The editors of major media outlets and the public figures who appear in them as “officials” and “experts” speak a language different from that of ordinary people in everyday life. This is nothing new. The language of those at the top has always differed from the language of common folk. That is why the speech of the lower classes came to be called “vulgar”—from vulgus, the common crowd.
In the past, however, those at the top had to learn refined speech. They devoted time and effort to it. They hired tutors. They trained themselves. Today’s elites still make sure their language distinguishes them from the rest of society, but what they produce is often a clumsy imitation—full of awkward constructions and grammatical errors, piled one on top of another. It is a parody of elevated language, and anyone can master it in a few minutes.
This linguistic decay points to a broader principle.
For most of history, the ruling elite was not merely an elite of birth and wealth. It was also an elite of competence. Membership in the upper ranks required sustained investment in self-cultivation. One had to master refined manners and specialized skills: chess, horsemanship, fencing, serious literature, the ability to recognize an operatic aria. These were not decorative luxuries. They were social filters.
Those below lacked the resources to instill such disciplines in their children. Those above, meanwhile, carefully policed their own ranks, ensuring that no one with coarse, untrained habits slipped through. In doing so, they protected their investment. If I have spent years memorizing Latin quotations, why should I treat as an equal someone who never made that effort?
This system has largely disappeared—or has at least been drastically weakened.
It is not that today’s political and financial elites lack intelligent and capable individuals. Many remain. But competence is no longer a condition of membership. Conformity and intrigue are sufficient. One must display the right instincts, echo the right slogans, and maneuver within the right networks.
This, in turn, explains the chronic anxiety of the modern elite. Their status rests not on proven achievement but on fragile social acceptance. They fear exclusion precisely because they have little solid foundation on which to stand.
The implications extend to the other side of the political divide.
If a genuine counter-elite is to emerge—one capable of replacing the existing order and redirecting the course of civilization—it cannot be a mere mirror image of today’s ruling class, with different dogmas but identical behavioral patterns. It must be elitist in the older, serious sense of the word.
It must insist on demonstrated ability. Its members must hold one another accountable for real self-discipline, sustained effort, and measurable growth. They must care whether they are actually improving.
That means refusing to imitate the present elite with reversed ideological signs. If anything is to be imitated, it should be the ruling classes of earlier generations—those who understood that authority without cultivation is ultimately hollow.