin to look winded well before the final buzzer sounds.

The Pacers also persevere, embodying the Churchillian directive, “Never give in. Never. Never. Never. Never.” Their tenacious defense forces opponents out of their comfort zone, and their rapid ball and player movement make it difficult for opponents to keep track of who they are supposed to be guarding. Their strong, Wooden-esque work ethic shines through as they apply full-court pressure throughout a game, ensuring that nothing comes easy for the opposing team. They stay with it right up to the end, and like Wooden’s teams, they often win in the last minutes or even seconds, after trailing most of the game.

In an Eastern Conference quarterfinals game, they rallied from a 7-point deficit in overtime to defeat the Bucks, when their odds of winning were approximately 2 percent. In game 2 of the semifinals, they staged a comeback and took the lead with only seconds to go. In an Eastern Conference finals game, they overcame a 14-point deficit to win in overtime, nearly triumphing in regulation except for the fact that a player’s foot was slightly over the three-point line. And in game 1 versus the Thunder, they rallied from a 15-point deficit to win with just 0.3 seconds on the clock. They don’t give in.

Wooden loved to say that failure is not fatal, but the failure to change might be. The Pacers are continuously changing, like a successful entrepreneur adapting to changing market conditions, except at a much faster rate. They are like the Greek mythological figure of Proteus, shifting their shape in ways that make it impossible for opponents to get a grip. The main ingredient of stardom, Wooden said, is the rest of the team, a truth that the Pacers embody to as great an extent as any team in history. They are—as any lover of freedom and responsibility cannot fail to see—liberty in motion.

The average American life expectancy is now about 77.5 years, following a recent dip after the COVID pandemic savagely attacked America’s elderly. Life expectancy has been steadily rising in most countries throughout the world, but especially in the developed world. While living to 90 was once a pretty big deal and living past 100 was virtually unheard of outside of Japan, it is now more common and will become even more so in the coming years. Advances in medical technology, pharmaceuticals, molecular sciences, and even nutrition and diets are reshaping the process of aging in our lifetimes. We still can’t beat death, and aging has health consequences, but we are pushing the boundaries and living longer and better lives.

There are corresponding changes in what old age is, and what living older is like. As our lives extend and the quality of our lives continues to improve, there are shifts in our understanding of a normal life cycle: how long we should work, when we should start families, how long individuals can live independently, and what the age thresholds should be for Social Security and Medicare.

As birth rates decline globally, the cost of having children continues to increase, and families wait longer to have children, we will be forced to rethink aging. Our workforce will be grayer, retirements will need to be pushed back, and we will have to accept leaders in all walks of life who are much older than previous generations would have accepted. Since the elderly have more economic power and vote with greater frequency, we can expect our political classes to gray. But this is not a simple transition, because aging still means the prospect of diminished capacity, energy, and ability.

In fact, we just recently had a stark contrast between two widely known, older public figures who served in very prominent leadership roles but with now very different legacies that illustrate some difficult decisions we will be forced to make about the place of the elderly in America. At the ripe old age of 94, Warren Buffett, the greatest investor of all time, recently announced to a stunned audience at the annual shareholder meeting for Berkshire Hathaway that he would be stepping down as CEO. The group sat silently after he told them the news and then erupted in appreciative applause for the billions in wealth he had created for his shareholders and society at large.

Buffett’s long-time partner, Charlie Munger, passed away at 99 just a year before the announcement, and the two of them had overseen an increase in Berkshire’s stock to the tune of 5,502,284 percent from 1960 (when Buffett took control of the company) to today. If you’d invested 100 dollars in the company in 1960, it would now be worth about 5.5 million. Their performance as investors is unmatched in the modern world. While everyone in the audience knew that eventually Buffett would have to step down, no one was clamoring for it. The surprise among the attendees reflected that.

Contrast this with the end of the Biden presidency as seen through the first of several upcoming books about the Weekend at Bernie’s nature of his term in office. Biden entered office as the oldest president ever (until 2024), and while there were vague concerns about his energy level and engagement, those were set aside in the wake of the mishandling of the COVID pandemic by the first Trump administration, and the fact that Biden was able to “campaign” in relative seclusion because of the pandemic policies of lockdowns and isolation. In short, America didn’t get a full picture of Biden physically or mentally, and voted retrospectively to reject Trump.

As more and more information becomes public, it’s increasingly clear that Biden had lost the physical and mental abilities to be president well before the 2024 election. A small group of advisors shielded him from the media and other political leaders. The media itself was complicit in the cover-up. Rather than questioning if the president was up for the job, coverage served to push a narrative of capacity and leadership that simply didn’t reflect reality.

In theory, the Constitution has been amended to deal with instances in which the president is incapacitated or unable to serve. After the assassination of President Kennedy, Congress began work on drafting an amendment to handle such an event. The Twenty-Fifth Amendment was passed in 1967, and there are two key elements to it. The first is known as Section 3. This part of the amendment allows the president to delegate his power to the vice president for a temporary period because he believes he will be unable to serve due to a medical procedure. Presidents Reagan, W. Bush, and Biden were among the presidents who have temporarily granted their VPs presidential powers for surgeries. There is also Section 4, which has never been used. Section 4 states that if the VP and Cabinet deem the president unable to serve, they must inform Congress, which must vote within 21 days to potentially strip the sitting president of the office if all agree he cannot adequately serve.

But neither Section 3 nor Section 4 is relevant for the Biden case. He clearly was beyond temporarily incapacitated, but the actions of his staff throughout the second part of his term completely precluded applying Section 4 as well. Would Vice President Harris and the Cabinet have agreed in 2023, after all of them were arguing vociferously that Biden was fit to serve, that in fact they’d been lying all along and he wasn’t? Would two-thirds of Congress, which would have necessitated a number of Democratic votes, have agreed? Absolutely not. Instead, Biden drifted into a gray zone, not unlike an older grandparent one sees at Thanksgiving or Christmas. He was someone who could still occasionally tell a good story, complain about refereeing during the holiday football game, and pleasantly share a meal; however, he certainly wasn’t someone you’d want with the nuclear codes or managing complex policy. 

In short, the Twenty-Fifth Amendment is a black and white, yes-or-no way to deal with a president in a coma or with an obvious medical condition. Since even Biden’s doctors were claiming he was “fit to serve,” the cause for invoking the Twenty-Fifth Amendment would have led to a national crisis and partisan war.

Buffett was a fully engaged leader of a company worth more than $355 billion. He was constantly being tested by the challenges that emerged from being in the market. If his acumen and abilities were slipping, his colleagues and investors would have been pressured by market forces to make changes. And certainly, politics is not something that can be phoned in. Presidents have myriad responsibilities, and the job famously grays the hair of the young men who have assumed the office in recent years. And yet if a president loses it mentally while in office, we have no reason to believe we have the institutional means to address it, because we just saw that the available safeguards failed. Those around Biden who were shielding him held onto power and ignored their responsibilities to the American republic, focusing instead on their own self-interest.

The architects of our political and social institutions have focused almost exclusively on preventing individuals who are too young from having a significant influence on policy and politics. The American Founders set a minimum age for being president, for example. Conservative thinkers have long valued experience and wisdom.

Perhaps the best-known example of this was Hayek’s suggestion that there should be an upper chamber of a legislature stocked with older leaders, for an extended term which would insulate it from political pressures. Hayek believed, we can now naively see, that older individuals would be more statesman-like, above the fray of petty political fights with the longer wisdom of age.

How much have our views changed about who is “old” and who isn’t? In Hayek’s three-volume work Law, Legislation and Liberty, he proposes a legislature in which all the entering members would be 45 years old and serve 15 years until they are sixty. The citizens who would elect them would also be 45 years old. The practical effect would be to allow each age cohort to have representation in the congress for 15 years. Hayek believed that after 60, we couldn’t count on legislators to govern effectively. While he didn’t have a maximum age per se, his thinking was that the older generation would pass the torch and stroll gracefully into the sunset.

Consider the number of individuals currently serving in our legislatures who would be disqualified under such a system. The average age of the US Senate today is now 64, and that’s actually down from the past few years, as older Senators have died and left office. Politicians are living longer and holding onto office longer. Chuck Grassley is 91. Would Mitch McConnell really be stepping aside were it not for obvious health issues? How long would Dianne Feinstein have served had the same circumstances forced her to announce her retirement before she died in office? We certainly don’t face a crisis of youth and inexperience in our political leadership. After Biden, the American electorate chose Donald Trump again, who began his term older than Biden was when he entered the Oval Office. Americans are choosing to stick with our geriatric rulers.

Since we don’t see any end to this trend, what are the alternatives? What should liberty-oriented individuals think about this? Many people reflexively point to term limits as a solution, and proposals for them were very popular in the late twentieth century. But as the public increasingly selects older office holders, are such ideas feasible or likely? It seems to me they are not.

I can envision several ideas that might help. The first would be a mandatory neurological assessment for any president, regardless of age. Alzheimer’s symptoms can begin to appear in individuals as young as 50. It seems highly prudent to demand that individuals who command the world’s largest military submit to a regular exam administered by a cross-section of leading physicians to prevent having an obviously compromised leader in the White House again. We also should require that the entirety of the president’s annual physical examination be made public, and presidents should be required to disclose any long-term conditions that might undermine their ability to lead. Finally, we could apply criminal penalties to those hiding those conditions in the White House staff or to the presidents themselves. At first glance, this may seem drastic, but it could also be necessary to prevent another repeat of the debacle of Biden’s family and staff carting him out in public for embarrassing episodes and then vociferously claiming he was vigorous and capable.

At some point, we are very likely to face another administration like the one we just endured, in which a clearly incapable, elderly, mentally compromised individual will be entrusted with the presidency. The Twenty-Fifth Amendment seems designed to deal with a crisis, not a slow decline in the cognitive ability of the president. Short of the above-mentioned institutional changes, we are facing the same questions about our presidents as we do about our aging parents and grandparents. Some of them voluntarily give up their car keys and move into senior living. Others do not. Some can make these choices with reasonable judgment, and some families have to convince their parents to change their lives.

Politicians are not angels, and the Founders knew this. They are ambitious, self-interested people, just like Warren Buffett. We can’t count on them wisely handing over power. We need both a more robust way to assess how our leaders are doing and a way to address when they are not up to the job. Otherwise, we may get another “Weekend at Biden’s” presidency, and the results may be even worse than the ones we are experiencing now.

Any opinions expressed are the author’s and do not necessarily reflect those of Liberty Fund.