“It was a sign of the times that nobody bothered to correct him, simply because it didn’t seem to matter anymore: an era was dying with bewildering speed, and not all the righteous incantations in the English-speaking world could restore the patient to health. By 1980, even the most persistent apologists for the old regime-the philosophical beneficiaries of the former establishment, the third-generation imitators and the elderly camp followers-had begun to understand that the long party was finally over, and that the giddy era of aberrant art and thought was about to be kicked aside as nothing more than that: one more aberration in the affairs of men, one more futile deviation from the human aim, one more wasted chance, one more century-a crucial one, this time-frittered away of half-souled harlequins disguised as full-hearted heirs of Athens. In its eleventh hour, Western culture had been led up the garden path, and abandoned in the brambles one more time” [Bryan F. Griffin, Panic Among the Philistines (Chicago, Regnery Gateway, 1983), p. 19.]
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