FULL REVIEW TO FOLLOW: This is a masterpiece in spite of itself. I had a friend who used to talk socialist politics on the job with his fellow workers until one of them told him, "I can only take so many profundities at a time". That is precisely how I feel about Richard Sennett's THE FALL OF PUBLIC MAN, a book brilliant, sizzling with insights into our modern predicament, and for the most part unconvincing. Not that this work is any leftist manifesto. On the contrary. The tone is nostalgic and even reactionary. Sennett believes we'd all be better off in the eighteenth century, when Louis XIV supervised public spaces in Versailles, God was on his throne, and all was right with the world. . Sennett is so spot on in his dissection of the eclipse of the public sphere and the enthronement of narcissism in all walks of life ever since, from politics to play to the work office, that I wish I could believe all his profundities. The tour he takes us on is so magnificent, regarding coffee houses in London, the Paris Opera, Covent Garden and the architecture of the Paris proletarian districts (quartiers) that it's easy to ignore what little evidence he has for his sweeping conclusions. Coming to grips with Sennett's thesis is not easy, and perhaps it is best to start at the end. His book belongs on the same shelf as David Riesman's THE LONELY CROWD, Robert Putnam's BOWLING ALONE, Christopher Lasch's THE CULTURE OF NARCISSISM and Daniel Bell's THE CULTURAL CONTRADICTIONS OF CAPITALISM. There is a sickness in the land of America, and not only is there no cure, the proper diagnosis, based on a reading of history, is missing too. These vital and frankly pessimistic tomes examine solitude and alienation as the hallmark of modern American civilization. The rise of the individual, private man, if you will, has come at the expense of family, community, and any sense of duty or connection to others. Politics is the most glaring and pernicious example of this poisonous trend. Americans have replaced politics based on issues with personality, and ask whether a politician's motives are good, not his policies. Politicians have not caused this state of affairs; they are the beneficiaries. Sennett acknowledges the value of this dark insight but asks, himself and us, how the Western world arrived at the lone, narcissistic individual at its core instead of the citizen. Let's move out of America, while paying homage to the contribution of Alex De Tocqueville whose DEMOCRACY IN AMERICA was one of the first studies of modern social psychology, and move over, and back, to London and Paris circa 1750. Here is where Sennett shows his brilliance and limitations. The three demons he holds responsible for the twilight of public man, industrial capitalism, secularism and the last vestiges of the ancien regime, or old order, fighting and blessing both, are for him on full display in the theater. Since this last point is left abiguous by Sennett I shall concentrate on the first two in the making of the zeitgeist. At the start of the eighteenth century in both capitals the theater was still a public locus as in the days of Shakespeare and Racine. The public came to actively participate in dramas and comedies by shouts, groans, and even yelling at the actors. But around mid-century the stage was cut off, literally and politically, from the audience. The public was expected to sit in silence while the gods of the stage spoke their lines. Wagner at Beyruth was the culmination of this shift. The audience was forced by the architecture of the new theater to gaze only at the performance. It could not look elsewhere. Why, and what does this tell us about public spaces? Sennett's thesis is that secularization had moved the West, or at least its elites, away from a transcendental view of life, where all on earth merely signaled a higher order in the supernatural, to seeing all things as immanent in this world, signifying nothing. Industrial capitalism had created a world of upheaval in employment, wages and prices. The old certainties of life, where one worked, for how long, at how much, were gone. In such a world Aristotle's opinion that the theater required a "suspension of disbelief" by actors and audience was no longer possible. The role of the actor was to get in touch with his own feelings in playing a part. The audience was not there to push the actors into a higher ability to enact the play but to be enthralled, and therefore silent, during the performance. What is Sennett's evidence for such a bold claim? The writings on theater by Diderot, pre-1750, who still championed theater as catharsis, and Rousseau, post-1750, urging all of us, actors included, to find meaning in our own feelings and motivations. For England, Sennett cites the stage notes of David Garrick's son, who directed his father to move beyond the text and into his private world in playing Shakespeare. All of this may be true, but the evidence is scanty, and Sennett admits this titanic shift occurred chiefly in urban theaters, while acting out in the provinces, where most people were likely to see a play, still featured audience intrusion. Sennett offers equal brilliance mixed with dubious interpretations when he focuses on the hottest spot in town at this time, the coffee house, and its degeneration from public to private means and ends. London coffee houses in the early eighteenth century welcomed customers from all walks of life, though naturally limited to a male clientele. There men discussed vociferously the events of the day, made business deals, Lloyd's of London was begot in a coffee house, and acted to be seen and heard. By the end of the century the aristocracy had withdrawn to private gentleman's clubs, the Carleton, Boodle's, to be seen and not heard. Silence is required of gentlemen. Meanwhile, workers and members of the middle class spirited away to tea shops and pubs; the first made largely silent by bourgeois decorum and the second given over to play, darts and cards, but not conversation. Over the Channel the French were more coffee crazy than the English, Voltaire was said to drink over thirty cups per day, and this very popularity led the coffee palace to expand from the house to the street, where a customer was, in the words of Sennett, "visible and silent at once". Think of Jean-Paul Sartre writing his books on the outside portion of a Paris coffee house a century later. There was no longer anything sacred or even dramatic, in the theatrical sense, about conversation in Paris and London by 1800. The boisterous public space of the coffee house had given way to the private world of interior monologue. Yet, isn't it possible that the move from public to private world in this case was motivated by greed and self-interest? The gentleman's club was a better place to secretly cut deals and meet leading politicians, while the extension of the Paris coffee shop into the street no doubt brought in more customers. One last item merits mention in Sennett's catalog of the twilight of public man, and it may be the most captivating and controversial illustration of his thesis; the dramatic changes in female dress from the eighteenth to the nineteenth century. The prevailing female fashion of the Victorian era was built on repression of the body. The corset, bustle and other accoutrements hid all manifestations of sexuality. This trend cannot be simply attributed to male chauvinism. Men's dress in this period was drab too. Oscar Wilde and Charles Baudelaire, two dandies, dressed for themselves, not the public. At first glance, this would seem to contradict Sennett's thesis of a societal move towards the private. Why obscure the most private of all things, the body? But wait. Sennett is more clever than that. Precisely because the public sphere, in this case dressing for the public, had gone into decline women, much more so than men, had to hide their true feelings from others. The body was not supposed to be shown except in private, to one's husband and family. A Victorian neo-harem, in other words. The more loose women's fashions of the twentieth century, including the "let it all hang out look" of the Sixties, did not mean a break with this type of thinking. Exhibitionism is a fad, not a revolution. There's a difference between being a deviant and a rebel. A separation of private and public was near complete by the twentieth century. The growing private space in housing, theater, music, drinking customs and bodily garb all pointed into one direction and two subjects. The celebrity, self-absorbed, mysterious, and unreachable by the rest of the public became the ultimate role model; rock stars in music and John F. Kennedy in politics both typified the new times. Richard Nixon was guilty too, from the Checkers speech to "I am not a crook" he begged us to look at his personal qualities and not where he stood on the issues, which was usually nowhere. The cult of authenticity, or pseudo self-introspection, took hold in psychoanalysis, Method acting and advertising, or "be all that you can be". Sennett, writing in 1976, foresaw the demagogue and identity politics arising from this obsession with the self. Both are dedicated to politics as spectacle, not policy, and both leave the unequal and unjust status quo intact. Is there a way out? Sennett, author of the classic THE HIDDEN INJURIES OF CLASS, urges reconsideration of class interests in the formation of private space, starting with urban planning. The city must be made wholesome for the performance of public duty, and pleasures, again. Only to those who rise above the quotidian and banal and ask who profits from this state of affairs will rise to the occasion.