Christopher Caldwell, The Age of Entitlement: American Since the Sixties.
(New York: Simon & Schuster, 2020; 319 pages + Bibliography and Index)
Christopher Caldwell’s book has made quite a splash since its publication in 2020, at least in generally conservative circles. The thesis is strikingly clear and candid: The United States essentially has two “constitutions”—its “official” constitution of 1788 and its “functioning” constitution which has effectively been in place since the 1960s.
The book has eight chapters divided equally into two main parts: Part I, “The Revolutions of the 1960s” (87 pages) and Part II, “The New Constitution” (187 pages). At the end of chapter one, “1963” (the year of the assassination of J.F. Kennedy) ends with a helpful thesis statement for the book:
The changes of the 1960s, with civil rights at the core, were not just a major new element in the Constitution. They were a rival constitution, with which the original one was frequently incompatible—and the incompatibility would worsen as the civil rights regime was built out. (6)
Caldwell continues:
Much of what we have called “polarization” or “incivility” in recent years is something more grave—it is the disagreement over which of the two constitutions shall prevail: the de jure constitution of 1788, with all of the traditional forms of jurisprudential legitimacy and centuries of American culture behind it; or the de facto constitution of 1964, which lacks this traditional kind of legitimacy but commands the near-unanimous endorsement of judicial elites and civic educators and the passionate allegiance of those who received it as a liberation. The increasing necessity that citizens choose between these two orders, and the poisonous conflict into which it ultimately drove the country, is what this book describes. (6)
Caldwell works through three central “revolutions” which he sees as central in the 1960s: Race (chapter two), Sex (chapter three), and War (chapter four).
Revolutionizing the Founding Freedoms
Caldwell’s thesis in chapter two is clear. The original Civil Rights Act of 1964 banned racial discrimination in a number of areas (voting booths—Title I; hotels, restaurants, and theaters—Title II; various public facilities like libraries, swimming pools, and bathrooms—Title III; and public schools—Title IV). Title V expanded the Civil Rights Commission, and Title VI gave the federal bureaucracy significant oversight over those organizations receiving federal money. In short, it was an astounding piece of legislation, whatever one thinks of it. As Caldwell summarizes: “It can fairly be described as the largest undertaking of any kind in America history” (9).
While writing in a very accessible and straightforward style, Caldwell nonetheless walks through numerous topics. Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka (1954) brought to the fore a dicey question: does the Supreme Court have the power to, in effect, nullify or place out of bounds the traditional notion of freedom of association? (13–15). Does civil right legislation and ideology in effect collapse the distinction between public and private, or between the state and society? (15). Caldwell quotes political philosopher Leo Strauss on the danger of civil rights legislation: “The prohibition against every ‘discrimination’ would mean the abolition of the private sphere, the denial of the difference between the state and society, in a word, the destruction of liberal society” (15). Caldwell also notes that many civil rights leaders were quite clear that property rights and the freedom of association would have to bow to “civil rights” (17–18).
Caldwell also notes that some advocates of civil rights were quite honest and straightforward about how smaller, voluntary associations and communities (or “subcommunities”) would fare as civil rights legislation and thinking was developed over time. Caldwell quotes Nathan Glazer, writing in 1964, that for blacks, “the subcommunity, because it either protects privileges or creates inequality, has no right to exist” (24).
Caldwell’s observation about the development of Martin Luther King Jr.’s perspective is intriguing. King could write: “We are to get on the right side of the world revolution, we as a nation must undergo a radical revolution of values” (28). Was that what American support for the Civil Rights movement and various legislations was really about?
Caldwell notes: “The legislation of the mid-1960s made legal equality a fact of American life. To the surprise of much of the country, though, legal equality was now deemed insufficient by both civil rights leaders and the government” (29).
Thus, Lyndon Baines Johnson lobbied for the Voting Rights Acts and issued his own Executive Oder 11246, all of which Johnson called “the next and more profound stage” of the civil rights movement (32). Thus, as Caldwell tells the story, equality before the law was not really the goal of various civil rights legislation. Something deeper was going on.
Things developed quickly, as Caldwell sees things, including “affirmative action,” which in various ways required that racial preference be given to blacks. Indeed, within a decade of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, “America had something it had never had at the federal level, something the overwhelming majority of its citizens would never have approved: an explicit system of racial preference” (34).
As Caldwell summarizes chapter two: “Civil rights gradually turned into a license for government to do what the Constitution would not previously have permitted. It moved beyond the context of Jim Crow laws almost immediately, winning what its apostles saw as liberation after liberation” (34).
In chapter three, “Sex,” Caldwell explores the question of women and feminism leading up, and including, the 1960s. As Caldwell tells the story, in the aftermath of World War II the U.S. was a world of male leadership and influence (especially with things like the G.I. Bill providing opportunities for college and advancement). Influences like Betty Friedan (The Feminine Mystique) and Hugh Hefner somewhat radicalized things. Second-wave feminism of the 1960s differed from first-wave feminism of the early twentieth century (e.g., the suffrage movement), at least in part due to its commitment to sexual license and freedom. So, in a sad turn, second-wave feminism led to an increase in sexual promiscuity and freedom.
The U.S. Supreme Court’s 1973 decision, Roe v. Wade (as well as Doe v. Bolton, issued the very same day), can be seen in relationship to the sexual revolution of the 1960s. Roe allowed women increased lifestyle opportunities. An “unwanted pregnancy” could saddle a young woman with the typical obligations of motherhood, cutting short opportunities for travel, education, employment, and various sexual experiences. The 1970s would see an increase of highly sexualized advertising, as well as an attempt to alter the U.S. Constitution with the Equal Rights Amendment. Thirty-five of the necessary thirty-eight states ratified the ERA, but it eventually fizzled.
In chapter four, “War,” Caldwell chronicles the state of foreign policy in the 1960s and 1970s. As Caldwell tells the story the Vietnam War was “the sister movement to the Civil Rights Act and the Great Society” (69). Caldwell chronicles the sad events of American involvement in Vietnam and moves on to discuss the emergence of an American “counterculture.” Caldwell wisely notes that this counterculture likely saw something terribly wrong in American culture, even if the turn to drug use was a poor way to remedy the emptiness of much of American life and culture. Interestingly, there was a “conservative” strand to aspects of this counterculture—those desiring things local, smaller, and traditional.
Caldwell ends Part I (with the main chapters on “Race,” “Sex,” and “War”) provocatively. He suggests that all three of these areas, “civil rights, women’s liberation, the attempt to impose a liberal order on the world militarily—had all been resoundingly repudiated by the public” (89). Indeed, as Caldwell sees it, Americans elected Ronald Reagan as president “to put an end to it.” But: “Instead, in ways that neither his supporters nor his detractors have every fully understood, he rescued it” (89).
The New Constitution
Part II is titled “The New Constitution,” and is constituted by four chapters: “Debt” (chapter five), “Diversity” (chapter six), “Winners” (chapter seven), “Losers” (chapter eight).
Odd as this may sound to those who see the Reagan era as a recovery of conservatism, Caldwell argues in chapter five, “Debt,” that the former Hollywood actor actually furthered much of the 1960s revolution, rather than hindering it. As Caldwell tells the story, Reagan’s emphasis on free-market capitalism was something of a fellow-traveler with the sexual revolution of the 1960s. Though Reagan used the rhetoric of a fiscal conservative, Caldwell notes that he led the nation into greater debt. Caldwell’s thesis is that Reagan’s yearly deficits were a way to pay for the various social programs brought about by, or entailed by, civil rights legislation. As Caldwell writes: “Reaganomics was just a name for governing under a merciless contradiction that no one could admit was there: Civil rights was important enough that people could not be asked to wait for it, but unpopular enough that people could not be asked to pay for it” (111). Fascinatingly, Caldwell contends that Reagan sought to govern under both of America’s constitutions—the original de jure constitution of the 1780s and the developing de facto constitution that emerged out of the 1960s.
Chapter five also contains a lengthy section on immigration, and America’s attempt to manage it. Interestingly, civil rights laws (anti-discrimination laws) were at times at loggerheads with immigration laws (i.e., different laws could forbid hiring illegal immigrants as well as forbid “discrimination” based on race) (118). Caldwell closes the chapter by noting that over time there would develop a kind of entrepreneurial elite who would combine “capitalism’s means and progressivisms’ sense of righteousness” (130).
Chapter six, “Diversity,” continues to explore the way in which various civil rights legislation has spawned a bureaucratic behemoth that reaches into all sorts of areas of the lives of Americans. It takes a good thirteen pages before Caldwell hits the true theme of his chapter, “diversity.” A part of Caldwell’s argument is that the various civil rights legislation of the 1960s quickly led to “affirmative action,” and the federal government taking it upon itself to encourage and perpetuate right thinking about all things race-related. Caldwell contends that while legal sanction could be used against persons, based on civil rights legislation, many persons engaged in a kind of self-censorship, in order not to be accused of being “racist.” As Caldwell writes: “The power of political correctness generally derived, either directly or at one remove, from the civil rights laws of the 1960s” (165). The same civil rights legislation, and its aftermath, was also used to normalize homosexual behavior, and ultimately to punish or sanction those holding to a traditional view of sexuality.
Caldwell offers a helpful summary of his overall thesis:
Only with the entrenchment of political correctness did it become clear what Americans had done in 1964. They had inadvertently voted themselves a second constitution without explicitly repealing the one they had. Each constitution contained guarantees of rights that could be invoked against the other—but in any conflict it was the new, unofficial constitution, nurtured by elites in all walks of life, that tended to prevail. (171)
In chapter seven, “Winners,” Caldwell continues to tell his tale, culminating in the 2015 Obergefell Supreme Court decision which effectively legalized same-sex marriage in all fifty states. Caldwell explores the epoch-changing realities of globalization before turning to the digital and social media revolution. What Caldwell is building towards in this chapter is plainly stated two-thirds way through. “Civil rights” has in a sense encouraged a kind of political correctness which must be championed at all costs. Thus, if someone does not hold the “right” opinions, something must be done about it. Caldwell writes:
What we call political correctness is the natural outcome of civil rights, which makes fighting bias a condition for the legitimacy of the state. Once bias is held to be part of the ‘unconscious’ of human nature, there are no areas of human life in which the state’s vigilance is not called for. (215)
Chapter seven closes with an extended discussion of gay marriage and the eventual victory of so-called “gay marriage” with the Supreme Court decision Obergefell, which Caldwell calls the “triumph of the de facto constitution” (227). As the chapter closes, Caldwell concludes: “Civil rights meant affirmative action. Civil rights meant political correctness. And in the wake of court-ordered gay marriage, it quickly became apparent that civil rights would mean court-ordered approval of gay marriage” (231).
Chapter eight, “Losers,” brings the book to a close. Caldwell here focuses mainly on race, including the near obsession with race which has dominated our country for much of this century. Caldwell’s summary of Black Lives Matter is insightful and powerful. Caldwell’s general thesis is that the various violent racial protests of the last two decades or so, including Black Lives Matter, is simply a part of the civil rights movement. Caldwell summarizes his thesis succinctly:
White Americans wanted to believe that the new constitution tended toward race-neutrality and toward freedom, just as the old one had. To the contrary, as those who administered it understood almost immediately, it tended toward race-consciousness and government direction. (269)
Caldwell can be refreshing in his candor. He forthrightly writes: “The Civil Rights Act of 1964 was, as we have noted, a legislative repeal of the First Amendment’s implied right to freedom of association” (278). The result? “Over decades it [i.e., the Civil Rights Act of 1964] polarized the political parties and turned them into something like secret societies, each of them loyal to a different constitutional understanding” (278).
A Compelling Argument That Could Be Made More Constitutional
Caldwell has written a provocative and stimulating book. The thesis is indeed provocative: We live under two constitutions: the de jure constitution ratified in 1788 and the de facto civil rights constitution emerging from various civil rights legislation and its aftermath. This is the kind of point many of us have made for a long time, though it is the kind of argument that could get one into all sorts of trouble. One has to admire Caldwell’s courage and boldness. This is not to say that legal action was not needed. Certainly any person of good will would have wanted a just social order for all citizens.
The argument is fairly straightforward. The Civil Rights Act of 1964, whatever good it has achieved, was in fact a legal overreach in terms of the U.S. Constitution and the authority granted to the United States Congress. Many persons in 1964 made this kind of argument, though since that time it has also seemed in bad taste to even speak this way. Indeed, to speak in such away is inevitably to risk being tarred with the dreaded accusation: racist. But adults should be able to have real conversations about statecraft, the meaning of the Constitution, and the place and authority and scope of federal, state, county, and local governments.
But as provocative and intriguing as Caldwell’s thesis is, he can be a little vague about exactly why the Civil Rights Act of 1964 was perhaps beyond the pale of the U.S. Constitution. He at times speaks of an implied “freedom of association” to be found in the First Amendment. Now, I think a case can and should be made for the importance of the freedom of association. But the real constitutional challenge to the Civil Rights Act of 1964 (and much subsequent legislation) can be found most explicitly elsewhere: the Tenth Amendment.
The Tenth Amendment is unambiguous, short, and to the point:
The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people.
An appeal to the Tenth Amendment would simply have bolstered the constitutional aspect of Caldwell’s argument. Rather than simply a rather vague appeal to “freedom of association” (a fine appeal), turning to the Tenth Amendment would have allowed Caldwell to make an even stronger argument: civil rights legislation, generally, simply went beyond the powers delegated to the U.S. Congress by the Constitution. One can then turn to Article I, Section VIII of the Constitution to see exactly which powers have been delegated to the Congress.
But Caldwell’s main thesis—that we are a nation living under two constitutions—seems to assuredly be the case. At least it is a provocative way to try to come to terms with our current cultural crisis.
Living Among the Ruins of an Abandoned Constitution
Another way to speak about things would be to say we are living in a revolutionary era. We have effectively abandoned the constitution of 1788 (Caldwell is correct here). Does anyone really think that his or her congressmen pulls out the constitution to check Article I, Section VIII—to make sure he or she has the constitutional authority to vote on a certain bill—before taking action? We all know this is certainly not the case.
Rather, our official de jure constitution has been abandoned, and we are simply living in the ruins of a post-constitutional age. In fact, saying that we now follow the “constitution” of civil rights ideology may be a tad too rosy way to see things, the more one thinks about it. But Caldwell’s general thesis stands: we are ruled by a certain ideology that has no meaningful connection to our original constitution of 1788.
But if we really live in a post-constitutional era, there is some serious thinking that must be done. What does one do when the Constitution of one’s country has been at least effectively abandoned? And why are so many persons not even aware of our current constitutional crisis? These are questions worthy of serious consideration. For if we are indeed living in a revolutionary era, we are in need of serious renewal, reformation, and revival, to put it mildly.
This needed revival is something that goes beyond politics, constitutions, or election cycles. It returns us to the glaring need of our hour—a people to recover the fear of God, which is the beginning of all wisdom, righteousness, and statecraft.
