Thus far the discussion has centered on what might be called pure visions or consistent visions, clearly either constrained [i.e., conservative] or unconstrained [i.e., progressive]. But, as noted at the outset, these are by no means the only possible kinds of visions. There are not only degrees in each vision but also inconsistent and hybrid visions. Moreover, beliefs in visions are not static. Both individuals and whole societies can change their visions over time. These changes may be sudden "road to Damascus" conversions, where a particular event reorients one's whole thinking, or the change may be more like water wearing away rock, so that one vision imperceptibly disappears, to be replaced by a changing set of implicit assumptions about man and the world. This second kind of change may leave no clear record of when or how it happened, nor perhaps even an awareness on the part of those concerned, except for knowing that things are no longer seen the same way they once were.
Some changes of visions tend to be associated with age. The cliché of radicals in their twenties becoming conservatives in their forties goes back many generations. Karl Marx predicted that the Russian radicals he met in Paris in the 1840s would be staunch supporters of the czarist regime in another twenty years—though he clearly did not expect any such conversion in his own case.
Although visions can and do change, the persistence and vitality of both constrained and unconstrained visions over a period of centuries suggest that such changes are not easy. The anguish of the apostate comes from within, as well as from the condemnation of his former comrades. Those who lose their faith but continue the outward observances, or who quietly withdraw if they can, are likewise testimony to the power of visions and the pain of change. The terms in which such changes of social vision are discussed—conversion, apostasy, heresy—are borrowed from religious history, though they apply equally to secular creeds which evoke similar emotional commitments.
(Thomas Sowell, A Conflict of Visions: Ideological Origins of Political Struggles [New York: Basic Books, 2002], 99-100)
Note from KBJ: These paragraphs fascinate me. As most of you know, I was, until about six years ago, a political progressive. I am now a political conservative. How and why did this change occur? Did I wake up one day and realize that I was a conservative? Was there some event, such as the attacks of 9-11, that jolted me? I can assure you that it was not 9-11 that caused the change. This may have been the case for many people, but it's not the case for me. I wouldn't even describe my change as a conversion, for that implies something abrupt, and in my case the change was gradual to the point of being unnoticeable.
What happened, in a nutshell, is that I came to see that my values and judgments are more easily systematized by conservatism than by progressivism. Each of us makes judgments about particular cases on a daily basis. I judge, for example, that laziness should not be rewarded, or that murderers deserve to die, or that changing the definition of "marriage" is a bad idea. A thoughtful person reflects on the connections between these judgments. At a minimum, one wants one's judgments to be consistent, in the sense of not contradictory. One also strives for coherence. One wants one's judgments to be mutually supporting. If possible, one would like one's judgments to form a system.
I had been thinking about these things for a few years when it dawned on me that my political judgments are best systematized by conservatism. I have always valued such things as self-sufficiency, personal responsibility, and individual liberty. These values were submerged during my progressive years, when I emphasized such things as equality, fairness, and security. It's not that I stopped valuing those other things; it was more like trying to accommodate them to my progressive values. I eventually concluded that I couldn't have all these things, and that the things that were most important to me were self-sufficiency, personal responsibility, and individual liberty. I began to view progressivism from the outside. When I did so, I began to see its inconsistencies, its deceptions, and its blindnesses.
The next question, once I realized that I was a conservative, was what to do about it. I could have kept quiet about it and gone on with my scholarly work. That would have led to fewer conflicts. But I'm not the sort of person to live in the closet. If I'm a conservative, by God, people will know that I'm a conservative. Many of my friends, colleagues, former students, and family members were confused by the change, and some of them put distance between themselves and me. That's fine. What it showed is that these people didn't have the relation with me that I thought they had. They liked me when I was a political soulmate, but not when our views diverged. People who don't even know me began to attack me, publicly, as though I were a traitor to the progressive cause. Some of the attacks were despicable (and legally actionable, though I have yet to file a lawsuit). I suspected this might happen and steeled myself for it. It shows that academia is no less a haven for thugs than any other realm, despite its pretensions to honesty, open-mindedness, and civility. In some ways, academia is the perfect home for thugs, for it protects personal attacks under the guise of "academic freedom." This is one of the costs of tenure.
Am I a different person, now that I'm a conservative? In a sense, I am. It's not that my values have changed, for, as I said, my important values have not changed. But I see the world differently. It's as though I replaced one set of lenses with another. I like to think that the new lenses are transparent rather than opaque. I'm sure my progressive friends think it's the other way around. I will, however, say this. Having been a progressive, I have an advantage over my progressive friends who were never conservatives. They've been looking through the same lenses their entire lives. I've viewed the world through two sets of lenses and made a conscious decision about which set is transparent and which opaque.
Keith Burgess-Jackson, J.D., Ph.D. 