History has a peculiar rhythm. Broad patterns of human behavior often seem to repeat.
In “The Fourth Turning,” William Strauss and Neil Howe argue that American history unfolds in recurring cycles, each lasting roughly the span of a long human life. Societies move through four seasons: a High, an Awakening, an Unraveling and finally a Crisis, the Fourth Turning. Whether one accepts their theory as historical law or simply as an illuminating framework, it offers a compelling lens to view our present moment.
They say these are periods when institutions lose legitimacy, public trust erodes, political polarization deepens and economic and social systems are tested. Examples include the American Revolution, the Civil War and the Great Depression coupled with World War II. Each reshaped the nation, often at tremendous cost, but each also laid the foundation for a renewed civic order.
Looking around today, it is understandable why many believe we may once again be living through such a season. Public confidence in institutions has declined. Political disagreement has become intensely personal.
Social media has transformed disagreement into performance, rewarding outrage more than understanding. AI is reshaping industries faster than workers can adapt, promising extraordinary innovation while raising profound questions. Around the world, geopolitical rivalries are intensifying, economic uncertainty persists and conflicts abroad remind us that peace is never guaranteed.
I have written here many times that I am an optimistic person at my core. But the world today is enough to leave even the most optimistic unsettled.
Yet history offers another lesson. Every generation has looked at the horizon and wondered whether the world it inherited was coming apart. Previous generations endured world wars, economic collapse, pandemics, political violence and cultural upheaval.
None of those seasons were easy. None came with clear roadmaps. Yet they endured, not because they knew how events would unfold, but because they refused to surrender to fear. That distinction matters.
Fear narrows our vision, convincing us that today’s headlines represent tomorrow’s destiny. It encourages us to see opponents instead of neighbors, problems instead of possibilities, endings instead of transitions. Remaining clear-eyed asks something different of us. It asks us to acknowledge reality without becoming consumed by it. We should all take our queues from the 92%, who are using this time to rest and reflect while remaining sharply focused.
Clear-eyed people do not deny challenges. They recognize them. They simply refuse to let crisis dictate their character. They understand that panic rarely produces wisdom and that outrage seldom produces lasting solutions.
We live in a culture that rewards immediate reaction. Every notification demands an instant opinion. Every controversy pressures us to choose a side before fully understanding the facts. Patience has become almost countercultural. Perhaps that is precisely why it is so valuable.
Remaining clear-eyed requires the discipline to separate signal from noise. It means recognizing that while technology changes rapidly, human nature changes slowly. The tools evolve, but our temptations remain familiar: pride, fear, tribalism, ambition, hope, resilience and compassion. History has always been shaped by these competing forces.
One hopeful lesson from “The Fourth Turning” is that periods of crisis often produce extraordinary leadership, not merely from elected officials or public figures, but from ordinary citizens who quietly choose responsibility over resignation. Teachers who continue believing in their students. Parents who teach character in a culture increasingly distracted by popularity. Neighbors who choose conversation instead of contempt. These are precisely the kinds of actions that strengthen a society from the inside out. Institutions, after all, are ultimately reflections of the people who compose them.
That is why I hesitate whenever someone declares that everything is falling apart. Certainly, much deserves our concern. But concern should not become cynicism. Skepticism should not become hopelessness. We can recognize the flaws in our institutions while still believing they are worth improving.
The two ideas are not mutually exclusive. In fact, they depend upon one another. History reminds us of that renewal often begins long before it becomes visible. During difficult seasons, progress frequently occurs quietly, in local communities, schools, houses of worship, businesses, volunteer organizations and families, long before it reaches the national conversation. That quiet work matters.
Whether Strauss and Howe ultimately prove correct about historical cycles is almost beside the point. Their larger insight is that societies periodically face moments requiring renewed civic courage. Those moments test institutions, challenge assumptions and most importantly, force each generation to decide what kind of future it wants.
We do not control the season in which we live. We do control how we respond to it. We can become captive to fear, or we can become people of steady judgment. We can amplify division, or we can model thoughtful disagreement. We can consume endless outrage, or we can contribute something more lasting: integrity, service, leadership and hope.
The headlines will continue to change. Markets will rise and fall. Elections will come and go. Technologies will evolve. Nations will compete. New challenges will emerge that today we cannot imagine. But certain virtues never lose their relevance: humility, courage, wisdom, service and perspective. If we hold fast to those virtues, we will not merely survive uncertain times, we will help shape whatever comes next. The future has never belonged to those who panic. It has always belonged to those who remain clear-eyed.
Johnny V. Boykins is a political organizer, husband, amateur chef and U.S. Coast Guard veteran.
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