An American born in 1952 would be well forgiven for believing he was master of the universe. Reared in the shadow of his nation’s greatest triumph, this American was taught from birth that reality bent to his will. His people tamed the building block of the knowable universe and deployed it to his services at whim. When he took center stage in 1992, he stood alone, the leader of a nation at its peak power and prestige. His armies marched from end to end of the globe without so much as a hint of friction. He knew a unity foreign to the rest of human history, and he stood in command of it.
In contrast, the American born in 2002 knows the universe remains in firm control of itself. His arrival on the scene came in the shadow of his nation’s worst calamity. The unity the man of 1952 took for granted shattered into a thousand multiplicities, and the man of 2002 learned quickly the contours of this brave new world. He watched his armies go abroad in search of demons to slay, only to return bearing many. At home, he became the first man raised fully in conjunction with the parallel world created on the internet. He found himself faced with a multiplicity as foreign to human history as the unity the man of 1952 had previously commanded.
Every generation is educated by the lessons of its age, and no two generations so close to one another received such different educations as these two men. The man of 1952 was taught – bred by birth, in fact – to believe that the world was his inheritance. The man of 2002 knows no such birthright and would not dare to claim it if offered.
The man of 1952 knows a singular, unified world and stubbornly struggles to accept the multiplicity of the present day. He was taught that reality is true and moldable like clay in his hands. The man of 2002 recognizes the new rule: reality lies, and it molds the man far more than he molds it.
It is inconceivable to the man of 1952 that anyone could inhabit a reality different from his own, no matter how diverse this new world becomes. The man of 2002 labors under no such delusions; he watches every man form his own reality, and he trusts none of them. There will be new ones in their place soon enough.
Truth, for the man of 1952, is as accessible as oxygen. He swims in it, and he shudders at the thought that these truths might not be so solid. Cynicism is the lesson of the cradle for the man of 2002; it is no great challenge to recognize the world as one of lies.
These are the respective educations of the ages these two men inhabit.
And yet, neither education has fitted these men for the demands of the age to come. The man of 1952 is long into the twilight of his life, and despite his protests, the world is prepared for his departure. He has no time to leave a legacy and no inclination to do so. The failure to protect the unity he inherited will be his only memory. And as the man of 2002 steps onto the stage, he finds himself ill-equipped for the show. His cynicism is fine for dealing with the world as it is, but if he is to rebuild the world as it should be, he must learn something new. The negative sense does a man well as a mere observer, but only as such. If he is to act in the world, he must be capable of something more. The man of 2002 requires a new education.
The failures of the man of 1952 are a good place to begin.
The man of 1952 was bred to act in days, plan in hours, and think in minutes; the new American must act in years, plan for decades, and think in centuries.
The man of 1952 believed that his world could be defended with great speeches and waxed poetic as his nation decayed. Yet the new American must remember the lesson of Bismarck: The great debates of his day will not be decided with speeches and parliaments, but with steam and steel. The future will not be built with papers and platitudes but with the fibers of American muscle. New industries must be raised from the ground. The debts of the past must be wrangled. The sinews of American life have frayed, and it belongs to the new man – and his generation – to repair them.
The man of 1952 believed himself the master of the universe, resulting in total erasure of his legacy. The new American must be willing to be forgotten if he is to build anything worth remembering. The fear of failure that permeated the man of 1952 kept him from succeeding in the things that matter; the man of 2002 must train himself to fail – and fail again – until he achieves the greatest success an American can have: a nation to hand to the next generation.
Not only in act, but in mind, the new American must distinguish himself from the generation that broke his world. The life of the man of 1952 was defined by the vices he embraced. Virtue, and a vision of the good life, must be the calling cards of the man of 2002. He must believe what he is building is worth being built. His inherent distrust of the world must be unlearned. Truth is a measure of staying power, and in rejecting the spirit of his age, the new American must believe in his ability to make things that last.
The world that shaped the man born in 1952 is gone. He squandered his inheritance and left a pittance to those who followed him. The system that provided him so much is broken by his hand and of his own volition. The man born in 2002 has received an education unfit for the task at hand.
Yet the task is clear: He must remind his nation what it means to be decent. He must build his people a system that works, and he must become the man who can work it. These are the great demands of his age.
