No longer open to explanation. We have lived in the wake of that predicament ever since. We have become doubters and ironists, finding our solace in technique, in toys and gadgets rather than meaning. The Cold War swept the doubts under the carpet for a time, but they have reappeared with a vengeance. Monty Python, minion of Dada, father of Fawlty Towers, is our century's grand Pooh-Bah.
Ironists are unable to rule.
We have dismantled our empires. Our art and architecture, our music and literature, and even our politics and international order have become a postmodern hodgepodge of style and idea. We find it difficult to decide. We wallow uneasily in a moral perplexity that is called political correctness. Happiness is the fantasy of the arrogant and deluded.