Deeper unconsciousness, not greater awareness, characterizes the modern mind. This may be the fundamental irony of our times.

The intersection of ignorance and intention has been the site of art and argument for millennia. Greek tragedies such as Oedipus Rex explore the limits of knowledge to powerful effect. After visiting the theater, Athenians returned to daily life refreshed by dramatic insight into the human condition. Aristotle writes that tragedy purges the emotions by arousing, “pity and fear,” for the, “misfortune of a man like ourselves.” This catharsis remains elusive in the age of reason. In its place, we have the irony of economics.

Irony cuts in unexpected ways. Americans and Brits are known to criticize conformity, but social uniformity may be a consequence of the greater liberty that Anglos have enjoyed throughout their histories. As Thomas Sowell argues in Knowledge and Decisions, all societies must induce individuals to compromise if people with conflicting goals are to live together in peace. This coordination problem does not go away in a ‘free’ country. Indeed, if it is not resolved by government, it is social pressure that must keep the peace.

Sowell’s analysis falls within a long tradition of classical liberal thoughtIn the 1830s, Alexis de Tocqueville remarked that the European, “has no natural propensity to obedience; he cowers, it is true, before the pettiest officer; but he braves the law with the spirit of a conquered foe as soon as its superior force is removed: his oscillations between servitude and license are perpetual.” In America, on the other hand, the government is, “a hundredfold more authoritative than in Europe…in America it may be said that no one renders obedience to man, but to justice and to law.”

Violate an American’s sense of justice – even for the most legitimate of reasons – and an armed mob will assemble overnight to launch a new revolution. Take away a European’s pension and all that follows is performative.

De Tocqueville saw that democratic institutions change the dispositions of ‘free’ citizens. While Europeans easily leave work behind, “to dance merrily at some place of public resort,” Americans prefer, “those more serious and silent amusements which are like business, and which do not drive business wholly from their minds.” If government is an institution of the people, few things are as important as what the people think and say.

To an American abroad, the range of conversation in the pubs of the Old World can be astonishingly liberating. Yet de Tocqueville’s tradeoff indicates an ironic explanation. With few exceptions, European nations do not have an established tradition of rule by the people – to the contrary, rule over the people has been the historical norm. If what you say doesn’t matter, you can say anything you like.

European waiters certainly do. The rudeness of Continental customer service is proverbial, supplying a polar opposite to the hospitality of the American South. Yet the widely disparate murder rates of Dixie and Deutschland indicate another irony: good manners become unnecessary when the threat of violence no longer hangs over every interaction. Just as the handshake is said to have emerged as a way to signal peaceful intent – and the absence of weapons – politeness disarms. Only a pacified society can afford incivility.

This is why the Europeanization of America initiated during the Progressive Era makes interpretation difficult. To many, the riots of the past year are a clear omen of impending disaster – a sign that the nation is on the brink of civil war. Yet as the prospect of large-scale conflict fades, the cost of discontent approaches zero. Broken glass does not reflect a willingness to step beyond street theater unless there is a genuine threat of retaliation. The whole show is, to borrow from Macbeth, “full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

It would be a mistake to construe this as a dismissal of the many tragedies that accompany violent protest. Nor is it an endorsement of the view that nothing can be known. The point is rather that in this age of irony, every inch of progress has its price.

In Orwell’s 1984, the slogans of a totalitarian Party proclaim: “WAR IS PEACE | FREEDOM IS SLAVERY | IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH.” In the 21st century, pacification enables urban uprisings and free citizens demand conformity. As for ignorance, it is both strength, and shadow.

In the words of Alfred North Whitehead, “civilization advances by extending the number of important operations which we can perform without thinking of them.” As markets grow to embrace billions of people around the world, specialization increases apace. The result? A dramatic reduction in the breadth of knowledge required to get by.

Recent research into the shrinking vocabulary of American adults reflects the tradeoff between improvement and knowledge. So do the lyrics of chart-topping pop songs, which rarely exceed the sophistication of Dr. Suess. Yet the lamentations of the literati are nothing new. Adam Smith had just finished describing the division of labor when he wrung his hands over its moral consequences:

The man whose whole life is spent in performing a few simple operations…becomes as stupid and ignorant as it is possible for a human creature to become. The torpor of his mind renders him not only incapable of relishing or bearing a part in any rational conversation, but of conceiving any generous, noble, or tender sentiment, and consequently of forming any just judgment concerning many even of the ordinary duties of private life.

Since Smith penned his Wealth of Nations in 1776, the wealth of the average Westerner has increased a hundredfold. Intractable complexity and its twin, pervasive ignorance, are both cause and consequence of that enrichment. Though Enlightenment thinkers envisioned Man liberated by the light of his own understanding, the philosophes could not comprehend reason’s shadow. It is not greater awareness, but deeper unconsciousness, that characterizes the modern mind. This may be the fundamental irony of our times.

We moderns find ourselves in the position of a man who wakes up alone aboard a strange ship, surrounded by unfamiliar machinery. Blinking lights and sterile floors are the only face of a vast mechanism that entombs him above the cold waves. The reluctant sailor cannot even name any of the machines that hum around him. All he sees are ‘things.’ There are black things and green things, red things and white things, and not a single thing makes a bit of sense.

Though the ship is mysterious, it is clear that it’s not floating through empty space – icebergs loom out of the mist on all sides. What’s more, a trail of oil stains the sea black in the vessel’s wake. Yet there is no apparent way to determine how to fix the leak without wrecking any of the ‘things’ that keep the ship afloat.

The civilization that puts bread in our mouths is far more complex than any sailing ship – too intricate for anyone to model, let alone steer. If its advance only increases our ignorance, we should grow more reticent to change as time passes. Yet there is no reason to expect human beings to grow in humility as they gain power over the natural world and one another. This is why tragedy, whether in the form of Greek drama or the economist’s irony, remains an enduring human experience.

The Imaginative Conservative applies the principle of appreciation to the discussion of culture and politics—we approach dialogue with magnanimity rather than with mere civility. Will you help us remain a refreshing oasis in the increasingly contentious arena of modern discourse? Please consider donating now.

The featured image is a terra-cotta mask used in Ancient Greek plays. It is in the public domain, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

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