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- Universal Child Care Benefit (UCCB, 2006; expanded 2015): Provided $100/month per child under 6 (later $160), plus $60/month for ages 6–17. This universal payment went to all families, delivering $1,200–$1,920 annually per young child to help with living or childcare costs—directly benefiting low-income households without means-testing stigma.
- Working Income Tax Benefit (WITB, 2007; precursor to Canada Workers Benefit): A refundable credit topping up earnings for low-wage workers (up to $1,000 for singles, $2,000 for families), reducing the “welfare wall” and making work more rewarding.
- Registered Disability Savings Plan (RDSP, 2008): Government matching grants up to 300% plus bonds up to $1,000/year for low-income families with disabled members.
- Tax-Free Savings Account (TFSA, 2009): Allowed tax-free growth and withdrawals, helping low-income Canadians build emergency savings.
- Children’s Fitness and Arts Tax Credits (2006–2014 expansions): Up to $500–$1,000 per child, made partially refundable for low-income families.
Other measures included enhanced GST/HST credits, public transit tax credits, caregiver credits, and increased funding for First Nations child welfare. These weren’t trickle-down theories—they were direct transfers and credits that disproportionately aided lower-income groups.Measurable Impact: Poverty and Low-Income Rates DeclinedStatistics Canada data corroborates the effectiveness of these policies:
- Child poverty under the Market Basket Measure (MBM, Canada’s official poverty line since 2018) showed improvement during the Harper years, with overall poverty at 14.5% in 2015 (the benchmark year for federal targets).
- Low-income rates using the after-tax Low Income Measure (LIM-AT) fell from around 13–14% in the mid-2000s to 11.2% by 2015.
- After-tax incomes for the bottom income quintile rose approximately 17% from 2006 to 2015, driven by tax cuts and benefits.
While poverty dropped more sharply after 2015 with the introduction of the Canada Child Benefit (which built on and reformed some Harper-era programs), the Harper government laid groundwork with direct supports that helped stabilize and reduce low-income rates amid the 2008 global recession.Why the Myth Persists—and Why It’s MisleadingCritics often prefer expansive government-run programs (e.g., national daycare) over direct cash to families, viewing the latter as insufficient.
- Original X thread and policy list: https://x.com/GreatBig_Sea/status/1982121517665137029
- Statistics Canada Dimensions of Poverty Hub (MBM and LIM trends): https://www.statcan.gc.ca/en/topics-start/poverty
- Government of Canada background on Harper-era family measures: https://www.canada.ca/en/news/archive/2015/07/today-parents-get-child-care-payments-harper-government-1003359.html
- Wikipedia summary of Universal Child Care Benefit (with sources): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canada_Child_Benefit
In the end, actions speak louder than slogans. The Harper record shows a commitment to practical support for low-income families—not indifference.
(TL;DR) – Burke’s Reflections on the Revolution in France warned that abstract ideals, once severed from tradition, devour the civilization that birthed them. Against the arrogance of rationalist utopia, Burke offers a philosophy of gratitude: reform through inheritance, freedom through reverence, and wisdom through time.
Edmund Burke (1729–1797), the Irish-born British statesman and philosopher, published Reflections on the Revolution in France in November 1790 as an open letter to a young Frenchman. Written before the Revolution’s worst excesses, the work is less a history than a prophetic warning against uprooting inherited institutions in the name of abstract rights.
At a time when Enlightenment rationalists sought to rebuild society from first principles, Burke defended the British constitution not as perfect but as the tested fruit of centuries of moral and political experience. Against the revolutionary attempt to remake society on metaphysical blueprints, he argued that true political wisdom rests in “prescription” (inheritance), “prejudice” (habitual virtue), and the moral imagination that clothes authority in reverence and restraint. Reflections thus became the founding text of modern conservatism, grounding politics in humility before the slow wisdom of civilization (Burke 1790, 29–55).
1. The Organic Constitution versus the Mechanical State
Burke likens a healthy commonwealth to a living organism whose parts grow together over time. The British settlement of 1688, which balanced liberty and order, exemplified reform through continuity—“a deliberate election of light and reason,” not a clean slate.
The French revolutionaries, by contrast, treated the state as a machine to be disassembled and reassembled according to geometric principles. They dissolved the nobility, confiscated Church lands, and issued assignats—paper money backed only by revolutionary will. Burke foresaw that such rationalist tinkering would require force to maintain: “The age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, economists, and calculators has succeeded.” The predictable end, he warned, would be military dictatorship—the logic of abstraction enforced by bayonets (Burke 1790, 56–92).
2. The Danger of Metaphysical Politics
The Revolution’s fatal error, Burke argued, was to govern by “the rights of man” divorced from the concrete rights of Englishmen, Frenchmen, or any particular people. These universal abstractions ignore circumstance, manners, and the “latent wisdom” embedded in custom.
When the revolutionaries dragged Queen Marie Antoinette from Versailles to Paris in October 1789, Burke saw not merely a political humiliation but a civilizational collapse: “I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult.” The queen, for him, symbolized a moral order that elevated society above brute appetite. Once such symbols are desecrated, civilization itself is imperiled (Burke 1790, 93–127).
3. Prescription, Prejudice, and the Moral Imagination
For Burke, rationality in politics is not the isolated reasoning of philosophers but the accumulated judgment of generations. “Prescription” gives legal and moral title to long possession; to overturn it is theft from the dead. “Prejudice,” far from being ignorance, is the pre-reflective moral instinct that makes virtue habitual—“rendering a man’s virtue his habit,” Burke wrote, “and not a series of unconnected acts.”
In his famous image of the “wardrobe of a moral imagination,” Burke insists that society requires splendid illusions—chivalry, ceremony, religion—to clothe power in dignity and soften human passions. Strip away these garments and you are left with naked force and the “swinish multitude.” Culture, in his view, is not ornament but armor for civilization (Burke 1790, 128–171).
4. Prophecy Fulfilled and the Path of Prudence
Events soon vindicated Burke’s warnings: the Reign of Terror, Napoleon’s rise, and the wars that consumed Europe. Yet Reflections is not an “I told you so” but a manual for political health. Burke accepts reform as necessary but insists that it must proceed “for the sake of preservation.” The statesman’s duty is to repair the vessel of society while it still sails, not to smash it in search of utopia.
Reverence for the past and distrust of untried theory are not cowardice but prudence—the recognition that civilization is a fragile inheritance, easily destroyed and seldom rebuilt (Burke 1790, 172–280).
5. Burke’s Enduring Lesson
Burke’s insight extends far beyond the French Revolution. His critique applies wherever abstract moralism seeks to erase inherited forms—whether through revolutionary ideology, technocratic social engineering, or the cultural purism of modern movements that prize purity over continuity. The temptation to rebuild society from scratch persists, but Burke reminds us that order is not manufactured; it is cultivated.
In an age still haunted by ideological utopias, Burke’s prudence is an act of intellectual piety: to love what we have inherited enough to reform it carefully, and to mistrust those who promise perfection by destruction.
References
Burke, Edmund. 1790. Reflections on the Revolution in France, and on the Proceedings in Certain Societies in London Relative to that Event. London: J. Dodsley.
Glossary of Key Terms
Assignats – Revolutionary paper currency secured on confiscated Church property; rapid depreciation fueled inflation.
Latent wisdom – Practical knowledge embedded in customs and institutions, inaccessible to abstract reason.
Moral imagination – The faculty that clothes abstract power in elevating symbols and sentiments.
Prejudice – Pre-reflective judgment formed by habit and tradition; for Burke, a source of social cohesion.
Prescription – Legal and moral title acquired through uninterrupted possession over time.
Swinish multitude – Derisive term for the populace once traditional restraints are removed.
Why do societies slide toward tyranny when they pursue utopia? (TL;DR)
The Scales of Society argues that the real divide in politics isn’t left versus right, but realism versus idealism. When truth yields to belief, coercion follows. From communism and fascism to modern moral crusades, history warns that abandoning objective reality tips civilization toward totalitarianism. The balance must be restored—anchored in realism, humility, and truth.
In the landscape of political philosophy, metaphors serve as intellectual scaffolding—structures that help us grasp dynamics too intricate for direct depiction. The familiar political compass, with its left–right and liberty–authority axes, sketches ideological positions but fails to reveal the deeper fracture driving modern polarization. A more illuminating image is that of a balance scale. Its crossbar represents philosophical realism—the recognition of an objective reality—while the suspended pans embody the idealist extremes of communism and fascism. This model captures not just polarization but the gravitational descent into totalitarianism that occurs when societies abandon reality for utopia.
The Core Divide: Realism vs. Idealism
Realism begins with the premise that reality exists independently of human will or perception. The wall remains whether one believes in it or not, and collision has consequences indifferent to ideology. This external order imposes limits: progress requires trade-offs, and perfection is impossible. The realist accepts these constraints, submitting theories to verification through evidence, reason, law, and experience. Responsibility and competence—not vision or zeal—earn authority.
Idealism inverts this relationship. It treats reality as a projection of consciousness, imperfect but malleable. If perception shapes the world, then changing minds can remake existence. Truth becomes what society collectively affirms. This impulse, when politicized, leads toward social constructivism and, inevitably, coercion: those who refuse to affirm the “truth” must be re-educated or silenced. A contemporary example can be seen in gender ideology, where subjective identity claims are enforced as social fact through compelled speech and institutional conformity. The point is not about gender per se but about the pattern: belief overriding biology through social pressure rather than persuasion.
The Platonic ideal—perfect, transcendent, and abstract—becomes the new absolute. The imperfect, tangible world must be reshaped until it conforms. Once utopia is imagined as possible, coercion becomes inevitable, for someone must ensure that all comply with the ideal.
The Scale and Its Balance
The realist crossbar allows for movement and balance. One may lean left toward egalitarianism, right toward hierarchy and tradition, or find equilibrium between the two. Disputes are adjudicated by verifiable standards: evidence, empirical data, or, for the religious, revelation interpreted through disciplined exegesis. Justice is blind, authority is earned, and failure prompts responsibility rather than revolution.
From that crossbar hang the chains leading to the pans—communism on the left, fascism on the right. Each represents idealism in a different costume. Descent is gradual, a shimmy downward from realism into partial idealism, then freefall into extremism. The pans have no centers: in a world of pure ideals, moderation cannot hold.
Communism imagines a belief-driven utopia—re-educate humanity into “species-being” beyond property or conflict, and paradise will emerge. Fascism demands obedience to a mythic hierarchy—sacrifice self for the community’s glory, and unity will prevail. Both subjugate reality to ideology: when facts resist, facts are crushed. From the perspective of either pan, the realist crossbar appears as the enemy’s support beam. Each seeks to destroy it, believing that only by breaking the balance can truth be realized.
Polarization and the Descent
As tension mounts, the scale begins to swing. Idealists radicalize when realism resists persuasion—utopia seems attainable but for “obstructionist” constraints. In frustration, anti-fascism justifies communism; anti-communism, fascism. The center thins as factions define themselves by opposition rather than truth. The political becomes existential: the other side must be destroyed, not debated. The mechanisms of verification—law, science, journalism, reasoned discourse—collapse under pressure. Force replaces evidence; propaganda replaces persuasion.
History confirms the pattern. The twentieth century saw communism outlast fascism, not because it was less violent but because it sold coercion through promises of emancipation. Fascism, with its naked appeal to dominance, exhausted itself; communism cloaked tyranny in moral idealism. Both ended in mass graves.
Left and Right: The Limits of Tolerance
The realism–idealism axis cuts deeper than the traditional left–right divide. The left tends toward anti-traditionalism and radical egalitarianism, seeking liberation through the dissolution of hierarchy and norm. The right inclines toward tradition and hierarchy, valuing stability and inherited order. Each contains wisdom and danger.
Tradition carries epistemological weight: customs that survive generations have proven utility—Chesterton’s fence stands until one understands why it was built. Yet tradition can ossify, defending arbitrariness or prejudice. Egalitarianism corrects injustice but becomes destructive when it denies the functional necessity of hierarchy. Even lobsters, as Jordan Peterson once observed, form dominance orders; structure is not oppression but biology. When hierarchy is treated as sin and equality as salvation, society drifts from realism into moral mythology.
The Peril of Idealism
Idealism’s danger is not merely its optimism but its refusal to recognize limits. When imagination detaches from reality, coercion rushes in to bridge the gap. The ideal cannot fail; only people can. Those who resist must be “re-educated” or “deprogrammed.” What begins as moral vision ends as total control.
The cure is humility—a willingness to let facts instruct rather than ideology dictate. Repentance, in the philosophical sense, means returning from illusion to reality, subordinating theory to evidence and loving wisdom without claiming omniscience. Realism requires courage: to see, to accept, and to act within the bounds of what is possible.
Lessons from the Twentieth Century and Beyond
The horrors of the last century—gulags, purges, and genocides—were not aberrations but logical conclusions of idealism unmoored from realism. Communism and fascism both promised transcendence from the human condition; both delivered degradation. Today, similar impulses reappear in moralized movements on left and right that treat disagreement as heresy and consciousness as the final battleground. These are not new phenomena but recycled idealisms—different symbols, same metaphysics.
In an era of manufactured crises and moral crusades, the scales remind us: cling to the crossbar. Only realism—anchored in evidence, bounded by humility, and guided by verifiable truth—permits tolerance, adaptation, and progress. When the crossbar breaks, society plunges into the abyss, and one pan’s triumph becomes delusion for all.

References
- Arendt, Hannah. The Origins of Totalitarianism. New York: Harcourt Brace, 1951.
- Burke, Edmund. Reflections on the Revolution in France. London: J. Dodsley, 1790.
- Chesterton, G.K. The Thing: Why I Am a Catholic. London: Sheed & Ward, 1929.
- Lewis, C.S. The Abolition of Man. London: Oxford University Press, 1943.
- Lindsay, James. Left and Right with Society in the Balance. New Discourses Lecture, 2025.
- Peterson, Jordan B. 12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos. Toronto: Random House, 2018.
- Popper, Karl. The Open Society and Its Enemies. London: Routledge, 1945.
- Voegelin, Eric. The New Science of Politics. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1952.
The last veterans of the Great War departed this world decades ago; those who endured the trenches and bombardments of the Second World War now number fewer than a thousand, most in their late nineties or beyond. With them vanishes the final tether of direct witness to the twentieth century’s cataclysms. What fades is not merely a generation but a form of moral authority — the living memory that once stood before us in uniform and silence. We have reached a civilizational inflection point: the moment when history ceases to be personal recollection and becomes curated narrative, vulnerable to distortion, neglect, or deliberate revision.
This transition demands vigilance. Memory, once embodied in a stooped figure wearing faded medals, could command reverence simply by existing. Now it resides in archives, textbooks, and the contested arena of public commemoration. The risk is not that the past will vanish entirely — curiosity and conscience ensure fragments endure. The greater peril is that it will be instrumentalised: stripped of complexity and pressed into service for transient ideological projects. A battle becomes a hashtag, a sacrifice a soundbite, a hard-won lesson a slogan detached from the blood that purchased it.
Edmund Burke reminded us that society is a partnership not only among the living, but between the living, the dead, and those yet unborn. This compact imposes obligations. We inherit institutions, norms, and liberties refined through centuries of trial, error, and atonement. To treat them as disposable because their origins lie beyond living memory is to saw off the branch on which we sit. The trenches of the Somme, the beaches of Normandy, the frozen forests of the Ardennes—these were not abstractions of geopolitics but crucibles in which the consequences of appeasement, militarised grievance, and contempt for constitutional restraint were written in blood.
The lesson is not that war is always avoidable; history disproves such sentimentalism. It is that certain patterns recur with lethal predictability when prudence is discarded. The erosion of intermediary institutions, the inflation of executive power, the substitution of mass emotion for deliberation—these were the preconditions that turned stable nations into abattoirs. To recognise them requires neither nostalgia nor ancestor worship, only the intellectual honesty to trace cause and effect across generations.
Conserving society in the Burkean sense is therefore active, not passive. It means cultivating the habits that sustain ordered liberty: deference to proven custom tempered by principled reform; respect for the diffused experience of the many rather than the concentrated will of the few; and humility before the limits of any single generation’s wisdom. Remembrance Day, properly observed, is not a requiem for the dead but a summons to the living. It reminds us that the peace we enjoy is borrowed, not owned — and that the interest payments come due in vigilance, discernment, and the quiet courage to defend what has been painfully built.
As the century that began in Sarajevo and ended in Sarajevo’s shadow recedes from living memory, the obligation deepens. We must read the dispatches, study the treaties, weigh the speeches, and above all resist the temptation to flatten the past into morality plays that flatter the present. Only thus do we honour the fallen: not with poppies alone, but with societies sturdy enough to vindicate their sacrifice.

(TL;DR) Eric Voegelin’s The New Science of Politics remains one of the clearest guides to our modern disorder. It teaches that when politics cuts itself off from transcendent truth, ideology fills the void—and history descends into Gnostic fantasy. Voegelin’s remedy is not new revolution but ancient remembrance: the recovery of the soul’s openness to reality.
Eric Voegelin (1901–1985) was an Austrian-American political philosopher who sought to diagnose the spiritual derangements of modernity. In his 1952 classic The New Science of Politics—first delivered as the Walgreen Lectures at the University of Chicago—Voegelin proposed that politics cannot be understood as a merely empirical or procedural science. Power, institutions, and law arise from a deeper spiritual ground: humanity’s participation in transcendent order. When societies lose awareness of that participation, they fall into ideological dreams that promise salvation through human effort alone. The book is therefore both a critique of modernity and a call to recover the classical and Christian understanding of political reality (Voegelin 1952, 1–26).
1. The Loss of Representational Truth
Every stable society, Voegelin argued, “represents” its members within a larger order of being. In ancient civilizations and medieval Christendom, political authority symbolized this participation through myth, ritual, and law that acknowledged a reality beyond human control. The ruler was not a god but a mediator between the temporal and the eternal.
Beginning in the twelfth century, however, the monk Joachim of Fiore reimagined history as a self-unfolding divine drama in which humanity itself would bring about the final age of perfection. With this shift, Western consciousness began to “immanentize the eschaton”—to relocate ultimate meaning inside history rather than in its transcendent source. Out of this inversion grew the modern ideologies of progress (Comte, Hegel), revolution (Marx), and race (National Socialism), each promising earthly redemption through planning and will (Voegelin 1952, 107–132).
For Voegelin, the loss of representational truth meant that governments no longer reflected humanity’s place in divine order but instead projected utopian images of what they wished reality to be. Politics ceased to be the articulation of truth and became the engineering of salvation.
2. Gnosticism as the Modern Disease
Voegelin identified the inner structure of these movements as Gnostic. Ancient Gnostics sought hidden knowledge that would liberate the soul from an evil world; their modern successors, he said, sought knowledge that would liberate humanity from history itself. “The essence of modernity,” Voegelin wrote, “is the growth of Gnostic speculation” (1952, 166).
He listed six recurrent traits of the Gnostic attitude:
- Dissatisfaction with the world as it is.
- Conviction that its evils are remediable.
- Belief in salvation through human action.
- Assumption that history follows a knowable course.
- Faith in a vanguard who possess the saving knowledge.
- Readiness to use coercion to realize the dream.
From medieval millenarian sects to twentieth-century totalitarian states, these traits form a single continuum of spiritual rebellion: the attempt to perfect existence by abolishing its limits.
3. The Open Soul and the Pathologies of Closure
Against the Gnostic impulse stands the open soul—the philosophical disposition that accepts the “metaxy,” or the in-between nature of human existence. We live neither wholly in transcendence nor wholly in immanence, but within the tension between them. The philosopher’s task is not to resolve that tension through fantasy or reduction but to dwell within it in faith and reason.
Political science, therefore, must be noetic—concerned with insight into the structure of reality—not merely empirical. A society’s symbols, institutions, and laws can be judged by how faithfully they articulate humanity’s participation in divine order. Disorder, Voegelin warned, begins not with bad policy but with pneumopathology—a sickness of the spirit that refuses reality’s truth. “The order of history,” he wrote, “emerges from the history of order in the soul.”
Empirical data can measure economic growth or electoral results, but it cannot measure spiritual health. That requires awareness of being itself.
4. Liberalism’s Vulnerability and the Way of Recovery
Voegelin saw liberal democracies as historically successful yet spiritually precarious. By reducing political order to procedural legitimacy and rights management, liberalism risks drifting into the nihilism it opposes. When public life forgets its transcendent foundation, freedom degenerates into relativism, and pluralism becomes mere fragmentation.
Still, Voegelin’s outlook was not despairing. His proposed remedy was anamnesis—the recollective recovery of forgotten truth. This is not nostalgia but awakening: the rediscovery that human beings are participants in an order they did not create and cannot abolish. The recovery of the classic (Platonic-Aristotelian) and Christian understanding of existence offers the only durable antidote to ideological apocalypse (Voegelin 1952, 165–190).
To “keep open the soul,” as Voegelin put it, is to resist every movement that promises paradise through force or theory. The alternative is the descent into spiritual closure—an ever-recurring temptation of modernity.
5. Contemporary Resonance
Voegelin’s analysis remains uncannily prescient. Today’s ideological battles—whether framed around identity, technology, or climate—often echo the same Gnostic pattern: discontent with the world as it is, belief that perfection lies just one policy or re-education campaign away, and impatience with reality’s resistance. The post-modern conviction that truth is socially constructed continues the old dream of remaking existence through will and language.
Voegelin’s warning cuts through our century as clearly as it did the last: when politics replaces truth with narrative and transcendence with activism, society repeats the ancient heresy in secular form. The cure, as ever, is humility before what is—the recognition that order is discovered, not invented.
References
Voegelin, Eric. 1952. The New Science of Politics: An Introduction. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Hughes, Glenn. 2003. Transcendence and History: The Search for Ultimacy from Ancient Societies to Postmodernity. Columbia: University of Missouri Press.
Sandoz, Ellis. 1981. The Voegelinian Revolution: A Biographical Introduction. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press.
Glossary of Key Terms
Anamnesis – Recollective recovery of forgotten truth about being.
Gnosticism – Revolt against the tension of existence through claims to saving knowledge that masters reality.
Immanentize the eschaton – To locate final meaning and salvation within history rather than beyond it.
Metaxy – The “in-between” condition of human existence, suspended between immanence and transcendence.
Noetic – Pertaining to intellectual or spiritual insight into reality’s order.
Pneumopathology – Spiritual sickness of the soul that closes itself to transcendent reality.
Representation – The symbolic and political articulation of a society’s participation in transcendent order.








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