Back in the good old days of modern society, there was a simple four-step division between liberal and conservative based largely upon one’s I.Q. score. Like so many of the “scientific” models of people concocted back then, such as the famous twenty-variable model of the entire economy, it was simple in concept and was relied upon as Gospel. Here’s the correlation table that was held to be truly scientific back then:

1. Low I.Q.: Reactionary. Their bias towards laissez-faire can be explained by the fact that the low-I.Q.-type can only handle simple rules that don’t change.
2. Average I.Q.: Conservative or liberal, depending upon one’s educational accomplishment. The higher level of education a person has, the more liberal they are.
3. High I.Q: Liberal, although those in the private sector tend to be “modern Republicans” out of financial self-interest.
4. MENSA level: Either liberal or ultraliberal, except for a few reactionaries and other assorted crankish types.

Anyone that’s spent time in the high-I.Q. world knows that this cheat sheet doesn’t match to observational data. Not only is the MENSAn world full of conservatives nowadays, it was as far back as 1964. Isaac Asimov, in his second diary In Joy Still Felt, reported that the number of MENSAns that supported Barry Goldwater was about the same in ratio terms as that of the general population.

So how did the Good Doctor react? Something akin to getting rid of the data. He noted shortly afterwards that Goldwater should be “crushed.”

This hint of what could be non-scientifically described as “bias” has gone beyond mere electoral frenzy and has crept into everyday life, as noted by The Weekly Standard’s Joel Engel. If you’re “smart” – a label not necessarily corresponding to I.Q. score – and liberal, you can get away with almost anything in some parts.

Once again, the liberal mindset has left out an attribute essential to human beings, one which finds its chief relevance in the field of social interaction: character. Like all myths which leave out an essential attribute of humanity, it has led to a certain kind of opportunism, which fills the gap between the myth and the truth by “plausible excuse-mongering.”

Just look at how it plays out. Here are a bunch of “smart” kids, raised by people who have claimed disinterest frequently, bailing themselves out of plainly irresponsible behavior by borrowing the clothes of none other than Bill Gates. It suggests that this mantle of “disinterest” was claimed by those that harbored secret frustrations over their own economic station, which would make them similar to the politician of disagreeable personality who covers it up by keeping his distance from people and claiming “altruism” as his motive for such standoffishness.

There is a kind of consistency in hypocrisy, though, which makes itself shown when the hypocrite is called upon their behavior. If one of these fast-drivin’ kids had to face disciplinary action for their drunk-drivin’ attitude, it’s an easy guess that they’d borrow the clothes of none other than the football team. “Well so what? The football players aren’t exactly above reproach either!”

This present a problem indeed. As long as the bad behavior of “the football players” is around to be invoked, the chance of Junior listening to sense is dulled considerably.

So it’s time for the tale of woe, oft used in the football world. This one features a protagonist whose I.Q. level nestled him comfortably in the bright part of the curve.

He was born in 1949, which put him right in the “sweet spot” in relation to the 1960s: he hit his eighteenth in 1967. Born the eldest son of a successful businessman, his upbringing was privileged indeed, but the kid was so tough it was hard to tell if he was spoiled or not.

Like many of the privileged kids back then, his dad and his school tried to cultivate a sense of noblesse oblige in him. This took the form of hitching up with the Bertrand Russell clique and thus becoming a “peace” activist. Had he confined himself to his traditions, he would have been a “progressive businessman” sort, and would have been happy enough there, if seen as a bit odd.

But the 1960s brought a new way: admiration for notoriety. This got all the kids of that time seriously believing that “social duties” could be easily meshed with a successful quest for popularity. This was the ‘60s equivalent of the mindshare doctrine.

It was only a matter of time before he found that acting notorious could be justified for the sake of “promoting peace.” This meant that a crucial restraint limiting such bad behavior was lost: a sense of shame or regret was replaced by pride because such troublemaking was now justifiable for “the sake of peace.” As the 1960s closed, this guy was one of the few that could claim to have had it all, to have enjoyed the best of both worlds.

Until he and his peers discovered a nasty little drawback: if social conscience is hooked to trendiness, then a simple change in fashion turns what used to be a “great activist” into yesterday’s embarrassment.

The “Our World” utopianism faded with the peace bands. Since Lord Bertrand Russell was long dead as of 1970, no help could be found there. He was on his own. And he quickly found that what he perhaps seriously considered to be living in an advanced way was now being viewed as a collection of college hijinks and nothing more.

He was too proud to crawl back to his father. Instead, he rolled up the peace flag, became reconciled to the new consensus stating that the path he had chosen was nothing more than the “road to nowhere,” and began the process of reconstructing his life, with nothing to show for his activism except a new reputation as a trend-chasing drunkard.

For the next installment of the story, go here.