Are We Fighting Over Ideas or Just Picking Teams?

Picture two Americans arguing about abortion, taxes, and gun control. They'll tell you their positions flow from deep philosophical principles—one defending "individual liberty," the other championing "social justice." But what if they're both wrong? What if there's no grand theory connecting these beliefs, just the political equivalent of picking a sports team?

This provocative challenge comes from an unlikely source: academic researchers who've spent years studying how Americans actually form political opinions. Their conclusion might unsettle both passionate progressives and committed conservatives.

The Myth of Ideological Consistency

Political scientists Hyrum and Verlan Lewis argue in their book The Myth of Left and Right that "progressivism" and "conservatism" aren't coherent philosophies at all. Instead, they're "ever-shifting rationalizations for the interests of rival coalitions."

Consider the historical evidence. Free trade was once a progressive cause—liberals believed economic interdependence would prevent wars and raise living standards. Then foreign competition started hurting American unions, and the left embraced protectionism. Now that Donald Trump has made tariffs a conservative rallying cry, liberals are rediscovering their inner free-traders.

The pattern repeats across issues. Support for free speech, immigration restriction, and military intervention have all switched sides over the decades. If these positions reflected timeless moral principles, such flip-flopping would be impossible.

The Lewis brothers put it bluntly: "ideologies do not define tribes, tribes define ideologies."

When France Gave America Its Political Map

The left-right spectrum wasn't always America's organizing principle. The metaphor emerged from the French National Assembly in 1789, where radicals sat on the left and monarchists on the right. But early American parties didn't fit this mold—Thomas Jefferson's Republicans supported both the French Revolution and radical free-market economics, a combination that would puzzle modern partisans.

It wasn't until the early 20th century that Americans began speaking of "progressive" versus "conservative" politics. Initially, this divide focused mainly on government's economic role. The New Deal era made the spatial metaphor stick, with Democrats becoming synonymous with "left-wing" and Republicans with "right-wing."

But as political issues multiplied—civil rights, abortion, environment, immigration—the one-dimensional spectrum became increasingly strained. Why should believing a fetus is a person logically require supporting tax cuts for the wealthy?

The Case for Deeper Divisions

Not everyone buys the "arbitrary coalition" theory. Critics point out that certain policy clusters appear consistently across Western democracies. For the past six decades, left-wing parties worldwide have championed income redistribution, minority rights, and collective bargaining more than their right-wing counterparts.

If ideologies were purely arbitrary, we'd expect wild variation across countries. Instead, we see remarkable consistency. Harvard and University of Bonn researchers found that these patterns may reflect deeper psychological differences in "moral universalism"—how much people extend trust and concern beyond their immediate circles.

Moral universalists tend to support higher immigration, foreign aid, and social spending. Moral particularists prioritize family, community, and nation over distant strangers. Neither approach is inherently superior—universalists might be less generous to neighbors while showing more compassion to foreigners.

This split helps explain why conservatives often accuse progressives of caring more about refugees than American workers, while liberals charge conservatives with callous indifference to global suffering.

The Real Cost of Team Thinking

Whether ideologies reflect deep principles or tribal psychology, both camps agree on one thing: treating politics like team sports damages democratic governance.

When every policy debate becomes a referendum on moral character, technical questions get distorted. You can't determine whether zoning restrictions reduce housing affordability simply by deciding you care about inequality. Nor can you assess whether tariffs boost living standards just by believing government should put "America first."

Yet ideological thinking encourages exactly this shortcut. It's cognitively easier to apply one philosophical framework than to research dozens of complex issues. Plus, when policy positions signal tribal membership, changing your mind feels like betrayal.

This dynamic benefits interest groups within each coalition. If cutting business taxes equals "defending liberty," then working-class conservatives' concerns become irrelevant. If banning self-driving cars means "fighting inequality," then the higher accident rates of human drivers get ignored.