Posted on 09/19/2001 9:15:29 AM PDT by Egregious Philbin
Any attempt at a forward look is still compromised by the dreadful, fascinated glance over the shoulder. A week when the United States itself was a "no-fly zone" from coast to coast. The wolfish parting of the lips as the second of the evil twins hastened towards New York, and saw that its sibling had already smashed and burnt the first of the harmless twins. (Truly, God must be great.) Then the scything of the second innocent twin. The weird void. The faint echoes of heroism from the fuselage of a United Airlines jet over Pennsylvania, as its condemned passengers decided they had nothing to lose, but would not be "collateral damage" in the blaspheming of another national landmark. America is the greatest of all subjects for a writer, in the first place because of its infinite space and depth and variety, and also because it is ultimately founded upon an idea. The idea, originally phrased in some noble document drawn up by a few rather conservative English gentleman-farmers, is that on this continent there might arise the world's first successful multinational and secular democracy. Profiting by the stupidity of European monarchs, its early leaders were able to buy the Midwest from the French and then Alaska from the Russians, both at knockdown prices. Profiting from the stupidity of later European statesmen, the United States did very well indeed out of two world wars and emerged as the only serious global and imperial power in human history. Even the least superstitious American often has a smidgen of belief in the idea of providence; the notion that this is a lucky country, if not a divinely favoured one. The trauma of last Tuesday morning is quite unlike all previous tests of the American proposition, because it is humiliating and in some ways meaningless. Pearl Harbor – the most readily available comparison – was also subject to analysis and criticism as an outcome of American foreign policy in the Pacific. But the conversion of civilian airliners into missiles gives no such work for the heart or the mind to do. It is simultaneously sordid and scary: more as if all the gold in Fort Knox had turned to lead, or all the blood-banks in the country had been found to be infected with some filthy virus. This is why the very pathos of the public ceremonies – flag displays, floral tributes, candle-lightings – seems so tawdry and inadequate. It is also why the grounds for vengeance sound so hollow and unconvincing. President Bush has been criticised, quite rightly, for contriving to combine the utterly tame with the emptily bombastic. But it is difficult to imagine what even a Roosevelt could have usefully pronounced. What do you do when there's nothing to do? What to you say when there's nothing to say? (The answer of Congress to this pressing question: let's all assemble on the Capitol steps and sing "God Bless America" out of tune, was universally agreed to be the wince-making superfluous gesture of the week.) I am writing this in the temporary mental atmosphere of a one-party state. For the moment, every article and bulletin emphasises the need for unity behind our leader and for close attention to national security. This culture of conformism and fear is the precise opposite of American optimism. Somewhere, there must be cackles of wicked mirth at the ease with which an American herd can be cowed or stampeded. But then the attack on American optimism is the whole point. The perpetrators have calmly rehearsed their own deaths, and the deaths of strangers, for years. They are not even "terrorists" so much as nihilists: at war with the very idea of modernity and the related practices of pluralism and toleration. In order to comprehend them we need the images not of Beirut in the 1980s or of Palestine today but of the crusades or the Thirty Years War. These are people who are seen by the Taliban as extreme. No settlement for the Palestinians or the Chechens or the Kashmiris or the Bosnians would have appeased such barbarous piety. As a result, we are all hostages for now to the security-mad, the anonymous "expert", the unsmiling professional. The very people who have served us so badly for so long. But these are the praetorians who inevitably inherit such situations. There is a uniquely American expression that usually surfaces at moments such as this. It is called "the loss of innocence". I was rather interested to see that it didn't come up last week. But then there was probably a surplus of innocence in the form of the families who had happily boarded those flights on a bright Tuesday morning, heading for the West Coast and a bigger sky. In any case, the proper term would be "loss of American confidence". The whole idea that tomorrow will be better than today, and that each successive generation will be happier and more prosperous and more hopeful, has taken an enormous body-slam. It is absurd and upsetting to see schools closed in cities as far away as California. The TV and the web can spread panic as rapidly as any rumour of witchcraft. Yet, even as people were partially retreating into a bunker mentality, they were none the less managing to act as if they had learnt from previous panics. The single most impressive fact about the past few days has been the general refusal to adopt an ugly or chauvinistic attitude towards America's most recent and most conspicuous immigrants: the Middle Eastern ones. The response of public opinion has been uniformly grown-up and considerate. As if by unspoken agreement, everyone seems to know that any outrage to multiculturalism and community would be an act of complicity with the assassins. And in rather the same way, no one chooses to be very raucously in favour of hitting just anyone in "retaliation" overseas. This is an undemonstrative strength of the sort that will be decisive from now on. After all, a sober look at the odds discloses an obvious truth. American society cannot be destroyed even by the most horrifying nihilist attacks. It can outlast or absorb practically anything (of course, it could not entirely survive an attack by weapons of mass destruction, but then neither can any society, and the greatest single political casualty of the week is undoubtedly the fantasy of the "missile defence" option as the front-line posture against "rogue" elements). A few months ago, a friend of mine was introduced to George Bush at a reception for aid workers in the Third World: "Tell me," said Bush. "What's the worst country in the world?" "Congo, Mr President." "OK, what's the second worst?" "Afghanistan, Mr President." "Oh yeah – that's where them loonies blew up those statues." Bush did better than perhaps he realised in this trivial exchange. Recall the Taliban's desecration of the Buddhas at Bamiyan, and you will see that the nihilists are at war with culture as a whole. They are capable of impressive vandalism and callousness, but that's the limit of their attainment. Last week, an entire population withstood an attempted rape and murder of its core and identity. It did so while the President was off the radar screen. But everyone, in an important sense, knew what to do, as well as what not to do. The whole point of a multinational democracy is that it should be able to run on its own power. In other words, if short-term foolishness can be minimised at home and abroad, then people will surely appreciate that, in the words of an old slogan worn out by repetition, the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.
Any attempt at a forward look is still compromised by the dreadful, fascinated glance over the shoulder. A week when the United States itself was a "no-fly zone" from coast to coast. The wolfish parting of the lips as the second of the evil twins hastened towards New York, and saw that its sibling had already smashed and burnt the first of the harmless twins. (Truly, God must be great.) Then the scything of the second innocent twin. The weird void. The faint echoes of heroism from the fuselage of a United Airlines jet over Pennsylvania, as its condemned passengers decided they had nothing to lose, but would not be "collateral damage" in the blaspheming of another national landmark.
America is the greatest of all subjects for a writer, in the first place because of its infinite space and depth and variety, and also because it is ultimately founded upon an idea. The idea, originally phrased in some noble document drawn up by a few rather conservative English gentleman-farmers, is that on this continent there might arise the world's first successful multinational and secular democracy. Profiting by the stupidity of European monarchs, its early leaders were able to buy the Midwest from the French and then Alaska from the Russians, both at knockdown prices. Profiting from the stupidity of later European statesmen, the United States did very well indeed out of two world wars and emerged as the only serious global and imperial power in human history. Even the least superstitious American often has a smidgen of belief in the idea of providence; the notion that this is a lucky country, if not a divinely favoured one.
The trauma of last Tuesday morning is quite unlike all previous tests of the American proposition, because it is humiliating and in some ways meaningless. Pearl Harbor – the most readily available comparison – was also subject to analysis and criticism as an outcome of American foreign policy in the Pacific. But the conversion of civilian airliners into missiles gives no such work for the heart or the mind to do. It is simultaneously sordid and scary: more as if all the gold in Fort Knox had turned to lead, or all the blood-banks in the country had been found to be infected with some filthy virus. This is why the very pathos of the public ceremonies – flag displays, floral tributes, candle-lightings – seems so tawdry and inadequate. It is also why the grounds for vengeance sound so hollow and unconvincing. President Bush has been criticised, quite rightly, for contriving to combine the utterly tame with the emptily bombastic. But it is difficult to imagine what even a Roosevelt could have usefully pronounced. What do you do when there's nothing to do? What to you say when there's nothing to say? (The answer of Congress to this pressing question: let's all assemble on the Capitol steps and sing "God Bless America" out of tune, was universally agreed to be the wince-making superfluous gesture of the week.)
I am writing this in the temporary mental atmosphere of a one-party state. For the moment, every article and bulletin emphasises the need for unity behind our leader and for close attention to national security. This culture of conformism and fear is the precise opposite of American optimism. Somewhere, there must be cackles of wicked mirth at the ease with which an American herd can be cowed or stampeded. But then the attack on American optimism is the whole point. The perpetrators have calmly rehearsed their own deaths, and the deaths of strangers, for years. They are not even "terrorists" so much as nihilists: at war with the very idea of modernity and the related practices of pluralism and toleration. In order to comprehend them we need the images not of Beirut in the 1980s or of Palestine today but of the crusades or the Thirty Years War. These are people who are seen by the Taliban as extreme. No settlement for the Palestinians or the Chechens or the Kashmiris or the Bosnians would have appeased such barbarous piety. As a result, we are all hostages for now to the security-mad, the anonymous "expert", the unsmiling professional. The very people who have served us so badly for so long. But these are the praetorians who inevitably inherit such situations.
There is a uniquely American expression that usually surfaces at moments such as this. It is called "the loss of innocence". I was rather interested to see that it didn't come up last week. But then there was probably a surplus of innocence in the form of the families who had happily boarded those flights on a bright Tuesday morning, heading for the West Coast and a bigger sky. In any case, the proper term would be "loss of American confidence". The whole idea that tomorrow will be better than today, and that each successive generation will be happier and more prosperous and more hopeful, has taken an enormous body-slam.
It is absurd and upsetting to see schools closed in cities as far away as California. The TV and the web can spread panic as rapidly as any rumour of witchcraft. Yet, even as people were partially retreating into a bunker mentality, they were none the less managing to act as if they had learnt from previous panics. The single most impressive fact about the past few days has been the general refusal to adopt an ugly or chauvinistic attitude towards America's most recent and most conspicuous immigrants: the Middle Eastern ones. The response of public opinion has been uniformly grown-up and considerate. As if by unspoken agreement, everyone seems to know that any outrage to multiculturalism and community would be an act of complicity with the assassins. And in rather the same way, no one chooses to be very raucously in favour of hitting just anyone in "retaliation" overseas.
This is an undemonstrative strength of the sort that will be decisive from now on. After all, a sober look at the odds discloses an obvious truth. American society cannot be destroyed even by the most horrifying nihilist attacks. It can outlast or absorb practically anything (of course, it could not entirely survive an attack by weapons of mass destruction, but then neither can any society, and the greatest single political casualty of the week is undoubtedly the fantasy of the "missile defence" option as the front-line posture against "rogue" elements).
A few months ago, a friend of mine was introduced to George Bush at a reception for aid workers in the Third World:
"Tell me," said Bush. "What's the worst country in the world?"
"Congo, Mr President."
"OK, what's the second worst?"
"Afghanistan, Mr President."
"Oh yeah – that's where them loonies blew up those statues."
Bush did better than perhaps he realised in this trivial exchange. Recall the Taliban's desecration of the Buddhas at Bamiyan, and you will see that the nihilists are at war with culture as a whole. They are capable of impressive vandalism and callousness, but that's the limit of their attainment. Last week, an entire population withstood an attempted rape and murder of its core and identity. It did so while the President was off the radar screen. But everyone, in an important sense, knew what to do, as well as what not to do. The whole point of a multinational democracy is that it should be able to run on its own power. In other words, if short-term foolishness can be minimised at home and abroad, then people will surely appreciate that, in the words of an old slogan worn out by repetition, the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.
Christopher Hitchens is a columnist for 'Vanity Fair'
Any attempt at a forward look is still compromised by the dreadful, fascinated glance over the shoulder. A week when the United States itself was a "no-fly zone" from coast to coast. The wolfish parting of the lips as the second of the evil twins hastened towards New York, and saw that its sibling had already smashed and burnt the first of the harmless twins. (Truly, God must be great.) Then the scything of the second innocent twin. The weird void. The faint echoes of heroism from the fuselage of a United Airlines jet over Pennsylvania, as its condemned passengers decided they had nothing to lose, but would not be "collateral damage" in the blaspheming of another national landmark.
America is the greatest of all subjects for a writer, in the first place because of its infinite space and depth and variety, and also because it is ultimately founded upon an idea. The idea, originally phrased in some noble document drawn up by a few rather conservative English gentleman-farmers, is that on this continent there might arise the world's first successful multinational and secular democracy. Profiting by the stupidity of European monarchs, its early leaders were able to buy the Midwest from the French and then Alaska from the Russians, both at knockdown prices. Profiting from the stupidity of later European statesmen, the United States did very well indeed out of two world wars and emerged as the only serious global and imperial power in human history. Even the least superstitious American often has a smidgen of belief in the idea of providence; the notion that this is a lucky country, if not a divinely favoured one.
The trauma of last Tuesday morning is quite unlike all previous tests of the American proposition, because it is humiliating and in some ways meaningless. Pearl Harbor – the most readily available comparison – was also subject to analysis and criticism as an outcome of American foreign policy in the Pacific. But the conversion of civilian airliners into missiles gives no such work for the heart or the mind to do. It is simultaneously sordid and scary: more as if all the gold in Fort Knox had turned to lead, or all the blood-banks in the country had been found to be infected with some filthy virus. This is why the very pathos of the public ceremonies – flag displays, floral tributes, candle-lightings – seems so tawdry and inadequate. It is also why the grounds for vengeance sound so hollow and unconvincing. President Bush has been criticised, quite rightly, for contriving to combine the utterly tame with the emptily bombastic. But it is difficult to imagine what even a Roosevelt could have usefully pronounced. What do you do when there's nothing to do? What to you say when there's nothing to say? (The answer of Congress to this pressing question: let's all assemble on the Capitol steps and sing "God Bless America" out of tune, was universally agreed to be the wince-making superfluous gesture of the week.)
I am writing this in the temporary mental atmosphere of a one-party state. For the moment, every article and bulletin emphasises the need for unity behind our leader and for close attention to national security. This culture of conformism and fear is the precise opposite of American optimism. Somewhere, there must be cackles of wicked mirth at the ease with which an American herd can be cowed or stampeded. But then the attack on American optimism is the whole point. The perpetrators have calmly rehearsed their own deaths, and the deaths of strangers, for years. They are not even "terrorists" so much as nihilists: at war with the very idea of modernity and the related practices of pluralism and toleration. In order to comprehend them we need the images not of Beirut in the 1980s or of Palestine today but of the crusades or the Thirty Years War. These are people who are seen by the Taliban as extreme. No settlement for the Palestinians or the Chechens or the Kashmiris or the Bosnians would have appeased such barbarous piety. As a result, we are all hostages for now to the security-mad, the anonymous "expert", the unsmiling professional. The very people who have served us so badly for so long. But these are the praetorians who inevitably inherit such situations.
There is a uniquely American expression that usually surfaces at moments such as this. It is called "the loss of innocence". I was rather interested to see that it didn't come up last week. But then there was probably a surplus of innocence in the form of the families who had happily boarded those flights on a bright Tuesday morning, heading for the West Coast and a bigger sky. In any case, the proper term would be "loss of American confidence". The whole idea that tomorrow will be better than today, and that each successive generation will be happier and more prosperous and more hopeful, has taken an enormous body-slam.
It is absurd and upsetting to see schools closed in cities as far away as California. The TV and the web can spread panic as rapidly as any rumour of witchcraft. Yet, even as people were partially retreating into a bunker mentality, they were none the less managing to act as if they had learnt from previous panics. The single most impressive fact about the past few days has been the general refusal to adopt an ugly or chauvinistic attitude towards America's most recent and most conspicuous immigrants: the Middle Eastern ones. The response of public opinion has been uniformly grown-up and considerate. As if by unspoken agreement, everyone seems to know that any outrage to multiculturalism and community would be an act of complicity with the assassins. And in rather the same way, no one chooses to be very raucously in favour of hitting just anyone in "retaliation" overseas.
This is an undemonstrative strength of the sort that will be decisive from now on. After all, a sober look at the odds discloses an obvious truth. American society cannot be destroyed even by the most horrifying nihilist attacks. It can outlast or absorb practically anything (of course, it could not entirely survive an attack by weapons of mass destruction, but then neither can any society, and the greatest single political casualty of the week is undoubtedly the fantasy of the "missile defence" option as the front-line posture against "rogue" elements).
A few months ago, a friend of mine was introduced to George Bush at a reception for aid workers in the Third World:
"Tell me," said Bush. "What's the worst country in the world?"
"Congo, Mr President."
"OK, what's the second worst?"
"Afghanistan, Mr President."
"Oh yeah – that's where them loonies blew up those statues."
Bush did better than perhaps he realised in this trivial exchange. Recall the Taliban's desecration of the Buddhas at Bamiyan, and you will see that the nihilists are at war with culture as a whole. They are capable of impressive vandalism and callousness, but that's the limit of their attainment. Last week, an entire population withstood an attempted rape and murder of its core and identity. It did so while the President was off the radar screen. But everyone, in an important sense, knew what to do, as well as what not to do. The whole point of a multinational democracy is that it should be able to run on its own power. In other words, if short-term foolishness can be minimised at home and abroad, then people will surely appreciate that, in the words of an old slogan worn out by repetition, the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.
Christopher Hitchens is a columnist for 'Vanity Fair'
My dear brother and sister FReepers,
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Sobriety is our friend, Chris.
Think about it, we could outlast anyone. We chose not to in the case of Viet Nam.
Exactly. No reconciliation is possible. This conflict can only end in two ways: either Western culture must cease to exist, or the barbarians who would destroy it must be civilized forcibly. I vote for the latter.
And Judaism, Hinduism and Buddhism are all older than any form of Christianity. Eastern Orthodoxy is also 2000 years old.
So the question is, what the Hell does your reply have to do with anything?
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