Political correctness is about denial, usually in the weasel circumlocutory jargon which distorts and evades and seldom stands up to honest analysis.
It comes in many guises, some of them so effective that the PC can be difficult to detect. The silly euphemisms, apparently harmless, but forever dripping to wear away common sense.
(George MacDonald Fraser, “The Last Testament of Flashman’s Creator: How Britain has Destroyed Itself,” Daily Mail, January 5, 2008).
Political correctness is more than a ridiculous set of opinions; it’s also — and primarily — a tool of government coercion. Not only does it tilt any political discussion in favor of one set of arguments; it also gives the ruling class a doubt-expelling myth that provides a constant boost to morale and esprit de corps, much as class systems did in the days before democracy. People tend to snicker when the question of political correctness is raised: its practitioners because no one wants to be thought politically correct; and its targets because no one wants to admit to being coerced.
(Christopher Caldwell, “The French, Coming Apart,” City Journal, Spring 2017).
The concepts of Liberalism and Socialism are set in effective motion only by money. It was the Equites, the big-money party, which made Tiberius Gracchus’s popular movement possible at all; and as soon as that part of the reforms that was advantageous to themselves had been successfully legalized, they withdrew and the movement collapsed. Cæsar and Crassus financed the Catilinarian movement, and so directed it against the Senatorial party instead of against property. In England politicians of eminence laid it down as early as 1700 that “on ‘Change one deals in votes as well as in stocks, and the price of a vote is as well known as the price of an acre of land.” When the news of Waterloo reached Paris, the price of French government stock rose — the Jacobins had destroyed the old obligations of the blood and so had emancipated money; now it stepped forward as lord of the land. There is no proletarian, not even a Communist, movement that has not operated in the interest of money, in the directions indicated by money, and for the time permitted by money — and that, without the idealist amongst its leaders having the slightest suspicion of the fact. Intellect rejects, money directs.
(Oswald Spengler, The Decline of the West, Vol. II. London: George Allen and Unwin, 1918, p. 402).
In England, the charm of standing one round higher on the social ladder than your neighbours is so irresistible that, if a Member of Parliament were obliged to dance upon his head for the amusement of his constituents, it is probable that men of fortune and independence would be found to do it, and to assure the spectators that the time devoted to the feat was the proudest moment of their lives.
(Lord Salisbury, “The Labours of the Recess,” The Saturday Review, Vol. XVI, No. 426, 1863, p. 799).
It is in pursuit of ideals that wars ravage the world, and every idealist has a portable rack and thumb-screw in his dressing-bag. As Anatole France says: “Robespierre was an optimist who believed in virtue. If you want to make men perfect you end, like Robespierre, by desiring to guillotine them. Marat believed in justice and demanded 200,000 heads.”
(H.C. Biron, “Dr. Johnson and Women,” The Fortnightly Review, Vol. CVI, 1919, p. 309).
To believe in the equality of all men, when we see them all unequal; to believe in liberty, when we see slavery established in all parts; to believe that all men are brothers, when history tells all are enemies; to believe that there is a common mass of misfortunes and of glories for all men born, when I see nothing but individual glories and misfortunes; to believe I am referred to humanity, when I know humanity is referred to me; to believe that humanity is my centre, when I constituted myself the centre of all; and finally, to believe that I should believe these things, when they are proposed to me by those who tell me that I should believe only my own reason, which contradicts all those things they propose to me, is an absurdity so stupendous, an aberration so inconceivable, that I stand mute and astounded in its presence.
My astonishment increases when I observe that those who affirm human solidarity, deny that of the family, which is to affirm that enemies are brothers, and that brothers should not be brothers; that those who affirm human solidarity are the same who a little before denied the political, which is to affirm I have nothing in common with my own, and all in common with strangers; that those who affirm human solidarity deny religion, though the former cannot be explained without the latter; and from all this I deduce in legitimate consequence that the Socialistic schools are at once illogical and absurd — illogical, because after demonstrating against the Liberal school that some solidarities cannot be accepted while others are rejected, they fall into the same error, accepting one amongst all, and rejecting the remainder — absurd, because precisely the one they proposed to me is not a point of reason but of faith, and because this proposal comes to me from those who deny faith and proclaim the imprescriptable right of reason to empire and sovereignty.
(Juan Donoso Cortés, Essays on Catholicism, Liberalism and Socialism. Dublin: M.H. Gill & Son, 1879, pp. 260–261).
The truth is that only men to whom the family is sacred will ever have a standard or a status by which to criticise the state.
(G.K. Chesterton, The Everlasting Man. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1926, p. 162).