It's said that with the contemporary 'western' socio-political standard – that being some variant of classical or social liberalism – we are freer than ever, wealthier than ever. To be anything beyond a qualified disciple of Fukuyama beyond one's starry-eyed adolescence is to be a tragic idealist, a relic of more naive times. I too am a sceptic of a certain form of idealism. We who consider ourselves philosophers love to fashion our own 'best of all possible worlds'. Indeed, it's been something of a raison d'etre at least since Plato's 'Republic' (with its very own philosopher-king, naturally). But these grand visions are always found wanting. The utopias of our ancestors leave us scratching our heads. We do not need another glorious constitution to dribble from the pen of some genius or other, laying out a life into which we can be slotted, we need the space to build our own lives – unmoulded by the hammer of dogma, unpersuaded by the bloodthirsty crutch of certainty.