Buckley and the Burning Bush

The prophet is a much-overlooked occupation in the present day. Modern prophets, just like the clairvoyant sacreds of old, read the signs and offer cautionary warnings, guiding the people towards a foreseen—or perhaps wished-for—light. Few individuals better fit this mold than William F. Buckley, Jr., the man who dared to stand athwart history and say, “Stop.”

Buckley’s lifework was a battle against communism and its surreptitious cousin, liberalism. His more than fifty books, thousands of speeches, and tireless work in Republican politics make him a 20th-century conservative Moses. His legacy persists in written and recorded media, from National Review to reruns of his riveting Firing Line debates. College organizations such as the Young America’s Foundation or the Buckley Institute pass the torch to a new generation of conservative thinkers.  Now added to this legacy is another modern prophet’s exposé, Buckley: The Life and Revolution That Changed America by Sam Tanenhaus. Tanenhaus’ critical review brings Bill Buckley back into the public eye for a reading of Republican coalitions through the progenitor of fusionism. Was Buckley the prefigurement of Trump and GOP populism today? Or perhaps he is more than just a prickly exterior and demagogue, highlighting a deeper commitment to values that we can all strive to emulate.

Underpinning Tanenhaus’s portrayal is the sense that Bill Buckley is an underdog. Buckley grew up an outsider, someone who had to struggle to be seen. One of ten kids, he was raised by nannies and did not learn English until he was ten. His relationship with his parents was difficult, as his mother had many difficult pregnancies and was weak in health, and his father was busy running the oil company that kept their lifestyle afloat. He went through a revolving door of boarding schools, fighting to learn in foreign environments. He was gifted, but no savant; he had to work hard and put in long nights to succeed. This struggle pervades most of his professional career: above all else, Buckley was a disruptor, working tirelessly to have his voice heard.

And have his voice heard he did. For Moses, it was the burning bush that galvanized him to stand against Pharaoh. Buckley’s catalyst came in his senior year of university as the chairman of the Yale Daily News. His often-read editorials at the YDN, focusing on the creeping liberalism among the Ivy League, were well known for their caustic tone. 

Nearing graduation, Buckley was asked by Yale President Charles Seymour to give a speech at Alumni Day celebrations. Buckley got to work, decrying Yale for the extremes of thought permitted from faculty and refusing to stand against evils like “communism, collectivism, or government paternalism inimical to the dignity of the individual and to the strength and prosperity of the nation.” While the speech was rejected for its tone on a day President Seymour was hoping not for outrage but for donations, it ultimately culminated in his most famous work, God and Man at Yale. His tone and his stubborn pursuit of moral truths would come to be his calling cards, slipping incisive zingers with his transatlantic accent that left his opponents and audiences enraptured.

Buckley’s career of conservative stardom was built in large part on his brash but polished rhetoric, directed at whatever poor sap happened to be the current opposition. As a teenager, it was the pro-war advocates who sought to pull America into WWII. As a collegeman, it was the professors who snuck anecdotal notes on Keynesian economics or Christianity’s similarity to pagan rituals into their lectures. As a young adult, it was the communists and the liberals who enabled them. With principled, direct, and often compassionate words, he struck their arguments down, building platforms to take them down in newsprint, books, in debate, and on television. 

Tanenhaus documents his establishment of National Review with fly-on-the-wall intimacy. I particularly found the stories of the board meetings between him and his founding colleagues intriguing. Buckley always had the owner’s share of the business, which for the first few years meant he was the one dealing with its perennial debt (financed in large part by his father). But all of his fellow writers, who included the likes of Russell Kirk, Whittaker Chambers, and George Will, were loyal not only to the mission but to Buckley. While money was thin, belief was strong; all of them trusted in Buckley’s vision and aspirations.

As National Review grew in readership and Buckley became a household name from his syndicated column and TV appearances, Bill became more than just a journalist. Working alongside his close friend L. Brent Bozell, Jr., a fellow Yalie and Bonesman, Buckley began to work alongside traditional republican politicians to forward their campaigns. Bill realized that the Republican Party was conceding to communism, abandoning the Korean and Vietnam Wars and pursuing diplomacy with China, the enemy of liberty. They found a champion in Barry Goldwater, consulting his campaigns with strategies and utilizing the vessel of National Review to support him. While Goldwater did not succeed, his campaign whetted Buckley’s appetite for political influence. After hosting a few meetings with other disgruntled traditionalist Republicans in New York City, J. Daniel Mahoney and Kieran O’Doherty brought forward the idea of a Conservative Party, one that would stand for the values of the old right. It was under this party ticket that Bill ran a disruptive campaign for New York City mayor. While unsuccessful, his movement started a trend against increasingly prominent Republican moderates: they would have to reckon with an oft-forgotten wing of Republicanism. 

In these early stages, the Conservative Party’s biggest victory finally came with a win on his brother Jim Buckley’s second run for the Senate. Through the Buckleys’ efforts, Republican politicians realized that they had to consider traditional conservatism if they wanted to win. Fusionism was not about building a large coalition to represent different facets of conservatism; it was about getting republican moderates to return to the traditional wing under Bill Buckley’s flag.

One of the other chief jobs of the prophet is anointing future rulers. Since the late 1960s, Buckley had been meeting and scheming with Ronald Reagan, then the California governor. Buckley saw in Reagan the ultimate package of charisma, wit, and solid values that would finally realize victory. Reagan had been quietly gaining in popularity, seeking the Republican nomination for a few presidential cycles. Bill served as an advisor, tempering Reagan’s passion to lead until the political landscape was ready. When the time was right, Buckley put all of his resources behind Reagan. Buckley debated with him to let his charm shine forth in the public square, wrote about him in National Review to showcase his policy, and delivered speeches on his behalf. Bill Buckley’s work had paid off, bringing traditional conservatism back to the forefront of Republican politics in Reagan’s presidency. Buckley was never meant to be the one to enter the promised land; it was his task to guide his conservative flock during their exile. Once the Republicans’ time in the political desert was over, the kingmaker Buckley could rest knowing that he had won, not just against the moderates in his own party but also against the liberals in the democratic party. 

Tanenhaus’s biography is not just a recollection of Buckley’s storied life and career. His rhetoric paints Buckley as a cautionary tale, and he is quick to admit Buckley’s failures. In large part, this is due to Tanenhaus’ focus on Bill’s many associations, developed through his working relations, family ties, and ideological compatriots. The second quarter of the book details his early professional life, spending more time on Joseph McCarthy and the Red Scare than it does on National Review and the early work establishing the magazine. In addition to Bozell becoming McCarthy’s speechwriter, Tanenhaus tries to insinuate that Buckley was a large force behind McCarthy and the House Un-American Activities Committee’s agenda. However, this is a case of aligning the target, not the method. Tanenhaus himself admits that Buckley and Bozell’s book  McCarthy and His Enemies does not condone McCarthy, but rather focuses once again on liberalism, Buckley’s preferred target. Tanenhaus still claims, however, that it is Buckley’s defense of McCarthy and a sign of their intimate connection. 

Another issue which Tanenhaus implies heavily is Buckley’s homosexuality, where he provides a misleading message of Bill being outwardly against but inwardly conflicted over gayness. This is built on Buckley’s working associations; high-up individuals close to Bill in conservative institutions, such as YAF co-founder Marvin Liebman, were closeted gay men. Buckley also had his infamous outburst, where he called Gore Vidal a “pink queer” in response to Vidal’s insult of “crypto-Nazi.” Tanenhaus insinuates that this name-calling and collaboration with private gay men is reflective of Buckley’s own inner turmoil over sexual tendencies. Alongside his sarcastic transatlantic tone and his generally ‘sassy’ demeanor, Tanenhaus presents this baseless claim as a likely possibility. This focus on blatantly outrageous speculation undermines his other, more pertinent critiques on topics of race and segregation, ultimately weakening his excellently thorough history of Buckley’s lifework. 

Despite the shortcomings, Tanenhaus’ Buckley still retains the defining characteristics of Bill—a charisma not bound solely by rhetoric and charm, but a deep love and care for the people around him. Tanenhaus recollects many memories of Buckley supporting friends, oftentimes after they had left his organizations in a huff. The most heart-warming was the story of his writing letters with Whittaker Chambers, who was essentially a shut-in during his later life. Before, during, and after Chambers’ stint at National Review, Buckley wrote to the man, encouraging him and being his friend and confidant, something for which Chambers expressed deep gratitude. Buckley always gave generously to those in his organization. He had the biggest heart for those with the smallest jobs. 

How can we carry forth that legacy today? Buckley’s prophecy is one of dialogue. He sought tenaciously to make his voice heard when it was repeatedly shut out. He fought to bring conservatism to the forefront of society, in print and in conversation. He decried liberalism, with its globalism hidden behind perfidious unity. He sought to keep America and its traditions whole and unfettered. He sought to fight for the institutions that make America a better place and embolden other nations with those same principles. And he believed the best way to accomplish his goals was through engaging in rigorous debate, bringing everyone to the table to voice their opinions. 

Luckily, Tanenhaus lays the path to forward Buckley’s legacy through his own telling of Buckley’s life. Like young Buckley, we must educate ourselves in our traditions, join in conversation, and advocate for what we believe to be right. Along the way, be charitable to those with whom you disagree, but never back down from your principles. Tanenhaus’ Buckley is a good example of the Buckley model itself—opening dialogue over the titular character, painting his own picture of the man, and allowing readers to participate in the conversation themselves. Something tells me that Buckley would be pleased with this biography, written with the same passion with which he lived.

Buckley: The Life and the Revolution That Changed America by Sam Tanenhaus was released on June 3, 2025, and is available everywhere good books are sold.