The reviving of the American mind

In his 1987 book, The Closing of the American Mind, Allan Bloom argued that higher education no longer taught US citizens how to think. “We are like ignorant shepherds living on a site where great civilizations once flourished,” he wrote. “The shepherds play with the fragments that pop up to the surface, having no notion of the beautiful structures of which they were once a part.” Now, almost 40 years later, we’re even more clueless. The rot in academia has spread throughout the education system and can be found all over American life. Rational thinking has now been almost entirely usurped by the baser passions of anger and grievance, as we saw all too clearly in the collective insanity of the Black Lives Matter riots of 2020.

Americans are not a naturally gloomy people. We don’t necessarily expect things to go our way, but when they don’t, we can laugh it off. In my part of Vermont there’s a place called Hateful Hill, for example, so-named by stagecoach drivers who had a tough time with the steep road. But Hateful Hill is also a beautiful elevation. Today, even those who don’t “get” Donald Trump need to start seeing the upside. He doesn’t always get his way, which is probably a good thing, but he is leading a long-overdue revival of the American spirit and allowing for the return of optimism and the pursuit of excellence.

As fire-breathing counter-revolutionaries go, Christopher Rufo seems notably mild-mannered. Perhaps it’s his northern California roots and Pacific Northwest home that keep him from embracing the based lifestyle pursued by so many conservatives in the Trumpian era. He doesn’t like sports. He doesn’t enjoy UFC. He allows his four kids to watch Disney movies and admits he was once a vegetarian. Yet it’s also possible that the Georgetown-educated PBS documentarian turned right-wing iconoclast is effective precisely for that reason: he knows the people he is criticizing.

I was diagnosed with ADHD in my freshman year of college. I’d suspected as much in high school, but I disliked the idea of taking medication. College was different. No matter what I tried, I kept finding gaps in my notes – and therefore gaps in my knowledge on test day. While I was prescribed so-called “smart drugs,” I didn’t delude myself into thinking they would magically make me more intelligent – which is why I laughed when I saw the ADHD research industry perform a volte-face in the pages of the New York Times, in a piece headlined: “Have we been thinking about ADHD all wrong?” The obvious answer is yes.

When Donald Trump installed himself as chairman of Washington’s Kennedy Center, the progressive arts community reacted with predictable hysteria. Artists threatened boycotts and donors withdrew their support. The Guardian reported the news as “anti-woke MAGA populism on a collision course with America’s progressive cultural scene,” while the usual suspects emerged from their Brooklyn brownstones and Malibu beach houses to decry the “assault on democracy” and predict the death of artistic expression as we know it. But as with most things Trump, the reality has proven far more interesting. Since opening in 1971 as a memorial to John F.

In every iteration of the American National Election Studies since 1952, respondents have been asked to name their biggest “like” and “dislike” when it comes to the two main parties. From 1952 to 2004, voters’ biggest “like” about the Democratic party was that it was the “party of the working class,” whereas the biggest “dislike” that voters had of the Republican party was that it was the “party of big business and the upper class.” Today, the parties’ reputations have shifted dramatically, mirroring the changing composition of their electorates. In the 1990s, nearly 60 percent of Democratic voters were white and didn’t have college degrees. For the 2020s, that proportion has fallen to 25 percent.

Legend has it that after subduing Greece, Egypt, Persia, wide swaths of India and what’s now Afghanistan, Alexander the Great wept, lamenting “there are no worlds left to conquer.” Donald Trump is close to knowing how that feels. “I run the country and the world,” he declared in a recent Atlantic interview. Trump’s second term has barely begun, but already the thought must cross his mind: “What next?” Alexander was lucky to die young, at 32 and at the peak of his power. The President is in rude health and leads a charmed life. The grim reaper missed him last year when an assassin’s bullet grazed his ear in Butler, Pennsylvania. As it stands, Trump can look forward to leaving office, aged 82, in January 2029. He’s conquered the world only to lose it to term limits.

There have always been “two Americas.” Our country has always reflected deep social, economic and cultural divides. It’s threaded into the fabric of our national identity, with origins dating back to the very beginning: should America exist on its own? Tensions only intensified in the 19th century between the industrial North and agrarian South, which played out in the Civil War and Reconstruction. In 1967, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s “The Other America” speech described two nations. One was prosperous. The other was trapped in poverty, racial injustice and systemic inequality, especially for black Americans.