"The world does not get to be a better or a worse place; it just gets more senescent"
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Progress, in Bloom's hands, is a comforting bedtime story we tell ourselves while the furniture quietly rots. "The world does not get to be a better or a worse place; it just gets more senescent" is less a neutral observation than a provocation aimed at modern moral accounting: our habit of grading history like a report card, tallying victories and atrocities to decide whether we're "advancing". Bloom refuses the ledger. He swaps moral drama for biology. Senescence isn't catastrophe; it's aging as a condition, a slow drift toward exhaustion and fragility.
The intent is characteristically Bloomian: to puncture the pieties of cultural optimism and the self-righteousness of cultural despair at once. If the world is neither improving nor deteriorating in any coherent, totalizing way, then grand ideological narratives - utopian or apocalyptic - look like genre fiction. The subtext is also an implicit defense of his central obsession: the autonomy of aesthetic value. If history isn't a march upward, literature can't be reduced to "getting with the program". Art persists less as social progress engine than as a stubborn record of consciousness under time pressure.
Context matters. Bloom matured in a late-20th-century intellectual climate defined by culture wars, politicized canons, and a rising faith that criticism should deliver moral verdicts. "Senescent" lets him sound clinical while being quietly savage: not even our arguments are new; they're just older, more tired, more recursive. It's a line that flatters no one, especially the critic who writes it. Bloom is indicting his own era's need to feel historically pivotal, suggesting instead that we're living in a long after-hours of civilization, where the main plot is entropy and the only real novelty is the speed of the fade.
The intent is characteristically Bloomian: to puncture the pieties of cultural optimism and the self-righteousness of cultural despair at once. If the world is neither improving nor deteriorating in any coherent, totalizing way, then grand ideological narratives - utopian or apocalyptic - look like genre fiction. The subtext is also an implicit defense of his central obsession: the autonomy of aesthetic value. If history isn't a march upward, literature can't be reduced to "getting with the program". Art persists less as social progress engine than as a stubborn record of consciousness under time pressure.
Context matters. Bloom matured in a late-20th-century intellectual climate defined by culture wars, politicized canons, and a rising faith that criticism should deliver moral verdicts. "Senescent" lets him sound clinical while being quietly savage: not even our arguments are new; they're just older, more tired, more recursive. It's a line that flatters no one, especially the critic who writes it. Bloom is indicting his own era's need to feel historically pivotal, suggesting instead that we're living in a long after-hours of civilization, where the main plot is entropy and the only real novelty is the speed of the fade.
Quote Details
| Topic | Aging |
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