politics and concrete considerations of securitv’, geography, resources,rnand aspirations is simply unsuited to the world as it is.rn—from William R. Hawkins, “The Surrender of Politicalrnand Militar)’ Sovereignty,” October J995rnIt was fashionable, for a time, to ask the silly question, “If we canrnput a man on the moon, why can’t we solve our social problems?”rnThe reason we cannot solve our social problems is preciselyrnthe reason we can put a man on the moon. That is to say,rnit was our pragmatism in general and our scientific and technologicalrnmentality in particular that made our great materialrnachievements possible. The essence of this mentality is thernproblem-solving approach. The scientific method isolatesrnproblems and solves them: It cannot take the broader iew, forrnan thing beyond the immediately demonstrable, testable, measurable,rnand provable is by definihon unscientific. Americansrnarc parodies of the scientific mentalit)-: When anything goesrnwrong, we fix it, and do not take into account the possibility thatrnour principles may be unsound. We have, for instance, beenrnappalled to learn in recent years that our children are reachingrncollege without having learned to read. Some people respondedrnto the discovery by seriously proposing that we should reorganizernthe entire educational system from kindergarten upwardrn—and thev were branded elitists, racists, or reactionaryrndodos. Far fewer people considered the possibilih’ that therncommitment to universal education is inherently futile, andrnthat other means of civilizing children should be explored. Instead,rnthe nation did what it always does: It tackled the immediaternproblem by instituting remedial reading classes in collegernand b dispensing with literacy tests.rn—from Forrest McDonald, “On the Study of History,”rnFebruary J 99JrnFrivolity has in the 20th century become a plague of Westernrnsocieties; and not least of contemporary American societ’. Ofrncourse, many of the greatest achievements of our Western societiesrnand of the United States in particular have fostered thisrnfrivolit}’. The technological and economic progress that havernmade life easier have obscured our grasp of the fundamentalrndifficulties of human existence. The admirable progress of scientificrnknowledge and of medical science have made us thinkrnthat there are no insoluble problems. Nothing is thought to bernbeyond the powers of the ratiocinative mind, provided with sufficientrnpowers to realize its aspirations. The progress of science,rnit is thought, will release us from moral obligation and moralrndilemmas. The reverence for human life has become fainter.rnFrivolity in the face of serious things: That is the charge that Irnmake against collectiist liberalism.rn—from Edward Shils. “Liberalism:rnCollectivist and Conservative,” July 1989rnEdward Shils (I) chats with Rockford Institute board membersrnHenry Regnery and Clyde and Marian Sluhan.rnTHE WRITER AND HIS WORLDrnArt happens, said Wliistler; die Rose ist ohne Wanim, the rosernhas no wh’, wrote Angelus Silesius. To explain beauts’ is to explainrnit away. . . . Wien a literar)’ experiment is a failure, as inrnthe case of Finnegans Wake, we worship it and we take goodrncare not to read it; when it succeeds, as in the cases of the LewisrnCarroll books and Leaves of Grass, we think of it as easy and inevitable.rn—from forge Luis Borges, “On Walt Whitman,”rnMarch 1984rnAs a small boy, entranced by the written word, I never had thernslightest desire to drive a locomotive, pilot an aircraft, captain arnship. The supreme achievement seemed to me to be that ofrnone who had written a book: any kind of book. jAll through myrnteenage years I struggled with the short story, the novel, the play,rnthe poem. I was like the man in the stor’ who leapt on his horsernand tried to ride off in all directions. Another difficulty lay inrnfinding something to write about. I looked at the circumstancernof m small-town rural life and decided, with supreme snobbishness,rnthat it didn’t match up to my literar) ambitions. Unfailingly,rnI wrote about worlds I had never known. Poetry—andrnpoctr’ was becoming my principal interest—was away andrnsomewhere else. Nobody told me that the raw material of poetr-,rnlike the raw, material of all art, resides quite simply underrnone’s nose.rn—from Charles Causley, “What Gift?” February J 99JrnOur images of vice are well defined, dramatic, sharp-edged, andrnenergetic. And wh’ not? We live in vice, all of us; we are hand’rnto its smells and tastes, its appetites and brutalities. Our visionsrnof virtue, however, are pallid and dropsical, puny and naive.rnWhen we paint an urban utopia, it turns out looking like arnplush hotel lobby; when we draw a rural one, it looks like an expensiverngolf resort. Twenty-four karat boulevards and a masteryrnof harp technique: These are our common images for heaven.rnDante was able to depict a paradise made up of infinite gradationsrnof light, of the kinds and degrees of virtue that describedrnGod’s goodness; these were immediately apprehendable by thernsenses, the mind, and the soul. Yet it is that poet’s images of hellrnthat most people recall. In fact, most readers of Dante neverrnFrom left: John Howard, Forrest McDonald, CharlesrnCausley, Thomas Fleming.rnJULY 2001/65rnrnrn