It's not news to anyone, probably not even the man who said those words, that freedom doesn't lead straight to happiness. Moreover, freedom isn't a virtue, it's a simple condition. As the Stoics pointed out, one's freedom of choice is always present and indomitable; we only choose not to act as entirely free men at certain times and in exchange for things like honor or continued life. So freedom, qua freedom, isn't really that good of an historical benchmark. But political freedom, which is what Americans tend to think about when they say freedom, is a more complicated beast. I think Americans tend to mean by it the public space in which it's possibly to act as a free man would. Thus, it's merely an absence of unjust limitations on one's actions. Even though it's essentially a negation, this political freedom is pretty good to have around. I like having women be educated, for instance, because, to paraphrase Woody Allen, it automatically doubles your chance of meeting someone interesting to talk with.

But every once in a while, usually when confronted with the ugliness of license, I start to wonder whether it's all worth it. A couple weeks ago, I was talking with some female friends about some of the ugliness and pain that arise when old forms die and are fitfully replaced. Armed only with ignorance, many people make a mess of freedom. In fairness, I had to ask, are we really gaining for the last 40 years' grant of unparalleled freedom to women? Is all the suffering and degradation worth it? Doesn't it seem uglier and, possibly, larger than the suffering it replaced? Moreover, can we afford the indulgence we give towards widespread political freedom? Doesn't it make us weaker as a civilization, more vulnerable to those who want to destroy us? Should we sacrifice the modesty of young women for the hope that they'll survive their errors and, maybe, emerge as economic equals? After all, there is a large portion of the world's population that see America's freedom not as the possession of a self-ruled man, or a condition leading to virtue or happiness, but simply a lack of restraint, and who call Americans not admirable but pitiable. Aren't there more important things than political freedom?

My interlocutor gamely played along with these concerns, paternalistic as they were. She described some of the "hard women" she sees around DC, who separate sex from love for the sake of careers. Were they happier for their calculus? She thought not. But she then pointed out the analogy to the history of African Americans. We're both fans of The Wire and its rigorously realistic portrayals of the failures that are America's inner cities. For thirty-nine years, millions of black people have been living in the ruins of the old forms of their communities, which they had built up against oppression and then destroyed in spasms of anger. Can they be said to have benefited from equality and freedom? Almost immediately, I saw the foolishness of my doubts.

Of course, there're the obvious points that slavery's bad, and that the ugliness of the inner city is counterbalanced by legions of black successes. Moreover, I've learned so much from America's music, of which pretty much the only worthwhile sort (and the vast majority) is made by African Americans or derived from their poetry. I'd even argue that the conditions that make St. John's-type conversations possible are greatly aided by the coming-to-freedom that America has experienced since its troubled, lie-filled, and possibly imprudent Founding. Messy though it was, I and every other modern American would be worse off if the irrational restraints on black people's freedom hadn't been destroyed. The analogy to women seemed apparent. But it was the end of Mass the next morning that made me realize how necessary and formative political freedom has been to anything that's good about being a modern. We sang as the final hymn Ein Feste Berg. The last stanza is

That word above all earthly powers, no thanks to them, abideth;
The Spirit and the gifts are ours through Him Who with us sideth:
Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also;
The body they may kill: God’s truth abideth still,
His kingdom is forever.

As much as one can criticize Luther for getting stuff wrong and modernity for causing a lot of uproar, that sort of fervent (and often misguided) devotion to the truth is the chief virtue of modernity, and it's most present within the context of political freedom. There's a lot not to like about the Copernican view of the universe, say. But once it's gotten out there, better to let Galileo do his thing than to try to enforce an irrational restraint on his freedom (as the modern Roman church has of course acknowledged). Once we're all individuals trying to use reason to get through life, it's best to treat us all that way. Is America's vision of freedom sustainable? I don't know. But is it good? Qualifiedly, yes.