It’s obvious that the United States is in decline. But what does decline mean? According to Edward Gibbon, it’s a loss of virtue, particularly a decay of public service and civic duty. In the case of the Roman Empire, Gibbon thought that luxury and complacency were the cause of it, along with Christianity, which made the Romans care less for the problems of the day and more for an afterlife in which those problems didn’t exist. But that’s all kind of complex for a kid. Especially mine, who protests whenever I give him what he calls “the Wikipedia page.”
The symptoms of Rome’s decline were similar to those we see today: social disparity, political corruption, wealth-power concentration, apathy, overspending, neglect of the common weal, receding influence in the world . . . But, again, that’s “the Wikipedia page.” It’s easier to say, “It means, kid, that you’ll have it worse than I did.”
Or maybe I could tell him that, during a decline, people lose faith that the government can do good at home and abroad. They have no idea how public funds are being spent. The civic infrastructure—education, transportation, health, law enforcement, housing—falls apart. The military fails to resolve conflicts abroad and politicians fail to justify the cost of war. But that would be “the Wikipedia page.”
Okay, I could tell him that decline is what happens when a society’s guiding principal is to get what you can, any way you can, for as little as you can. That “the greatest good for the greatest number” becomes a quaint anachronism. I could point to the most conspicuous sign of decline: those in power, the attention-seeking cretins who sow fear, hatred and apprehension in the body politic; who flaunt their own vices and vilify their political opponents; who exact retribution on perceived enemies that are powerless to fight back; who fabricate problems they pretend to solve; who are both the cause and consequence of decline. But that, too, is “the Wikipedia page.”
Maybe I could tell him that it’s when politicians promise to reverse the clock. And though absurd, they package the promise in a catchy jingle or slogan and repeat that bullshit incessantly, until they override voters’ critical faculties or instantly seduce those with no critical faculties to override. I could say that, when besieged by a plethora of new problems, voters naturally entertain the fiction that the old problems were easier and less complicated. And that most of the problems of the past, unlike those of the present, come with solutions, and are easier to ignore or deny than problems yet to be solved. But that would probably be, yes, “the Wikipedia page.”
I could tell him that, in common parlance, the clock-reversers are called conservatives. They abhor the future and adore the past. That’s why they apply themselves to erasing laws and policies that are intended to prevent problems that will arise in the future. If a progressive income tax was instituted to prevent wealth stratification, they rescind it. If a campaign finance law was passed to prevent private influence of public policy, they repeal it. If a regulation was put in place to keep a failing institution from dragging down an entire market sector, they annul it. If science proves that human activity is the primary cause of global warming, they deny it. If legalizing a medical procedure gives women more agency, they outlaw it. Which is understandable, because the problems of the future are scarier than the cozy, familiar, already-solved problems of the past. But I’m afraid the Wikipedia indictment would apply here, as well.
I could explain that the primary intention of conservatives is, generally speaking, pretty cool: to return us all to a pre-problematic condition, a time before Eve bit the apple, a time when problems, the future and death itself didn’t exist. I mean, who wouldn’t rather live it up like Adam and Eve before the Fall? However, despite their best intentions, whenever conservatives are in power, they precipitate decline. The nation goes into remission. It ceases to progress. It becomes less influential, consequential, innovative and powerful. It has less to offer the world and less to gain from it. Like the Roman republic after imperialism and Christianity, it retracts. But I think that, too, would invoke the Wikipedia protest.
If Gibbon’s chronicle of the slow and inexorable decay of the Roman Empire demonstrates anything, it’s that decline begets decline. Those who rise to power during times of decline tend to be more conservative than progressive. They tend to show a conspicuous lack of ethical integrity, intelligence, courage and understanding—what they used to call character. Their only qualification for office is the ability to stimulate the voter’s amygdala, that almond-sized organ in the temporal lobe, which is responsible for euphoria and dread.
In a country that leads the world in drug use disorders and video game addiction, the amygdala wins. The gaudy grifters, charismatic liars and menacing demagogues have a distinct advantage over candidates with character, who appeal to the pre-frontal cortex. As Rex Huppke stated it in his excellent USA Today column, “Spare me the wails of ‘This isn’t who we are!’ I’ve got bad news for the sane and decent among us: This is exactly who we are.”
So, if your kid, who will inherit the problems of the future, ever asks whether the country is in decline, simply point to whomever is holding the highest office in the land. Ask them if that is a good person or, as Huppke put it, “a totem of the worst in us.” Ask them if they admire or are ashamed of that person. If they choose the latter, there’s no need to give them “the Wikipedia page.”