Shaun Kenney Daily Essay — April 30, 2026
As Virginia's General Assembly prepares for what promises to be a contentious special session this summer, and as our Commonwealth finds itself once again at the crossroads of American political development, it seems an appropriate moment to reflect on the peculiar challenges facing constitutional conservatives in an era that increasingly rewards the theatrical over the thoughtful.
The immediate catalyst for today's meditation comes from yesterday's announcement that Governor Youngkin will indeed call lawmakers back to Richmond in July to address the thorny question of artificial intelligence governance—a issue that has consumed legislative committees since January and threatens to divide our Republican caucus along lines that would have mystified the Founding generation. Here we have a technology that promises to revolutionize everything from education to election integrity, yet our response seems caught between the Scylla of regulatory overreach and the Charybdis of laissez-faire abdication.
It is precisely this sort of novel challenge that Edmund Burke had in mind when he warned against the twin perils of reckless innovation and stubborn reaction. The Virginia way, inherited from Jefferson and Madison, has always been to approach such questions with what Burke called "a disposition to preserve, and an ability to improve." Yet as I survey the current landscape—from the heated exchanges in our congressional delegation's primary contests to the increasingly polarized rhetoric emanating from party headquarters—I worry we are losing sight of this essential conservative temperament.
Take, for instance, the developing situation in Virginia's Fifth Congressional District, where incumbent Bob Good faces a surprisingly robust primary challenge that has exposed uncomfortable fault lines within the Republican Party of Virginia. The district, stretching from the exurbs of Northern Virginia down through Southside's tobacco country, represents in microcosm the broader tensions between what we might call institutional conservatism and populist insurgency.
Good's predicament—finding himself defending his conservative credentials against challengers who argue he has been insufficiently loyal to the Trump wing of the party—illustrates the degree to which our political discourse has been infected by what the late Roger Scruton identified as the "culture of repudiation." Rather than engaging in substantive debate over the proper role of government or the constitutional principles that ought to guide federal policy, we find ourselves trapped in cycles of ideological purity testing that would have appalled the practical-minded statesmen who built this republic.
The irony, of course, is that Virginia's Fifth District was once represented by Thomas Jefferson himself, a man who understood that effective governance requires the ability to hold multiple ideas in tension—to be simultaneously principled and pragmatic, rooted in tradition yet responsive to changing circumstances. Jefferson's famous maxim that "the earth belongs to the living" was not an endorsement of rootless modernism but rather a recognition that each generation must discover anew how eternal principles apply to contemporary challenges.
Meanwhile, in the Seventh District, we see a different but related phenomenon. The ongoing demographic transformation of Northern Virginia—driven by federal employment, technology sector growth, and suburban development—has created a political environment where traditional conservative messaging often falls flat. Representative Kiggans has navigated these waters with considerable skill, but her approach raises important questions about the future of Virginia conservatism.
Can a movement rooted in the Anglo-American tradition of ordered liberty maintain its coherence in communities increasingly populated by recent arrivals with little connection to that tradition? This is not merely a question of electoral strategy but of cultural transmission. As Michael Oakeshott observed, political knowledge—the kind of practical wisdom necessary for self-governance—cannot be reduced to technical formulas but must be passed down through what he called "the conversation of mankind."
The challenge facing Virginia Republicans in districts like the Seventh is how to invite newcomers into that conversation without abandoning the principles that make the conversation worth having. It requires a delicate balance between welcome and instruction, between accommodation and insistence on certain non-negotiable truths about human nature and the requirements of justice.
Governor Youngkin's tenure has been marked by his attempt to thread this needle on a statewide scale. His handling of the artificial intelligence governance question exemplifies both the promise and the peril of his approach. On one hand, his administration has demonstrated genuine sophistication in understanding the technical challenges posed by AI development and deployment. The working groups convened by his office have included genuine experts rather than mere political appointees, and their recommendations reflect serious engagement with both the opportunities and risks.
Yet the Governor's apparent reluctance to take a strong public position—his preference for letting the legislative process work its will—reflects what critics see as an excess of caution that borders on abdication. In an era when executive leadership is increasingly defined by the willingness to stake out clear positions and defend them vigorously, Youngkin's more traditional understanding of separation of powers can appear weak or indecisive.
This tension points to a deeper philosophical question about the nature of conservative governance in the modern administrative state. The Burkean conservative instinct is to proceed gradually, to test innovations against experience, to prefer the devil we know to the devil we don't. But this temperament sits uneasily with the demands of contemporary politics, where the news cycle rewards bold action and punishes careful deliberation.
It is worth remembering that Virginia's greatest contribution to American political thought has been its insistence that good government must be both energetic and limited, both effective and constrained. This was the insight that animated the Jefferson-Madison synthesis—the recognition that liberty and order are not opposing values but complementary aspects of a well-functioning polity.
Jefferson's vision of an empire of liberty was never meant to be an empire of license. His faith in popular government was balanced by his understanding of the need for constitutional structures that would channel popular will through institutions designed to refine and moderate it. Madison's contributions to the Federal Convention reflected this same basic insight: that republican government could be made to work over a large territory precisely because constitutional design could harness the clash of interests in service of the common good.
This understanding has particular relevance as Virginia grapples with questions of AI governance. The temptation is either to rush headlong into comprehensive regulation (the progressive impulse) or to insist that existing laws are sufficient to handle whatever challenges emerge (the libertarian response). The Virginian approach, properly understood, would seek a middle path that acknowledges both the unprecedented nature of the challenges we face and the wisdom embedded in our inherited institutions.
Underlying all of these immediate political challenges is a deeper question about the foundations of our common life. The current controversies over AI governance, election integrity, and educational policy all ultimately trace back to competing visions of human nature and the proper relationship between individuals and political authority.
Here again, Virginia's intellectual tradition offers valuable resources. Jefferson's Virginia Statute for Religious Freedom was not merely a practical solution to the problem of religious diversity but a principled recognition that legitimate government must acknowledge limits to its authority over the human conscience. Madison's Memorial and Remonstrance extended this insight, arguing that civil society itself depends on the recognition of duties that transcend political obligation.
These are not merely historical curiosities but living principles with immediate relevance to contemporary policy debates. The question of AI governance, for instance, cannot be resolved simply by technical expertise but requires us to think clearly about the relationship between human agency and technological capability. Should we permit the development of systems that might eventually surpass human intelligence? How do we balance the potential benefits of AI-assisted decision-making against the risks of reducing human beings to objects of algorithmic manipulation?
The difficulty of conducting this kind of serious public deliberation is compounded by the current state of our media landscape. The fragmentation of information sources, the speed of the news cycle, and the economic incentives that reward engagement over enlightenment have created an environment hostile to the kind of patient reasoning that constitutional governance requires.
This is particularly evident in coverage of Virginia politics, where complex policy questions are routinely reduced to horse-race narratives focused on electoral implications rather than substantive merits. The AI governance debate, for instance, has been framed primarily in terms of whether Governor Youngkin's handling will help or hurt his national political ambitions rather than whether his approach serves the long-term interests of Virginia citizens.
This tendency toward superficiality is not merely a professional failing of individual journalists but a structural problem created by the collision between democratic expectations and market incentives. Citizens in a republic need access to the kind of information that enables thoughtful participation in public life, but media organizations survive by giving consumers what they want rather than what they need.
The result is what we might call a crisis of democratic knowledge—a situation where the information environment necessary for self-governance is being eroded by the very technologies that were supposed to democratize access to knowledge. Social media platforms amplify the most emotionally engaging content, creating incentives for political actors to appeal to passion rather than reason.
Behind much contemporary political dysfunction lies what we might call the secular utopian temptation—the belief that political solutions can address the fundamental challenges of human existence. This temptation manifests itself differently across the political spectrum, but its common element is the refusal to acknowledge the inherent limitations of political action.
On the progressive side, this takes the form of faith in governmental capacity to engineer social outcomes through expert administration. The assumption is that sufficient knowledge and good intentions can overcome the perennial problems of human nature—that inequality, conflict, and suffering can be eliminated through proper policy design.
On the populist right, the temptation manifests as faith in the ability of political will to overcome structural constraints. The assumption here is that the problems facing ordinary Americans stem from the betrayal of elites rather than from the inherent complexities of governing a large, diverse, and dynamic society.
Both versions of this temptation represent departures from the chastened wisdom of the American founding generation, which understood politics as the art of managing irreconcilable tensions rather than resolving them permanently. The genius of the American constitutional system lies not in its promise to deliver perfect outcomes but in its recognition that the best we can hope for is a framework that prevents the worst outcomes while leaving space for human flourishing.
As Virginia Republicans prepare for the challenges ahead—the summer special session, the ongoing congressional primaries, the longer-term project of maintaining conservative governance in a changing Commonwealth—it would be wise to recover something of this constitutional temperament.
This does not mean abandoning principle for the sake of pragmatic accommodation. Rather, it means understanding that the defense of principle in a democratic society requires the cultivation of what we might call democratic virtues—the willingness to engage in good-faith argument with those who disagree, the patience necessary for genuine deliberation, the humility to acknowledge the complexity of policy questions that often admit no perfect solutions.
The artificial intelligence governance question provides an opportunity to model this approach. Rather than rushing to stake out positions designed primarily to signal tribal loyalty, Virginia conservatives might lead by example in demonstrating how serious people can disagree productively about serious questions. This would mean acknowledging both the legitimate concerns raised by those who worry about AI's disruptive potential and the valid points made by those who emphasize the benefits of technological innovation.
Such an approach would be consistent with Virginia's historic role as a moderating influence in American politics—not moderate in the sense of lacking convictions, but moderate in the sense of bringing practical wisdom to bear on questions that ideological purity alone cannot resolve.
## The Enduring Relevance of Place
Finally, it is worth remembering that all politics is ultimately local—that the abstract principles we defend must be embodied in concrete communities with particular histories and distinctive characters. Virginia's conservative tradition is not simply a regional variation of a generic national conservatism but something shaped by the peculiar circumstances of our Commonwealth's development.
From the Tidewater's plantation legacy through the Valley's Scots-Irish settlement to Northern Virginia's emergence as a center of national governance, each region has contributed something distinctive to our collective political culture. The challenge facing contemporary Virginia conservatives is to honor these various traditions while forging a path forward that speaks to the concerns of citizens whose roots may lie elsewhere but whose futures are bound up with ours.
This is difficult work, requiring both the confidence that comes from deep roots and the openness that genuine hospitality demands. But it is work that must be done if constitutional conservatism is to remain a living tradition rather than merely a museum piece.
As we prepare for whatever political storms the coming months may bring, we would do well to remember Jefferson's counsel that "the price of liberty is eternal vigilance." But vigilance alone is insufficient; it must be accompanied by the wisdom to distinguish between change that preserves and change that destroys, between innovation that serves human flourishing and innovation that diminishes it.
The Virginia way, at its best, has always embodied this kind of discriminating judgment. May it do so again in the challenges that lie ahead.
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*Shaun Kenney writes daily from his home in Fluvanna County, Virginia. His commentary on politics, culture, and the examined life appears at ShaunKenney.com and in various publications across the Commonwealth.*
