The Paradox of Love, 2

The Prisoner of Love by Yelena Tylkina

Did I say I was back in Sointula? I brought 33 pounds of books with me, so heavy that the airline affixed a "HEAVY" tag to the suitcase. The books divide into two categories: Goethe and love. Goethe is always with me, and in this case I have to write a review for Goethe Yearbook, for which I have carted along other books by the author I am reviewing. Books on love are a new interest, part of the theme of "love versus the sublime" that now occupies me.

I am moving along in Pascal Bruckner's The Paradox of Love, subject of my last post. There are lots of good thoughts in it, but I am beginning to think that French writers are more content with dazzling readers with pregnant observations that making a cogent analysis. Perhaps on the subject of love, one should not be overly cogent. Part I, which I have just finished reading, is entitled "The Redemption of Love." Does Bruckner tell us how love redeems us? Not at all. The subject, as I wrote in my last post, is really the fluidity of love in the modern world, a world of freedom, of so many alternatives in lovers, that we hesitate and doubt ourselves and are, of course, freely rejected by others.

Chapter 3, "I Love You: Weakness and Capture," begins with an analysis of what the words "I love you" mean. This very phrase is itself borrowed, not unique to the speaker of the sentiment. It is, as Bruckner writers, "a collective vehicle for a personal end." Indeed, all of the words we use to express what feels like spontaneous feeling exist before us and are part of a "treasuring of loving words that we apply to those close to us, to pets, and to babies." Even if we go through many lovers, we will use the same words over and over. Otherwise, we "would have to create unique words that are valid only in the instant that I utter them and then disintegrate." We do not tread new territory in our expressions of love; the path been trod by millions before us.

Uttering the words of love leads to the disconcerting situation, for moderns, that we have committed ourselves to something permanent. Although we consider ourselves free, we now have responsibility for what we have said. Lovers resort to stratagems to get themselves out of a situation that promised permanence. As befits love in a capitalist society, "the declaration of love is also a blank check that we can hardly wait to cash: the marvelous gift is transformed into a debt, and we want to recoup our costs." Thus, lovers are constantly bedeviled by the risks in loving and calculate ways to spare themselves risk.

"We Are All Blind Before We See"

Mostly Bruckner speaks of the insecurities of love, and I recognize from my own experience what he is talking about. Having been married and loved and been loved, however, I tend to regard what he says as applying to restless people who have no real anchor in the world, which characterized me at one time. Indeed, I would say that love anchored me. Thus, I was glad when he added some thoughts about what I consider true love, which is unselfish, free of any obligation, a gift that "in no way deprives its donor but instead enriches her beyond all possession." He is speaking of the love of parents for children, but I felt the same way in my marriage. "To love in this way," he writes, again writing of parents, "is to consent, despite ourselves, to lose the other," as when children grow up and move away.

But to tell someone you love him also means that he will not go away. You have committed yourself to "forever." He quotes Gabriel Marcel to this effect: "To say to someone: I love you, is to tell him: You shall not die." Is this one reason that I still have so much trouble accepting that Rick is dead?

Picture credit: Fine Art America; Vision Bank Corp.

The Paradox of Love, 1

The title of this post comes from a book by the French writer Pascal Bruckner. French intellectuals are masters at the art of the aperçu, and Bruckner is no exception. Here is one drawn at random from the first chapter of The Paradox of Love: "The telephone is the spouse for single people, allowing them to be with everyone without having to be close to anyone."

The paradox referred to in the book's title refers to the raptures and tribulations of love in the modern world. The emancipation of the individual has led to certain rights, including choice in matters of love, which, has meant since the early 19th century, for instance, the right to marry for love, that is, the person of one's own choosing, rather than the person chosen for one by one's parents. Consider the novel Pride and Prejudice, the 2005 movie version of which I recently saw. Lizzie Bennet will not be forced to marry Mr. Collins. As portrayed in the movie, she must overcome her own prejudices to recognize the man she is really in love with and will marry.

But we moderns are beyond marriage. The incidence of divorce today indicates the failure of the choice one has made in regard to marriage. The very freedom we insist on often makes us unable to commit to what is the unfreedom of love. Bruckner contends (again in the first chapter), that today "most of us live in a serial polygamy (or a serial monogamy); our lives are governed by the principle of addition. There was John, and then Paul, and then Serge, or Aline, and Diane, and Rachel -- and we could go on to list all the saints in the calendar." Is he also talking about American people? Probably.

Bruckner of course makes the parallel between rise of individual rights and "nascent capitalism." There seem to be so many opportunities, and just as with compulsive shoppers, we don't want to miss out on anything. "Love is an experience we don't want to forego, on the condition that it not deprive us of any other experience." The modern "market" for love is full of beautiful offerings, but most everyone of us has had the experience of not being able to have what we desire. As he reminds us, the tyranny of appearance is as strong as it was in the days of the caveman. What good does freedom do for us, if no one wants us in return?

Women's liberation asserts "my body belongs to me," but it has also led to the free circulation of desirable bodies for men, who now have vastly more choices than women, especially as the latter age.

More anon.

Picture credit: City Lab

Freedom: Just Another Word for Nothing Left to Lose?

Occupy Edmund Burke (illustration: Michael Hogue)

I have been digesting the insights of Jeffrey Hart's essay "Burke and Radical Freedom," which appeared in the journal The Review of Politics in 1967. Burke, according to Hart, was the first to recognize something that many of us are aware of, namely, "the deep moral division of the West," which, for Burke, arose from the French Revolution. As Russell Kirk has written, "conscious conservatism, in the modern sense," first arose with the French Revolution, and Burke is the founder of that conservatism.

Burke opposed the revolutionary and disembodied notion of "freedom" enunciated by Rousseau at the opening of The Social Contract: "Man is born free, but everywhere he is in chains." Rousseau was imagining a self before the existence of society, which, in Rousseau's eyes, had deformed the purity of that pre-social self. For Burke, such a self was an abstraction, and true freedom existed only in a network of social and historical relations.

Freedom, like justice, like beauty, is an abstract concept, although, as Socrates described the latter in The Symposium, both can be embodied in earthly forms: in good laws, for instance, as well as in beautiful individuals. Hart makes much of the differences between the reality-bound views of conservatives and the absolutist notions of progressives concerning freedom, but it seems to me that, whatever view one takes of freedom, its modern importance arose in tandem with the spread of material progress in the West. Karl Popper argued that the ideas that are current in democratic societies, including freedom and individuality, cannot be suppressed once people have become aware of them and that a return to a "closed society" is impossible.

But ideas only achieve power when they reflect material possibilities, and the idea of freedom was an intellectual rationalization of facts on the ground. What we now called liberalism coincided with the rise of the market economy by the late 17th century, the effect of which was to liberate individuals (mostly men at first) from the ties of traditional institutions and allow them to craft their own destinies. The veritable tide of scientific and technological knowledge in the same era led to individual risk-taking, ingenuity, inventions, and a historically unprecedented march of wealth creation.

The new knowledge and the new possibilities it created likewise undermined the veneration for traditional sources of power and led to the reconceptualization of the rights of individuals vis-à-vis authority, which now finds expression in modern liberal constitutions. Thus, the rise in the past two centuries of the demand for freedom. And, as the West grew richer, freedom and individual rights were gradually extended to more and more members of Western countries.

Enlightenment figures at dinner (note serving man at right)

The philosophes ignored the effect of this material affluence in establishing freedom. After all, they were already well situated individuals, with invitations to dinner parties and participants in civilized conversation. They mistakenly took their experience of freedom as something natural. Thus, they postulated an abstract man, a self free of the shackles (Rousseau's chains) that constrained man's ability to be himself: in the 18th century, these shackles were the Church and the Crown. If these were removed, man would march on his way to pure freedom, removed from the ties of history and of local associations.

We tend to think of freedom in personal terms: the freedom to marry whom we want, what career to follow, which the Old Order restricted. In olden times, a woman married the man chosen for her by her parents, a man followed trade of his father. Now, the choice is individual, and choice has become a moral idea, but it has been historically achieved in the West. There is nothing natural about this freedom, which can be seen in the attempts since World War II to implant it in non-Western societies. Popper may have been right to say that such ideas cannot be put back in the bottle, and clearly people all over the world today, for instance, in the Middle East, are familiar with the idea of freedom. People in closed societies aspire to live in countries in which freedom is institutionalized: Sweden, Germany, the U.S. But I suspect that people from closed societies are drawn by the material enticements of choice — a “better life” —  not by the the moral requirements of a free society.

Progressives hate "requirements." Requirements smack of the limitations of traditional societies. Requirements inhibit the expression of the "true" self. So it was that the poet Shelley, in Hart's words, "longed for another revolution, a final and successful one, which would liberate man at last from the 'masks' of actual social existence":

The loathesome mask has fallen, the man remains
Scepterless, free, uncircumscribed, but man
Equal, unlcassed, tribeless, and nationless,
Exempt from awe, worship, degree, the king
Over himself: just, gentle, wise; but man
Passionless? no, yet free from guilt and pain.

What Hart calls Burke's recognition of "the deep moral division of the West" can be seen in divisions concerning the current refugee crisis now roiling the open societies of the West. Progressive humanitarians today, inheritors of the abstract ideas of the philosophes, advocate for the rights of immigrants from closed societies to join free societies without any requirements. Germany and Sweden and such countries attempt to "acculturate" the new arrivals, but advocates of open immigration would insist, pursuant to an abstract notion of rights, that immigrants are entitled to the same rights that we enjoy, without any precondition. After all, in the abstractions of the revolutionists, the immigrants, too, are men. Like the French Revolutionists, modern-day humanitarians ignore the embeddedness of the new arrivals in their own historical situation. To look at Europe today, however, it is evident that the majority of new arrivals do not immediately feel like Germans or like Swedes when their feet touch the new soil. They do not revel in their freedom. After all, few of them have the money to be "free," in the sense of having choices. For them, freedom does not mean having "nothing left to lose." They have lost everything, but are hardly free. So it is that they gravitate toward people like themselves, most of whom are not citizens of the host country, have few choices, and have not grown up understanding the necessity of realizing one's freedom in concrete acts.

Ultimately, of course, today's progressives wish to destroy society as it exists in its imperfections and replace it with an ideal one. Today, the system from which we are to be freed is capitalism; its overthrow will supposedly bring about that classless and stateless condition envisioned by the philosophes, in which men are liberated from the shackles that bind them and are able to jettison the roles or masks that deform their true self. As Hart writes of Marx, Sartre, Rousseau, and other revolutionists, "the negation" is more vivid than the affirmation. "The 'chains' are concrete, but the 'freedom' abstract and vague." We learn what we ought to be, but the "'free' man who is to emerge from all entangling alienations remains unknown."

Picture credits: The American Conservative;

I don't know where they get the money

Renaissance Hotel, Aruba

I remember a time when you seldom heard people speaking a foreign language on the streets of Manhattan. Maybe in the Bronx people spoke Spanish -- Puerto Ricans -- but not on Park Avenue or even in Greenwich Village. Nowadays, not only does one hear German and French but also languages one cannot so easily place: is it a Slavic tongue, or perhaps Hebrew? One hears the chattering in Central Park, one of New York's major tourist attractions, but also in Zabar's and at Whole Foods.

And those are only the folks who are identifiably "European," for there are also lots of families who seem to hail from the Indian subcontinent and who speak other unfamiliar languages.

When I studied in Germany back in the 1960s, very few Germans traveled across the sea. The same for the French, Italians, Dutch, and so on. Back then, the tourists in Europe were Americans, most of whom traveled on group tours and stayed in hotels where they did not have to suffer European plumbing or unheated bedrooms. We who were students at foreign universities took pride in our hardiness back then.

European cities in the late 1960s were not yet the efficient, polished, tourist-accommodating places they have become. It is true that the Paris Metro ran well, as did all trains north of the Italian border, but my experience of the austerity of Paris and of Germany allowed me to appreciate the privileged material conditions of the U.S. and, in the long run, may have protected me from an overestimation of the merits of foreign countries, all of which were still resolutely different from one another. Not only was Europe not yet connected to the world, electronically or otherwise, but it was also unheated for the most part.

Despite Fodor’s European guidebooks, it was also intensely wearying to find one’s way around a foreign country. There were none of the hang-outs that now exist all over the world, from Hong Kong to Katmandu, buffering the experience of gap-year travelers. In that respect there is now very little to challenge a traveler in Europe or even in Asia in the early 21st century. Students traveling abroad today, whatever their nationality, find the same conditions in practically every town or city, including American-style coffee shops with internet access and clean toilets. Moreover, even in Italy everyone now speaks English. The world has really become Americanized, as Europeans used to complain in the 1960s, but they in the meantime have gone along with it.

I also remember when French and Germans didn't look the same. Nowadays when I hear a foreign language with which I am not familiar I will study the face to see if its features give the speaker away as, say, Polish or Russian. Eastern Europeans are not yet quite as "polished" as Western Europeans: they don't have a century of economic progress behind them. But the funny thing about economic progress is that it homogenizes us. We are all alike in our tastes. We read the same kinds of magazines for guidance on how to dress or how to outfit our homes. So, the advance of wealth over a wider swath of the earth leads more and more to the erasure of national or ethnic identity.

So, clearly people have money nowadays. They travel to places where the inhabitants do the same things and live the same way as they do back home.

Against "knowningness"

My friend Gesine and I went to the Guggenheim to view the exhibition How to Work Better, which surveys the oeuvre of Swiss artists Peter Fischli and David Weiss. As the Guggenheim brochure indicates, it is "the first comprehensive overview of their 33-year-collaboration in a New York museum." If you are looking for "art" in a traditional sense, for instance, an object that you can feast your eyes on, that you can "dwell" with, that makes you consider how its craft has been achieved, then this show is not for you. This is art that can only be viewed in an institutional setting: at large museums or at international biennales. It represent a kind of "Gesamtkunstwerk." You can't pick up a replica for your book shelf, although postcards are available.

The walls of the winding, ascending galleries of the Guggenheim are filled with "replicas" of ordinary objects, with videos of "chain reactions" utilizing everyday objects, large monitors showing still photographs, slide installations with ponderous questions ("Why Does the World Turn Around Once a Day"). There are also innumerable small constructions composed of two figures, of unfired clay, to which are affixed a "concept": e.g., "High and Low." The goal is "to confuse traditional hierarchies and value systems."

Small and Big

A five-year-old could produce the figures, although, of course, a five-year-old would not be so "knowing" as to dream up the concepts. Come to think of it, maybe Fischli and Weiss had kids prepare the objects: it is hard to believe that they actually immersed their own hands in clay, like in a preschool. But what do I know? The show is for people who are "knowing," for whom the contraries represented by the objects represent some kind of wisdom.

Gesine and I had different reactions to the show. She liked the whimsicality of the small objects, contended that they make you think. I always feel like a disapproving chaperon on such occasions, for my response to such shows is always of "the emperor has no clothes" variety. And just as with emperors, an astonishing amount of institutional resources have gone into maintaining the deception. The description of the artists' methodology in the the brochure produced in me the proverbial gag reaction. Take this one: "Tischi and Weiss shunned the authoritative voice of the artist and acted instead as whimsical philosophers who pondered all questions, great and small."

But the subject of my post here is "knowingness." The appeal of such "art" is to people who are in the know about the latest cool things, people who are ahead of the curve and who express their knowingness in being able to get what the artist is doing, unlike the rubes who wonder what the fuss is about. Of course, I recognize what the artists are doing. I have a Ph.D., and I am au current about the contemporary art scene, but my rube background also makes me aware of the gimmicky aspect. Indeed, I suspect that the artists themselves know that they are not philosophers and that what they are doing is a gimmick. It is a gimmick, however, that has led to a career, to prizes, awards, exhibitions, magazine covers, and the like. That is the artistic world we live in now. Art requires craft, and while there is much craft in what has been installed at the Guggenheim -- people with various skills, especially technicians, are required to pull it all together -- in the end its purpose is to satisfy a small crowd of connoisseurs. In the process, it confirms a conformity of taste,  the taste of people in the know.

On Being White: Concluding Rant

Socialism never dies

My goal in this series has been to suggest the insincerity, if not downright mendacity, of the assumptions of the field of “whiteness studies,” an academic outpost of cultural studies. The jargon of this field, in particular “white privilege,” has penetrated the consciousness of anyone who watches MSNBC. As my posts have tried to demonstrate, “white privilege” is not what it turns out to be, and the real target is working class whites, who were supposed to advance the socialist revolution of America. Instead, the working classes turned out to be “reactionary.” As I discussed in an earlier post,  James Baldwin’s essay “On Being White … and Other Lies,” a foundational text of whiteness studies, is exemplary of the rage of intellectuals toward the European immigrants who settled the New World and transformed the U.S. economy into its present capitalist prosperity. Having failed the intellectuals, the white working classes must now be consigned to the dustbin of history. Blaming the victims, indeed.

The present contempt of the hard left for the working classes has been accompanied in recent decades by the condescension of liberal whites toward less privileged whites who still cling, as President Obama put it, to the their guns and religion, along with other traditional values. Moreover, for a number of years already, the prospects of working class whites, by all social indicators, have been sinking, for instance, in joblessness, suicide, and a high out-of-wedlock birth rate. So, not only have the social and educational achievements of the great majority of blacks not matched the hopes of those who signed the Civil Rights Act in 1964, but whites are also losing ground.

Consider the situation in the new millennium: hardly any big city mayor or other politician, no prominent hedge-fund manager, attorney, or corporate executive, not to mention investment banker or actor, sends their kids to non-competitive public schools. Most other American children go to public schools, which, except in the richest districts of the U.S., are labs of affirmative action, and where no child today, white or black, is allowed to fail. There is no need to rehearse the downward trend of educational achievement since about 1973. Now, if you can't read beyond third-grade level after eight years in school, you move on to high school anyway. Parents can no longer spank their own children, teachers can't fail them, and everyone agrees that competition is bad for the psyche.

This downward trajectory is a legacy of the cohort that began school in 1950, which includes myself as well as the leading lights of whiteness studies as well as the liberal elite. Thus, this series began with two personal anecdotes, ranging from the early 1960s to the present, about my own experience of race in America. I did not grow up in one of the traditional elite classes of the U.S.: no Mayflower blood in my veins. Yet I had the good fortune to enter school in the early 1950s, when kids mastered the three R’s, learned to write in a comprehensible hand, and absorbed the ability to sit quietly at our desks for several hours straight. Because of the decade’s moral and material limitations, we kids developed lots of inner starch.

And while  we had plenty of rich people back in the 1950s ––they were the first ones who could afford private phone lines and color TVs –– in essentials even the life styles of the well-off did not diverge profoundly from that of ordinary folks. For instance, the bank manager might have been able to afford a Cadillac, but he didn’t set himself off by driving one. His kids, moreover, went to the same school as the kids of workers.

By the time we graduated from high school in the early 1960s, the U.S. economy had long left the rest of the weary, war-torn world far behind. Whether we went directly from high school into the work force or first attended college, we were well qualified to continue the powering of this great economic engine. In doing so, we also did quite well for ourselves. Indeed, we have become the only Americans to have it all –– and that continues to have it all, privileged in our access to high culture, literature, and the arts, not to mention solid retirement accounts.

Along the way, circa 1973, however, my cohort took over the reins of “the institutions” and began to establish an agenda that has reversed the process by  which schools, except in the richest districts of the country, produce successful children. It was done with the best of intentions. Maybe we had it too easy growing up. In any case, we no longer had the inner starch to be as tough as our parents had been. We imagined that everyone could be like ourselves –– as well fed and well educated as we had been — but without any prerequisites: for instance, hard work, discipline, and so on, values that had made us successful in the first place.

In effect, we were rejecting the values of the decade in which we were raised. Our animus toward the 1950s, however, simply reflected the imperative of the more dynamic economy that we inherited, one that thrived on, well, squandering. As we progressed through life by treading where no previous generation had trod before, we confused our material progress with moral superiority. What liberals call social progress, however, has been achieved by institutionalizing the values of adolescents, the social category that receives its allowance from other people and insists that others pay for its mistakes. The truly most privileged generation in American history introduced the politics of people who have always had a roof over their head and don't worry about where their next meal is coming from.

Contemporary liberals, especially those who came of age like me in the Sixties, did not set out to create a class divide. Far from it, and they are indeed aware of it, because of the contrast it represents to their own conventional, conservative lives. Yes, conventional and conservative. If they were not, liberals would not have succeeded as well as they have. They may have pushed the limits in their jobs, in their intimate relationships ("open marriage"), and in their leisure ("adult drugs"), but well-educated liberals have the lowest divorce rate and the highest standard of living. So, while they care about the future and generational continuity, they have their 401Ks and their SUVs, their farmers’ markets, their rent-stabilized apartments or the apartments they bought for a song when co-oping began in Manhattan, their vacation homes in Colorado or Arizona. And if the national high school graduation rate for the lower classes is abysmal, their own kids and grandkids have had every opportunity to excel. Thus, when they vote, it is not for the nation’s solvency and its future prospects, but for indulgence: for “choice.” As we liked to say in the Sixties, it is no skin off my back. After all, we didn’t start adult life with $150,000 in student loan debt.

What to Wear to Church!

Today there are a lot of high-status blacks who enjoying the material privileges of high-status whites. No doubt they feel the same gratifications (and are subject to the same insecurities) as do high-status whites when they fill up their shopping carts at Whole Foods or Citarella, but do they harbor the same condescension toward low-status whites as do American liberals? I suspect that they do. After all, they also watch MSNBC. And yet … how paradoxically different is their public attitudes toward their own less fortunate brethren, those without their educational advantage or their professional status. I speak not of the views they hold among themselves, in churches, in barber shops and hair salons, on the street, especially about the black underclass. Whatever they may personally think of the behavior of the black underclass, their hesitation may come down to, “There but for the grace of God …”

Note also that they do not condescend toward folks in their neighborhoods and cohort who still hold to the values of “middle class” life: marriage, good work habits, and church attendance. Whatever role affirmative action may have played in their own good fortune, more important is that they, like me, grew up with such values. It is class, not race, that today defines whether one is privileged. Privileged whites seek to efface their own origins in the middle class.

Picture credits: DreamsTime; The Plushist

On Being White: A Series (7)

Low-status white becomes high-status black

My own feeling about not quite belonging at events like that in Central Park reflects, for sure, loyalty to my own roots among ordinary Americans, as we felt ourselves to be in the 1950s, when we aspired not to be elite, but simply middle class. But my hesitations may also may indicate why blacks of equal educational achievement as myself are not as quick as I am to take advantage of such events. However much I may feel like an interloper, I do not stand out; I pass. The same cannot be said for blacks; they always stand out, which is not necessarily what you hav in mind when prepare to go out for an evening of music. Unlike in my case, one suspects that they may feel judged as to how well they measure up to the expectations of the milieu. (Something very similar happened to me when I lived in Japan for several years: every time I picked up a pair of chopsticks, every Japanese eye was on me to see how well I performed.) It’s not very relaxing to be constantly self-monitoring, which is demanded by current public discourse on race. Better, blacks might think, to stick with their own gatherings, social and professional, which are numerous in the age of Meet Up and at which they would be among people "like themselves."

No doubt high-status blacks feel the same gratifications (and are subject to the same insecurities) as do high-status whites when they fill up their shopping carts at Whole Foods or Citarella. In my previous post, I mentioned the cultural assumptions of white liberals about low-status whites as well as their condescension toward them. Do high-status blacks feel the same toward the whites who are "not with it"? I suspect that they do. Material and moral “advancement” go together. There always has to be someone to look down on.

Yet how different is their public attitudes toward their own less fortunate brethren, those without their educational advantage or their professional status. I speak not of the views blacks hold among themselves, in churches, in barber shops and hair salons, on the street, especially about the black underclass. But has anyone lately heard them engage in condescension toward folks in their neighborhoods and cohort who still hold to the values of “middle class” life: marriage, good work habits, and church attendance? While affirmative action may have played a role in their own good fortune, more important for their success (and they know it) is that they, like me, grew up with such values. Whatever they may personally think of the behavior of the black underclass, their hesitation may come down to, “There but for the grace of God …”

In contrast, many of us who grew up in the 1950s have forgotten the source of our good fortune. There is, however, nothing “natural” about it: it was constructed by the working classes of this country, white and black, by laborers in the field or on assembly lines, by small business owners, by all the people in the 1950s who managed to “get ahead,” which meant keeping a roof over their head and supporting a family without a college degree.

Liberal condescension toward low-status whites is supported by the myth of the terrible 1950s. The shelves of Barnes and Noble overflow with memoirs and novels in which incest and rape, alcoholism, bigotry, and general benightedness constitute the hidden family life of that decade. Really, it’s a wonder anyone survived such times. The novelist Jonathan Franzen, who wasn’t even born until the end of the 1950s, who wasn’t in college in 1968 and could not have experienced the Sixties (which for many were the 1970s), wrote a novel about the effects on children who grew up in the 1950s. It was called The Corrections, and it won the National Book Award in 2001. Franzen proved that you don’t even have to have experienced the 1950s to know how terrible they were. The converse of this myth is that, since we came of age –– having survived the 1950s, if you like –– we have made the world a better place. If you believe that, you are most definitely a liberal.

Picture credit: Crisis Forums