From Boston Review
How neoliberals fell in love with “human nature”—the glue that still unites the divergent factions of the new right.
In 2013 Charles Murray traveled to the Galápagos Islands to deliver an address to the Mont Pelerin Society—that font of neoliberalism, founded in 1947 by Friedrich Hayek. But Murray’s talk didn’t run through the usual neoliberal script: economic liberty, free trade, the genius of the entrepreneur. Instead, his subject was “the rediscovery of human nature and human diversity.” New discoveries in genetics, he argued, would induce “reversions to age-old understandings about the human animal” and undo “the intellectual eclipse of human nature and human diversity in the United States.” He welcomed these developments not only to fight the pernicious effects of what he called the “equality premise” but to better recognize and organize patterns of aptitude in a changing economy.
Though it’s not part of conventional wisdom about the ideological core of neoliberalism, this appeal to nature was a central part of neoliberal thought in the aftermath of the Cold War. Communism had died, but neoliberals feared Leviathan would live on. The poison of civil rights, feminism, affirmative action, and ecological consciousness—forged in the social movements of the 1960s and ’70s—had suffused the body politic, emboldening what they saw as an overbearing state and breeding an atmosphere of political correctness and “victimology,” which in turn stultified free discourse and nurtured a culture of government dependency and special pleading.
Neoliberals sought an antidote to all that, and they found one in hierarchies of gender, race, and cultural difference, which they imagined to be rooted in genetics as well as tradition. Meanwhile, changing demographics—an aging white population matched by an expanding nonwhite population—led some of them to rethink the conditions necessary for capitalism. Perhaps cultural homogeneity was a precondition for social stability, and thus the peaceful conduct of market exchange and enjoyment of private property?
The strain of the neoliberal movement that crystallized in the 1990s out of these ideas marked the rise of a new fusionism. While the original fusionism of the 1950s and 1960s melded libertarianism and religious traditionalism in the style of William F. Buckley and the National Review, the new fusionism defended neoliberal policies through arguments borrowed from cognitive, behavioral, and evolutionary psychology and in some cases genetics, genomics, and biological anthropology. The phenomenon was apparent as early as 1987 to conservative historian Paul Gottfried. Whereas older conservatives may have used a language of religion to back up claims about human differences, Gottfried noted that they had begun to use disciplines like sociobiology in order to “biologicize” ethics, in the words of E.O. Wilson.
Contrary to claims that recent years have seen a decisive repudiation of neoliberalism by right-wing populists, it is this strange new coalition that underlies in part the ascent of today’s global right. In its ranks we can count not only a host of bit players—the likes of Murray Rothbard, Hans-Hermann Hoppe, and Peter Brimelow—but some of the right’s ringleaders: Steve Bannon, Peter Thiel, and Elon Musk. (Gottfried, for his part, has been a “reluctant mentor” to Unite the Right’s keynote white nationalist in Charlottesville, Richard Spencer.) In many ways, ideas like Murray’s are the glue holding the whole edifice together. Over the past two decades, the self-avowed libertarian’s melding of genetic pronouncements with bootstrapping family-values talk has served as the bridge spanning divergent factions of the racialist right, from its IQ-obsessed, DEI-hating Silicon Valley wing to its white nationalist fringes.
Far from rejecting the dynamic of market competition, this new formation deepens it. From the United States and Britain to Hungary and Argentina, so-called populists on the right have not rejected global capitalism as such. Rather, they have rejected the 1990s model of governing global capitalism that revolved around large multilateral trade agreements—opting instead for unilateral action, as in Trump’s use of tariffs as leverage to open markets for U.S. investors and U.S. products and services. In general, the leaders of this right offer few plans to rein in finance, re-industrialize, or restore a Golden Age of job security. On the contrary, their calls to privatize, deregulate, and slash taxes come straight from the playbook shared by the world’s leaders for the past thirty years.
In other words, this new right does not really reject globalism but advances a new strain of it—one that accepts an international division of labor while tightening controls on certain kinds of migration. It assigns intelligence averages to countries in a way that collectivizes and renders innate the concept of “human capital.” It appeals to values and traditions that cannot be captured statistically, shading into a language of national essences and national character. The fix it finds in race, culture, and nation is but the most recent iteration of a pro-market philosophy based not on the idea that we are all the same but that we are in a fundamental, and perhaps permanent way, different.
Quinn Slobodian is Professor of International History at Boston University. His latest book is ‘Hayek’s Bastards: Race, Gold, IQ, and the Capitalism of the Far Right’.