Saturday, January 31, 2004

Never Lose Another Bar Bet, Thanks to (F&B) R&R!

Thanks to my good friend, George Curtis, Sapper's (Fair & Balanced) Rants & Raves provides you with a LOT of bar bet material. If this be (fair & balanced) trivializing, so be it.



SO YOU THINK YOU KNOW EVERYTHING?

* A dime has 118 ridges around the edge.

* A cat has 32 muscles in each ear.

* A crocodile cannot stick out its tongue.

* A dragonfly has a life span of 24 hours.

* A goldfish has a memory span of three seconds.

* A "jiffy" is an actual unit of time for 1/100th of a second.

* A shark is the only fish that can blink with both eyes.

* A snail can sleep for three years.

* Al Capone's business card said he was a used furniture dealer.

* All 50 states are listed across the top of the Lincoln Memorial on the back of the $5 bill.

* Almonds are a member of the peach family.

* An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain.

* Babies are born without kneecaps. They don't appear until the child reaches 2 to 6 years of age.

* Butterflies taste with their feet.

* Cats have over one hundred vocal sounds. Dogs only have about 10.

* "Dreamt" is the only English word that ends in the letters "mt".

* February 1865 is the only month in recorded history not to have a full moon.

* In the last 4,000 years, no new animals have been domesticated.

* If the population of China walked past you, in single file, the line would never end because of the rate of reproduction.

* If you are an average American, in your whole life, you will spend an average of 6 months waiting at red lights.

* It's impossible to sneeze with your eyes open.

* Leonardo Da Vinci invented the scissors.

* Maine is ! the only state whose name is just one syllable.

* No word in the English language rhymes with month, orange, silver, or purple.

* On a Canadian two dollar bill, the flag flying over the Parliament building is an American flag.

* Our eyes are always the same size from birth, but our nose and ears never stop growing.

* Peanuts are one of the ingredients of dynamite.

* Rubber bands last longer when refrigerated.

* "Stewardesses" is the longest word typed with only the left hand and "lollipop" with your right.

* The average person's left hand does 56% of the typing.

* The cruise liner, QE2, moves only six inches for each gallon of diesel that it burns.

* The microwave was invented after a researcher walked by a radar tube and a chocolate bar melted in his pocket.

* The sentence: "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog" uses every letter of the alphabet.

* The winter of 1932 was so cold that Niagara Falls froze completely solid.

* The words 'racecar,' 'kayak' and 'level' are the same whether they are read left to right or right to left (palindromes).

* There are 293 ways to make change for a dollar.

* There are more chickens than people in the world.

* There are only four words in the English language which end in "dous": tremendous, horrendous, stupendous, and hazardous

* There are two words in the English language that have all five vowels in order: "abstemious" and "facetious."

* There's no Betty Rubble in the Flintstones Chewables Vitamins.

* Tigers have striped skin, not just striped fur.

* TYPEWRITER is the longest word that can be made using the letters only on one row of the keyboard.

* Winston Churchill was born in a ladies'room during a dance

* Women blink nearly twice as much as men

* Your stomach has to produce a new layer of mucus every two weeks; otherwise it will digest itself.

....................Now you know everything

Friday, January 30, 2004

Shut Up And Watch The Movie!

A. O. Scott provides an excellent survey of religious films involving the Passion of Christ (including Mel Gibson's upcoming feature). If this be (fair & balanced) admiration, so be it.



[x NYTimes]
Enraged Filmgoers: The Wages of Faith?
By A. O. SCOTT

THE advent of Mel Gibson's "Passion of the Christ" has brought with it a controversy that seems, at least at first glance, familiar, even ritualistic. Once again a filmmaker has brought his interpretation of Scripture to the screen and once again, before most audiences have had a chance to see the picture, there are expressions of outrage, accusations of bigotry and bad taste, and an outpouring of contentious publicity. This feeling of déjà vu could lead a perplexed observer to echo the words that Pope John Paul II may or may not have uttered upon seeing Mr. Gibson's film: "It is as it was."

Well, it is and it isn't. Hearing the charges of prejudice and persecution bouncing back and forth between Mr. Gibson's critics and his partisans, I can't help but recall the knot of quietly praying picketers I walked past 20 years ago to purchase a ticket for Jean-Luc Godard's modernized gloss on Jesus' birth, "Hail Mary," a film whose nudity was taken, sight unseen, to be blasphemous.

And I also recall the images from 1988 of demonstrators protesting Martin Scorsese's screen adaptation of Nikos Kazantzakis's "Last Temptation of Christ," a movie that some of the largest theater chains in the country refused to screen and that Blockbuster Video declined to stock on its shelves. There was also, more recently, the outcry in 1999 over Kevin Smith's theological gross-out comedy "Dogma," which was dropped by its original distributor, Miramax, after its parent company, Disney, drew fire from some Roman Catholic groups.

The obvious thing to say about the skirmishes over "Passion," which will either subside or intensify once the movie opens nationally on Ash Wednesday, Feb. 25, is that, since those earlier dust-ups, the sides have reversed. The conservative Christians who were so vocal in their condemnation of Mr. Godard, Mr. Smith and, especially, Mr. Scorsese, are now equally vocal in their defense of Mr. Gibson. An ugly undercurrent of anti-Semitism ran through some of the attacks on those supposedly sacrilegious movies, directed not at the filmmakers, none of whom were Jewish, but at the producers and studio heads who have periodically served as convenient targets for conspiracy-minded demagogues. Similar insinuations bubble beneath the surface of some of the defenses of Mr. Gibson's reportedly pious picture, which is itself accused of fomenting anti-Semitism by placing the blame for Jesus' death on the Jews.

This reversal is testimony both to the endlessness of the culture wars and to the changed landscape of battle. Those Catholics and evangelical Protestants who felt alienated from much of American commercial culture and who informed the earlier protests, have not only a powerful and glamorous Hollywood ally in Mr. Gibson but also a growing sense of cultural and political confidence. More and more it seems that religious expression — in the form of best-selling thrillers, pop music, movies and television programs — is entering the mainstream.

Or, perhaps, re-entering it. There is, of course, a strain of ecumenical, therapeutic spirituality in American culture that has been around since at least the mid-19th century and that takes on more or less secular coloration as intellectual fashions change. But we take for granted these days that anything — especially any visual representation — touching on the hard scriptural and historical substance of faith will generate fierce argument. Religion is, like sex and politics, one of those subjects canonically to be avoided at dinner parties or family reunions, lest inflamed passions disrupt civility. Movies that delve into the Bible or that explicitly offer up interpretations of its teachings and stories can always expect, and can easily be accused of provoking, the most divisive and virulent kinds of controversy.

It was not always as it is. Fifty years ago, movies on biblical themes, far from being the most controversial Hollywood offerings, were among the least. In 1953, 20th Century Fox inaugurated its wide-screen CinemaScope format with "The Robe," a vast and costly biblical epic starring Richard Burton as a Roman tribune who participated in the Crucifixion. The subject and the spectacle seemed well matched. CinemaScope had been designed as a response to the menace of television, and the film's sacred story of awe and redemption served to emphasize the scale and sublimity of the movies.

The picture was also calculated to appeal to the widest possible interdenominational audience, as were the spate of Old and New Testament widescreen extravaganzas that followed, from Cecil B. DeMille's "Ten Commandments" (1956) to William Wyler's 1959 remake of "Ben-Hur." In that film, which set records at the Academy Awards and later became an Easter-time television staple, Charlton Heston, DeMille's Moses, played a nice Jewish prince, some of whose best friends (and bitterest rivals) were Romans.

"Ben-Hur," based on a novel by the Civil War general Lew Wallace, was subtitled "A Tale of the Christ," but as in "The Robe," Jesus' death was presented indirectly, as it affected the lives of the human characters, and fidelity to the letter of the Gospels (or other historical sources) was less important than a broad, inclusive distillation of their message.

But by the early 1960's, when he was not yet the musical Superstar he would eventually become, Jesus was ready to take a lead role, in films like Nicholas Ray's "King of Kings" (1961) and George Stevens's very long all-star Sunday school pageant, "The Greatest Story Ever Told" (1965). In that film, Jesus, played by the young Max von Sydow, wanders through a Holy Land that resembles nothing so much as an endless showbiz talk show, populated by the likes of Shelley Winters, Telly Savalas and John Wayne, temporarily exchanging his cavalry badge for centurion's armor.

"The Greatest Story" was perhaps the apex (or, if you prefer, the nadir) of Hollywood biblical kitsch, though its spirit was revived a dozen years later by Franco Zeffirelli, whose mini-series, "Jesus of Nazareth," starred Robert Powell and featured a jaw-dropping international cast including James Earl Jones, Claudia Cardinale, Ernest Borgnine and James Mason.

Thank God they don't make them like that anymore. But the year before Stevens's "Story" was released, Pier Paolo Pasolini made "The Gospel According to St. Matthew," a film that, in its insistence on bringing the techniques of cinematic realism to the life of Jesus, can be seen as a precursor both to Mr. Scorsese's "Temptation" and (judging from the descriptions that have been published) to Mr. Gibson's "Passion." Though Mr. Gibson, part of a Catholic traditionalist tendency that rejects much of post-Vatican II Catholicism, is a vocal enemy of modernity, the aesthetic that reportedly informs his film — the graphic brutality of the Crucifixion, the use of Latin and Aramaic instead of English — has more in common with Pasolini's confrontational realism than with Stevens's sumptuous pageantry.

Pasolini, an uncompromising sexual, political and artistic radical, was arrested in 1962, after his installment in the anthology film "Ro.Go.Pa.G." had seemed to mock not only the conventions of biblical filmmaking but the figure of Jesus himself. "The Gospel According to St. Matthew," however, cemented his paradoxical reputation as a Catholic Marxist, and was perhaps the first film to emphasize the existential contradictions inherent in being at once wholly human and utterly divine.

In trying to imagine the inner life — and therefore also the emotional and sensual life — of his hero (beautifully played by Enrique Irazoqui), Pasolini made his Jesus at once a man of his own time and a painfully, even jarringly, modern figure. His Jesus was also a partisan of the poor, and the film, like all of the director's best work (and much of his worst), is unsparing in its implicit judgment of the corruption and cruelty of contemporary bourgeois civilization.

Pasolini's modernism filters down through the later films of Mr. Godard and Mr. Scorsese. "Hail Mary" goes so far as to import the story of the Immaculate Conception into the drab modern world, making Mary a sullen Swiss adolescent living in a shabby working-class milieu, and imagining the conception itself as a moment of terrifying carnal ecstasy. It was this idea that most inflamed the protesters — or rather, the rumor of its existence that caused them to avert their eyes — just as it was the sexuality of Willem Dafoe's Jesus that enraged those who sought to prevent "Last Temptation" from being made or distributed. It was also the Rabelasian profanity of "Dogma" that caused its spirit of earnest theological inquiry to be taken — again, by people who could not bring themselves to see it — as heresy.

In retrospect, the religious seriousness of these movies seems self-evident. Mr. Godard, recoiling from the Marxist dialectics of his earlier work, was well into his lyrical phase, and his films from the mid-1980's have a contemplative, pastoral quality that is, if not overtly religious, then certainly infused with a sense of spiritual inquiry.

Mr. Scorsese and his collaborator, Paul Schrader, in adapting Nikos Kazantzakis's earthy, revisionist rendering of the life of Jesus, were also clearly reckoning with their own religious backgrounds. Mr. Scorsese was a Catholic altar boy in Little Italy for whom movies became a second religion, and Mr. Schrader grew up in a Dutch Calvinist denomination that viewed movies as sinful. Much of their work, together and apart, is infused with a sense of moral struggle, the conflict, as Mr. Scorsese puts it in the commentary accompanying the Criterion DVD of "Temptation," between the teachings of the Gospels and the code of the streets.

None of this mattered, of course, to the film's enemies. "Can we finally look at `Last Temptation of Christ?' " the film critic David Ehrenstein wonders in his liner notes to the Criterion reissue, before revisiting some of the attempts to prevent us from doing just that. Political pressures made it difficult for Mr. Scorsese to finance his movie, and the timidity of the theatrical exhibitors meant he had a hard time showing it, problems that Mr. Gibson, for all his public protestations of victimhood, has not had to face, since he made "The Passion" entirely with his own money. And, curiously, attempts to prevent people from seeing it have come from the filmmaker himself, who has held screenings for handpicked, presumably sympathetic audiences and kept out potential critics.

All of which will be moot by Feb. 25, when we can finally look at "The Passion of the Christ" for what it is — part of a long and tangled movie tradition as well as an act of cultural provocation. The argument about the film's political implications is important and, in any case, will be hard — at least for a while — to drown out. But at a certain point, disciples of cinema, whatever their other loyalties and affiliations, must reaffirm a basic creed: for God's sake, shut up and watch the movie.

Gospel of Cinema


The movies and television mini-series in the Critic's Notebook article on religious films:

"THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST" (1988), directed by Martin Scorsese. VHS, Universal Studios, $16.99; DVD, Criterion Collection, $35.99.

"THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO ST. MATTHEW" (1964), directed by Pier Paolo Pasolini. VHS, VCI Home Video, $14.99; DVD, Water Bearer Films, $26.96.

"DOGMA" (1999), directed by Kevin Smith. VHS, Columbia Tristar, $9.95; DVD, Columbia Tristar, $19.95.

"HAIL MARY" (1985), directed by Jean-Luc Godard. VHS, Vestron, $3.99; not on DVD.

"BEN-HUR" (1959), directed by William Wyler. VHS, Warner Studios, $8.99; DVD, Warner Studios, $21.49.

"THE GREATEST STORY EVER TOLD" (1965), directed by George Stevens. VHS, MGM/UA Video, $1.50; DVD, MGM/UA Video, $17.98.

"THE ROBE" (1953), directed by Henry Koster. VHS, 20th Century Fox, $6.98; DVD, 20th Century Fox, $14.90.

"THE TEN COMMANDMENTS" (1956), directed by Cecil B. DeMille; VHS, Paramount Studios, $14.95; DVD, Paramount Studios, $16.99.

"KING OF KINGS" (1961), directed by Nicholas Ray. VHS, Warner Studios, $14.95; DVD, Warner Home Video, $17.98.

"JESUS OF NAZARETH" (1977), television mini-series directed by Franco Zeffirelli. VHS, Family Home Entertainment, to be released Feb. 17, $24.98; DVD, Artisan, $24.98.

A. O. Scott joined The New York Times as a film critic in January 2000. Previously, he was a Sunday book reviewer for Newsday, and a frequent contributor to Slate, The New York Review of Books and many other publications.

A. O. Scott graduated with a B.A. degree in Literature (magna cum laude) from Harvard College in 1988 and was a grad-school dropout (from Johns Hopkins, in American Literature). He has also served on the editorial staffs of Lingua Franca and The New York Review of Books.


He was born on July 10, 1966 and lives in Brooklyn with his wife and two children.

Copyright © 2004 The New York Times Company

Thursday, January 29, 2004

I Am Blessed

No matter how bad I feel, I am better off than these two dudes. If this be (fair & balanced) gratitude, so be it.



By the time I get to Phoenix....

I feel good....

Three (3) BIG Questions

A good friend (yes, I have a few) sent along a page from The World's Religions by Huston Smith. Huston Smith? A Google search turned up the fact that Smith—a Methodist—is the author of the foremost book used in undergrad comparative religion courses. Duh! The page that my chum sent along the page in which Smith discusses the three (3) questions that have always divided people.


  1. Are people independent or interdependent?

  2. Is the universe friendly or helpful toward creatures or is it indifferent, if not hostile?

  3. What is the best part of the human self, its head or its heart?


Sapper's (F&B) R&R welcomes answers to any or all of Huston Smith's BIG questions. Use the RantMail link to submit entries. If this be (fair & balanced) ambivalence, so be it.



[x Mother Jones]
The World of Religion According to Huston Smith
Smith has devoted his life to the study of Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, Confucianism, and Hinduism. He believes in them all.
by
Marilyn Snell

Renowned world religions scholar Huston Smith says, "Every society and religion has rules, for both have moral laws. And the essence of morality consists, as in art, of drawing the line somewhere." For Smith, a practicing Methodist who for 26 years has prayed five times a day in Arabic and who, at 78, still does hatha yoga, that line can be drawn creatively or idiosyncratically -- but it must always be done with discipline.

Best known for his book The World's Religions (published in 1958 as The Religions of Man, translated into 12 languages, and still one of the most widely used college textbooks on comparative religion), Smith believes the role of what he calls the world's "wisdom traditions" is a simple one: to help us behave decently toward one another. His documentary films on Hinduism, Sufism, and Tibetan Buddhism have all won awards, and in 1996 he was featured on Bill Moyers' five-part PBS special "The Wisdom of Faith With Huston Smith." He has taught religion and philosophy at MIT, Syracuse University, and the University of California at Berkeley.

Q: You were born a Methodist and have stuck with it, although you've often voiced your frustration with its doctrine. Why have you stayed in the church?

A: The faith I was born into formed me. I come from a missionary family -- I grew up in China -- and in my case, my religious upbringing was positive. Of course, not everyone has this experience. I know many of my students are what I have come to think of as wounded Christians or wounded Jews. What came through to them was dogmatism and moralism, and it rubbed them the wrong way. What came through to me was very different: We're in good hands, and in gratitude for that fact it would be well if we bore one another's burdens. I haven't found any brief formula that tops that. However, I certainly would not choose that messenger if I were starting from scratch. {publish-page-break}

Q: Why not?

A: Methodists are very good on good works: Two hundred homeless people get a hot meal every evening at my church, for example. Socially, they are ahead of me: My pastor is a woman, a lesbian, and her baby and her partner are part of the congregation. Also, mine is a very interracial congregation. However, theologically they are totally washed-out.

Q: You pray in Arabic five times a day and regularly do yoga. Have you adopted these practices to supplement this washed-out Christian faith?

A: At every stage in my religious life I was perfectly happy with what I had -- until along came a tidal wave that crashed over me. For example, I was perfectly content with Christianity until Vedanta -- the philosophical version of Hinduism -- came along. When I read the Upanishads, which are part of Vedanta, I found a profundity of worldview that made my Christianity seem like third grade. Later, I found out that the same truths were there in Christianity -- in Meister Eckehart, St. Augustine, and others. But nobody had told me, not even my professors in graduate school. So, for 10 years, though I still kept up my perfunctory attendance at my Methodist church -- a certain kind of grounding, I think, is useful -- my spiritual center was in the Vedanta Society, whose discussion groups and lectures fed my soul. Then Buddhism came along, and another tidal wave broke over me. In none of these moves did I have any sense that I was saying goodbye to anything. I was just moving into a new idiom for expressing the same basic truths.

Q: Many in the West are attracted to Eastern religions because they avoid the kind of rule-making and dualistic thinking so fundamental to Christianity. Is that accurate?

A: The notion that Western religions are more rigid than those of Asia is overdrawn. Ours is the most permissive society history has ever known -- almost the only thing that is forbidden now is to forbid -- and Asian teachers and their progeny play up to this propensity by soft-pedaling Hinduism's, Buddhism's, Sufism's rules. The Hindu Laws of Manu and the Buddhist Vinaya (over 200 rules for the sangha, or monastic order) make the Ten Commandments and the Rule of St. Benedict look flabby in comparison.

Q: You've said that your students seem to be much more interested in spirituality than in religion. What's the difference? Why do you think young people today are so averse to organized religion?

A: The first question is easy: Religion is institutionalized spirituality. As to the second, anti-authoritarianism is part of it. Also, institutions are not pretty. Show me a pretty government. Healing is wonderful, but the American Medical Association? Learning is wonderful, but universities? The same is true for religion.

Q: But haven't institutions always been problematic? Why this mass exodus?

A: It's true that the mainline churches are in terrible trouble. They've lost close to 25 percent of their membership in the last 25 or so years, and there's no sign that that's going to change. The chief reason for this is that they have accommodated the culture. Seminaries like the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley are training ministers to go out into these mainline churches. But the teachers in the seminaries look up to the university, and the university ethos is secular to the core.

People are not losing their religious needs, but they are going to three places to get their needs met. One is to conservative churches, which, for all their social benightedness, nevertheless do present their congregations with a different view of reality. Second, they are going to Asian religions. I was born on a mission field in China and it looks like I'm going to die on an American one, because America is becoming a mission field for Buddhism, Sufism, and other Eastern religions. Third, they are going to the New Age, which when I'm feeling cynical I refer to as "New Age frivolity," because some of it is rather flaky.

Q: What's the difference between your spiritual practices and the New Age practice of taking a bit from shamanism, a bit from Buddhism, a bit from the goddess, etc.?

A: What you describe as New Age, and what I call the cafeteria approach to spirituality, is not the way organisms are put together, nor great works of art. And a vital faith is more like an organism or work of art than it is like a cafeteria tray.

The New Age movement looks like a mixed bag. I see much in it that seems good: It's optimistic; it's enthusiastic; it has the capacity for belief. On the debit side, I think one needs to distinguish between belief and credulity. How deep does New Age go? Has it come to terms with radical evil? More, I am not sure how much social conscience there is in New Age thinking. If we think, for example, that we are drawing closer to transcendence or God but are not drawing closer in compassion and concern for our fellow human beings, we're just fooling ourselves. Do New Age groups produce a Mother Teresa or a Dalai Lama? Not that I can see. So, at its worst, it can be a kind of private escapism to titillate oneself.

Q: One of the most important roles of spiritual practices has been to help us behave decently toward one another. How would you respond to those secular humanists who feel that Freud, Marx, or Darwin are teachers enough in terms of showing us how to behave decently and find meaning in this world?

A: I would not say that ethical behavior is not possible for the atheist or agnostic. It is. A couple of pretty good examples are Bertrand Russell and Jean-Paul Sartre. However, I will have to say that if we take the human lot as a whole, these two men must be seen as exceptions.

I don't want to justify religion in terms of its benefits to us. I believe that, on balance, it does a lot of bad things, too -- a tremendous amount. But I don't think that the final justification of religion is the good it does for people. I think the final justification is that it's true, and truth takes priority over consequences. Religion helps us deal with what is most important to the human spirit: values, meaning, purpose, and quality.

Historically, religion has given people another world to live in, a world more adaptive to the human spirit. As a student of world religions, I see religion as the winnower of the wisdom of the human race. Of course, not everything about these religions is wise. Their social patterns, for example -- master-slave, caste, and gender relations -- have been adopted from the mores of their time. But in their view of the nature of reality, there is nothing in either modernity or postmodernity that rivals them.

Q: You've been critical of the role secularism and science have played in supplanting religion...

A: I'm nearing 80, and I find myself more optimistic than I've ever been on this subject. In science, for example, physics is already out of the tunnel constructed by Enlightenment thinking. Newtonian physics worked very much at cross-purposes with the Spirit, which is beyond matter, space, and time. Of contemporary physics, Henry Stapp, a world-class physicist at Berkeley, said that "everything we know about nature is in accord with the idea that the fundamental process of nature lies outside space-time."

Religion, for its part, says that God, who is the source of it all, is outside nature. Now, don't quote me as saying Henry Stapp says that God exists! He didn't say that at all. Besides, he has no competence to talk about that as a physicist, because physics can't deal with quality or consciousness. Nevertheless, for him to say that the fundamental process of nature is immaterial opens the door for a meeting of physics and faith. Both are speaking the same language in their own domain.

Q: Where does the Native American Church fit into your spiritual pantheon?

A: In 1990, when the Supreme Court stripped the Native American Church of its right to use peyote as its sacrament, Reuben Snake asked if I could help him write a book about the church [One Nation Under God] to respond to this horrendous injustice. One of my jobs was to hit the road and gather accounts of what the church has meant to people. I heard frequent reports of how lives were going down the drain with alcohol, etc., and it was the church that straightened them up. To my mind, the peyote plant is God's flesh just like the bread in the Eucharist is regarded as Christ's body. I believe peyote to be an "entheogen" -- a "god-manifesting" or "god-containing" plant.

By the way, the Native American Church's rights were restored in 1994, but there have been recent moves in the Senate that threaten Native American rights on other fronts.

Q: You were part of the LSD studies at Harvard in the 1960s with Aldous Huxley and Timothy Leary. How do you feel about the use of mind-altering drugs to attain a kind of mystical experience?

A: First, I have to say that during the three years I was involved with that Harvard study, LSD was not only legal but respectable. Before Tim went on his unfortunate careening course, it was a legitimate research project.

Though I did find evidence that, when recounted, the experiences of the Harvard group and those of mystics were impossible to tell apart -- descriptively indistinguishable -- that's not the last word. There is still a question about the truth of the disclosure. Was the drug-induced mystical experience just an emotional jag that messed up some neural connections? Or was it a genuine disclosure, an epiphany?

Enclosed, or cocooned, in a solid religious context of belief and responsibility, entheogens have played an important part in human religious history. The Native American Church is a good example of this. But what about people who experience this outside of such a context, as most of the subjects at Harvard did? For some people, under some conditions, it can open new vistas, as William James says. But the heart of religion is not altered states but altered traits of character. For me, then, the test of a substance's religious worth or validity is not what kind of far-out experience it can produce, but is the life improved by its use? That's the test. Now, on that score, if you remove the "religious cocoon," the experiences don't seem to have much in the way of discernible, traceable effects. Certainly, they can open new vistas. But, as Ram Dass said, when you get the message, you should hang up. He did. He gave away his fortune and turned himself to good works. Tim Leary didn't hang up.

Q: One of the roles of religion has been to help communities deal with death. In your own life, how has your faith helped you accommodate the inevitability of death?

A: I don't have any fear of death. I do, however, have an inordinate fear of becoming dependent on other people. To me, that's the severest test, not death.

This article has been made possible by the Foundation for National Progress, the Investigative Fund of Mother Jones, and gifts from generous readers like you.

© 1997 The Foundation for National Progress




My Kind Of Democrat: Earl Long Of Louisiana

As a child, I was vaguely aware of Huey P. Long and the Long political machine in Louisiana. My maternal grandmother spoke of the Kingfish after we viewed the film version of All The King's Men; Broderick Crawford received the Best Actor Oscar for his portrayal of Willie Stark. Later, I was in my teens when Earl Long arrived in Denver, CO in the late 1950s. Earl was the younger brother and political heir of the Kingfish and governor of Louisiana at that time. Earl's wife (and his political rivals) had the governor committed to a mental health facility in Galveston(?) and somehow, Earl Long was able to escape (with loyal state trooper bodyguards) to Colorado. Earl set up a governor's office in exile in the presidential suite of the Brown Palace Hotel (summer home for President and Mrs. Eisenhower) and went to the Centennial Race Track (horses) and bet enormous sums on every race. After several days (and a lot of national press coverage), Earl was guaranteed a safe return to Louisiana and he went home. My recollection is that he died shortly after his third term ended. Complications associated with alcohol abuse were the likely cause. In the currect season of political mediocrity, Earl Long would be my candidate for president. If this be (fair & balanced) lunacy, so be it.



A.J. Liebling's Delectable Political Jambalaya
by Jonathan Yardley


An occasional series in which The Post's book critic reconsiders notable and/or neglected books from the past.

Turn to the opening sentences of A.J. Liebling's "The Earl of Louisiana," and three things happen. You are dazzled by the wit and acuity of Liebling's prose, you want to keep on reading for as long as he keeps on writing, and you are struck by how deeply the character of American politics has changed in the four-plus decades since The Earl of Louisiana was first published. To wit:

"Southern political personalities, like sweet corn, travel badly. They lose flavor with every hundred yards away from the patch. By the time they reach New York, they are like Golden Bantam that has been trucked up from Texas -- stale and unprofitable. The consumer forgets that the corn tastes different where it grows."


That was 1960, when the first article in Liebling's series about Earl Long, then governor of Louisiana, appeared in the New Yorker. Now, 44 years later, you still can "experience the old-fashioned traditional corn flavor of Golden Bantam," as one seed company puts it, but the old-fashioned traditional corn flavor of Southern politics is as dead as Earl Long himself. Yes, you still can buy a Moon Pie in Ol' Dixie, but the rumpled rustics who inspired Al Capp to create a comic-strip politico called Sen. Jack S. Phogbound long ago vanished, replaced by the blow-dried suburban slicksters who've turned the Solid South into Anyplace, U.S.A.

Even Louisiana is sliding into the monotony of the mainstream -- Louisiana, where, as Liebling fondly wrote, "denials . . . are accepted as affirmations, and it is held a breach of the code for a public man to deny anything that isn't so." Edwin Edwards languishes in prison, with only memories of spectacular gubernatorial malfeasance to console him. The new governor, Kathleen Babineaux Blanco, has an agreeably Cajun-hot name but appears lamentably untainted by scandal. The state's congressional delegation, apart from the amusing W.J. "Billy" Tauzin, provides less local color than an empty bottle of Cajun Power Garlic Sauce.

What a different story it was in 1959, when Liebling journeyed to Louisiana to have a look at the strange doings of its governor, universally known (in the universe of Louisiana) as "old Earl," younger brother of and political heir to the sainted and martyred Huey Long. Earl had assumed the governorship in 1956 for the third time and had been cruising along, fully in control, when suddenly he veered off the track. He made a dramatic if somewhat incoherent appearance on the floor of the state legislature -- he was, in fact, "making a civil-rights speech," to Liebling's astonishment -- after which he was carted off to a mental institution in Texas and subjected to national derision.

Liebling went to Louisiana "thinking of Earl as a Peckerwood Caligula" but soon came to see him as a man of character and conviction, a change that can be charted in the pages of The Earl of Louisiana. So far as I can recall I first read it in the original installments. I was 20 years old, heavily involved with the student newspaper at the University of North Carolina, and obsessed with politics. I bought the book when it was published in 1961, and have now reread it in the Louisiana State University Press edition, which has a useful introduction by the late, legendary T. Harry Williams, biographer of Huey Long and nonpareil authority on all matters Louisianan.

When The Earl of Louisiana appeared, Abbott Joseph Liebling was one of the country's most respected journalists, and surely one of the few in that trade who could be called beloved. Born in 1904 into prosperous New York circumstances, he yearned to be a writer and found his way onto a succession of newspapers, arriving at the New Yorker in 1935. Like his close friend Joseph Mitchell, he wrote atmospheric pieces about the city's neighborhoods and characters. His love for seediness drew him toward boxing, and in time he became the foremost American writer on that subject. He wrote brilliant dispatches from Europe in World War II. He loved to eat and drink and wrote vividly about both. He also loved newspapers and for years wrote the New Yorker's Wayward Press column, a sustained exercise in press criticism that towers above all others.

No matter what he wrote about, he was invariably amusing, sometimes hilariously so. He wrote with real grace, real style, real personality. He had many friends, who loved him just as his readers did, but his private life does not seem to have been happy, as is documented in detail in Raymond Sokolov's dutiful, humor-challenged Wayward Reporter: The Life of A.J. Liebling (1980). He had two unhappy marriages before finding some measure of contentment in a third, to the writer Jean Stafford. His insatiable appetites left him immensely overweight. He ignored doctors' orders to moderate his habits and died in 1963 of various unpleasant causes.

As happens to all journalists, Liebling has been on the treadmill to oblivion during the years since his death, but he is traveling it rather more slowly than most. In the late 1960s he became a cult figure among proponents of the "new journalism," who mistakenly assumed that he had written "personal" journalism such as they wanted to but who boosted his reputation all the same. Today more than a half-dozen of his books are in print, but unfortunately none of these conveys the full breadth and depth of his interests and accomplishments.

Liebling was in most matters a "liberal," yet it is to the "conservative" H.L. Mencken that he is most appropriately compared. Both wrote prose that often ventured into the ornate, even the rococo, a practice conventionally frowned upon among journalists. Both had great appetites, though Mencken had better control of his. Both delighted in the trashy, the seedy, the sordid, the outre, which is to say that both delighted in politics and took a decidedly humorous, tolerant view of its most egregious characters. Mencken's obituary essay on Warren Gamaliel Harding is a classic of American humor, and The Earl of Louisiana is not far behind.

At first encounter The Earl of Louisiana is about two subjects: old Earl's descent into what his many enemies chose to call madness, and the two 1960 primaries in which Louisiana Democrats chose their nominee for governor (in those days in the Solid South, the Democratic nomination was, as invariably was said, "tantamount to election"). On both subjects Liebling is, as always, informed and perceptive. His analysis of Louisiana's incredibly complex political landscape is detailed and astute, and he wastes no time in making plain that old Earl was, as his many friends liked to say, crazy as a fox.

But The Earl of Louisiana is best read today as an evocation of Louisiana before it fell victim to the inevitable forces of homogenization, as a portrait of a distinctive and unexpectedly endearing man who scarcely deserves the ridicule that has become his lot and -- this above all -- as an opportunity to read a few words from the typewriter of the one and only A.J. Liebling.

He was neither the first nor the last to write pungently and perceptively about Louisiana and its politics. Robert Penn Warren's famous novel All the King's Men (1946) is based on the life of Huey Long, and James Conaway's undeservedly neglected Judge (1973) is an unsparing portrait of the echt racist Leander Perez, to name just two among many. But The Earl of Louisiana occupies a place of its own, because its two voices -- Liebling's and old Earl's -- are in perfect counterpoint.

To get into the rhythm of things, a few quotations are in order. Here, for example, Earl is asked by a reporter "whether he could manage his legislators." His reply: "You know, the Bible says that before the end of time billy goats, tigers, rabbits and house cats are all going to sleep together. My gang looks like the Biblical proposition is here." Here he discusses his libel suit against Henry Luce's Time-Life empire: "The Luce people been going on too long picking on people too poor to sue them, and now they're going to get it in the neck. Mr. Luce is like a man that owns a shoe store and buys all the shoes to fit himself. Then he expects other people to buy them." Here is Earl's "general declaration of tolerance," as Liebling calls it: "I'm not against anybody for reasons of race, creed, or any ism he might believe in except nuttism, skingameism or communism."

That's old Earl, talking sense. Here's Liebling talking Louisiana. In the first extract, he is discussing the state primary system, in which a runoff is required if no one gets 50 percent of the vote in the first primary:

"It is unusual for a candidate to win first time around, and if one does he arouses a certain amount of resentment as a spoilsport. After the first primary, each beaten candidate and his backers trade off their support to one of the two men who are still alive, in exchange for what he will bind himself to do for them in the way of legislation, patronage or simple commercial advantage. Naturally, the runoff candidate who looks more likely to win can buy support at lower political prices than the other fellow, but by trying to drive too hard a bargain he may send the business to the underdog. Many a man has beaten himself that way. A Louisiana politician can't afford to let his animosities carry him away, and still less his principles, although there is seldom difficulty in that department."

Here, as icing on the cake, is an episode at the gubernatorial dinner table:

"One of the women guests, a Northerner, inadvertently sat on a jacket a political gent had laid aside. It was a silvery Dacron-Acrilan-nylon-airpox miracle weave nubbled in Danish-blue asterisks. She made one whoop and rose vertically, like a helicopter. She had sat on his gun, an article of apparel that in Louisiana is considered as essential as a zipper. Eyebrows rose about as rapidly as she did, and by the time she came down she decided that comment would be considered an affectation."

As is made plain by the very next sentence -- "A colored man brought a glass wrapped in a napkin . . ." -- The Earl of Louisiana employs the vocabulary of its time and place. Liebling's feelings about civil rights were firm and right-minded, but the N-word was common coin then and there and it appears in these pages with some frequency. My own view is that this is in keeping with the book's accuracy, authenticity and atmosphere, but many may feel otherwise and they are hereby given warning. Still, it would be a real pity if today's prevailing standards of correctness kept readers away from one of the best books ever written about American politics.

The Earl of Louisiana is available in a Louisiana State University Press paperback ($15.95).

© 2004 The Washington Post Company




Farewell To Post-Modernist Literary Theory?

Deconstruct this! If this be (fair & balanced) esoterica, so be it.



[x The Christian Science Monitor]
Theory in chaos
Viewing literature through the lens of some "ism" seemed revolutionary in the 1960s. Today, many are calling it an irrelevant approach.
By David Kirby

An old joke used to ask, Where are the last bastions of Marxism? Answer: the Kremlin and the Duke University English department. But now that the Soviet Union has dissolved, the last defenders of Karl Marx's ideas may indeed reside on a pretty, Gothic-style campus in the pinewoods of North Carolina.

For literary traditionalists, the riddle is apropos. They have long bemoaned the effete nature of postmodern literary theory, calling it as hopelessly out of touch with both reality and literature as was Lenin with real-life economics.

But theory's impact on the study of literature in the US has been pervasive if nothing else. Large numbers of the last two generations of English majors have been instructed not to experience novels and poems directly, but rather to view them through the lens of some kind of theory - Marxism being one of the most popular.

The idea was to move away from viewing literature as having any innate "truth" of its own, and rather to study it in relationship to larger schools of thought. But the approach left many students complaining they spent more class time with dry theoreticians than with the great authors they had hoped to encounter.

Today, however, such complaints may be on their way out.

Postmodern literary theory is now transforming itself so rapidly that Marxist, feminist, deconstructionist, and psychoanalytic critics (and others) are flocking back to the drawing board in droves as they search for new approaches to writing and teaching.

Indeed, some academics say that postmodern theory is on the way out altogether and that the heady ideas that once changed the way literature is taught and read will soon be as extinct as the dodo and the buggy whip.

According to some, theory has been losing its grip on academia for years now. "For me, theory reached its apogee in the early 1980's and has since been declining," says Roger Lathbury, professor of American fiction at George Mason University. Today, he says, it's a matter of "the pendulum swinging toward the center."

Some of the biggest names in the field would seem to agree. In Chicago last spring at a discussion sponsored by the journal "Critical Inquiry" cutting-edge thinkers such as Stanley Fish, Frederic Jameson, Homi Bhabha, and Henry Louis Gates Jr. spent two hours saying that postmodern theory was ineffective and no longer mattered in the world outside academe, if it ever did.

And in his new book "After Theory," Terry Eagleton of Manchester University argues that postmodern literary theory (which he defines as "the contemporary movement of thought which rejects . . . the possibility of objective knowledge" and is therefore "skeptical of truth, unity, and progress") was relevant in its heyday, but no more.

In other words, theorists say of the world what Gertrude Stein said about Oakland: there is no there there.

Of course antitheorists have been saying that very thing about theory itself for decades. To an old-school humanist, there's plenty "there" in literature; Shelley's poems are incomparably beautiful, Shakespeare writes about the truths of the mortal condition, and so on.

But Eagleton has never been a tweedy, pipe-smoking purveyor of the humane verities. What makes his new view so startling is that for years, he was one of theory's most committed apologists. Indeed, his 1983 book Literary Theory: An Introduction has long been a standard text in university classrooms and will no doubt continue to be, at least until Eagleton's recantation of all he once held holy becomes the new orthodoxy.

The idea behind Literary Theory was to interrogate and refute what Eagleton and others thought of as lazy, received notions of what is true.

A Marxist himself, Eagleton would have been more interested in the relations between social classes in a Dickens novel, say, than a single character's suffering and redemption.

Still an unreconstructed champion of the lower classes (he writes movingly of his impoverished childhood in his 2001 memoir, "The Gatekeeper"), Eagleton has always enjoyed the gadfly role and boasts that Prince Charles once called him "that dreadful Terry Eagleton."

Toying with the esoteric

All the stranger, then, that, according to Eagleton, "cultural theory as we have it promises to grapple with some fundamental problems, but on the whole fails to deliver." Eagleton now accuses theory of toying with esoterica while ignoring the real issues of life dealt with by literature.

Specifically, says theory's reformed bad boy, "[theory] has been shamefaced about morality and metaphysics, embarrassed about love, biology, religion and revolution, largely silent about evil..." And that, as Eagleton says, "is rather a large slice of human existence to fall down on."

But if theory is so profoundly flawed in its inability to address the ideas and emotions that not only make us individual but also allow us to marry, build communities, and undertake the countless transactions that would be impossible without basic shared assumptions, how did it ever become so popular in the first place? How did the notion that There Is No Truth become The Truth?

Postmodern literary theory is rooted in mid-century European philosophy, though it didn't begin to catch on in America until the late '60s; the Johns Hopkins University conference on "The Language of Criticism and the Sciences of Man" which featured Jacques Derrida and other master theoreticians took place in 1966 and is generally regarded as the theoretical equivalent of the Pilgrims' landing at Plymouth Rock.

These were, of course, revolutionary times: The initial phase of the civil rights struggle was peaking, and serious opposition to the Vietnam war was getting underway. College students were chucking out their parents' ideas about race, class, patriotism, sex, music, and recreational drugs the way they might toss a faulty toaster oven out an open dorm window: If it doesn't work, ditch it.

Theory played right into this mind- set; it challenged lazy notions about what's right and what isn't and brought fresh air into a classroom full of mildewed literary practices.

The problem is that by the time theory's anticapitalist, antibourgeois assumptions became standard fare in colleges and universities, the consumer revolution was in high gear.

Before theory came along, most people shopped in department stores and paid in cash; then the malls went up, banks started sending credit cards to people who didn't want them, and television became a 24-hour-a-day advertising medium.

By sometime in the 1980s, the 1960s mantra "If it feels good, do it," seemed more likely to apply to buying a fully-loaded minivan than staging a revolution. Subversive ideas about theory simply didn't belong.

The rediscovery of literature

A second problem for theory is theorists themselves. Fundamentalism is always ugly, and many of the secondgeneration professors who followed famed theoreticians like Derrida merely applied their ideas dogmatically, thus guaranteeing that theory would became static and stale. Eventually, theory's freewheeling skepticism became as one-dimensional as the celebrations of objective truth it sought to replace.

Somewhere in the 1980s, says Prof. Lathbury, "Eagleton began to be a hero to some" and "theory became the object of study more than the works it purportedly was designed to explicate."

But for some academics, what the rejection of theory is really about is the joyous rediscovery of literature itself. There is today "a renewed appreciation of the irreducible particularity of an art work, an author, an historical moment, a particularity that theory may illuminate but never fully explain," according to Dennis Todd, professor of British literature at Georgetown University.

Theory is also notoriously hard to anchor in the concrete world of books. A longstanding complaint about theoretical writing is that it contains so few examples.

And because it is vague, charge some, it allows teachers to shrink from admitting to personal views. "It presents itself as a way of thinking that exists by itself, and not the product of personal choices," says Edward Mendelson, professor of literature at Columbia University in New York. "Most people outgrow it when they stop feeling insecure or threatened."

But there are also those who suggest that theory is not dead but simply seeking new directions - some of which may prove as esoteric as the old.

Henry Louis Gates Jr. - star Ivy League academic who was recently the object of a turf battle between Harvard and Princeton Universities - is soon to publish "The Third World of Theory," a book that promises not only to extend literary study into uncharted pluralist and multicultural domains but also, according to the current Oxford University Press catalog, offer "a unifying statement about the future of theory."

At the same time, Franco Moretti of Stanford University is raising academic eyebrows with what some are calling the ultimate "anti-theory," a math-based or "text-free" scholarship that, rather than relying on a close reading of, say, the 200 canonical novels of the Victorian era, will attempt to quantify precisely the total number of novels published in that period (estimated at 20,000 or more) and categorize them according to genre.

Farewell, Karl Marx

Of course, no change is likely to occur at lightning speed. "Universities are remarkably conservative institutions," says S. E. Gontarski, professor of Irish studies at Florida State University.

"After some 20 years of careful hiring, they are now heavily packed with what we might now call old-line theorists." Before any real change can take place, he predicts, "it will take the retirement of that group."

But in the meantime, where Marx once ruled, today more down-to-earth literary explorations seem to be on the throne once more.

The Duke University English department's spring courses include such homey-sounding subjects as "Victorian Literature," " 'Ulysses' and Irish Modernism," and "Music in Literature and Philosophy, 1800-1945." The on-line list course offerings run to nearly 35 pages, and Karl Marx isn't mentioned once.

© 2004 The Christian Science Monitor


Wednesday, January 28, 2004

Sapper On The State Of The Union

I received e-mail today from a reporter with the campus fishwrap. Little did the reporter know it, but I am loathe to be interviewed by campus newspaper reporters—in person or by telephone—because the result in print never resembles what I said. So, because this reporter had taken the time to frame questions and put them in writing, I took the bait. In a way, I must resemble Wile E. Coyote. No matter how many times I have experienced disaster with the 4th estate at the College, I keep running my big mouth. If this be (fair & balanced) pontification, so be it.



To: Professor Sapper: 01.27.04
From: Jana Beddow, Reporter—The (Amarillo College) Ranger

I ask you for seven to nine minutes of your time. My informality through email is due out of respect of your busy schedule, instructional time, and an opportunity to weigh out the response. I’ve been intrigued by comments made from students in classes you’ve taught; and also from faculty. You have the reputation of being zestful, persuasive and somewhat opinioned, all of this brings me to you, I need your mind!

I have been assigned to write a story regarding President Bush’s State of the Union address. I ask you to comment on any of the questions that follow. You are a slight figure in the political areas of Amarillo College and how perfect your response will be to work into the story!

If you choose to accept this mission, word length should be approximately 150-250. Please respond with what YOU want readers to think about regarding the speech. This is your forum.

Direct statement from Bush: “ Afghanistan has a new constitution as of this month, guaranteeing free elections and full participation by women. Businesses are opening and health care centers being established, and the boys and girls of Afghanistan are back in school. With the help of the new Afghan army, our coalition is leading aggressive raids against the surviving members of the Taliban in Alquada. The men and women of Afghanistan are building a nation that is free and proud and fighting terror, and American is proud to be their friend.”

With Americans rebuilding Afghanistan, what will be our gain by the investment, in two years? Our loss?


The situation in Afghanistan is not nearly as positive as the president portrayed it. The current government has marked a return to power of the regional warlords. Sporadic violence still occurs in Kabul – the capital – and the Taliban is in control of the area bordering Pakistan. We have not captured Osama bin Laden. I doubt that we will capture bin Laden as his trail grows colder and colder.

"I propose larger Pell grants for students who prepare for college with demanding courses in high school. I propose increasing our support for America’s fine community colleges. I do so so they can train workers for industries that are creating the most new jobs. By all these actions, we’ll help more and more Americans to join in the prosperity of our country…”

How does this affect the AC student? Pell Grants are not loans and this makes them the best form of financial aid for most students not eligible for merit awards for outstanding academic achievement.

Or

Should they care? Yes, they should care. Pell Grants affect them!


Please…one other question.

This belongs to you. Use any part of the speech to describe your reaction, comments or issues.

One area of question among students was the refugee proposal. Not many seem to understand what the President is suggesting.


There are many, many people who have entered the United States illegally. The Bush proposal would legitimize these people – if they came forward and identified themselves – as guest workers. The Bush proposal is controversial with those of his party who want to halt illegal immigration. The Bush proposal requires that a guest worker applicant must have an employer’s sponsorship. The critics of the Bush proposal argue that most employers who knowingly hire illegal immigrants do not pay the minimum wage and do not pay federal payroll taxes (Social Security contributions). If those employers are breaking the law now, why on earth would they obey the law when the Bush proposal would go into effect? Illegal immigrants do the dirty, nasty work that U. S. workers will not do: roofing houses, bussing restaurant tables, washing dishes in restaurants, and the like. Wal-Mart stores were raided by federal agents because the cleaning crews were mostly illegal immigrants and they were not earning the minimum wage! That is why there is criticism of the Bush proposal.



What Would Theodore Roosevelt (Karl Rove's Favorite President, Other Than W) Think Of The Super Bowl?


What would TR think of the Super Bowl? He'd hardly be expected to say it delighted him! As a father he tried to discourage his sons from playing college football. As a public commentator he denounced professional sports, as he did in this essay published in the North American Review in 1890, a decade before he was elected to national office. Below are pertinent excerpts from TR's denunciation of professional sport.


[x North American Review]
"Professionalism" in Sports
by Theodore Roosevelt

In America the difference between amateurs and professionals is in one way almost the reverse of what it is in England, and accords better with the way of life of our democratic community. In England the average professional is a man who works for his living and the amateur is one who does not; whereas with us the amateur usually is and always ought to be, a man who like other American citizens, works hard at some regular calling--it matters not what, as long as it is respectable, while the professional is very apt to be a gentleman of more or less elegant leisure, aside from his special pursuit.

The mere statement of the difference is enough to show that the amateur and not the professional, is the desirable citizen, the man who should be encouraged. Our object is to get as many of our people as possible to take part in manly, healthy, vigorous pastimes, which will benefit the whole nation; it is not to produce a limited class of athletes who shall make it the business of their lives to do battle with one another for the popular amusement. Most masterful nations have shown a strong taste for manly sports. In the old days, when we ourselves were still a people of backwoodsmen, at every merrymaking there were sure to be trials and skill and strength, at running, wrestling and rifle-shooting, among the young men. We should encourage by every method the spirit which makes such trials popular; it is a very excellent revival of old-time American ways. But the existence of a caste of gladiators in the midst of a population which does not itself participate in any manly sports is usually, as it was at Rome, a symptom of national decadence.

The Romans who, when the stern and simple strength of Rome was departing, flocked to the gladiatorial shows, were influenced only by a ferocious craving for bloody excitement; not by any sympathy with men of stout heart and tough sinew. So it is, to a lesser extent to-day. In base-ball alone, the professional teams, from a number of causes, have preserved a fairly close connection with non-professional players, and have done good work in popularizing a most admirable and characteristic American game; but even here the outlook is now less favorable, and, aside from this one pastime, professionalism is the curse of many an athletic sport, and the chief obstacle to its healthy development. Professional rowing is under a dark cloud of suspicion because of the crooked practices which have disgraced it. Horse-racing is certainly not in an ideal condition. A prize fight is simply brutal and degrading. The people who attend it, and make hero of the prize-fighter, are,--excepting boys who go for fun and don't know any better--to a very great extent, men who hover on the border-line of criminality; and those who are not are speedily brutalized, and are never rendered more manly. They form as ignoble a body as do the kindred frequenters of rat-pit and cock-pit. The prize-fighter and his fellow professional athletes of the same ilk are, together with their patrons in every rank of life, the very worst foes with whom the cause of general athletic development has to contend.



Tuesday, January 27, 2004

Jack Paar, RIP

I barely remember Steve Allen as host of the Tonight Show, but I do have memories of Jack Paar as Allen's successor. Jack Paar introduced me to Jonathan Winters, Bob Newhart, Woody Allen, and Bill Cosby. I remember Cliff Arquette and Alexander King, among other eccentrics. I don't think that Jack Paar would play well today. Too whimsical, too gentle. We live in edgier times. If this be (fair & balanced) nostalgia, so be it.



[x AP]
Former 'Tonight Show' Host Jack Paar Dies
by
Frazier Moore, Noreen Gillespie and Pat Eaton-Robb

NEW YORK (AP) -- Jack Paar, who held the nation's rapt attention as he pioneered late-night talk on "The Tonight Show," then told his viewers farewell when still in his prime, died Tuesday. He was 85.

Paar died at his Greenwich, Conn., home as a result of a long illness, said Stephen Wells, Paar's son-in-law.

"Jack invented the talk show format as we know it: the ability to sit down and make small talk big. I will miss him terribly," Merv Griffin said. "Not only was he a great friend, he was my beginning, just as he was everyone else's."

Paar's years on NBC enlivened an otherwise "painfully predictable" TV landscape, wrote The New York Times' Jack Gould in 1962. "Mr. Paar almost alone has managed to preserve the possibility of surprise."

Johnny Carson took over "The Tonight Show" in 1962. Paar had a prime-time talk show for three more seasons, then retired from television in 1965.

Carson said he was "very saddened" to hear of Paar's death. "He was a unique personality who brought a new dimension to late night television."

Paar had taken over the flagging NBC late-night slot in July 1957; Steve Allen had departed some months earlier. Allen's show was a variety show; Paar's a talk show.

"Like being chosen as a kamikaze pilot," Paar wrote in "I Kid You Not," a memoir. "But I felt sure that people would enjoy good, frank and amusing talk."

They did. Viewers loved this cherubic wiseguy, someone once referred to as "like Peter Pan, if Peter Pan had been written by Mickey Spillane."

Soon, everyone was staying up to watch Paar, then talking about his show the next day. Even youngsters sent to bed before Paar came on parroted his jaunty catch phrase, "I kid you not," with which he regularly certified his flow of self-revealing stories.

Just why he walked away from such a breakthrough career at age 47 would become an enduring source of conjecture, possibly even for Paar. His explanation would have to suffice: that he was tired and ready to do other things. He stayed true to his word, other than a brief return in 1975 as one of several hosts on a rotating late-night roster at ABC.

Since the mid-1960s, Paar had kept mostly out of the public eye, engaging in business ventures and indulging his passion for travel.

Off the air, as on, Paar never stopped doing the thing he did best: talk.

"The only time I'm nervous or scared is when I'm NOT talking," he told The Associated Press in 1997. "When I'm talking, I know that I do it well."

Paar played host to Muhammad Ali when he was still known as Cassius Clay, to a pleasantly pickled Judy Garland, and to the outrageous pianist-composer Oscar Levant. Entertainers Paar championed included Jonathan Winters, Bob Newhart, Carol Burnett, Woody Allen and Bill Cosby.

Paar's circle of guests included leading politicians. During the 1960 presidential campaign, John F. Kennedy made a triumphant appearance -- so much so, that a few days after the election, Paar got a letter from Joseph P. Kennedy, the proud father, gushing, "I don't know anybody who did more, indirectly, to have Jack elected than your own good self."

A man of boundless curiosity and interests, Paar was charming, gracious and famously sentimental: He could shed tears, as he put it, just from "taking the Coca-Cola bottles back to the A&P."

He could also be volatile, pettish and confounding. And never so much as in February 1960, when, making headlines, he emotionally told his thunderstruck audience that he was leaving his show. It was the night after a skittish NBC executive had judged obscene, and edited out, a story by Paar where the initials "W.C." were mistaken for "wayside chapel" instead of "water closet."

A month later, the network managed to lure Paar back. Returning on the night of March 7, he was greeted with generous applause as he stepped before the cameras. Then he began his monologue on a typically cheeky note: "As I was saying, before I was interrupted ... "

Born in Canton, Ohio, in 1918, Jack Harold Paar left school at 16 for a job as a radio announcer, and soon found success on various stations as a comic-disc jockey.

Then, in the U.S. Army special services during World War II, he entertained troops in the South Pacific as a standup comedian. His specialty was poking fun at officers for an appreciative audience of enlisted men. ("I don't care what you think of the colonel," he would chide, "stop using your thumbs when you salute.")

In 1947, a magazine poll chose him as "the most promising star of tomorrow," but as the 1950s wore on, he had scored only as a temporary replacement on radio for Jack Benny and Arthur Godfrey, as a failed B-movie actor and a shortlived daytime TV personality.

Then, within weeks of his "Tonight" debut, he was being hailed as "one of America's most popular indoor pastimes."

The talkfest came to an end in 1965. By then Paar had traded in his "Tonight Show" desk for a Friday prime-time hour. But he had made no secret that his third season of "The Jack Paar Program" would be his last. With little fanfare and -- against all odds -- no tears, he signed off with his June 25 show.

Wells said Paar was hospitalized after suffering a stroke last year. His wife of more than 60 years, Miriam, and daughter, Randy, were by his side, Wells said.

Copyright © 2004 by The Associated Press (via ClariNet)

Monday, January 26, 2004

The Big Question

Why were none of the 9/11 terrorists of Iraqi origin? What makes a terrorist is THE question for 2004. James Q. Wilson—political scientist—offers a dispassionate explanation of the most dangerous phenomenon of the 21st century. If this be (fair & balanced) political theory, so be it.


[x City Journal]
What Makes a Terrorist?
James Q. Wilson

Until the nineteenth century, religion was usually the only acceptable justification of terror. It is not hard to understand why: religion gives its true believers an account of the good life and a way of recognizing evil; if you believe that evil in the form of wrong beliefs and mistaken customs weakens or corrupts a life ordained by God, you are under a profound obligation to combat that evil. If you enjoy the companionship of like-minded believers, combating that evil can require that you commit violent, even suicidal, acts.

The Thuggees of India during their several centuries of existence may have killed by slow strangulation 1 million people as sacrifices to the Hindu goddess Kali. The Thugs had no political objective and, when caught, looked forward to their execution as a quick route to paradise.

In the Muslim world, one kind of terrorism, assassination, has existed since shortly after the death of the prophet Muhammad. Of his early successors, three were killed with daggers. The very word “assassin” comes from a group founded by Hasan Ibn al-Sabbah, whose devotees, starting in the eleventh century, spread terror throughout the Muslim world until they were virtually exterminated two centuries later. They killed rival Sunni Muslims, probably in large numbers. Perhaps one-third of all Muslim caliphs have been killed.

The Assassins were perhaps the world’s first terrorists in two senses. They did not seek simply to change rulers through murder but to replace a social system by changing an allegedly corrupt Sunni regime into a supposedly ideal Shiite one. Moreover, the Assassins attacked using only daggers, in ways that made their capture and execution, often after gruesome torture, inevitable. Murder was an act of piety, and as Bernard Lewis has suggested, surviving such a mission was often viewed as shameful.

In modern times, killers have taken the lives of the presidents of Syria and of Sri Lanka; two prime ministers each of Iran and India; the presidents of Aden, Afghanistan, and South Yemen; the president-elect of Lebanon and the president of Egypt; and countless judges and political leaders.

But religiously oriented violence has by no means been confined to Islam. In the United States, abortion clinics have been bombed and their doctors shot because, to the perpetrators, the Christian Bible commands it. Jim Jones killed or required the suicide of his own followers at his camp in Guyana, and David Koresh did nothing to prevent the mass death of his followers at Waco. As Blaise Pascal put it, “men never do evil so openly and contentedly as when they do it from religious conviction.” Bruce Hoffman, a terrorism expert at the RAND Corporation, found that suicide attacks kill four times as many people per incident as do other forms of terrorism; since September 2000, they have taken about 750 lives—not including the 3,000 who died from the 9/11 suicide attacks. Of course, most religious people have nothing to do with terror, and in the past many important instances of suicide attacks, such as the Kamikaze aircraft sent by the Japanese against American warships, had no religious impulse. Terrorists among the Tamil Tigers in Sri Lanka were not driven by religion. Today, however, religious belief, and especially a certain interpretation of the Muslim religion, has come to dominate the motives of suicide terrorists, even when religious aspirations do not govern the organizations that recruit them. Some Middle Eastern terrorist groups, such as Fatah, are secular, and some people join even fundamentalist terrorist organizations for non-religious reasons.

Terrorism, however motivated, baffles people, because they cannot imagine doing these things themselves. This bafflement often leads us to assume that terrorists are either mentally deranged or products of a hostile environment.

In a powerful essay, Cynthia Ozick describes “the barbarous Palestinian societal invention”: recruiting children to blow themselves up. She argues that these are acts of “anti-instinct,” because they are contrary to the drive to live, the product of a grotesque cultural ideal. She is correct to say that this recruitment is not psychopathological, but not quite right to say that it defies instinct. It defies some instincts but is in accord with others.

To explain why people join these different groups, let me make some distinctions. One, suggested by Professor Jerrold Post at George Washington University, is between anarchic ideologues and nationalists.

Anarchist or ideological groups include the Red Army Faction in Germany (popularly known as the Baader-Meinhof gang), the Red Brigades in Italy, and the Weathermen in America. The German government carried out a massive inquiry into the Red Army Faction and some right-wing terrorist groups in the early 1980s. (Since it was done in Germany, you will not be surprised to learn that it was published in four volumes.) The Red Army members were middle-class people, who came, in about 25 percent of the cases, from broken families. Over three-fourths said they had severe conflicts with their parents. About one-third had been convicted in juvenile court. They wanted to denounce “the establishment” and bourgeois society generally, and joined peer groups that led them steadily into more radical actions that in time took over their lives. Italians in the Red Brigades had comparable backgrounds.

Ideological terrorists offer up no clear view of the world they are trying to create. They speak vaguely about bringing people into some new relationship with one another but never tell us what that relationship might be. Their goal is destruction, not creation. To the extent they are Marxists, this vagueness is hardly surprising, since Marx himself never described the world he hoped to create, except with a few glittering but empty generalities.

A further distinction: in Germany, left-wing terrorists, such as the Red Army Faction, were much better educated, had a larger fraction of women as members, and were better organized than were right-wing terrorists. Similar differences have existed in the United States between, say, the Weather Underground and the Aryan Nation. Left-wing terrorists often have a well-rehearsed ideology; right-wing ones are more likely to be pathological.

I am not entirely certain why this difference should exist. One possibility is that right-wing terrorist organizations are looking backward at a world they think has been lost, whereas left-wing ones are looking ahead at a world they hope will arrive. Higher education is useful to those who wish to imagine a future but of little value to those who think they know the past. Leftists get from books and professors a glimpse of the future, and they struggle to create it. Right-wingers base their discontent on a sense of the past, and they work to restore it. To join the Ku Klux Klan or the Aryan Nation, it is only necessary that members suppose that it is good to oppress blacks or Catholics or Jews; to join the Weather Underground, somebody had to teach recruits that bourgeois society is decadent and oppressive.

By contrast, nationalistic and religious terrorists are a very different matter. The fragmentary research that has been done on them makes clear that they are rarely in conflict with their parents; on the contrary, they seek to carry out in extreme ways ideas learned at home. Moreover, they usually have a very good idea of the kind of world they wish to create: it is the world given to them by their religious or nationalistic leaders. These leaders, of course, may completely misrepresent the doctrines they espouse, but the misrepresentation acquires a commanding power.

Marc Sageman at the University of Pennsylvania has analyzed what we know so far about members of al-Qaida. Unlike ideological terrorists, they felt close to their families and described them as intact and caring. They rarely had criminal records; indeed, most were devout Muslims. The great majority were married; many had children. None had any obvious signs of mental disorder. The appeal of al-Qaida was that the group provided a social community that helped them define and resist the decadent values of the West. The appeal of that community seems to have been especially strong to the men who had been sent abroad to study and found themselves alone and underemployed.

A preeminent nationalistic terrorist, Sabri al-Bana (otherwise known as Abu Nidal), was born to a wealthy father in Jaffa, and through his organization, the Fatah Revolutionary Council, also known as the Abu Nidal Organization, sought to destroy Israel and to attack Palestinian leaders who showed any inclination to engage in diplomacy. He was hardly a member of the wretched poor.

Alan B. Krueger and Jitka Maleckova have come to similar conclusions from their analysis of what we know about deceased soldiers in Hezbollah, the Iran-sponsored Shiite fighting group in Lebanon. Compared with the Lebanese population generally, the Hezbollah soldiers were relatively well-to-do and well-educated young males. Neither poor nor uneducated, they were much like Israeli Jews who were members of the “bloc of the faithful” group that tried to blow up the Dome of the Rock mosque in Jerusalem: well paid, well educated, and of course deeply religious.

In Singapore a major terrorist organization is Jemaah Islamiyah. Singaporean psychologists studied 31 of its members and found them normal in most respects. All were male, had average to above-average intelligence, and held jobs ranging from taxi driver to engineer. As with al-Qaida and Hezbollah members, they did not come from unstable families, nor did they display any peculiar desire toward suicidal behavior. Though graduates of secular schools, they attached great importance to religion.

Of late, women have been recruited for terrorist acts—a remarkable development in the Islamic world, where custom keeps women in subordinate roles. Precisely because of their traditional attire, female suicide bombers can easily hide their identities and disguise themselves as Israelis by wearing tight, Western clothing. Security sources in Israel have suggested that some of these women became suicide bombers to expunge some personal dishonor. Death in a holy cause could wash away the shame of divorce, infertility, or promiscuity. According to some accounts, a few women have deliberately been seduced and then emotionally blackmailed into becoming bombers.

That terrorists themselves are reasonably well-off does not by itself disprove the argument that terrorism springs from poverty and ignorance. Terrorists might simply be a self-selected elite, who hope to serve the needs of an impoverished and despondent populace—in which case, providing money and education to the masses would be the best way to prevent terrorism.

From what we know now, this theory appears to be false. Krueger and Maleckova compared terrorist incidents in the Middle East with changes in the gross domestic product of the region and found that the number of such incidents per year increased as economic conditions improved. On the eve of the intifada that began in 2000, the unemployment rate among Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza Strip was falling, and the Palestinians thought that economic conditions were improving. The same economic conditions existed at the time of the 1988 intifada. Terror did not spread as the economy got worse but as it got better.

This study agrees with the view of Franklin L. Ford, whose book Political Murder covers terrorist acts from ancient times down to the 1980s. Assassinations, he finds, were least common in fifth-century Athens, during the Roman republic, and in eighteenth-century Europe—periods in which “a certain quality of balance, as between authority and forbearance” was reinforced by a commitment to “customary rights.” Terrorism has not corresponded to high levels of repression or social injustice or high rates of ordinary crime. It seems to occur, Ford suggests, in periods of partial reform, popular excitement, high expectations, and impatient demands for still more rapid change.

But if terrorists—suicide bombers and other murderers of innocent people—are not desperate, perhaps they are psychologically disturbed. But I cannot think of a single major scholar who has studied this matter who has found any psychosis. Terrorists are likely to be different from non-terrorists, but not because of any obvious disease.

In short, recruiting religiously inspired or nationalistically oriented terrorists seems to have little to do with personal psychosis, material deprivation, or family rejection. It may not even have much to do with well-known, high-status leaders. Among West Bank and Gaza Palestinians, for example, there is broad support for suicide bombings and a widespread belief that violence has helped the Palestinian cause, even though as late as June 2003 only about one-third of all Palestinians thought Yasser Arafat was doing a good job. Indeed, his popularity has declined since the intifada began.

The key to terrorist recruitment, obviously, is the group that does the recruitment. Jerrold Post interviewed for eight hours an Abu Nidal terrorist named Omar Rezaq, who skyjacked an airliner and killed five passengers, two of them women, before an Egyptian rescue team captured him. The interviews sought to test the defense counsel’s claim that Rezaq suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder and so did not appreciate the wrongfulness of his actions. Post found no such disease.

He met instead a thoroughly calm, professional man, who, after a happy childhood devoid of poverty, had moved with his mother to a refugee camp following the 1967 Arab-Israeli war. At school he encountered a radical Palestinian teacher (and PLO member) who imbued him with a hatred of Israel and helped him join a camp where, at age 12, he began receiving military training. From there he went to a technical school sponsored by the United Nations. After being drafted into the Jordanian army, Rezaq deserted and joined Fatah, where he learned about Zionism and got more military training. He was sent on military missions against Israel, but periods of inactivity made him discontented. In time, searching for a stronger commitment, he joined Abu Nidal.

Abu Nidal ordered him to seize an airliner and hold it until Egypt released certain activists from prison. After the plane he seized landed in Malta, Rezaq began executing passengers, beginning with two Israelis (they were the enemy) and three Americans (they supported the enemy). Before he could kill more, a rescue team stormed the plane and captured him.

Rezaq spoke to Professor Post in a calm, orderly, unemotional way. He thought of himself as a soldier and of the people he shot as enemies. He realized that his actions were crimes—that was why he wore a ski mask—but he did not think they were wrong: he was, after all, fighting Zionism. The notion that he was mentally ill was absurd: Abu Nidal, a highly professional group, would have long since weeded him out. Abu Nidal had killed or injured many people in massacres at the Rome and Vienna airports and gravely wounded the Israeli ambassador to Great Britain: you do not accomplish these things by relying on psychotics.

While some suicide bombers have been the victims of blackmail, and some have been led to believe, wrongly, that the bombs in their trucks would go off after they had left them, my sense is that most recruitment today relies on small-group pressure and authoritative leaders. Anyone who took social-science courses in college will surely remember the famous experiments by Stanley Milgram. In the 1960s, Milgram, then a professor at Yale, recruited ordinary people through a newspaper ad offering them money to help in a project purporting to improve human memory. The improvement was to come from punishing a man who seemed unable to remember words read aloud to him. The man, a confederate of Milgram’s, was strapped in a chair with an electrode attached to his wrist. The punishment took the form of electric shocks administered by the experimental subjects from a control panel, showing a scale of shocks, from 15 to 450 volts. At the high end of the scale, clearly marked labels warned: “Danger—Severe Shock.” As the subject increased the imaginary voltage, the man who was supposed to have his memory improved screamed in pretended pain.

About two-thirds of the subjects Milgram had recruited went all the way to 450 volts. Only two things made a difference: the absence of a clear authority figure and the presence of rebellious peers. Without these modifications, almost everybody decided to “follow orders.” This study suggests to me that, rightly managed, a cohesive group with an authoritative leader can find people who will do almost anything.

Terrorist cells, whether they have heard of Stanley Milgram’s Obedience to Authority or not, understand these rules. They expose members to unchallenged authority figures and quickly weed out anyone who might be rebellious. They get rid of doubts by getting rid of the doubters.

This is not very different from how the military maintains morale under desperate conditions. Soldiers fight because their buddies fight. Heroism usually derives not from some deep heroic “urge” or from thoughts of Mom, apple pie, and national ideology, but from the example of others who are fighting.

Milgram did not train terrorists; he showed that one instinct Cynthia Ozick neglected—the instinct to be part of a team—can be as powerful as the one that tells us to be decent to other people. But suppose Milgram had been the leader of a terrorist sect and had recruited his obedient followers into his group; suppose teachings in the schools and mass propaganda supported his group. There is almost no limit to what he could have accomplished using such people. They might not have been clinically ill, but they would have been incorporated into a psychopathological movement.

The central fact about terrorists is not that they are deranged, but that they are not alone. Among Palestinians, they are recruited by Hamas, the Palestinian Islamic Jihad, and the al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigade, among others. In Singapore, their recruitment begins with attendance at religious schools. If ardent and compliant, they are drawn into Jemaah Islamiyah, where they associate with others like themselves. Being in the group gives each member a sense of special esteem and exclusivity, reinforced by the use of secrecy, code names, and specialized training. Then they are offered the chance to be martyrs if they die in a jihad. Everywhere, leaders strengthen the bombers’ commitment by isolating them in safe houses and by asking them to draft last testaments and make videotapes for their families, in which they say farewell.

Given its long history, one must wonder whether terrorism accomplishes its goals. For some ideological terrorists, of course, there are scarcely any clear goals that can be accomplished. But for many assassins and religious terrorists, there are important goals, such as ending tyranny, spreading a religious doctrine, or defeating a national enemy.

By these standards, terrorism does not work. Franklin Ford concluded his long history of political murders by saying that, with one or two possible exceptions, assassinations have not produced results consonant with the aims of the doer. Walter Laqueur, in his shorter review of the matter, comes to the same conclusion: of the 50 prime ministers and heads of state killed between 1945 and 1985, it is hard to think of one whose death changed a state’s policies.

Bernard Lewis argues that the original Assassins failed: they never succeeded in overthrowing the social order or replacing Sunnis with Shiites. The most recent study of suicide terrorism from 1983 through 2001 found that, while it “has achieved modest or very limited goals, it has so far failed to compel target democracies to abandon goals central to national wealth or security.”

One reason it does not work can be found in studies of Israeli public opinion. During 1979, there were 271 terrorist incidents in Israel and the territories it administers, resulting in the deaths of 23 people and the injuring of 344 more. Public-opinion surveys clearly showed that these attacks deeply worried Israelis, but their fear, instead of leading them to endorse efforts at reconciliation, produced a toughening of attitudes and a desire to see the perpetrators dealt with harshly. The current intifada has produced exactly the same result in Israel.

But if terrorism does not change the views of the victims and their friends, then it is possible that campaigns against terrorism will not change the views of people who support it. Many social scientists have come to just this conclusion.

In the 1970s, I attended meetings at a learned academy where people wondered what could be done to stop the terrorism of the German Red Army Faction and the Italian Red Brigades. The general conclusion was that no counterattacks would work. To cope with terrorism, my colleagues felt, one must deal with its root causes.

I was not convinced. My doubts stemmed, I suppose, from my own sense that dealing with the alleged root causes of crime would not work as well as simply arresting criminals. After all, we do not know much about the root causes, and most of the root causes we can identify cannot be changed in a free society—or possibly in any society.

The German and Italian authorities, faced with a grave political problem, decided not to change root causes but to arrest the terrorists. That, accompanied by the collapse of East Germany and its support for terrorists, worked. Within a few years the Red Army Faction and the Red Brigades were extinct. In the United States, the Weather Underground died after its leaders were arrested.

But Islamic terrorism poses a much more difficult challenge. These terrorists live and work among people sympathetic to their cause. Those arrested will be replaced; those killed will be honored. Opinion polls in many Islamic nations show great support for anti-Israeli and anti-American terrorists. Terrorists live in a hospitable river. We may have to cope with the river.

The relentless vilification of Jews, Israel, and Zionism by much of the Muslim press and in many Muslim schools has produced a level of support for terrorism that vastly exceeds the backing that American or European terrorists ever enjoyed. Over 75 percent of all Palestinians support the current intifada and endorse the 2003 bombing of Maxim, a restaurant in Haifa. With suicide bombers regarded as martyrs, the number of new recruits has apparently increased. The river of support for anti-Israel terror is much wider and deeper than what the Baader-Meinhof gang received.

Imagine what it would have been like to eliminate the Baader-Meinhof gang if most West Germans believed that democracy was evil and that Marxism was the wave of the future, if the Soviet Union paid a large sum to the family of every killed or captured gang member, if West German students attended schools that taught the evils of democracy and regarded terrorists as heroes, if several West German states were governed by the equivalent of al Fatah, and if there were a German version of Gaza, housing thousands of angry Germans who believed they had a right of return to some homeland.

But support for resistance is not the same as support for an endless war. An opinion survey done in November 2002 by the Palestinian Center for Policy and Survey Research showed that over three-fourths of the Palestinians in Gaza and the West Bank supported a mutual cessation of violence between Israel and Palestinians and backed reconciliation between Israelis and a newly created Palestinian state. A majority favored the Palestinian Authority taking measures to prevent armed attacks against Israeli civilians. Another poll found that about half of all Palestinians wanted both the intifada and negotiations with Israel to go forward simultaneously, while 15 percent favored negotiations alone.

These facts, rarely mentioned in the American press, suggest how empty are the statements of many Middle Eastern and European leaders, who incessantly tell us that ending terrorism generally requires “solving” the Palestinian question by dealing with Arafat. These claims, often made to satisfy internal political needs, fail to recognize how disliked Arafat is by his own people and how eager they are for a democratic government that respects the governed and avoids corruption.

Matters are worse when one state sponsors or accommodates terrorism in another state. In this case, the problem is to end that state support. To do that means making clear that the leaders of such a state will suffer serious pain as a consequence of that accommodation. Though many people take exception to it, I think President Bush was right to condemn certain nations as being part of an “axis of evil,” putting leaders on notice that they cannot fund or encourage Hamas, al-Qaida, or Hezbollah without paying a heavy price for it. Iraq has learned how high that price can be.

The Israeli government is trying to impose a high price on the Palestinian Authority because of its tolerance of and support for terrorist acts in Israel. It is too early to tell whether this effort will succeed. Arrests or deterrence, after all, cannot readily prevent suicide bombings, though good intelligence can reduce them, and seizing leaders can perhaps hamper them. The presence of the Israeli Defense Forces in Palestinian areas almost surely explains the recent reduction in suicide attacks, but no such presence, costly as it is, can reduce the number to zero. As Palestinian hostility toward Israel grows, reinforced by what is taught in Palestinian schools, recruiting suicide bombers becomes much easier.

The larger question, of course, is whether ending terrorism requires a new political arrangement. Ideally, the Palestinian people must grant Israel the right to a secure existence in exchange for being given their own country. There may be popular support among both Israelis and Palestinians for such an arrangement, but it is not obvious that political leaders of either side can endorse such a strategy. As the level of terrorism and state action grows, the opportunities for dialogue diminish, and public confidence that any new dialogue will produce meaningful results declines. No one has yet found a way to manage this difficulty.

James Q. Wilson is the James A. Collins Professor of Management and Public Policy Emeritus at the University of California Los Angeles.

Copyright © 2004 City Journal