The Princeton Historian Daniel T. Rodgers has written a fascinating new book about how the U.S. has gone from being one big beacon of light to a thousand little points. The title gives it away. We are in an Age of Fracture. We've gone from shared sacrifice and shared identities to individual expression and diffuse identities. We've gone from limits to dreams; we've shed the confines of the past for the endless possibilities of future reinvention. The only problem is, it's starting to look like we might now want the past back after all, and limits are starting to look more prudent.
The story begins in the Cold War, an era of asking what you could do for your country. History and tradition weighed heavily; big institutions dominated. "Dedication, courage, responsibility, self-scrutiny and sacrifice," writes Rodgers, "these were the nouns that bore the burden of the Cold War presidential rhetoric."
But by the time sunny Ronald Reagan was in the White House, the confining rhetoric of the Cold War was gone and "terms like `crisis,' `peril' and sacrifice slipped one by one out of Reagan's major speeches like dried winter leaves." (What can he say? The man likes his collections of representative words.) In Reagan's speeches, the historian detects the new optimism of self-actualizing philosophy, and the (re?)-birth of an American faith that from three simple words - "We, The People" - anything was possible.
But Reagan may just be the transition's most visible mouthpiece. The shift away from institutions to individuals was just as much the rage among intellectuals. First, most visibly, in economics: In the 1960s, Keynesian economics was the consensus view, with its focus on institutions and macro-level supply and demand. But then it proved unable to either explain or solve the stagflation of the 1970s, leading Daniel Bell to proclaim that, "nobody has any answers he is confident of."
Enter the new microeconomics: the atomized market of millions of socially-detached, utility-maximizing individuals, owing nothing to society other than to make themselves happy. "In its very simplifications," writes Rodgers "it filled a yearning for clarity that the older, more complex pictures of society could not."
Like Reagan's soaring rhetoric, the new faith in markets was a way to break free of limits. In contrast to the gray pessimism of planners and government bureaucrats who wanted people to live within their means, the new models bespoke a land of heroic entrepreneurs and innovators, of an America that could re-invent itself constantly from the bottom up.
Other social sciences tracked the trends in economics. In political science, models of rational choice, with their focus on individual utility, replaced the importance of larger institutional structures and forces. Everything now could be explained by examining the incentives of individuals as if they were independent from larger social institutions. Phrases like the "will of the people" became meaningless when complex models showed how impossible it actually was to usefully aggregate independent preferences.
In sociology, the guiding concept of power "grew less tangible, less material, more pervasive, more elusive, until, in some widespread readings of power, it became all but impossible to trace down." Michel Foucault found power everywhere, and by doing so, effectively rendered it meaningless - for if it was everywhere, than who could pin it down? In anthropology, Clifford Geertz found "nothing but a play of texts." Everything was performance and masks.
In more popular books, Alvin Toffler's widely-read Future Shock proclaimed "The death of permanence." John Naisbitt's Megatrends promised the triumph of the individual in the new information age.
The politics of race and gender were likewise affected. On the subject of race, conservatives embraced the notion of a color-blind society, and race as a social construct. "In the `color-blind' society project," writes Rodgers. "Amnesia was a conscious strategy, undertaken in the conviction that the present's dues to the past had already been fully paid." Again, the same theme: the triumph of individualism came at the expense of the past. One could not have a world of endless new opportunities if one got bogged down with worries about history and obligations.
On gender, the breakdown was internal to the movement. A representative 1977 woman's gathering in Houston fell apart when it became apparent there was no single woman's experience everyone could agree on. The feminist scholar Judith Butler concluded in her landmark book Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity: "There were only scripts, nothing outside or beyond them." Postmodernism strikes again. If everything is socially constructed, nothing has a foundation.
"Choice, provisionality, and impermanence," writes Rodgers. "A sense of the diffuse and penetrating, yet unstable powers of culture; an impatience with the backward pull of history - these were the emergent intellectual themes of the age."
And yet by the late 1980s, one could also detect a backlash. In the academy, Allan Bloom railed against the nihilistic deconstruction of everything in The Closing of the American Mind. Conservative think tanks began looking to local communities as sources of civic republicanism. Evangelicals saw the church as the center that could and must hold.
"Conservative intellectuals by the end of the 1980s still yearned for a common culture," wrote Rodgers. "They could half-remember and half-invent in their mind's eye a more consensual age, when terms like `civil religion' and the `American creed' had been sociological commonplaces."
But the great irony was that the new conservative embrace of the American tradition was itself a creative reinvention -a mythic golden age that only selectively drew on actual history.
In conservative legal scholarship, Rodgers writes: "The originalist argument tapped not a desire to go back to any actual past but a desire to escape altogether from time's slipperiness - to locate a trap door through which one could reach beyond history and find a simpler place outside of it. Originalism's appeal to the past was, like the economists' modelings of time, profoundly ahistorical."
As a document of intellectual history, Rodgers' book is brilliant. Learned, wide-ranging, delightful to read, full of keen little insights (and epoch-defining bundles of nouns.) But it leaves open the question: is the fracture permanent? "One might reach nostalgically for a fragment of the past," Rodgers concludes. "But the time that dominated late-twentieth-century social thought was now."
