Sambor

    We drove through Sambor quickly,
    almost instantly, it took five minutes.

    But my mother, as I recall,
    passed her exams here.

    Dusk fell
    without funeral marches.

    A lone colt danced on the highway,
    though it didn’t stray far from the mare;

    freedom is sweet,
    so is a mother’s nearness.

    Over fields and forests
    gray silence reigned.

    And the little town of Sambor
    sank into oblivion again.

    Mountains

    When night draws near
    the mountains are clear and pure
    — like a philosophy student
    before exams.

    Clouds escort the dark sun
    to the shaded avenue’s end
    and slowly take their leave,
    but no one cries.

    Look, look greedily,
    when dusk approaches,
    look insatiably,
    look without fear.

    Translated by Clare Cavanagh

    Do No Harm: Critical Race Theory and Medicine

    In the winter of 1848, an epidemic of typhus ravaged Upper Silesia, a largely Polish mining and agricultural enclave in the Prussian Empire. Months earlier, heavy floods had destroyed large swaths of cropland, leaving the peasants to subsist on a paltry diet of clover, grass, and rotten potatoes. Weakened by starvation, they readily succumbed to infection. The Prussian authorities tapped a precocious twenty-six-year-old junior physician named Rudolf Ludwig Karl Virchow, at Berlin’s Charité Hospital, to perform the routine task of surveying the outbreak. For three weeks, Virchow travelled from town to town, observing that families of six or more often shared single room dwellings, turning homes into hotbeds of contagion. He noted the stigmata of the typhus rash — angry red spots that mysteriously spared the face and soles of the hands and feet — documented the nature of fevers, coughs, and diarrhea, and performed a few autopsies. 

    Virchow’s report to the Prussian Minister for Religion, Education, and Medicine contained mortality statistics and clinical descriptions. He also dispensed predictable recommendations for flood control and drainage systems. But what exercised Virchow the most — and what his sponsors least wanted to confront — were the deeper causes of the epidemic. “The nouveaux riches” who extracted wealth in metals and minerals from the mines treated their Silesian workers “not as human beings but as machines,” he wrote. He blamed the Catholic Church for keeping “the people bigoted, stupid and dependent.” “If these conditions were removed,” the bold young doctor offered the minister, “I am sure that epidemic typhus would not recur.” 

    Even before he left for Upper Silesia, Virchow was primed to see the threads between social conditions and disease. In Friedrich Engels’ treatise on the working class in Manchester and the deathtrap factories in which they toiled, which appeared in 1845, he read about the cramped conditions and the poor ventilation, the gruesome machine accidents, the toxic fumes and the woolen fibers they inhaled with every breath. From Edwin Chadwick’s Report into the Sanitary Conditions of the Labouring Population of Great Britain, from 1842, Virchow learned that workers in the North rarely passed their thirtieth birthdays. He read of families crammed into half-lit quarters, choking on the stench of human and animal waste, grinding away their years under a sky so thick with soot that it blocked the sun and caused their children’s legs to bow from rickets. In a letter to his father, Virchow said that his immersion in the Silesian typhus epidemic had turned him from “half a man [to] a whole one, whose medical beliefs fuse with his political and social ones.”

    Ten days after Virchow returned to Berlin in mid-March, the spring riots erupted, one of many protests against monarchy spreading across Europe. He flung himself into the short-lived revolution, brandishing a pistol at the barricades — a feat of activism followed by months of local political involvement that led Charité to suspend him. Fortunately, the University of Würzburg was eager to attract the medical prodigy and offered Virchow a position on the condition that he not use it as “a playground for radical tendencies.” He accepted the demand for his depoliticization, and used his new position instead as a proving ground for wondrous advances in medical science. He perfected new microscopic techniques that helped him discover how tumors form, how tissues proliferate, and how blood clots. Virchow was among the first to correctly link the origin of cancers from otherwise normal cells, the first to describe leukemia, and the first to use hair analysis in a criminal investigation. He discovered the life 

    cycle of the parasite Trichinella spiralis, or “pork worm,” which established the importance of meat inspection in Germany.

    Yet the laboratory could not contain him. The experience in Upper Silesia had convinced him that doctors, knowing as they did the true conditions of humanity, made the best statesmen. Thus, after completing in 1858 his magisterial text Cellular Pathology as Based upon Physiological and Pathological Histology, a work that is regarded as the foundation of modern pathology, Virchow moved back into politics, this time as a professional. He became a member of the Berlin City Council beginning in 1859 and planned the city’s sewage system. He next entered the Prussian House of Representatives and in 1880, at the age of fifty-nine, the German Reichstag. Virchow’s well-justified faith that social reform was necessary to combat disease never left him. When he celebrated his eightieth birthday in 1901, he was hailed by physicians all over the world as the “father of social medicine,” or medecine sociale. The term was coined by Jules Guerin, a French physician — doing so, coincidentally yet auspiciously, one day after Virchow’s return from Upper Silesia — to indicate “the numerous relations which exist between medicine and public affairs.” 

    These “numerous relations between medicine and public affairs” formed the philosophical heart of public health in Europe. In America, however, the field organized itself around technical strategies aimed at the leading causes of death at the turn of the century, which were influenza, pneumonia, diphtheria, tuberculosis, and cholera. It was a time when physicians had little to offer in the way of medical treatment. Opium, laxatives, sleeping powders, bloodletting, and leeches were the mainstays of care. In a speech in 1860, Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr. famously told his colleagues in the Massachusetts Medical Society that “opium, which the Creator himself seems to prescribe, wine which is a food, and the vapors which produce the miracle of anesthesia… I firmly believe that if the whole material medica, as now used, could be sunk to the bottom of the sea, it would be all the better for mankind — and all the worse for the fishes.” 

    Public health experts and doctors worked together closely to contain epidemics, but as drug discoveries mounted — among them penicillin for a broad swath of infections in 1928 (though it was not used until 1942) and the sulfa drugs in the 1930s — the power and prestige of the medical profession grew, and it separated from public health. Boundaries were established: public health cared for populations while medicine cared for individuals. Within American public health, an occasional champion of European-style social medicine would emerge. Charles Edward Winslow, head of Yale’s department of public health, was one. As he told his colleagues in 1948, “You and I have determined that men should not sicken and die from polluted water, from malaria-breeding swamps, from epidemics of diphtheria, from tuberculosis. Those battles have been, in large measure, won. We must now determine that men shall not be physically and emotionally crippled by malnutrition, by slum dwellings, by lack of medical care, by social insecurity.” 

    Winslow’s eloquent plea to address “social insecurity” went unheeded. The field took the opposite route, dedicating itself to individual-level risks for injury and chronic illness. Surgeons General and public service advertisements exhorted Americans to stop smoking, eat more vegetables, exercise, wear seatbelts, and so on. To protect consumers, health warnings appeared on cigarette packs. Within the academy, however, theoretical developments inspired by social medicine were underway. Sociologists and epidemiologists found common interest, for example, in 1950, in a study of the relationship of fetal and infant mortality to residential segregation. The study evoked Virchow’s commitment to quantification. “Medical statistics will be our standard of measurement: we will weigh life for life and see where the dead lie thicker: among the workers or among the privileged,” he vowed. 

    By the 1970s, a cadre of epidemiologists were studying the psychological, social, and cultural forces that make people more vulnerable to disease and that shape their choices regarding health. The term “social determinants of health,” which came into general usage in the 1990s, captured that formidable notion. Its more abstract cousin, “the social production of health,” examined how social inequalities affected health, and often did so with a nakedly ideological slant that implied no limit to the profession. Consider some sample quotations from faculty: “The practice of public health is, to a large degree, the process of redesigning society”; “Every problem is a public health problem”; “A school of public health is like a school of justice.” The latter dictum was issued by a former dean of the Harvard School of Public Health. 

    Interpreting these trends, the medical economist R.G. Evans and the health policy experts Morris L. Barer, and Theodore Marmor wrote in their book Why Are Some People Healthy and Others Not?, in 1994, that “for those on the left, health differentials are markers for social inequality and injustice more generally and are further evidence of the need to redistribute wealth and power and restructure or overturn existing social order.” Yet not everyone welcomed the infusion of progressive norms into public health academy. “We have nearly converted the school of public health from an institution committed to developing the scientific bases for disease prevention into one of many arenas for advancing social justice,” Philip Cole of the University of Alabama at Birmingham and his colleagues sternly observed in 2000. “Broadly speaking, public health is aligned with the left,” said the dean of the Boston University School of Public Health, “and there is no sense dancing around this.” He appealed to his colleagues to be “a fully inclusive left,” to “let go of always taking sides,” and to “abandon the hectoring tone [that] radicalism can entail.”

    During the protests triggered by the killing of George Floyd, many health professionals allowed their personal politics to bleed into their professional advice. A much-retweeted message from a senior epidemiologist at the Johns Hopkins School of Public Health instructed that “in this moment the public health risks of not protesting to demand an end to systemic racism greatly exceed the harms of the virus.” Three days later, 1,200 health professionals signed an open letter. “We do not condemn these gatherings as risky,” they wrote. They are “vital to …the threatened health specifically of Black people.” Speaking to the New York Times, one epidemiologist who marched remarked that “I certainly condemned the anti-lockdown protests at the time, and I’m not condemning the protests now, and I struggle with that… I have a hard time articulating why that is okay.” His honesty was refreshing, but the answer to his dilemma is that it is not okay. The job of epidemiologists is to inform the public about risks. It is absolutely not to tell them which risks are worth taking and what their moral prerogatives should be. 

    Months later, when it came time to distribute the corona-virus vaccine, an assortment of authorities, including legal scholars, public health experts, and state officials argued for giving high priority to black citizens in the name of “historical injustice.” About that historical injustice there can be no doubt, but the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, or CDC, concluded that race should supersede age as a prioritization category because the oldest cohort in America is whiter than the general population. Elevating “health equity,” the task force said, took precedence. The CDC itself told the committee that its allocation plan would result in up to 6 percent more deaths, many of whom would be black senior citizens — the highest risk group; but the advisers remained loyal to it. Their loyalties, in other words, were to an ideal, not primarily to protecting health. 

    While the CDC was developing its equity approach, the National Academies, non-governmental institutions that offer independent advice on science policy, proposed an allocation plan that would give priority to communities that rate high on the CDC’s Social Vulnerability Index. Using U.S. Census data, the index factors in poverty, unemployment, and health-insurance rates, among other socioeconomic vulnerabilities. Since minorities are more likely to meet criteria for social vulnerability, they would receive the vaccine early under that approach. Weeks later, public outcry forced the CDC committee to reverse itself. Still, on April 1, the governor of Vermont allowed anyone aged sixteen or older who identified as black, indigenous, or a person of color, or anyone who lives in a household with someone who does, to be vaccinated. Whites under fifty, unless they qualified for a vaccine by virtue of being a health care or public safety worker, of having a high-risk health condition, or being a parent or caregiver of someone at medical risk, had to wait. 

    Across campus at the medical school, the academic tradition was less politicized. Doctor-led activist groups have long existed, most notably Physicians for Social Responsibility, fifty years old this year, which shared the Nobel Prize in 1985 for alerting the world to the consequences of nuclear war, but physicians have mostly confined their advocacy, if they engaged at all, to healthcare financing and delivery. Doctors who specialized in caring for homeless people or pediatricians who treated poor children could not ignore poverty and decrepit housing, and they often collaborated with local social service agencies in keeping with their medical calling. But by oath and inclination, doctors’ eyes are, or should be, on treating the patients before them, not on reforming society. 

    I certainly acknowledge that the culture of American medicine has been changing over the last decade or so, at least among a vocal contingent. A dramatic validation of the shift took place on December 10, 2014, International Human Rights Day, when 3,000 medical students “died” on the lawns and walkways of medical school campuses across the country. The “national white coat die-in” was the brainchild of medical students who were moved to demonstrate for racial justice in the wake of the police killings of Michael Brown and Eric Garner. At the “die-in,” students wearing surgical scrubs and white jackets lay silent for four and a half minutes, symbolic of the four and a half hours that Michael Brown’s body remained on the street in Ferguson, Missouri after a white police officer shot him. A group called WhiteCoats4 BlackLives, WC4BL, emerged from the event. Its mission is to “prepare future physicians to be advocates for racial justice,” and one of its core convictions is that “policing is incompatible with health.”

    After George Floyd’s murder, WC4BL organized gatherings in medical centers across the country. These took place only a few months into the pandemic. Reeling from a triple tragedy — another black victim of police brutality, a viral death toll that unduly savaged black Americans, and their own bone-weariness from toiling in the plague-infested trenches — trainees and doctors took action. They persuaded almost two hundred state and local governments to declare racism as a public health crisis. The dual premise was that racially motivated  police violence  is bad for the health of blacks and that systemic racism is the pre-eminent driver of the overall poorer health of the black population. The American College of Physicians pledged a “commitment to being an anti-racist organization;” the American Psychiatric Association (my trade organization) vowed it “would not stand for racism against Black Americans”; and the American Academy of Pediatrics implored its members to “dismantle racism at every level” of society.

    In the wake of George Floyd’s death, major journals published numerous essays on racism in medicine, often lifting the paywall for them. In the New England Journal of Medicine, for example, a psychiatrist called for “majority taxes” on white colleagues defined by the author as a mandate to “acknowledge your White privilege, no matter how uncomfortable; leverage privilege to highlight medical racism; and humbly and actively implement antiracist policies.” In the Journal of the American Medical Association, authors insisted that “researchers must name and interrogate structural racism and its sociopolitical consequences as a root cause of the racial health disparities we observe.” Writing in Health Affairs, six doctors, all closely affiliated with the American Medical Association, the AMA, cautioned that “while naming racism as a fundamental cause of health inequity is a crucial first step, our patients, colleagues, and communities will not reap the benefits of such declarations until racism is exposed, confronted, and dismantled.” 

    Some of these articles specifically cited Critical Race Theory, or CRT, a worldview that interprets social existence for minorities as a perpetual power struggle waged every day and in every aspect of their lives against a dominant group. Differences of any kind — in income, education, school performance, and, of course, health — are manifestations of racism and racism alone. Within the domain of medicine, the critical race perspective casts key institutions — the training apparatus (medical schools), the knowledge base (medical journals and funders of research) and the treatment enterprise (the delivery of healthcare) — as engines of oppression and exploitation. The practice of “equity,” the enactment of critical race theory permits, if not endorses, unequal treatment of the dominant group in order to arrive at equal group outcomes, even if it is to the detriment of ailing individuals. 

    Despite the radical nature of critical race therapeutics, its proponents mean to deploy it in the service of a most conventional project: the reduction and elimination of health disparities, that is, the white-black gap in health status and in access to care. This is a fine goal and a decades-old campaign, put forth most prominently by the federal government, notably in a landmark report in 1985, and by foundations such as the Kaiser Family Foundations and the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation. But can approaches informed by critical race theory help to narrow the health gap? And can they do so in ways that do not create a zero-sum scenario in which the health of other groups is compromised?

    That question will be tested on a small scale at Brigham and Women’s Hospital in Boston in the form of a pilot study designed to give preferences to black and Hispanic patients with heart failure, a condition in which the heart muscle can no longer pump enough blood to meet the body’s needs. Minority patients will receive priority for admission to the cardiac specialty unit. According to two Brigham physicians writing earlier this year in the Boston Review, a review of medical records going back ten years showed that minority patients were less likely to be admitted to the specialty cardiac unit (with its private rooms and, presumably, more attentive care) than whites. Instead, they were more likely to be admitted to the general medical unit.

    Three percent of black patients hospitalized on the general unit died within a month of discharge, compared to under one percent who were cared for on the specialty unit. Retrospective studies such as this one are inherently limited, as the authors themselves admit, because they are conducted in hindsight and thus miss important variables. Even so, the data showed that the strongest predictor of where a patient would be admitted was whether or not they were being cared for by an outpatient cardiologist, making physician advocacy the most likely, though not the sole, explanation for unit of admission.

    Non-controversial remedies for differences in the quality of care include strengthening standardized admission guidelines or using decision tools to upgrade physicians’ care for heart failure care on the general medical unit. The doctors at Brigham who devised the pilot openly considered these options in a paper in a cardiology journal two years ago, yet still they chose to pursue a pilot that followed a “reparations framework,” no matter the legal ramifications. As Bram Wispelwey and Michelle Morse explained in their Boston Review article, entitled “An Anti-Racist Agenda for Medicine”:

    Offering preferential care based on race or ethnicity may elicit legal challenges from our system of color-blind law. But given the ample current evidence that our health, judicial, and other systems already unfairly preference people who are white, we believe—following the ethical framework of [applicative justice] and others—that our approach is corrective and therefore mandated. We encourage other institutions to proceed confidently on behalf of equity and racial justice, with backing provided by recent White House executive orders.

    The physicians who designed the Brigham pilot justified it as “redress [for] the outstanding debt from the harm caused by our institutions.” 

    Similar developments are occurring in medical education. Last summer, the Association of American Medical Colleges informed the medical community and its 155 medical schools that they “must employ anti-racist and unconscious bias training and engage in interracial dialogues.”  This spring, the AMA advocated “mandatory anti-racism [training]” as part of its vision that all physicians “confront inequities and dismantle white supremacy, racism, and other forms of exclusion and structured oppression.” The data on effective-ness of such training initiatives, however, are dismal, with study after study showing that such efforts often backfire by reinforcing racial and ethnic stereotypes while failing to improve morale, collaboration, or diverse hiring within a workplace. Still, Michigan now requires implicit bias training for health professionals and Maryland has made it a condition of obtaining a medical license. Such training often includes the wildly popular Implicit Association Test, or IAT, a computer-administered reaction time test purported to measure unconscious prejudice and thus foretell whether an individual will engage in discrimination. The problem, according to several teams of research psychologists, is that the race IAT has no predictive value. 

    Curricular reform in medical schools is also underway. At Stanford University School of Medicine, for example, a new “anti-racist” curriculum will instruct students in “confronting white supremacy.” Students at Brown University will take a four-week course on Racial Justice and Health Inequity to “gain a deep understanding of topic areas, such as Critical Race Theory, intersectionality, and the inequities that pervade the U.S. healthcare system.” At Kaiser Permanente Bernard J. Tyson School of Medicine, topics covered will include social identity, intersectionality, power, and privilege; history of race and racism in medicine and science; and media bias and literacy. Staple readings of the new curricula are White Fragility by Robin DiAngelo and How to Be an Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi. 

    The integrity of the medical profession has certainly been compromised by a terrible history of racism. Physicians performed medical experiments on male and female slaves, trying to improve surgical techniques and better understand anatomy and physiology. In the Jim Crow era, many Southern hospitals, clinics, and doctors’ offices were completely segregated by race, and many more maintained separate wings or staff that were legally banned from mixing with both black and white patients. Even donated blood was kept in separate blood banks. As Vann R. Newkirk II put it, “Within the confines of a segregated health-care system, these factors became poor health outcomes that shaped black America as if they were its genetic material.” In 1997, President Clinton apologized for the Tuskegee syphilis study. 

    Students should also know that the AMA apologized to black physicians in 2008 for more than a century of policies that excluded them from the association, in addition to policies that barred them from some state and local medical societies. As late as 1966, black and white demonstrators picketed the AMA annual meeting to integrate all county and state medical societies. The association also failed to speak against federal funding of segregated hospitals and was silent in the face of pending civil rights legislation. Those transgressions are an important part of the record — but will they and other examples of racial injustice in medicine be taught as part of the encompassing social history of the field, or as a defeatist narrative that glosses over the moral progress that medicine, though still imperfect in many ways, has made? 

    The fundamental problem with social justice in public health is that there are no limiting principles to it. And so the new pedagogy prompts other questions. Will coursework in basic medical science, early clinical skills, epidemiology, bioethics, or exposure to the medical humanities be displaced to accommodate the anti-racist curriculum? How will deans respond to students who do not regard the medical classroom as a suitable venue in which to interrogate their social conscience, be told they must “accept America’s racist roots,” or informed that “we live in a country [with] a political economy predicated on devaluing Black labor, demeaning Black bodies, and denying Black humanity” (as a group of medical educators writing in the New England Journal of Medicine would have them do)? Will the moral fitness of such future doctors be called into question? 

    If health is completely at the mercy of social forces, as critical theory insists, will the importance of self-care be given adequate attention? It is hard to imagine that physicians will desist in discussing with patients matters such as diet, exercise, smoking, and so on — in short, actions they can and should take to improve their health. And yet, following a lecture I gave earlier this year, I was castigated by some psychiatric residents for drawing attention to the dimensions of personal agency in addiction. I was not “blaming the victim,” as charged. Quite the contrary. I was drawing attention to their potential, to the remnants of their agency.

    Will the anti-racist medical classroom accommodate controversy? Judging from the censorious milieu in some medical schools, I am not optimistic. One of my colleagues — here is one example among many — lost a departmental leadership position after trainees accused him of making them feel “unsafe.” The accusation came on a Zoom call during which my colleague objected to a fellow faculty member questioning his “support” for diversity. Surprised, he asked to know what he had said to give such a false impression, but he was never told. In an ethos in which an allegation is a conviction, an insinuation was enough. Another colleague told me that she stifled complaints when her school jettisoned lectures in bioethics to “make room for the anti-racist curriculum. Which is ironic, because that was where students were taught about subjects like the Tuskegee syphilis experiment.” A third colleague told me that during a group discussion of stress and suicide in black youth, the tacit rule was that only fear of police aggression and subjection to discrimination were allowable explanations, not the psychological torture of bullying by classmates or the quotidian terror of neighborhood gun violence. 

    One florid instance of the intolerance for controversy is the case of Dr. Norman C. Wang, a University of Pittsburgh cardiologist. Last March, he published an article in the Journal of the American Heart Association titled “Diversity, Inclusion, and Equity: Evolution of Race and Ethnicity Considerations for the Cardiology Workforce in the United States of America from 1969 to 2019.” Wang’s interpretation of the data on performance persuaded him that affirmative action in medicine was not working. “Excellence should not be sacrificed for short-term demographic optics,” he concluded. When news of Wang’s peer-reviewed paper hit social media last August (its initial appearance in March 2020 garnered little notice because it coincided with the onset of the pandemic), the reaction was swift.

    Physicians savaged him on Twitter. “Rise up, colleagues. The fact that this is published in ‘our’ journal should both enrage & activate all of us.” “Racism is alive, well, and publishable in medicine.” “We stand united for diversity equity and inclusion. And denounce this individual’s racist beliefs and paper.” The school fired Wang as director of the electrophysiology fellowship and banned him from having contact with medical students. The American Heart Association emphatically tweeted that Wang’s article “does NOT represent AHA values,” and it launched an “investigation to better understand how a paper that is completely incompatible with the Association’s core values was published.” Once alerted by Wang’s own medical school to allegations that his article contained “many misconceptions and misquotes” that “void … its scientific validity,” the journal retracted it. 

    Diversity is one of the most pressing issues in medical schools today. Nationwide, five percent of physicians are black, under half the national demographic of 13.4 percent. Graduates are more likely to practice in underserved areas, and some evidence suggests that black patients enjoy better communication with doctors of the same race. To bolster those numbers, many medical school admissions committees employ a “holistic review framework,” created by the American Association of Medical Colleges to consider applicants’ experiences and attributes in addition to academic achievement. “Situational judgment” and emotional intelligence are taken into account at several dozen schools. Some colleges offer special programs to shore up the academic record of aspiring black pre-med students. Yet despite these robust efforts and others, progress has been exasperatingly slow.

    Another delicate topic is the relationship between race and disease. Some worry that putting “genes” and “race” in the same sentence will encourage the fiction that races are discrete entities defined by biological traits. With science literacy among the public so tenuous, the worry is not misplaced. But the fact is that studies involving genes and race are simply about population genetics: the fact that people sharing a geographical ancestry are more likely to have particular gene variants (alleles) in their genome than do people with a different heritage. These variants may code for proteins or enzymes that cause vulnerabilities to certain diseases or determine how robust a response to treatment is likely to be. 

    Race is thus a shorthand for ancestral descent — and the more precise the ancestral origin the better, as variations in genetic heritage exist even between groups within a geographical region. Genetic admixing, that is, when parents are of different “races” or are mixed race themselves, further complicates the picture to the point where the shorthand of race becomes irrelevant, or too crude a category to be of any help at all. Researchers and physicians agree that the science of pharmacogenomics — the elucidation of the relationship between treatment and individuals’ unique genomic finger-print to create personalized therapies — will make the controversy obsolete. But until this gold standard is used widely, group-based genetic analysis will have some value.

    Even with the caveats in mind, genetic heritage can be relevant to medicine with regard to appropriate dosing of certain drugs, more accurate prediction of responses to those drugs, clinical decision-making via algorithms (an especially controversial matter that scientists are currently debating in good faith), and heightened risk for certain conditions, such as cardiovascular and renal disease. 

    A recent study in the Journal of the American Medical Association  uncovered an interesting finding correlated with race. In a sample of about three hundred patients at a New York medical center, blacks had stronger expression of the gene that codes for Transmembrane Serine Protease 2, a protein known as TMPRRS2 than did white, Asian, Hispanic, or mixed-race patients. TMPRSS2 sits on the surface of cells lining the nose and is involved with entry of the coronavirus into those cells. Will that finding hold up on replication? Perhaps not. And if it does, the protein likely accounts for a small part of the racial variation in COVID-19 infections, the lion’s share accounted for by social factors. Still, the investigation yielded potentially important findings. Science, after all, is provisional, cumulative, and, eventually, self-correcting. 

    Yet this study, too, provoked a swarm of angry responses from doctors and health professionals. “This is sounding way too much like blaming and rings of eugenics.” “Race IS NOT genetic.” “Stop …systemic racism is why [black, indigenous, and people of color] are disproportionately harmed by COVID-19.” “I think this would hold water if by ‘TMPRSS2,’ you meant ‘racism.’” “Shame on this publication for perpetuating racism.” “Biomedical racism to a T.” A team writing in Health Affairs warned researchers who planned to publish on health disparities to “never offer genetic interpretations of race because such suppositions are not grounded in science.” They also proposed that medical journals “reject articles on racial health inequities that fail to rigorously examine racism.” The article-review process, they say, requires “editors who are well versed in critical race theory.” But why? For genetic inquiry across groups is emphatically not “racial science” or scientific racism. The objectivity of research is not a form of complicity in structures of power; it is the very condition for the discovery of treatments that are genuinely universal.

    Concerned by the disavowal of such studies, experts spoke up. “For some applications, race may continue to be the best variable to capture the influence on health,” wrote John P. Ioannidis, Neil R. Powe, and Clyde Yancy in the Journal of the American Medical Association. “Quick dismissal,” they cautioned, “may worsen outcomes, especially for the most 

    disadvantaged populations.” In the New England Journal of Medicine, five genetics experts, who identified themselves as black, declared that “ideally, race will be replaced with genetic ancestry as a variable in medical research and practice. But until more ancestry data are available, ignoring race and extrapolating research findings from European ancestry populations to others is neither equitable nor safe.” The authors expressed disappointment that some “curricula promote ideologies that downplay the medical achievements of genetic studies.”

    Several months after Rudolf Virchow returned from Upper Silesia, he started a weekly newsletter. Although Die Medizinische Reform lasted only a year, many of the aphorisms enshrined in its pages live on. The masthead dictum — “physicians are the natural attorneys of the poor” — is among the most famous. In Virchow’s time, a physician was able to make a powerful case to politicians that the major scourges of the day — contagion, malnourishment, and starvation — required effective sanitation, adequate nutrition, and the alleviation of extreme poverty. In short, significant social policy. The connection between health and reform — civil engineering and food — was direct and obvious, “a remedy against the recurrence of famine and of great typhus epidemics,” as Virchow told the Prussian minister. (This was especially the case because antibiotics did not yet exist.)

    Under a regime of critical medical theory — CMT? — the mandate for change — “dismantling racism” — presents doctors with an unworkable challenge. For one, physicians are wholly ill-prepared for such a task. Their primary job is to diagnose and to treat — and to do no harm in the process. They have no expertise in the redistribution of power and money — nor can triage or surgery wait for such a redistribution. By urging reform of this kind in the name of health, good intentions aside, they risk abusing their authority, using the profession as a vehicle for politics, and, ultimately, eroding the trust of the public. 

    Moreover, the mission itself is too ambiguous. Even for seasoned policy analysts, teasing out a strong causal link between health and sprawling upstream economic and social factors is very difficult. With so many “intervening variables” at play, manipulating policy in the service of health may not have its intended effect, while the odds of creating unwanted repercussions elsewhere in the system are significant. 

    None of this is to elide the fact that much of black disadvantage in health is the cumulative product of legal, political, and social institutions that have historically discriminated against them, either explicitly or through passive disregard to the differential brunt of policies, and in certain instances still do. As a result, blacks lack comparatively fewer opportunities for better health. The neighborhoods in which they are more likely to reside attract lower levels of civic investment. This in turn leads to underfunded hospitals, fewer emergency services, pharmacy deserts, worse air and water quality, and fewer supermarkets and safe options for outdoor exercise. 

    There is indeed a race-based story to tell about why, in aggregate, black Americans suffer poorer health and receive less care than whites. It is a story that delivers real and painful truths. The pandemic served as an object lesson in differential exposure to the virus, with rates of coronavirus infections that were three times as high in blacks as whites. With jobs as lower-paid essential workers (e.g., transit workers, building maintenance staff, grocery store employees), dependence upon public transportation, and residency in dense quarters, African Americans were at higher risk.

    And yet “systemic racism” is not a useful medical diagnosis: it may have explanatory value but it doesn’t yield realistic prescriptions. So what are physicians supposed to do now? Only when explanations are able to bring causal dynamics into sharp focus will they reveal efficient points of entry into the healthcare apparatus for minimizing health gaps. In California, for example, too many black patients with colon cancer were falling through the cracks. When such patients in California were treated at an integrated health care system — a point of entry where all aspects of care were delivered under one roof — black patients fared much better than black patients treated in other settings. As a result, survival was the same for black and whites. Such initiatives are hard at work in cities across the country. 

    The totalizing narrative of race, like all totalizing narratives, dangerously simplifies things. It discounts other ways to illuminate the black-white gaps in health. Consider, for example, the constellation of disadvantages called Adverse Childhood Experiences, which bear a well-documented relationship to future health. Imagine a succession of deprivations and insults, toppling one after the other like dominoes across the lifespan. Start with mothers who receive little to no prenatal care. Their poorly thriving babies are born into an often fatherless world full of chaos, physical and emotional abuse or neglect, and domestic and community violence. These are not hostile stereotypes; they are real-world phenomena that must be faced if their consequences are to be understood — and, optimally, prevented, buffered, or reversed.

    The stress of sustained trauma can alter children’s neural maturation and hormonal function, predisposing them to problems such as poor emotional regulation and stunted cognitive development, including working with memory, attentional control, and cognitive flexibility. These deficits, in turn, may disrupt the formation of healthy attachment to other people, lead to weak performance in school and low educational attainment overall. As often lonely teens with a foreshortened sense of the future, they are prone to risk-taking with drugs and alcohol, reckless driving, and unprotected sex. As adults, they are often burdened by depression and despair and tend to smoke heavily, drink to excess, and abuse drugs. Next comes disease, mainly in the form of cancer, cardiovascular disease, diabetes, and renal illness. Then, premature death. The more adverse experiences, the greater the odds of these otherwise avoidable health consequences. Racial and ethnic minorities and Appalachian youth, as epidemiologists have shown, are at greater risk for more adverse experiences.

    The medecine sociale that Jules Guerin defined and the noble Rudolf Virchow once practiced was about the “numerous relations between medicine and public affairs.” Social medicine today, having been irradiated by critical race theory, has mutated into a belief that only one relation matters: systemic racism. From this monocausal vision, so constrained by its nature and animated by grievance as it is, has emerged a host of unhealthy developments. The worst of them is a doctrinal intolerance of explanations that lie outside the oppression narrative. 

    Add to this an intensely politicized environment that threatens academic collegiality, open inquiry, and unapologetic discourse. Round out the project with contempt for the notion of personal responsibility in health, and permission to erode the boundary between personal politics and professional obligations. Perhaps the apotheosis of the critical medical imperative is the dispensation that it grants a group of Boston doctors to miss the real question — how a hospital can deliver the best care for each patient it serves — in favor of a righteous trial of racial preferences that might harm other patients.

    Whether critical medical theorists represent the tip of an iceberg or the far tail of a bell curve seems moot, given their formidable influence at elite medical schools. Many deans and chairmen are doubtless too intimidated to resist. At the same time, however, their youthful colleagues are likely to be sympathetic to the critical justice project. Over the past decade, according to an analysis at Stanford University in 2019, young physicians have been moving so “sharply to the left” and flocking so densely to urban areas — “ideological sorting,” the authors called it — that rural areas are suffering from shortages of physicians. 

    The spirit of social medicine is precisely what should inspire some of those young doctors to set up practice in a rural minority town. If being anti-racist is their priority, it is probably the best gift they can give. That spirit should also prompt us to challenge the status of the black-white gap in health as the dominant measure of our wellbeing as a population. Just as a hammer is predisposed to see all problems as nails, emphasizing such gaps — now routinely called “health inequities” — leads inexorably to the quixotic conclusion that dismantling racism is the medical answer. And the tyranny of this gap forecloses another, more universal definition of disparity: the differential between a person’s current health and their optimal health, between the quality and quantity of the care that they are currently receiving and what, as a matter of right, they deserve. 

    The strict imperatives of clinical practice may be the best buffer against ideology. The surgical suite, the emergency department, and the examining room are the definitive, consequential spheres of clinical intervention. When applications to medical school rose steeply last year in the wake of the pandemic, a phenomenon dubbed the “Fauci effect,” the young applicants were surely inspired by the extraordinary heroism of doctors and nurses and the technical prowess of medical science.

    Physicians are still the natural lawyers for the disadvantaged, but in their way. In the clinic and at the bedside, they argue most eloquently through their specialized knowledge and their compassion. In medical journals, they spread knowledge through dispassionate, truth-seeking methods that speak to all. And in the realm of social medicine, they do their best work aiding those who are most vulnerable and in need, regardless of group affiliation. The best way to be an anti-racist doctor is to be a good doctor.

    Three Tales

    MONDRIAN

    Mondrian’s closest friend was the Dutch painter Eli Streep, a Jew who was caught in a raid in Paris in 1942 and murdered. Mondrian had escaped by then, via London to New York. Streep and Mondrian saw each other almost every day in Paris during the many years they both lived in the same shabby building on the Rue du Depart by the Montparnasse railway station. They had been schoolboy friends in Amsterdam, and they were among the first young painters to notice the death of the almost unknown Vincent van Gogh, a few of whose strange paintings had attracted them. They even visited Theo van Gogh’s young widow, Jo, to see more of her brother-in-law’s pictures after she had married the painter Cohen Gosschalk.

    Mondrian seems to have painted the first of his purest signature works around 1921, those with the first slightly thickened black lines, vertical and horizontal. He and Streep had always been struck by van Gogh’s intense, sometimes black outlines, his way of outlining faces and bodies as well as houses and trees. These painting-drawings of Vincent’s last few years, done in the insane asylum near Arles and then in Auvers in the north, where he killed himself, became, for Mondrian, depressed images from which he plucked the outline, and blackened and straightened them out upon his own white canvases until the lines depressed his own art, or so he thought.

    Streep encouraged Mondrian each day so that their poverty — they subsisted on bread, potatoes, and coffee more days than not — was little noticed. Streep thrived, if that is the word, on Mondrian’s radical ambitions for his unhappy black stripes, so new to the practice of art. Streep became Mondrian, in the sense that he enhanced Mondrian’s work and meager life. I mean that Streep’s excitement about his friend’s painting was becoming to them as any pleased audience is becoming to a drama or a comedy. When one of them sold a picture, which was rare, they ate out in a little bistro and then went to a brothel, as Vincent and Gauguin used to do in Arles when they lived together.

    The thickened black lines of Mondrian began to cast a spell, even a black spell one might say, on some of the few visitors to Mondrian’s room. This room in Paris served as a studio, bed-corner, and hidden little kitchen. When visitors arrived at 4:30 in the afternoon, Streep would usually be there too, having come down from his own room for the company. Paris often gets dark early and Mondrian would put a single dangling naked light on above his canvas, above his black lines. Three or four people would huddle around the easel in the darkness. Streep would be in his element. He rejoiced for his Dutch brother and for himself.

    Mondrian’s black lines became talked about in Paris and even back in Holland, among a very few, of course, and hardly any buyers.

    “I love Mondrian’s stripes,” a woman in a café would say.

    “Mondrian’s black lines are so sad,” said another woman, “sad and good.”

    “And right,” someone added.

    “How do you mean?”

    “Right for me and my sadness. Right for the sadness of everyday streets.”

    “Yes, one line going up and down and two lines across town. No let-up, just new sets of paths from picture to picture.”

    If someone did buy, only a few francs were involved and usually in installments. Paris began to feel war in the air. Streep said that the Jews were in trouble as usual. Half of those few interested in Mondrian were Jews. Jews in trouble. Some left Paris and Europe. Mondrian’s stripes saddened more and more days. Primary colored blocks of flat color between some black lines didn’t help to lift anyone’s spirits. But when the canvases were without color, fear could strike some timid souls.

    Mondrian and Streep embraced and took leave of each other.

    “I’ll follow you soon,” said Streep. He had some family concerns to take care of first. Mondrian and a lady friend of his got to New York together. Paris fell. A refugee, who made it out of France, told Mondrian that Streep was dead.

    Mondrian painted his black, black lines in New York, in his small room there. No color. He lived alone but he saw the woman he left Paris with once or twice a week. They went dancing and then slept together. Mondrian’s pictures of the Passion back in Europe became loved by some of those who loved art in New York.

    “His crossed lines are about his Jewish friend Streep now,” wrote a critic.

    Mondrian was my favorite teacher at the Cooper Union when I went there as a teenager in 1950. He and I became good friends. I will never forget him, his suit and tie, his white painting smock, his combed-back hair. But the real great memory for me was in his darkened room, huddled with him in front of his easel upon which he had placed a little picture, a single light dangling above.

    “Is this really about what happened in Europe during those years?”

    “Yes, but it is also about now, and it is also about tomorrow. Black lines which began then, crossed, and kept on their way.”

    HOW TO PAINT A PICTURE

    “Paint on a very small canvas,” said the aged painter to his listener.

    “Why?”

    “Because small is now better than large. Taste has shifted.

    Well, really, my taste has shifted and that’s what counts.”

    “But will people take the time to scrutinize small pictures? I mean, people lead busy walk-by lives.”

    “Sure they will, even if only because they do lead such busy lives. People will like to slow down and sort of stop the world to study a little picture closely. That’s called Culture.”

    Then the painter put a small canvas on the easel. He was in a plastic chair in front of it. The listener stood behind him, rapt and apprehensive.

    “What have we here?” asked the painter, mostly to himself. 

    “I see a face of Jesus the Jew,” he said to the blank little canvas.

    The painter, who was about seventy-five years old and not in good health, got up and went to a bookcase, from which he withdrew a fat Rouault book from a section of about a dozen books and catalogs about Rouault, a painter who had fascinated him for many years, but not really one of his core or important painters from Giotto to Matisse. He slumped back down in his chair and flipped through the book until he came to the tipped-in color plate he was looking for. It was a head of Jesus and the text about it said: “It is one of the most monumental works ever produced by the brush of an artist.” The painter read that out loud to his listener, as if the opinion of the writer was a stunning thing. After a lifetime of, well, art, it was stunning because the Rouault plate, although he rather liked it, did not seem so extraordinary as all that. Undaunted, the painter put the book down by his chair on top of a pile of other books, which included a Mondrian book, a Greenberg book, a book of van Gogh self-portraits, an Auerbach book, a Bomberg book, a Cezanne watercolor book, and a few others. Then he went up to his canvas and drew a Jesus face very quickly with a few lines using a charcoal stick. It looked like an abstract group of about a dozen black strokes.

    “There, that’s a good start. It could be as good as the Rouault, but I hope my pictures will be better, whatever better means.”

    The listener, a very young painter, said she would come back in a few days and left him alone there.

    She was anxious to leave because she was having a hard time with her boyfriend and was determined to end her affair. At the same time she was excited to learn how to paint a picture from this old painter who was doing it in a way she had never known before. The old painter was lonely and he encouraged her to drop in whenever she liked. He enjoyed her young, untried company. She reminded him of Audrey Hepburn. Let’s call her Audrey.

    When Audrey left, he studied his abstract Jesus. He had just read a book called Rabbi Jesus by an Oxford scholar who placed Jesus among the great Jews. What if he made his pictures quite more abstract? He was devoted to the idea of painting a face unlike the faces any other painter had done before. Giotto had done that, and so had Picasso, and so had many painters. The attempt was quite a tradition, you might call it a revolutionary tradition. He got out a tube of Mars Black and began to brush in more abstract lines and splotches until you could hardly make out the features of a face at all. Some of the faces of Cezanne’s bathers are like that, are they not? He really started that radical idea to change the face. So Jesus kept changing until the painter achieved a kind of Mondrian Face, with four different lines describing the sides, top, and bottom. The face of the face seemed to be in chaos, or, as in some Kabbalist descriptions of God, Nothing.

    But the painter did not believe that Jesus was God, so he rescued his Jesus from Nothing and kept re-introducing human features after all. Color. Should there be color in the face on the little canvas? Perhaps not. How about a face decided by black strokes? Crucial black strokes if one was lucky, but maybe not final, as Jesus is not final. The painter hobbled over to a wall full of art clippings. A Mondrian self-portrait and a Manet head of Monet were pinned next to each other. Each was a collection of crucial strokes verging on abstraction. Each face was good to read because each was like new after all these years. Back in his chair, he squinted at his Jesus. It looked very unfocused, but then so were the Mondrian and the Manet. The painter talked to his dead wife, to his tall, last portrait of her just before she died when she was forty-six. In the portrait she was in a black Armani suit, leaned on the wall behind Jesus the Jew on an antique easel.

    “Love means that I want you to be,” he said to her, quoting Augustine, which was Hannah Arendt’s favorite saying.

    Silence.

    His wife had been dead thirteen years. He felt half-dead himself. He was. He was also surrounded by his latest little paintings, many almost finished, like his life.

    He went to his wife and kissed her on her lips. “Kiss me back,” he said to her, “to death, to the After, so I can go looking for you in the Great Whatever. Meet me at the Station, hold my hand and lead kindly light.”

    Silence.

    Back to Jesus, he glanced at his other Jews, those faces on the dozen little pictures he was working on around the room. Proust as a boy, Scholem, Kossoff after Auerbach, the author of the Zohar, Max Liebermann, an abstract Einstein, an Impressionist Pissarro, Hannah Arendt in Jerusalem… Then he surveyed his studio walls as he always did again and again. Photos of faces: his portrait of Isaiah Berlin, his snapshot of Guston, reproductions of Auerbach faces, Matisse faces, Rembrandt faces, an Ingres profile, dozens of van Gogh self-portraits. He was walled in.

    The next few days the painter kept changing the Jesus lines — arabesques, short stabs, straight abrupt lines, wedges, curls, angles, broom-like swathes, mouth lines, eyebrows with loose hairs, eye lines, wrinkles, grooves, jaw and cheek lines….all composing themselves, disappearing and always changing. But Jesus was still there — a Jesus. There were still only about twelve or fifteen lines, all in Mars Black. Abstract Mondrian lurked in the face and so did late Rembrandt — especially his face of Julius Civilis. It was a little line painting, cavalier as to contour. It was a little culture.

    Audrey returned one day, having broken with her lover. 

    “The little Jesus looks dense, oblique, slant, difficult, ongoing,” she remarked, delighted. “Is that how to paint a picture? I mean, surrounded by ideas?”

    “Yes,” he said. “For now it’s a way. Come over here.” He put his arm around her waist.

    “Where did you move when you left your boyfriend?”

    “Back to my mother.”

    “Come and live in my spare room. No rent. I just like you here.”

    “I don’t trust you to be good.”

    “C’mon, I’m as old as your grandfather.”

    “So was Picasso.”

    “I can’t get it up anymore. And don’t I show you how to paint a picture?”

    So Audrey moved in with him, as with Professor Higgins.

    THE GIFT

    Ron’s father owned much of Westwood Village in Los Angeles and when he died he left it all to Ron, who had just graduated from the Royal College of Art in London in 1962. Ron was already very wealthy because his maternal grandmother, who had been born to a Hassidic family in Podolia, had long before married the owner of Maggs Bros., the great rare-book sellers in Berkeley Square in London, and Ron inherited that business and its building when he was still a student. He lived above Maggs Bros., in his own flat and top floor studio. Maggs Bros. lived on in the good hands it enjoyed plus Ron, who loved books and art and women. He took great interest in  his new book business, aside from his life as an emerging young painter.

    Ron and David Hockney were close friends, having been together at the Royal College. They had begun to draw each other there. When he graduated, Ron was put under contract by the hugely successful Marlborough Fine Art in nearby Bond St. In the early 1960s, Marlborough also represented other young Jews such as Frank Auerbach, Leon Kossoff, and Lucian Freud, along with the estates of David Bomberg, Mondrian, Eli Streep, and Jackson Pollock. Ron commissioned Auerbach and Freud to paint his portrait and those paintings were duly hung in the tall house in Berkeley Square full of books and pictures. Like rich young painters before him, such as Caillebotte and Bazille, Ron collected the paintings of extraordinary painters he knew and grew up with in London during a period when London was home to an unusual number of world-class artists, of whom Francis Bacon was probably supreme. Ron’s own paintings were avidly bought by museums as well as collectors in Europe and his native America as well as in England. And his rare-book business continued to flourish.

    Of course many gems were plucked from the thriving international book trade in his ground-floor shop and spirited upstairs into the private rooms of the young owner, and a surprising number of these books, upon being read, would inspire the picture-making in the light-filled studio high in the house. Later the pictures that Ron made would travel back downstairs to Berkeley Square and around a few corners in Mayfair to Marlborough Fine Art Ltd., often to be sold within days or weeks. For many years, Ron could not or did not keep any of his paintings for his own collection. Selling his own paintings made him triply rich and by the time he was thirty he had more money than maybe any painter ever had in history.

    He lived rather simply, though. He had no car, no country house, he paid no attention to his clothes, did not drink alcohol, ate very little, and hardly ever left London, or Mayfair for that matter. Even the various attractive young women in his life had to cope with whatever life they found in the tall house in one of London’s most expensive and famous squares. Just about his only extravagance, aside from the rare books he chose from his own store, such as Pound’s first book, A Lume Spento, or the first printing (Munich) of Kandinsky’s Uber das Geistige in der Kunst, was his picture-collecting. As early dusk fell and the light failed at his easel, Ron would go out and stroll around the art galleries close to his house. At least once a week he would find a picture to buy. A Sickert or a Bomberg or a Cezanne watercolor or a Degas brothel monotype, as well as paintings by his London contemporaries. From time to time he would buy a very expensive painting at auction. He owned six or seven paintings by Cézanne, his favorite painter.

    Mayfair in those days was also what one might call a red-light district, up-market from Soho, beyond Regent Street. The Street Offences Act had driven working girls out of the streets and doorways of the West End of London into flats upstairs. These flats could be found behind the art galleries that Ron loved to wander. It was his habit, now and then, to walk around his district after having prowled the galleries, perhaps having bought a Morandi just as the gallery closed at night. First prowl art, then prowl sex. Ron most often called upon his favorite girl, or woman. Her name was Denise. She was French and about the same age as Ron, in her early thirties, when Ron started to visit her. Her flat was in Bruton Mews, which curled into Berkeley Square itself. Bruton Mews was right behind art galleries such as Lefevre and Tooth’s, where examples of Ron’s own paintings were sometimes on view.

    A little card in the doorway said FRENCH MODEL (DENISE) ONE FLOOR UP. Denise looked a little like Jane Fonda as she played the prostitute in Klute, though her hair, cut like Fonda’s in that movie, was blonde. Of course Klute had not yet been made. Denise was handsome, square-jawed, and very obliging, which many whores hardly are, believe it or not. I mean to say, after studying them all my life, I can say that about half these magical women act, what shall I say, relatively unfriendly to their clients. And the other half are, well, friendly. Nice and not nice.

    Denise was a nice person, never in a hurry except that the usual drama, from the first embrace to the end of the act, rarely took more than a half hour, often less. Of course, sometimes Ron had to wait if Denise was busy. A maid would open the door and usher Ron into a room with erotic magazines on a coffee table, saying “Denise will see you soon.” He studied the pictures on the wall, which tended to be pin-ups of naked women. Before long, he would hear the activity of the last client leaving and Denise would appear smiling and wearing a short housecoat. They would then go into her bedroom, which had a large mirror alongside the bed, and a bathroom. Half an hour later Ron would stroll to the end of the Mews feeling good and not at all the shame that Flaubert said he felt upon leaving a brothel.

    Ron could see his Maggs Bros. shop across the night square and that felt good too, just thinking about all those writers whose books were on those shelves in the dark. His books. Joyce, Svevo, Babel (his scarce Benya Krik film script), Gissing (who married a prostitute), Hart Crane’s The Bridge in its Black Sun slipcase, hundreds of rare books for sale garbled in Ron’s mind with paintings and women. Ron was often  not in full possession of his faculties, not free from confusion or giddiness.

    Denise. Ask her out to dinner. One night he did. She was so nice she said OK, amused to be asked. She said she took days off, so how about next Sunday. All that Sunday Ron painted in his studio, upon one wall on which he kept his art books, the twenty-five painters he liked best, from Giotto to Mondrian and Matisse. He had never asked a working girl out before and as he painted on a small canvas inspired by a Lautrec oil sketch in his possession he was excited by its bravado technique. The theme of Ron’s painting was Jacob wrestling the angel, which he had tried before and failed.

    In his journal, Delacroix said he could hardly paint through the day without promising himself a woman at night. Or he said something like that. At table, in the restau-rant, Denise told Ron that she had been in London eight years, having started in her profession in Paris. She had a ten-year-old boy at boarding school in France and she saw him quite often.

    “Are you OK, I mean happy?” asked Ron.

    “Reasonable happy,” she said. “I mean I’m not depressed or anything.”

    “I’m glad,” Ron said, “because my life so far has been very lucky. I’m rich as hell and someone like you makes me even richer, it seems to me.”

    “Why is that?” asked Denise.

    “Because you seem magical to me,” said Ron. “Your daily and nightly life, as I can only imagine it, is so original and traditional and secretive and daring and, well — public.”

    Denise smiled her winning smile and said, “Yeah, I suppose it’s all those things.”

    “Has anyone asked you out before, like this?”

    “No, but one or two of my regulars seem almost like friends.”

    “That’s because you act beyond the call of duty. You bring out the best in a guy like me.”

    “Well, I sort of like what I do. I like the daily grind of it, the sameness, and what you call daring — the daring sameness. Even though guys want to do a lot of different things with me, it all seems like sameness, and yet every time I’m with a new man I’m sort of aware it’s unusual to do what we’re doing — daring sameness.”

    “Sounds like painting,” said Ron the painter.

    Back in his fabulous house, he put on the lights for her in hushed Maggs Bros. and then they went up two flights to his flat and then up the next flight, which was all pictures he had collected on the walls and on easels which stood everywhere like a small forest.

    “What’s this?” she asked, “It’s beautiful.”

    “It’s a watercolor by Cézanne.”

    “Oh, I’ve heard of him.”

    “He’s my favorite painter of all,” said Ron.

    “Why?” she asked.

    “Well, it’s a long story. He’s considered to be the father of Modern Art. He was the first painter to break away from the sort of realistic painting people expected, so he was laughed at by almost everyone, and he and his pictures were always insulted. I just love him for having the audacity to re-invent the human figure in extraordinary ways. He died in 1906, when a few people had begun to appreciate his revolution. He lived in Aix-en-Provence. Have you been there?”

    “No, I never went to the Midi.”

    “He was quite rich because his father was a banker in Aix, so he always returned home from hostile Paris, but they thought he was crazy in Aix, too.”

    “What’s this? It’s so sexy.”

    “That’s a little line drawing by Egon Schiele. He died when he was twenty-eight. He was also mostly attacked. He drew beautifully, didn’t he?”

    Then they went upstairs to Ron’s studio. She said she had never been in an artist’s studio and that she knew nothing about art. Ron said that he had made the top floor into one large room with a skylight that let in northern light, which painters liked best. The concept of lofts had not yet become common and many of the London painters worked in rooms or small studios built for artists long ago. Denise walked around looking at the dozen or so paintings, some on easels, that Ron was working on. She said very little, but Ron tried to explain the few pictures to her in the context of what he called Modern Art.

    She was amazed by the hundreds of oil-paint tubes all around and said that she had no idea there were so many different colors. Ron said he would like to paint her if she would pose nude for him, but it would take a few sessions, maybe as many as ten. He would pay her well, he said. She smiled and said she would think about it. He pulled a Manet book from his long Manet shelf and showed her Olympia and Nana, and he told her that these were very great paintings of working girls like her, but that sadly he could not paint as well as Manet, though he lived in hope. He told her that these paintings and Manet’s art were hated and ridiculed in his lifetime, and that he died when he was fifty-one.

    “This is all so new to me,” she said. “My mind is spinning with the pleasure of all you have shown me. I want to, how do you say — digest it.”

    “Will you work tonight?” asked Ron.

    “I don’t know. It’s still early for me.”

    “I’ll walk you home, neighbor.” So he did. It was about 11.  Back in his house, Ron felt sort of excited. He imagined Denise back at work. He picked up a little brush and painted a few strokes of Mars Black, deepening the outline of a head of Spinoza he was trying to do. He loved Spinoza and had been reading his difficult Ethics as well as Valentiner’s book Rembrandt and Spinoza. The two geniuses probably knew each other in Amsterdam’s Jewish Quarter, where they both lived, but no one has ever been able to prove it.

    Ron cleaned his brushes in turpentine, turned off his studio lights, and went down to the floor below where he kept so many of his pictures by other artists. After a while he left his house and walked across the square to Bruton Mews. The lights were on and he read the little card: FRENCH MODEL (DENISE) ONE FLOOR UP. Up he went. A man hurried past him down the stairs, having emerged from Denise’s flat. Ron rang the bell of the door on which another card said just DENISE. She opened the door herself. She was in her short housecoat and high sandals.

    “Ron!”

    “I felt like seeing you again.”

    “Come in.”

    They went into her bedroom.

    “Now what?” she smiled.

    “I’ve got something for you,” he said, and pulled the little Schiele nude drawing from a plastic shopping bag.

    “For me?” she said, astonished. “But it must be so valuable.”

    “So are you. I only paid a few hundred dollars for it when 

    I was a student in Vienna many years ago. Yes, now it is quite valuable, so try to keep it safe. Here in your bedroom would be a good place. No one will think it’s an original drawing by a famous artist.”

    “How do you spell his name?”

    “S-C-H-I-E-L-E. Egon Schiele.”

    “You are crazy. Crazy and rich and so sweet. I’ll put it up over the bed where it belongs. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

    Denise dropped her little coat. Naked, she urged him onto the bed and he joined her there. The bedspread stayed on the made-up bed as usual. While they were having sex, the doorbell rang and they heard the maid let someone in.

    Honey and Poison: On Corruption

    I

    For as long as human beings have had governments, they have worried about public corruption. The Hebrew Bible warns repeatedly that those in authority — especially judges — should not take bribes, “for bribes blind the clear-sighted and upset the pleas of those in the right.” The Arthashastra, a third-century Indian text on the art of statecraft, cautioned that just as one cannot avoid “tasting honey or poison on the tip of the tongue,” government officials will inevitably be tempted to steal public money for themselves. Countless other examples — from classical Greece and Rome to Imperial China to the Islamic empires of the Near East — testify to the pervasiveness of public corruption across cultures and across time. Indeed, from the ancient world up through today, corruption has been a central concern of statesmen, philosophers, and journalists — and the undoing of powerful figures and the catalyst for major reform movements. Anxiety over corruption also figures prominently in culture across the centuries — from Shakespeare’s Brutus accusing his friend Cassius of having “an itching palm, to sell and mart your offices for gold to undeservers” to Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Alexander Hamilton rapping that “corruption’s such an old song that we can sing along in harmony.”

    And yet the problem of corruption, for all its ubiquity, is often neglected. Perhaps most strikingly, for a very long time the international development community — a shorthand term for the various government agencies, multilateral institutions, and non-governmental organizations focused on improving the well-being and opportunities of the residents of poorer countries — paid scant attention to corruption. This may have been due in part to the belief that corruption, while immoral and unjust, was only marginally relevant to economic development. The comparative lack of attention to corruption was also related to concerns about the political sensitivity of the issue: to talk about corruption is almost always to talk about politics. Indeed, at the World Bank in the 1980s and early 1990s, officials rarely uttered the word “corruption” in public, and referred to it behind closed doors as “the C-word” — a nod to the fact that this was a problem that everyone knew existed but agreed should not be discussed openly.

    Roughly a quarter-century ago, this began to change. As is often the case, the process was gradual and the causes complex, so it would be a mistake to attribute the emergence of anticorruption as a central international development issue to any one person or event. Still, at least symbolically, a breakthrough moment occurred in October 1996, when James Wolfensohn, then president of the World Bank, gave what came to be known as the “cancer of corruption” speech. Addressing the annual meeting of the World Bank and International Monetary Fund, Wolfensohn declared in no uncertain terms that to fight global poverty, organizations such as the Bank needed to promote “transparency, accountability, and institutional capacity,” and, more specifically, “to deal with the cancer of corruption.” Though Wolfensohn did not dwell on the issue — his remarks on corruption took up less than two minutes of his address — he did provide a succinct explanation of why corruption was a development issue: “Corruption diverts resources from the poor to the rich, increases the cost of running businesses, distorts public expenditures, and deters foreign investors.” Today such a statement would be unremarkable. But back in 1996 it was a big deal, especially since, as Wolfensohn later recounted, he had been warned shortly after the start of his presidency not to talk about “the C-word.” He ignored that warning — and, crucially, he did so by reframing corruption not as a purely political or moral issue, but as an issue that directly affected economic development. Corruption was now squarely on the international development agenda, and it remains so to this day.

    Over the generation since Wolfensohn’s speech, leading multilateral organizations, including the World Bank, IMF, United Nations, and OECD, have paid increasing attention to this issue, forming divisions and sponsoring projects devoted to anticorruption activities. We now have an international anticorruption agreement, the UN Convention Against Corruption (UNCAC), to which most countries in the world are parties (even if compliance is uneven at best); there are also regional anticorruption agreements in the Americas, Europe, Africa, and elsewhere. Donor agencies, such as USAID, the UK’s Department for International Development, Germany’s GIZ, Sweden’s SIDA, and many others, support extensive anticorruption programming. Anticorruption, in short, is on the map.

    But despite this progress in the cause of anticorruption — the more sophisticated conception of it, the protocols and agreements — the idea that the international development community should make the fight against corruption a high priority is not universally accepted. Among the many objections to the emphasis on anticorruption as an integral part of international development, I want to highlight — and debunk — three quasi-myths that have gained more traction in these debates than they deserve. I call these ideas quasi-myths, rather than simply myths, because each of these them does have a kernel of truth. But each of these three arguments is, on the whole, more false than true, and more misleading than helpful.

    The first quasi-myth is that corruption is a culturally relative concept, such that practices that wealthy Western countries consider corrupt are acceptable in other societies. The familiar refrain here is that in some cultures what “we” would consider a bribe, “they” would consider a gift — or more generally that Western norms regarding the line between the public sphere and the private sphere do not apply in many non-Western societies. Thus, the argument continues, when organizations such as the World Bank or USAID or the OECD promote an anticorruption agenda in developing countries, they are in fact imposing a set of values that are inconsistent with local customs and traditions. In its strongest form, the argument accuses those promoting an international anticorruption agenda of engaging in a form of “moral imperialism,” or even that these efforts are intended to advance Western economic interests (say, in lowering trade and investment costs) while stigmatizing non-Western modes of government and social practices as morally inferior.

    The idea that “corruption” is a culturally specific concept, such that practices that would be seen as outrageously corrupt in the West are considered legitimate elsewhere, has a long history. Consider, as one particularly infamous example, the impeachment trial of Warren Hastings, the first British Governor-General of India, which began in 1788 (and dragged on, with frequent delays and interruptions, until 1795). Hastings was impeached for mismanagement and corruption. In his defense, he argued, among other things, that it would be inappropriate to apply British moral standards to his conduct in India, because practices that Englishmen would deem corrupt were part of the normal operation of government in Asia. Edmund Burke, who served as chief prosecutor at Hastings’ trial, denounced this argument as “geographical morality.” To the contrary, Burke insisted, “there is no action which would pass for an action of extortion, of peculation, of bribery and of oppression, in England, that is not an act of extortion, or peculation, of bribery and oppression, in Europe, Asia, Africa, and all the world over.” Despite Burke’s pleas, the House of Lords acquitted Hastings. To be sure, many of those who accuse modern anticorruption campaigners of moral imperialism would condemn Hastings for his conduct in India — he was, after all, a literal imperialist. Yet Hastings’ appeal to “geographical morality” — what we might today call “moral relativism” — has a strong family resemblance to this more modern critique of the international anticorruption agenda.

    Is there any truth to the argument that the international anticorruption campaign seeks to impose — deliberately or unintentionally — a set of values, practices, and institutions that are inconsistent with local norms and cultures in non-Western countries? The short answer is no. The overwhelming weight of the empirical evidence — derived from surveys, interviews, in-depth case studies, and other sources — indicates quite clearly that Burke was right and Hastings was wrong. At least when it comes to what we might think of as the “core” forms of corruption — bribery, embezzlement (what Burke called “peculation”), and the like — there is actually remarkably little variation in attitudes and moral evaluations across societies and cultures: these practices are broadly understood as corrupt and wrong, and are roundly and nearly universally condemned.

    To be sure, there is more variation across societies with respect to what we might think of as “grey area” corruption, as well as with respect to when certain kinds of corrupt acts might be justifiable given the circumstances. This is the kernel of truth to the argument that different cultures have different attitudes toward what counts as (wrongful) corruption. Even here, though, we need to be careful about the implicit cultural condescension of assuming that what “we” consider corrupt, “they” would consider appropriate. Very often the difference runs in the other direction. After all, campaign contributions and lobbying activities that many countries would consider blatantly corrupt are treated in the United States as not only lawful but as constitutionally protected. More importantly, the extent of cultural variation in the understanding of corruption is relatively modest, and not pertinent to the forms of corruption that Wolfensohn and others like him have in mind. The idea that bribery and embezzlement are the concerns only of wealthy Western countries, and that the prominence of an anticorruption agenda is therefore a form of Western neo-imperialism, finds essentially no support in the extensive research on what the residents of non-Western countries actually think.

    Where, then, does this myth come from, and why does it persist? I have three conjectures. First, some who push this idea are as blatantly self-serving as Warren Hastings. The employees of Western multinationals who pay bribes to government officials in non-Western developing countries, and the officials who take those bribes, have an incentive to suggest that in the countries in question these so-called “bribes” are actually a manifestation of a rich and longstanding cultural tradition of offering gifts as a sign of respect. Second, some of those who advance the “moral imperialism” critique of the anticorruption agenda seem to harbor a deep (and perhaps understandable) mistrust of Western governments and multilateral institutions generally; these skeptics are primed to be receptive to the idea that an anticorruption campaign spearheaded by such entities is likely to have a hidden agenda.

    The third possible explanation, which I would guess to be the most important, is that it is easy to mistake cynical or fatalistic resignation about corruption — an attitude that is quite widespread in much of the developing world — for the cultural legitimacy of corrupt practices. But these are not at all the same thing. Many people tolerate corruption, or even participate in petty corruption themselves, out of a feeling that they are trapped, that corruption is inevitable, that the system is rigged and there is nothing they can do about it. Such tolerance and participation can be misperceived as “cultural acceptance,” especially when accompanied by rationalizations that invoke venerable cultural tropes. But grudging tolerance and rationalization are not the same thing as moral assent and legitimacy. And when it comes to corruption—at least to core forms of corruption like bribery and embezzlement — there is far less variation in attitudes across countries and cultures than one might expect.

    The second quasi-myth that is sometimes offered up as a reason to object to the international development community’s focus on anticorruption is the idea that, at least in developing countries, corruption can actually help the process of economic development. Rather than being sand in the wheels of the economy, the argument goes, corruption may instead grease those wheels, enabling entrepreneurs and investors to cut through burdensome red tape and enter markets that would otherwise be inaccessible. This idea was nicely captured by Samuel Huntington, in 1968 in his book Political Order in Changing Societies. “In terms of economic growth,” Huntington wrote, “the only thing worse than a society with a rigid, over-centralized, dishonest bureaucracy is one with a rigid, over-centralized, honest bureaucracy.” What he meant was this: if the government has put in place excessive and inefficient rules and regulations that stifle economic activity, then the economy will be better off if the public officials charged with enforcing those regulations take “grease” payments to look the other way, rather than insisting on rigorous and scrupulous enforcement of the misguided rules. It follows from this that vigorous action to suppress corruption — for example, by monitoring bureaucrats more closely and imposing stiffer penalties on those caught offering or accepting bribes — may, if unaccompanied by other reforms to the regulatory system, actually worsen a society’s economic prospects.

    We should give the argument its due, because it too contains a kernel of truth. When the formal rules are inefficient — for example, when securing a business operating permit through the normal channels would take an inordinate amount of time and expense — then corruption may indeed function as an efficiency-enhancing grease. That said, even proponents of this view would acknowledge that in such circumstances corruption is at most what economists would call a “second-best” solution. Those who endorse the efficient grease hypothesis would also presumably acknowledge that other forms of corruption can have substantial negative impacts on the economy — for example, when corruption facilitates the subversion of government programs that enhance productivity and welfare. So the question whether corruption is, on the whole, more likely to grease or to sand the wheels of economic development is ultimately an empirical question.

    There has been quite a bit of research on this empirical question since Wolfensohn delivered his “cancer of corruption” speech, and while the issue is not entirely settled (issues like this rarely are, given the challenges of isolating causal relationships in the available data), the overwhelming weight of the evidence suggests that Wolfensohn was more correct than Huntington. Corruption is far more often an impediment to economic development than a facilitator of economic development. One of the reasons for this was identified by Gunnar Myrdal in 1968 in his classic Asian Drama: An Inquiry into the Poverty of Nations. Writing in response to Huntington and others who had argued that corruption was a way for entrepreneurs to cut through bureaucratic red tape, Myrdal pointed out that much of this red tape had been deliberately imposed precisely to create more opportunities for extracting bribes. While excessive red tape may lead to corruption, corruption also leads to the proliferation of red tape — which suggests that effective anticorruption measures can make it politically easier to eliminate needless regulations.

    An even more important reason why corruption is more often associated with worse economic outcomes is that, while it may be true in certain contexts that corruption enables the circumvention of excessive business licensing requirements and other inefficient rules, there are a whole lot of other things that governments do that are important to economic development — things such as investing in infrastructure, supporting health and education, maintaining order, providing impartial courts and dispute resolution services, and enforcing rules that protect the integrity and efficiency of markets — that are undermined by widespread corruption. So while we should not dismiss out of hand the idea that corruption can sometimes function as an efficient grease, and we should certainly be mindful of the fact that excessive, inefficient regulations can both encourage corruption and inhibit economic growth, the idea that fighting corruption in developing countries will prove counterproductive because of corruption’s supposed efficiency-enhancing properties seems by and large inconsistent with the best available evidence.

    The third quasi-myth that sometimes comes up in debates over whether anticorruption should be a high priority for the international development community suggests a quite different reason for skepticism. Even if one believes that endemic corruption in developing countries is both immoral and economically detrimental in those countries, some critics contend that there is still no point in making anticorruption a central agenda item, because there is nothing that can realistically be done about corruption, at least in the short to medium term. On this view, cultures of corruption are so deeply embedded in certain societies that corruption should be treated as an unfortunate but unavoidable constraint on a society’s development prospects — like being landlocked, or located in the tropics, or having deep ethnic cleavages. In this pessimistic view, even though widespread corruption is a problem, few of the reforms or initiatives championed by anticorruption advocates have a realistic chance of making more than a trivial difference. It is just not a problem that can be effectively addressed through new policies or institutional reforms; the best one can do is to hope that long-term historical trends eventually produce a cultural change — but even that might be optimistic, given the alleged persistence of cultures of corruption across extended historical time periods.

    Here again, there is an element of truth to the argument. Systemic corruption often does have self-reinforcing and self-perpetuating tendencies — corruption begets corruption, creating a vicious cycle that can make entrenched corruption very difficult to dislodge. But the idea that corruption is the inevitable product of some deep cultural tradition that developed centuries ago, and that only those countries lucky enough to have inherited a “good” cultural tradition (say, from northern Europe) have much hope of making headway against the corruption problem, is not only tinged with racism, but is inconsistent with most of the available evidence.

    For starters, there is no systematic evidence — when one controls for other factors (like per capita GDP) — that particular cultural traditions have a robust correlation with present-day corruption. I should acknowledge an interesting caveat: some researchers have found that, all else equal, majority-Protestant countries have lower levels of perceived corruption than majority-Catholic or majority-Muslim countries. But when one looks more closely at individual-level data, there is no strong evidence that individual Protestants have different attitudes toward corruption than do individual Catholics, Muslims, or others, and it seems much more likely that the apparent correlation between Protestantism and perceived corruption at the country level is spurious.

    But the more important evidence against the notion that countries are locked into particular levels of corruption by their cultural heritage is that this view is inconsistent with the historical experience of those countries that today are viewed as relatively less corrupt. Consider Scandinavia. Today we have a stereotype of the Scandinavian countries as being very clean — which is fairly accurate, at least if we compare Scandinavia to other parts of the world. We sometimes imagine that this is because of some longstanding and essential feature of Scandinavian culture. But if we were to step into a time machine and go back a couple of centuries, things would look quite different. Things were rotten in the state of Denmark not just in Shakespeare’s imagined medieval period, but up through much of the eighteenth century and beyond. The fight against corruption in Denmark got underway after the establishment of an absolute monarchy in 1660, but the Danish state did not get corruption under control until a series of reforms adopted over the course of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. As for Sweden, at the turn of the nineteenth century the Swedish state was extremely corrupt, particularly with respect to rampant nepotism and the purchase and sale of offices (and there was a fair amount of garden-variety bribery as well). To observers at the time, before the significant reform processes that took place in these and other countries, it might well have seemed that corruption was deeply embedded in these countries’ cultures. The “clean” Scandinavian culture that informs our contemporary stereotypes really only emerged in the mid-to-late nineteenth century.

    The extent to which modern “good performers” did not simply inherit a cultural tradition of clean government is illustrated even more vividly by the United States. To be sure, even today the United States is no paragon of government integrity. In comparison to most other countries in the world, though, American government has relatively low levels of bribery, embezzlement, and similar forms of corruption. But it was not always thus. Throughout much of the nineteenth century, corruption in the United States was rampant — especially at the state and local level, but at the national level as well. We do not possess international corruption indexes that go back to the nineteenth century, but if we did, and if such indexes were on a common scale, it is quite likely that the United States in the 1840s and 1850s, and perhaps as late as the 1890s, would receive corruption scores comparable to the scores that developing democracies like India, Brazil, South Africa, and Ukraine receive today.

    Certainly it seemed that way to domestic and foreign observers at the time. In 1849, in his book describing his travels in the United States, the Scottish journalist Alexander Mackay remarked that he had heard several Americans declare “that they believe their own government to be the most corrupt on earth.” Nearly a decade later, another foreign observer, the British MP William Edward Baxter, expressed his shock at the level of corruption in New York, reporting that “as great corruption exists [there] as was ever brought to light in the days of the Stuarts.” And it was not just foreign observers who made such damning comparisons. In 1858, the same year Baxter published his book, Senator Robert Toombs of Georgia lamented that while Americans may “speak of the corruptions of Mexico, of Spain, [and] of France, … I do not believe today that there is as corrupt a Government under the heavens as these United States.” A small-town newspaper editor who visited Washington D.C. that same year expressed his shock at the brazen purchase and sale of offices brokered by party leaders in the Senate, the White House, and various government bureaus, with “the actual sum of money to be paid for an office … as publicly named … as the price of dry goods are named between a dealer … and his customers.” These anecdotal observations, though perhaps a bit hyperbolic, have been largely corroborated by historians. The United States was, for much of the nineteenth and early twentieth century, mired in forms of systemic corruption not so different from those afflicting much of the developing world today.

    Why does this matter? It matters because if countries such as Denmark, Sweden, the United States, and others suffered from widespread and systemic government corruption at an earlier point in their histories, then we should question the notion that countries that today have corruption more under control have achieved this because of some deep and immutable cultural inheritance, by a lucky historical break, and that countries where corruption is entrenched and systemic are likely trapped in that state due to inherited norms that are too deeply ingrained in their cultures to be dislodged through institutional and political reform. If countries such as the United States managed to make the transition from a state of endemic corruption to one in which corruption, while of course still present, is aberrational and manageable, then this warrants the hope that other countries that today face a seemingly intractable regime of corruption might be able to make a similar transition.

    II

    But how can modern developing countries make such a transition? The historical examples are encouraging illustrations that such changes are possible and help to debunk the view that cultures of corruption are immutable — but they are less useful in supplying a template for modern reformers, given the dramatic differences in historical, economic, and political context. Even if we endorse the view that James Wolfensohn laid out back in 1996 — that anticorruption should be front and center in the international development agenda — we still need to ascertain what institutional reforms and policy initiatives can help to effect, under modern conditions in the contemporary developing world, the sort of transition that took place in wealthy Western countries much earlier.

    One popular prescription — though not one that institutions like the World Bank can openly advocate — is democratization. The logic here is straightforward and compelling. Corruption thrives when those who wield power are not accountable to those they are supposed to serve; and since democracy makes public officials accountable to the populace through regular elections — and because people in just about every country find corruption objectionable — more democratic countries are likely to have substantially lower levels of corruption than less democratic countries, all else equal. The global democratization project, on this view, is also a global anticorruption project.

    Matters are more complicated, however. It turns out that the evidence that democratization regularly results in improvements in government integrity is not terribly strong. It is certainly the case that, even when one controls for national wealth and other confounding factors, countries that have been strong democracies for quite a long time are less corrupt (or at least are perceived as less corrupt) than other countries. But if one excludes from the analysis the relatively small number of countries that have been full democracies for over forty years (mostly though not exclusively Western European countries and the former European settler colonies in North America and Oceania), there does not appear to be a robust and consistent relationship between the level of democracy and the level of (perceived) corruption. In other words, while old, established democracies do seem to be notably cleaner than other countries, new democracies and partial democracies do not appear less corrupt, on average, than non-democracies. (Some studies have even suggested that new democracies and partial democracies might be somewhat more corrupt than autocracies, though the evidence here is not as strong.) More anecdotally, it is not hard to come up with numerous examples of politicians suspected or known to be quite corrupt who regularly win elections.

    What explains the puzzling lack of strong empirical support for the view that democratization reduces corruption? One possibility is that democracy does indeed have corruption-suppressing effects, but only when democracy has become fully entrenched and institutionalized. If that is so, then we would have cause for optimism that some of the newer democracies will eventually see significant improvements in public integrity; we just need to be patient, and work to further strengthen democratic institutions. It could also be the case that new and partial democracies actually do have lower levels of corruption than autocracies, but autocracies are, on average, better able to suppress evidence of corruption, thus leading the international corruption indexes, which rely substantially on perceptions, to systematically underestimate the extent of corruption in autocracies relative to (newer) democracies.

    Maybe. But there is also a more pessimistic reading of the available evidence. It may be that “first wave” democracies are systematically different from second- and third-wave democracies, perhaps because the defining characteristic of a “democracy” (reasonably free and fair elections held on a regular basis) is not, by itself, sufficient to promote clean government. Without other norms and institutions in place, elections may become little more than competitions between rival patronage networks. Moreover, the expense of running a modern election campaign, coupled with the fact that electoral victory may be the key to (illicit) access to state resources, may actually encourage certain kinds of corruption. Indeed, many new democracies have seen an upsurge in corruption that is directly associated with the democratic process. Even though most citizens claim to find corruption reprehensible — and this claim may well be sincere — it may nevertheless be the case that in newer democracies in less developed countries, certain forms of corruption are helpful, perhaps essential, to winning elections and maintaining coalitions. If this more pessimistic view is accurate, then even though we can and should support democratization, we need to be more circumspect about the impact of democratization upon the attempt to eliminate corruption, at least in the short to medium term.

    Another common prescription for addressing systemic corruption through broad institutional reform focuses on shrinking the size and the scope of government. The idea here is that a root cause of much of the corruption that afflicts developing and developed countries alike is a bloated state sector, and an outsize role for the government — rather than impersonal market forces — in allocating resources. This is allegedly a recipe for corruption, because those with power over the allocation of resources (politicians and bureaucrats) will seek to leverage that power to obtain wealth, while those with wealth or connections will leverage those advantages to influence the public officials responsible for allocating public resources. Perhaps the most well-known proponent of the view that reducing government size is the key to taming systemic corruption was the economist Gary Becker, whose views were succinctly captured in the titles of two opinion pieces he penned in the mid-1990s: “To Root Out Corruption, Boot Out Big Government,” and “If You Want To Cut Corruption, Cut Government.”

    Yet this hypothesis fares even worse than the hypothesis that democratization is the key to reducing corruption. It turns out that government size (typically measured by government consumption spending and/or government revenue as a percentage of gross domestic product) is strongly and consistently correlated with lower levels of perceived corruption, even if one controls for other factors like per capita GDP. In other words, those countries with governments that do more taxing and spending, relative to the overall size of the national economy, are generally perceived as cleaner than otherwise similar countries with smaller governments.

    While this relationship is quite well established, the reasons for it remain unclear. One possibility is that a larger government is associated with a stronger social safety net and lower levels of economic inequality, and this may reduce forms of corruption that are driven by economic insecurity. Another possibility is that larger governments tend to spend more on things such as education, which may have corruption-reducing effects. Larger governments may also have better paid, more professional, and more effective bureaucracies, and may invest more in effective law enforcement and judicial institutions. These and other hypotheses essentially suggest that the projects on which larger governments are spending public money are often things with corruption reducing-effects that tend to outweigh whatever increase in corruption may be associated with giving government officials a greater role in resource allocation.

    Alternatively, or in addition, perhaps citizens demand more integrity from their governments when those governments are doing more, and when a broader and more affluent set of citizens are the beneficiaries of government programs. Put another way, larger governments may be associated with stronger citizen demand for clean government. That possibility also suggests that the relationship between larger governments and lower levels of public corruption may be due, at least in part, to a kind of reverse causation: perhaps citizens are only willing to support significant growth in the size of government when the public sector has a reputation for integrity; where corruption is widespread, expanding government programs may be less popular and therefore less likely. Relatedly, government decision-makers may not try to tax or spend as much if they expect a greater share of the revenue or expenditures to be stolen or misappropriated. On this account, political support for government expansion tends to rise as (perceived) public corruption declines.

    While there remains considerable uncertainty about the mechanisms and direction of causation — whether expanding government tends to reduce corruption, or whether cleaner governments are more likely to expand — the simple hypothesis, propounded by Becker and others, that cutting government size is likely to be associated with significant reductions in public corruption finds little support in the available evidence. That prescription also does not accord well with the historical experience of countries such as the United States, where the period of greatest success in fighting corruption — roughly from the turn of the twentieth century through the end of the New Deal — was also a period of extraordinary expansion in the size and scope of government, especially at the national level. None of this is to deny that there are some governments, and some specific government programs, that are bloated and consequently vulnerable to corruption. It is also not to deny that other forms of excessive government intervention — such as the needless red tape and inefficient regulations that Huntington and others worried about — may contribute to corruption, and that certain forms of deregulation might therefore have corruption-reducing effects. But as a general matter, the neo-libertarian view that smaller governments are more honest governments finds precious little empirical support.

    If democratizing the political system and shrinking the state are not the magic keys to promoting government integrity, what sorts of measures are more promising? There is probably no single answer. Corruption is not one thing — it is an umbrella term that covers many related but distinct forms of misconduct, which may require different remedial approaches. Corruption takes different forms, and has different roots, in different countries. Therefore, as is true in so many areas of public policy, effective anticorruption efforts must be appropriately tailored to the local context. Those who work in this field are well aware of all this. Indeed, the assertion that there is no “one-size-fits-all” solution to corruption is repeated so often that it has become a truism.

    Still, while we should be cautious about making strong and unqualified claims about “what works” in fighting corruption, it would be a mistake to err in the opposite direction by neglecting the lessons that we can draw from the last twenty-five-odd years of academic research and practical experience in this field. And what emerges from that combination of research and experience is that, while there is not One Big Thing that can transform a corrupt system, there are a number of smaller things that often help.

    The items on this list are not all that surprising. Strong laws, enforced by efficient, effective, and nonpartisan prosecutors and courts, while not sufficient, are very important. (A brief digression here: Many countries have created specialized anticorruption agencies with investigative and prosecutorial powers; some countries have even created specialized anticorruption courts or judicial divisions. These measures may sometimes be useful, if the creation of a separate entity helps ensure both institutional independence and sufficient capacity, but the track record of specialized anticorruption bodies is mixed. Operational independence and capacity seem to be what’s most important; formal specialization is, at most, a means to those ends.) Effective law enforcement is essential not just with respect to those laws specifically targeting corrupt acts such as bribery and embezzlement, but also in what we might call corruption-adjacent areas such as money laundering and corporate secrecy. “Follow the money” is especially good advice when it comes to addressing grand corruption, as it is often easier for bad actors to cover up evidence of their underlying corruption — or to escape legal accountability in their home countries — than it is for them to hide or explain away the proceeds of their illicit activity. So, some of the most effective anticorruption measures of  the last decade or so target the money, seeking to locate, freeze, seize, and eventually return or otherwise redistribute stolen assets.

    Within the bureaucracy, in addition to the enforcement of criminal laws and ethical rules, audits of government programs turn out to be quite effective in reducing theft and other forms of misappropriation. This might not sound that surprising, but it is nonetheless important. Rigorous empirical research has found that even in what we might think of as challenging environments for fighting bureaucratic corruption — such as Indonesia, Brazil, and Mexico — the knowledge that a local government or department’s accounts will be subject to an audit substantially reduces irregularities that are likely attributable to corruption. More generally, the promotion of a professionalized, semi-autonomous civil service, with personnel decisions insulated from partisan political actors, appears to be consistently associated with lower levels of corruption. (Interestingly, civil service salaries do not seem to have as clear or strong an association with corruption levels, though at the extremes — when civil servants are paid very well or very poorly — there is anecdotal evidence of an effect on integrity.) What we might think of as the classic Weberian vision of bureaucracy — characterized by autonomy (at least from partisan politics), norms of professionalism, regular monitoring and oversight, and merit-based personnel decisions — is associated with less corruption.

    Other measures that can help reduce corruption are those that facilitate the discovery of what would otherwise remain hidden misconduct. In this regard, legal and institutional protections for whistleblowers, both inside and outside of government, are extremely important. At the very least, potential whistleblowers need to have access to reliable reporting channels that can credibly guarantee confidentiality, and whistleblowers must be protected against retaliation. Some countries, including the United States, have gone further, instituting schemes for paying whistleblowers whose tips lead to significant fines or other monetary recoveries. While systematic evidence on the effectiveness of such reward programs is not yet available, the anecdotal evidence thus far is encouraging.

    In addition to protecting and rewarding whistleblowers, governments can help to reduce corruption by promoting transparency more generally. For instance, appropriately designed freedom of information laws, though by themselves insufficient, can facilitate monitoring by outside groups, such as the press and civil society organizations. Speaking of which, while the evidence that democracy reduces corruption is mixed, there does seem to be fairly strong evidence that within democracies, a freer and denser media environment, with more newspapers and radio and TV stations, tends to be associated with lower levels of corruption, and higher probabilities that corrupt incumbent politicians will be punished at the polls. (Perhaps unsurprisingly, there has been a fair bit of optimism in some quarters that modern information technology — especially the internet and social media — will have an even greater corruption-reducing effects, but the impact so far seems relatively modest.) Transparency may be especially important with respect to government management of valuable resources, such as oil and mineral wealth.

    These, then, are some of the ingredients for an effective anticorruption strategy. Strong laws enforced by effective and impartial prosecutors and courts; a professional Weberian bureaucracy subject to regular oversight but insulated from partisan politicians; and measures that promote transparency and facilitate monitoring and accountability. This list is incomplete, of course, and there is still a lot that we do not understand, but the basic components sketched above provide the appropriate foundation for an effective anticorruption framework.

    III

    If we know, at least in broad terms, a fair amount about the kinds of tools and techniques that are effective in reducing corruption, why does corruption remain such a systematic and pervasive scourge in so much of the world?

    Though part of the problem may be a lack of capacity, the fundamental problem is political rather than technical. On the one hand, those with the greatest ability to change a corrupt system — those in positions of political and economic power — have the weakest incentives to do so. After all, these political and economic elites are, almost by definition, the winners under the prevailing system. On the other hand, those with the strongest incentive to change a corrupt system have the least ability to do so, because — again, almost by definition — these are the people who have been denied access to political and economic power. This is a familiar problem, hardly unique to the fight against corruption. There is an inherent small-c conservative bias built into most political systems, insofar as those who achieve power typically benefit more from the status quo than those who do not. But the problem may be especially acute with respect to endemic corruption, not only because many of the “winners” owe their power and wealth to the corrupt system that they have mastered, but also because they (and their supporters and associates) might be held personally accountable for their misdeeds if that system changes. Convincing the elites in a corrupt system to support genuine and effective anticorruption reform is a bit like trying to convince turkeys to support Thanksgiving.

    We know far less about how to overcome this fundamental political challenge than we do about the tools and techniques that, if fully and faithfully implemented, can substantially mitigate corruption. That said, the political hurdles to anticorruption reform are not insurmountable — after all, some countries have surmounted them, at least in part. A look at those (partial) success stories suggests at least three models for overcoming the inherent political resistance to genuine anticorruption reform.

    One possibility, which we might call the “wise king” approach, is to centralize power in a strong and far-sighted leader who can push through dramatic and comprehensive anticorruption reforms without much resistance. If this leader is both a person of high integrity (or at least someone who wants to have that reputation) and sufficiently secure in his or her power, then the leader may be willing to take drastic action to transform a corrupt system. Such a leader would gain much more — in reputation, authority, and legacy — from fighting corruption than from letting corruption persist. Former Singaporean Prime Minister Lee Kwan Yew, who for all his faults deserves credit for the clean-up of Singapore in the 1950s and 1960s, is the most well-known modern example of this model in action. President Xi Jinping of China, who has made anticorruption a central theme of his presidency, seems to be trying to follow in Lee’s footsteps, though his methods are unacceptable to supporters of a liberal order. Yet this approach is not limited to autocratic countries. Some democratic systems concentrate substantial power in the chief executive, giving that person the ability to mandate sweeping anticorruption reforms that might be difficult or impossible in a system with more dispersed power and greater checks and balances. (Mikhail Saakashvili, who became president of the Republic of Georgia in 2004 after the Rose Revolution, is one of the most well-known examples.) And many a populist politician has campaigned on the pledge that, if the voters just give him power — and allow him to sideline or co-opt other institutions that might obstruct his initiatives — then he will clean up the system from top to bottom.

    The “wise king” model is understandably attractive to those who are frustrated with the ability of corrupt elites to work the system to block anticorruption reforms. But it is an awfully high-risk strategy. Monarchy under a wise king may be among the best systems of government (at least if one cares only about outcomes rather than process), but monarchy under a bad king, or a mad king, is catastrophic. And the track record of powerful chief executives who have pledged to clean up corruption is not great. Many of the populists who emphasized the fight against corruption both as a campaign theme and as a justification for eroding institutional checks on their authority have proven not only ineffective in fighting corruption, but just as corrupt, or worse, than their predecessors. (Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil and Viktor Orbán in Hungary are particularly prominent examples, though there are plenty of others.) And when anticorruption policy is driven solely by the chief executive and his or her inner circle, there is a substantially greater risk that the fight against corruption will be weaponized, disproportionately targeting political opponents of the regime. So while it is possible that the political impediments to meaningful anticorruption reform can be overcome by a sufficiently far-sighted and skillful leader, the risks of reliance on a powerful leader likely outweigh the benefits.

    A second way in which it may be possible to overcome the political headwinds that make it so hard, under ordinary conditions, to sustain effective action against entrenched corruption is to take advantage of moments of crisis that give outsiders, or previously overmatched internal reformers, the opportunity to effect genuine change. We have a number of historical and modern examples of this model in action. The catalyst for Sweden’s significant efforts to promote clean government over the course of the nineteenth century was Sweden’s military defeat by Russia in 1909, and the resulting fear that Sweden’s very existence was in peril. The widespread view that the country’s disastrous military performance was due in large part to the corruption and dysfunction of the Swedish state (especially the role that nepotism and sale of offices played in placing incompetent people in key positions) inspired Sweden’s liberal reformers and gave them more influence with the monarchy, and produced opportunities for reforms that threatened the interests of the entrenched nobility. A more recent example comes from Indonesia, where the Asian financial crisis of 1997 finally brought down Suharto, the corrupt autocrat who had ruled Indonesia for three decades. Suharto’s fall ushered in the so-called reformasi period, which saw not only the democratization of Indonesia’s government, but also numerous significant anticorruption reforms, including the passage of new laws and the creation of an unusually powerful and independent anticorruption commission, as well as a specialized anticorruption court. When a popular movement manages to topple the government, this may also be a moment when good governance reforms that were previously politically unthinkable become feasible.

    Of course, for reformers desperate to take on the corruption that is strangling their economies and undermining their governments, it is not so helpful to be told to wait for a major disruptive event like a disastrous military defeat or a financial crisis or a popular uprising. Still, there is an important lesson here, one that recalls the adage that fortune favors the prepared. Pressing for anticorruption reforms in a politically inhospitable environment can be frustrating, and developing carefully crafted legal or institutional reform proposals can seem pointless when the powers that be have little appetite for doing anything that could threaten the sources of their wealth and privilege. But one never knows when a moment of crisis — and opportunity — will emerge. What may have seemed like fruitless efforts to design and to promote politically infeasible changes can pay enormous dividends when the window of opportunity suddenly opens.

    The third model for achieving a transition from endemic corruption to manageable corruption might be termed the Long Slow Slog. Rather than a single transformative moment — driven by a wise and powerful leader or a disruptive crisis — a movement away from endemic corruption can result from the slow accumulation of smaller victories and incremental reforms that gradually squeeze pervasive corruption out of the system and alter the norms of politics in a healthier direction. This process typically involves a combination of top-down and bottom-up efforts, with shifting coalitions of activists, journalists, professional elites, and business interests making common cause with reformist politicians who — out of genuine interest, strategic calculation, or some combination — make cleaning up corruption, or improving government more generally, a high priority. The process can be frustratingly uneven and slow, with periods of progress followed by periods of stagnation or backsliding. And it is not really one political struggle, but rather a series of struggles involving various reforms, not all of which are explicitly or primarily about corruption. Yet the cumulative effect of these reforms, if they are sustained and expanded over a sufficiently long period, can be extraordinary.

    There are those who are skeptical that the Long Slow Slog model for fighting systemic corruption can possibly work, given how corrupt systems tend to be self-perpetuating. But in fact this model may be the one that holds the most long-term promise. For what it’s worth, the Long Slow Slog is the model that best captures the transformation that occurred in the United States starting around the end of the Civil War in 1865. As noted above, the United States in the mid-nineteenth century was, in many respects, a developing country, with levels and forms of political corruption not too different from modern-day developing democracies such as India or Brazil. By the start of World War II, corruption in the United States — though still very much a problem — was much less pervasive. And in the post-war decades, though corruption scandals continued to make headlines, matters continued to improve. This was not a quick or easy process — there was certainly no “big bang” moment. True, there were a few periods of particularly intense reform activity, especially the Progressive Era at the dawn of the twentieth century; there were also a handful of especially influential reformist leaders, including Theodore Roosevelt, Woodrow Wilson, and Franklin Roosevelt at the national level and Governors Charles Evans Hughes of New York and Robert La Follette of Wisconsin at the state level. But there was no dramatic moment of radical change comparable to Indonesia’s reformasi period in the late 1990s, nor a single transformative leader comparable to Singapore’s Lee Kwan Yew. Rather, the reform process in the United States was a struggle on many fronts, one that was spread out over at least three generations.

    Take, as one example, the struggle for civil service reform. Civil service reform is of course not only about fighting corruption, but it is an important aspect of the anticorruption agenda. The so-called “spoils system” — a form of what political scientists sometimes call “clientalism” — is arguably corrupt in itself, and indisputably facilitates and encourages other forms of corruption. In the United States, the first serious civil service reform bill was introduced in Congress in December 1865, by Representative Thomas Jenckes of Rhode Island. It went nowhere. President Grant did implement some modest internal reforms to the executive branch during his first term, and he formed a commission to recommend broader changes to the civil service, but the commission’s ambitious recommendations provoked vigorous resistance, and by 1875 the push for federal civil service reform looked dead. But it rebounded, thanks in large part to a revitalized coalition of reformist activists and sympathetic politicians. The reformers’ efforts received an unexpected boost in 1881 from the assassination of President Garfield by a disappointed campaign worker bitter over the fact that he had not received a government job in return for his political services. The political momentum for reform — boosted by the rallying cry that President Garfield had been, in effect, murdered by the spoils system — finally led to the passage of the landmark Pendleton Civil Service Reform Act in January 1883, just over seventeen years since Representative Jenckes had introduced his first bill.

    Yet the Pendleton Act, while hugely significant in its creation of a “merit system” for a portion of the federal civil service, was quite limited in its coverage, applying to only about ten percent of federal employees — and even that limited reform provoked a great deal of hostility from politicians and party operatives. Notwithstanding this resistance, the merit system gradually expanded, albeit in fits and starts, over the next several decades, thanks to a combination of ongoing pressure from reformers and the political calculations of successive administrations. By the time Theodore Roosevelt took office in 1901, the merit system covered roughly 46 percent of the federal civilian workforce; by the time he left office in 1909, that figure had risen to roughly 66 percent. And by the time the United States entered World War II in December 1941 — almost exactly seventy-six years since Representative Jenckes had introduced his first civil service reform bill — the merit system covered approximately 90 percent of federal civilian employees, and almost every state had adopted and implemented a comparable system that covered most state employees. The U.S. civil service merit system was certainly not perfect, but if one compares the shameless and corrupt clientalism of the 1840s and 1850s to the much more professional administration that was established a century later, even the most jaded cynic would be hard-pressed to deny the extent or the significance of the progress that had taken place.

    This is but one example of something we see in many countries and in many historical periods. Measures to fight corruption, and to improve the integrity and performance of government more broadly, may take a long time. But not only is incremental progress often possible, these incremental changes can also add up to a meaningful transition away from a system that runs on endemic corruption to one in which corruption, though always a serious problem, is at least manageable. That observation — that the Long Slow Slog approach to fighting systemic corruption can be effective — may seem obvious, even banal. But this conclusion contradicts both the widespread fatalism about the impossibility of making significant progress against entrenched corruption and the view that making progress against entrenched corruption requires a “big bang.” And though the conclusion that the fight against entrenched corruption may often require a Long Slow Slog might seem disheartening, the fact that such a strategy can ultimately bear fruit should be cause for optimism. Those who are engaged in the battle against systemic corruption — including both those who are fighting for change within their own countries and communities, and also those who are seeking to support change from outside — can take heart from the fact that although the problem may often seem intractable, a series of small victories, which may not seem by themselves to do much to change the fundamentals of a corrupt system, can add up to something bigger and more transformational.

    This is not to say that corruption can ever be defeated. The temptations to use one’s entrusted power for private advantage, or to use one’s wealth and influence to improperly influence public decisions, are just too strong. And even as the “core” forms of corruption, such as bribery and embezzlement, become harder and riskier, those who want to use their power to acquire wealth, or to use their wealth to exercise power, will find other ways to do so — a point emphasized by those who criticize the political finance and lobbying systems in the United States and elsewhere as forms of “legal corruption.” Yet it would be a mistake to be fatalistic or cynical. The battle against corruption may not be a battle in which we will ever declare final victory — this cancer is not one that can be cured — but progress against this chronic disease of the body politic is possible, so long as those engaged in the fight do not lose heart.

    The Enigmatical Beauty of Each Beautiful Enigma

    Above the forest of the parakeets,
    A parakeet of parakeets prevails,
    A pip of life amid a mort of tails.

    (The rudiments of tropics are around,
    Aloe of ivory, pear of rusty rind.)
    His lids are white because his eyes are blind.

    He is not paradise of parakeets,
    Of his gold ether, golden alguazil,
    Except because he broods there and is still.

    Panache upon panache, his tails deploy
    Upward and outward, in green-vented forms,
    His tip a drop of water full of storms.

    But though the turbulent tinges undulate
    As his pure intellect applies its laws,
    He moves not on his coppery, keen claws.

    He munches a dry shell while he exerts
    His will, yet never ceases, perfect cock,
    To flare, in the sun-pallor of his rock.

    THE BIRD WITH THE COPPERY, KEEN CLAWS
    WALLACE STEVENS

    When I was a girl in my twenties, I had no idea what to make of Wallace Stevens’ mid-life poem “The Bird with the Coppery, Keen Claws.” I had come to feel indebted to Stevens’ work; I knew there was always a valuable presence inside every poem. But I postponed thinking about “The Bird” because it seemed too surreal, too unrelated to life as I understood it. The birds I knew in verse, from Shakespeare’s lark to Keats’ swallows. were mostly “real” birds, easily metaphorical birds, flying and singing. Stevens’ enigmatic bird, by contrast, was not recognizably drawn from the real thing. The bird is offered as a parakeet, but resembles no real parakeet, if only because he is the “parakeet of parakeets,” a Hebrew form of title for a supreme ruler (“King of Kings, Lord of Lords”) and because he is characterized, Platonically, as “perfect.” I couldn’t make sense of the described qualities of the “bird” because they were wholly inconsistent with those of real birds, with those of any imaginable “perfect” bird, and with each other. Stevens’ bird (a “he,” not an “it”) is especially disturbing, because he possesses the powers of intellect and will, powers thought to distinguish human beings from the “lower animals”: his “pure intellect” applies its complement of “laws” and he consciously “exerts / His will.” And it is only late in the poem that we learn that the bird has intellect and will. What strikes us more immediately is that the bird lacks almost everything we expect in birds: he cannot fly, or see, or mate, or form part of a flock; he remains blind, perched immobile “above the forest” on “his rock.” Put to such puzzlement, I fled, at first, the enigma.

    And there was also the problem of the peculiar stanza-form: three five-beat lines per stanza, rhyming in no form I had even seen before — an unrhymed line followed by two lines that rhymed (abb). I had seen tercets in Stevens and other poets, but never this kind. In those other tercets, sometimes all three lines would rhyme (aaa), or sometimes they would interweave to form Dante’s terza rima (aba, bcb, etc.). There were reasons behind the rhymes — aaa becomes emblematic in George Herbert’s “Trinity Sunday,” and terza rima was chosen to point to Dante in Shelley’s “The Triumph of Life.” But what could be the reason for this strange abb? There were abba poems, there were aabb poems, but there were no abb poems. It was an emblem of a lack of something, but of what? I was left guessing about content and form alike. And the stanzas were peculiar in another way: each of the six stopped dead at a terminal period. The reader is instructed, by the insistent conclusive period closing each stanza, to take a full breath between stanzas. Stiffly isolated, stopped after each venture, they did not seem to belong together, nor was there any ongoing narrative to connect them. Most stanzaic poems are more fluid than these representing the bird. Here, one encounters obstruction after obstruction.

    “The Bird with the Coppery, Keen Claws” made me ask why a poet would write a poem that seemed unintelligible even to a habitual reader of poetry. Why, I wondered with some resentment, would a poet offer me a poem that presented such obstacles? Only later did I learn that Stevens had said that “the poem must resist the intelligence almost successfully”, with the “almost” saving the day by its compliment to the persistent reader. There was, then, work to be done by the reader before the linear string of stanzas could be wound up into a perfect sphere. I knew Blake’s promise from Jerusalem:

    I give you the end of a golden string
    Only wind it into a ball
    It will lead you in at Heaven’s gate
    Built in Jerusalem’s wall

    No memorable poem is devoid of art — and the art in the artless is often as difficult to find as the solution of the enigmatic. The “work” of the reader is normally a joyous one; but I was recalcitrant before “The Bird” because I did not yet know how to do the work Stevens expected of me. To be at ease in the poem seemed impossible.

    What was the work the poet was demanding of me? It was to inhabit the poem, to live willingly in its world. To do that, one must believe that every word in a poem is, within the poem, literally true, and the first step must be to collect the literal facts from the words. From the title, we know that there is a bird, and the bird has claws. Facts of absence are as important as facts of presence. It is clear that the bird — because he does not sing in the poem — cannot sing, that the bird — because he does not fly in the poem — cannot fly. Although some catastrophe has massacred all the other parakeets of the forest, the parakeet of parakeets has escaped that collective death. Once I understood that I had to take the bird literally, peculiar as that seemed, I became his ornithologist, recording the bird’s traits, his present and past habitats, his powers, his hindrances, and his actions.

    Stevens’ bird strangely possesses an “intellect” and a “will,” powers traditionally ascribed solely to human beings precisely in order to differentiate them from “the lower animals.” But in spite of his possession of these formidable powers, the bird is strikingly deprived of the actions we most expect in birds: singing and flying. He remains mute, fixed “above the forest” on “his rock.” Horribly, he also lacks a bird’s keen sight; in a diagnostic logic inferring an inner disease from a bodily deformity, the poet declares dispassionately that “His lids are white because his eyes are blind.” “Real” birds, like all organic beings, seek sustenance; they peck for food like the sparrow in Keats’ letters, or sip water like George Herbert’s birds which “drink, and straight lift up their head.” But Stevens’ bird is starving, and for lack of anything else feeds on a nutritionless “dry shell” (making it last as long as possible by “munching” it in slow motion). And for Stevens’ parakeet there is no mate in this dreadful landscape of parakeet carcasses, this “mort of tails.” (The dictionary reveals that the infrequent word “mort” means “a large quantity. . .usually with of,” but it also hints, via “mortal,” at the French mort, “death.”) The bird is, in fact, the only “pip” of life remaining in his “paradise”. (Keats, in a letter, wrote that “I am sorted to a pip,” where “pip” means an ordinary numerical playing card, not a court card.) Although the bird’s southern atmosphere, his “gold ether,” is indeed paradisal, he, although he is its “aguazil” (a minor Latin-American official), cannot be its “golden aguazil,” a fit inhabitant of his gold air.

    The only thing paradisal about him is that “he broods there and is still,” like Milton’s Holy Spirit at the opening of Paradise Lost, who broods “o’er the vast abyss.” Although the bird is the only living presence (with no rivals as well as no mate or progeny), this exotic creature, despite the gold ether, lives in radically imperfect surroundings. Of possible tropics-yet-to-be, there exist for him only a few unpromising “rudiments”: an ivory species of aloe (a succulent that grows in arid soil) and an unappetizing pear with a rind made “rusty” by lethal pear mites. It is doubtful that these “rudiments” can ever again blossom into golden fruit and flowers.

    Yet this flightless, blind, and starving bird is — as one continues to encounter his qualities — surprisingly active. The verbs describing his internal motions render them perhaps even superior to flight. He broods in his golden atmosphere, he applies laws with his “pure intellect,” he spreads his tails, he munches (even if fruitlessly) on his shell, he exerts his will, and he brilliantly and unceasingly flares (“to display oneself conspicuously,” says the dictionary). His flaring outdoes in radiance the sun itself, making the “real” sunlight on his rock seem merely a “sun-pallor.” The bird’s glory lies in his capacity to “deploy,” to fan out, his splendid tail-feathers, which undulate in hue — by command of his psychedelic will — in “turbulent tinges.” His obscure “tip” is an omen of the future: it is now merely a drop of water but is potentially “full of storms.”

    Although the bird is externally so immobile, mute, blind, and starved as to seem almost dead, he has begun to experience the feathery stirring of a new creation, in which a genera-tive green turbulence will expand “upward and outward,” populating the desert of carcasses with resurrected golden companions and a regenerated golden self. The powerful golden parakeet-to-be will be able to command, to sing, to see, to fly, to mate, as he did in the paradisal past before all his earlier parakeet-companions were reduced, by some as yet unspecified agent, to a heap of corpses.

    Stevens writes such a resistant poem in order, for once, to speak in his “native tongue,” to offer not so much an intended communication as a private display. In general, writers want, in at least one work, to express in an unfettered way what it is like to possess a unique mind and speak a unique idiolect (think of Finnegans Wake or Raymond Roussel). An unforgettable account of the difficult gestation of such a “resistant” poem can be found in the Romanian-Jewish poet Paul Celan’s “Etwas,” or “Something,” which narrates the undertaking and completion of a poem and speculates on its future in posterity. The poet, writing in German, painfully senses within himself an invisible and chaotic residue of excruciating feelings, splintered thoughts, piercing memories, and memorable words — shards of a lost whole broken into pieces by a catastrophe. Celan names the past catastrophe “Wahn,” or “madness.” Amid the shattered fragments of his former state, the poet rises to the task of creation, of bringing his past whole to life. And his hand, intent on conveying through words the almost unintelligible contour of his broken internal state, brings into a destined proximity the multiple “crazed” fragments of past wholeness, thereby creating on the flat page a hitherto absent unity, the archetypical perfect geometrical form, a circle, symbol of an indisputable completed whole. A circle cannot have parts; it is indivisible, without beginning or end:

    Aus dem zerscherbten Out of shattered
    Wahn madness
    steh ich auf I raise myself
    und seh meiner Hand zu, and watch my hand
    wie sie den einen as it draws the one
    einzigen single
    Kreis zieht circle

    That is the poet’s account of the silent period during which he watches his scribal hand — intent on retrievement — as it goes about its work of selection, consolidation, and abstract shaping, through which it finds its perfection. The hand magisterially draws the fragments together into a new shape — a shape that does not mimetically resemble the lost past; rather, it reflects the arduous work of bringing the past into intelligible form. In that moment of rapt success, of sequestered achievement, there is no one else present, no audience — no thought, even, of audience.

    But there will be posterity, and Celan prophesies what the perfect silent drawn circle will become when, later, by the alchemy of a reader’s thirst, it mutates from its two-dimensional visual form into an unprecedented “something” (“etwas”) miraculously aural. From its flat two dimensions that singing “something” will in posterity lift itself into three dimensions, like a fountain, toward a thirsting mouth that will, by a unique reversal of the original silent writing, speak the dead poet’s own words aloud in the reader’s mouth:

    Es wird etwas sein, später, Something shall be, later,
    das füllt sich mit dir that fills itself with you
    und hebt sich and lifts itself
    an einen Mund to a mouth

    To slake our thirst, the circle on the page reforms itself into the mysterious future fountain transmitting the lines on the page into nourishment for us. A life, shattered into fragments, has been re-constituted by the poet’s drive to make not a reminiscence of the past but a work of art, a pure geometrical abstraction (Celan’s “something”), powerfully satisfying a human reader’s insatiable thirst for aesthetic and emotional accuracy.

    I must confess that I have presented Celan’s stripped poem in narrative order: first the creative assembling under the scribal hand, then (in posterity) a formed refreshment as the reader speaks its sounds. But my narrative order violated Celan’s own chosen order: he puts first the poem’s astonishing anonymous survival into futurity, and then looks back, now inserting the first person “I,” into his own ecstatic work in creating the impregnable unshattered and unshatterable circle:

    Es wird etwas sein, später, Something shall be, later,
    das füllt sich mit dir that fills itself with you
    und hebt sich and lifts itself
    an einen Mund to a mouth
    Aus dem zerscherbten Out of shattered
    Wahn madness
    steh ich auf I raise myself
    und seh meiner Hand zu, and watch my hand
    wie sie den einen as it draws the one
    einzigen single
    Kreis zieht circle

    Celan asks his reader, implicitly, Has my poem not been for you a relief of an unapprehended thirst? Wordsworth conveys a comparable relief in a poignant passage from Book IV of “The Prelude”:

    Strength came where weakness was not known to be
    At least not felt; and restoration came
    Like an intruder knocking at the door
    Of unacknowledged weariness.

    Stevens’ native language in “The Bird with the Coppery, Keen Claws” is one of diction archaic and modern, of unsettling images, of strange assertions, resulting in a startling idiom. Like the language of any poetic style, it can be learned by “foreigners” such as ourselves, and, relieving our demanding thirst, can sound out aloud from our lips. The symbol will recreate the shattered. A poet composing a hermetic poem believes — as Celan here intimates — that posterity, helped by time, will make its sounds “come alive” again.

    We can infer, from Stevens’ self-portrait as a bird, the crux animating his creation: the shock of having to regard himself in his forties as the survivor of a “madness” of his own. Appalled, he sees that he had been, as a youth, desperately mistaken about himself, his judgment, his marriage, and his aesthetic ideals. His biography — when we look to it — confirms the psychological story of the youth-be-come-bird. Stevens had to leave Harvard without a degree because his lawyer-father would pay for only three years of schooling — the equivalent of the law school program he himself had followed. The young poet tried ill-paying apprentice journalism, but wanting to marry, he eventually conceded (like both of his brothers) to his father’s wishes and went to law school. He encountered no ready success in his first jobs as a lawyer, but nonetheless married (after a five-year courtship conducted mostly in letters) a beautiful girl, Elsie Kachel, to whom he had been introduced in his native Reading.

    She had left school at thirteen and, barely educated, was employed to play new pieces on the piano in a music store so that customers would buy the sheet music: Stevens had idealistic dreams of educating her to his own tastes for Emerson and Beethoven. Elsie’s parents had married only shortly before her birth, and although her mother remarried after her first husband’s death, Elsie was never adopted by her stepfather and retained (as her grave shows) her birth surname Kachel. Stevens’ father disapproved of his son’s choice of wife, and unforgiv-ably neither parent attended the wedding. Stevens never again spoke to his father or visited the family home until after his father’s death; at thirty, he was left fundamentally alone with Elsie. The marriage was an unhappy one, and Elsie, according to their daughter Holly, declined into mental illness. She did not permit visitors to the house, not even children to play with her daughter. Stevens did his entertaining at the Hartford Canoe Club; Elsie gardened and cooked at home. She did not visit her husband during his ten-day dying of cancer in a local hospital.

    Several of Stevens’ poems reflect both anger and sadness at the failure of the marriage: “Your yes her no, her no your yes” (“Red Loves Kit”); “She can corrode your world, if never you” (“Good Man, Bad Woman”). The poet suppressed many of those lyrics; they did not appear in his Collected Poems in 1955. But he left, in “Le Monocle de Mon Oncle,” one transparent account of a marriage in which sex has occurred but there has been no meeting of minds or hearts:

    If sex were all, then every trembling hand
    Could make us squeak, like dolls, the wished-for words. . . .
    [Love] comes, it blooms, it bears its fruit and dies. . . .
    The laughing sky will see the two of us
    Washed into rinds by rotting winter rains.

    Humiliating realizations seeped in over the years of the erroneous marriage, eroding Stevens’ youthful belief that his thinking was reliable, his personal judgment trustworthy, his aesthetic confidence well-founded, his religious faith solid, and marital happiness attainable. Such a crushing extinction of youthful selves left the poet immobilized in his marriage (he never complained publicly of Elsie, nor contemplated divorce). Starved of sexual or emotional satisfaction at home, working hard at the law, without the company of fellow-artists, unable to sing or soar, brooding in an arid world in which a lost paradise seemed to preclude any domestic hope, Stevens stopped writing poetry (publishing only a few minor pieces) for six years. Although he resumed writing, he did not publish his first book, Harmonium, until he was forty-four.

    As time went on, Stevens’ bitterness became occasionally ungovernable: even the Muse had become deformed and mad. In “Outside of Wedlock,” when Stevens is sixty-six, the muse is  an unrecognizable Fate:

    The old woman that knocks at the door
    Is not our grandiose destiny.
    It is an old bitch, an old drunk,
    That has been yelling in the dark.

    And in 1944, in “This as Including That,” a poem of self-address, he lives on a rock and is attended by “The priest of nothingness”: “It is true that you live on this rock/ And in it. It is wholly you.” When at length he exchanged profitless bitterness for stoic resignation, he could, he discovered, still exert intellect and will in a single remaining channel — a hampered but energetic aesthetic expression. Against the “flaring” of beautiful tumultuous undulations Stevens sets the cruel portrait of himself as a bird living on a rock, isolating in his title — of all possible aspects of the bird — only the harsh successive sounds conveying its grating predatory talons, its “Coppery Keen Claws.”

    Eventually I became at home in Stevens’ poem, and could ask why it took the strange shape I had found so off-putting. The first half of Stevens’ self-portrait reproduces a bitterness and hopelessness untranscribable in ordinary language, as he had discovered in trying to write it down literally, jeering (in one suppressed poem) at his youthful romantic mistake with the graffito-title “Red Loves Kit.” None of the specific facts of Stevens’ life can be deduced from his poetic lines: his discretion and his taste required a departure from any transcriptive candor. Yet this allegorical leaf from a modern bestiary dryly transfuses into the reader the living state of its author — a blind starving bird in a charnel-house of former selves who nonetheless has not lost his brooding spirit.

    The reader concludes that the massacre of the former forest-parakeets was carried out (since no other agent is mentioned) by their own ruler, the “perfect” parakeet of parakeets, his claws demanding their predatory use. In 1947, almost a quarter-century after “The Bird With Coppery, Keen Claws,” the sixty-seven year-old Stevens, in the sequence “Credences of Summer,” bids farewell to the “slaughtered” selves of past infatuations and the raging misleading forces of his springtime. By this self-slaughter of memories and past actions he can even imagine a new fertile Indian summer, created by resuscitated generative flares:

    Now in midsummer come and all fools slaughtered
    And spring’s infuriations over and a long way
    To the first autumnal inhalations, young broods
    Are in the grass, the roses are heavy with a weight
    Of fragrance and the mind lays by its trouble.

    The parental and marital relationships that had as they occurred seemed so disastrous, causing that “trouble” in the mind, are now seen to be “false disasters,” as, in the eternal return of the seasonal cycle, new energies promise to resurrect the lost parents and the lost lovers:

    There is nothing more inscribed nor thought nor felt
    And this must comfort the heart’s core against
    Its false disasters — these fathers standing round,
    These mothers touching, speaking, being near,
    These lovers waiting in the soft dry grass.

    Stevens could not always muster the laying aside of trouble. Three years later, in “World Without Familiarity,” he rediscovers the very troubles he thought he had banished:

    The day is great and strong —
    But his father was strong,
    that lies now In the poverty of dirt.

    Nothing could be more hushed than the way
    The moon moves toward the night.
    But what his mother was returns and cries on his breast.

    The red ripeness of round leaves is thick
    With the spices of red summer,
    But she that he loved turns cold at his light touch.

    A few lines later, he gathers together those troubles: they become “the poverty of dirt, the thing upon his breast, / The hating woman, the meaningless place.” At seventy, the poet, speaking in ordinary language, can permit himself the literal truths that were so impossible to reveal in 1923. The outspoken words — “the hating woman, the meaningless place” — have become natural only because he has abandoned the old disasters as false ones: he sees they are in fact only what always happens in the everyday world, disasters not peculiar to oneself but held in common with all mortals.

    The tumultuous green undulations of the bird never cease, but they ceaselessly modify their angle of motion.  They are produced by the inevitable and necessary fluctuation of the mind in time, “that which cannot be fixed” (the subtitle of “Two Versions of the Same Poem”). Stevens’ bird is so unhappy because he is fixed miserably everywhere in his life except in his plumes. He is a modern and depleted and clawed descendant of Marvell’s beautiful bird in  “The Garden”:

    Casting the body’s vest aside,
    My soul into the boughs does glide;
    There like a bird it sits and sings,
    Then whets, and combs its silver wings;
    And, till prepared for longer flight,
    Waves in its plumes the various light.

    Upward and outward (one could say) Stevens’ mythological self-bird waves in its vivid plumes the various light of its pallid sun.

    What Stevens had before his eyes at forty-three, as, in his loneliness, he inspected his middle-aged marital and landlocked destiny, was a person immobilized in a life he would never be able to abandon, isolated from his birth-family, unable to see any rewarding emotional future, starved of erotic nourishment and companionship with others, brooding in the spectral company of his past foolish or infuriated selves, looking down at the inert heap of corpses over which he presides, yet still living in the desolate hope of a possible renewed paradise arising from those pitiful rudiments of aloe and pear. That person still possesses intellect and will, knowledge and memory, but is capable, trapped as he is, of interior actions only. Those internal actions awaken sensory, emotional, and intellectual desire: the bird’s imagination is still stormy and turbulent, ever-capable of infinite creative variations in energy and hue, ever-flaring, obedient to his will; in its realm, he exercises his ultimate function, to “flare.”

    How carefully, searching for their symbolic counterpart, Stevens tallied each diagnosed deprivation, finding a convincing equivalent of each! One can only imagine the inventive rapture as each of his personal throng of deprivations found its chimerical name, one after another. The whole abjection of a past and present existence lies on the page transformed into words of sharp-featured literalness and self-lacerating implication.

    Most poems that touch a reader originate in a pang. (As Stevens said, “One reads poetry with one’s nerves.”) The pang is the nucleus generating the poet’s literal bird. The pang is not “hidden.” It is usually — as it is here — in plain view. Inhabit the literal world of this bird who is now you, as you recognize your emotions and write them down: you are immobile and alone, your companions are gone, you lack a mate, you cannot see at all, and you cannot sing. Yet this silent but tumultuous poet is witty in his correspondences: in the world of symbol, metaphor is true; the world is everything that is the case. There is no “hidden meaning”: the poem is its own expression of a state of affairs, embodying actuality as its words come alive in our mouths. The poet longs for a depiction of reality as he has known it, and finds that he must resort to representing himself as an enigmatic figure in his own imagined forest, the supreme ruler of nobody. It is the unconcealed chill of the bird, transmitted by its cruelly sonic claws, that convinces us that this parakeet of parakeets slaughtered the fellow-parakeets of his youth when they proved delusory; yet the authorial distance and the cartoon-assemblage of the bird, in its “antic comedy,” prevent Stevens’ self-portrait from a transcriptive self-pity.

    The enigmatical beauty of each beautiful enigma — says Stevens in “An Ordinary Evening in New Haven” — replaces (like Celan’s perfect circle) openly revelatory autobiography. In the art of creating and displaying symbolic selves, men willingly lose “that power to conceal they had as men”:

                         It is as if
    Men turning into things, as comedy,
    Stood, dressed in antic symbols, to display
    The truth about themselves, having lost, as things,
    That power to conceal they had as men.

    As Stevens assembles the shattered fragments of his youthful delusions, he invents the mimetic geometrical form of an “incomplete” three-line stanza, one that can neither make its three lines rhyme nor find a fourth to make the stanza whole. If seeing the bird’s plight makes us claim the misery — and self-reproach — in Stevens’ words as they become our own, and feel the ever-available cruelty of our own keen claws of intellect and will, and ratify the necessity of our slaughtering the fallacies of youth for authenticity in later life, then we know we have thirsted for the chilly truth welling up as the beautiful enigma unveils its enigmatical beauty. In suppressing his own domestic history, Stevens avoids the misogyny of his complaints in earlier poems: by suppressing Elsie, he assumes sole responsibility for his own condition. When Desdemona is asked who killed her, she says “Nobody: myself.”  The once paradisal, now ugly world of the bird contains no company.

    Illusions of Immunity

    In an already classic episode of Black Mirror, called “Arkangel” and directed by Jodie Foster, a single mother has her daugh- ter grafted with a cerebral implant connected to a screen. The system, known as Arkangel, allows Marie to monitor Sarah’s every action, and also to suppress stimuli that might cause her daughter distress. The system is equipped with a filter that can blur any troubling vision or sound in order to make her perfectly “safe.” In this way Sarah grows up absolutely unaware of all the dangers that lurk along her way — starting with the barking of the neighborhood dog, which Arkangel prevents her from hearing.

    When Sarah turns ten, a classmate entices her to watch graphic violence and porn. With the system still operating in her mind, she is unable to experience the attendant mental pain, and decides to draw blood from her finger in order to figure out what the fascinating fluid really is. At this point, realizing the harm that her own extreme worry about her daughter’s vulnerability has caused her daughter, Marie disposes of Arkangel. (A psychologist tells her that it is anyway soon to be banned.) But it is too late. The implant cannot be removed from Sarah’s brain. There is no way back. Years later — Sarah is now fifteen — Marie suspects that she has been lied to about a party that her daughter was supposed to attend. Crushed with anxiety, she turns on Arkangel, on the pretext of checking that her daughter is safe — only to witness Sarah’s first sexual experience, peppered with the clichéd vocabulary gathered from the porn movies that she has been free to watch since she was left to her own devices.

    This horrific tale — a parable, really — addresses helicopter parenting as the symptom of a broader and more formidable malaise. The real subject of “Arkangel” is the ideology of safety. To live a longer but narrower life; to see risk and its inherent poetry as a secularized version of sin; to renounce death and danger, hence renouncing life as well — those are its objectives, its prescriptions for happiness. “Everything in the modern world functions as if death did not exist,” Octavio Paz wrote in The Labyrinth of Solitude, but the problem is that “a civilization that denies death ends by denying life.” As a result of our rejection of death, Paz observed, it has slipped in through the interstices of the walls that we have built against its power. “Death enters everything we undertake… The century of health, hygiene, and contraceptives, miracle drugs and synthetic foods, is also the century of the concentration camp and the police state, Hiroshima and the murder story.”

    Our dream of perfect immunity does not strengthen us, it leaves us weaker. On the assumption that, by scientific and technological and political means, we can make endurance moot, there is more and more that we find it harder and harder to endure. Safety, remember, is the opposite of resilience. We believe we can lock up life, but death resurfaces in the most brutal manner — in campus shootings or on Capitol Hill. A certain sense of hygiene, a kind of demiurgic pretension to complete control, has made us forget that we are animals, not robots. It is the animal within men that snarls and finally kills. We have chosen plastic over blood; but blood will strike back, and in such a ferocious way that we will wish we had found the balance between perfect safety and utter barbarity for which we were too lazy to search, too enamored of our fantasy of total protection.

    To Roosevelt’s Four Freedoms, we have added a fifth: the freedom from risk. In practice, it is the negation of freedom. Thus we have rid ourselves of privacy, as well as of humor and free-thinking, “wokeness” being in part a political avatar of the same phenomenon. In my view, there is nothing specifically liberal or progressive about it, and, to paraphrase the French title of Michel Houellebecq’s first novel, it is merely a society-wide and culture-wide extension of the domain of safety. While many African-American or gay students may embrace it in order to foreclose freedom of speech on campus, it is certainly white in its provenance — if we are to understand this word as referring to a certain ethos rather than an actual incidence of melanin. That white ethos is, in a word, Puritanism, or more generally the long ferocious tradition of forbidding knowledge and protecting people from sin and contamination, from any idea or experience that is dogmatically defined as an evil or a peril. In this regard, frantic suburban parents are no different than outraged BIPOC undergraduates. African-American or Native American activists show just how well they are now able to speak the language of any Long Island Sunday-lawn-mowing family man. (Cultural appropriation!) As in Ishmael Reed’s Mumbo Jumbo, the vital — swinging and dissonant — force of the minority has surreptitiously given way to the majority’s (or the noisier minority’s) stiffened morality and exemplary nature. Puritan and white is the obsession with hygiene and toxicity (as in “toxic masculinity”), with stainlessness and spotlessness replacing salvation from sin. Puritan and white is the obsession with safety, with unbreachable havens, with “safe spaces” on campuses that are the spiritual successors of the believers’ equally ardent craving for “being safe and secure in Christ.”

    But being safe is not enough. Even more urgently, we need to feel safe. America, after all, is the world capital of emotionalism. This desire is so widespread and well accepted that “feeling safe” has become a magical expression in everyday America. Your upstairs neighbor awakes you at four every morning? The landlord will not lift a finger to remedy the inconvenience unless you notify him that you feel unsafe, which will prompt him to act swiftly on your behalf. An Amazon package that you were expecting has not yet arrived? Write them that you “don’t feel safe,” and they will make every possible effort to assist you. People feel safe or unsafe being invited here or strolling there, entering a place that is or is not nut-free, discussing this subject or that. Our infamous “trigger warnings” stem from the idea that students may not only be offended, but actually imperiled, or at least feel so.

    Some of these feelings, while not exactly rigorous calculations of risks and probabilities, have a basis in reality. Fear is not always an illusion. There are indeed threats which we need to recognize and to measure objectively. When we speak of the security provided to its citizens — or denied to them — by the state, we mean such things as objective “threat assessment” and the empirically grounded procedures developed to counter the elementary exposure of people to harm. But “insecurity” is also, and in our language more often, a reference to an inner fragility, a subjective inability to master fear, an incapacity for self-defense. Those who beg for “safe spaces” crave not the objective stability that one might legitimately expect from the state, but an inner insulation, a demarcation from challenge and disturbance, a locked-in and publicly guaranteed peace of mind. And because they want to be free from fear and contra- diction, they mean to ensure it by a rigid regulation of speech. One of the instruments of safety is silence.

    Conservatives limit their scorn for the contemporary crusade for safety to the political instances that suit their own purposes — “safe spaces” or campaigns for “cancellation” — while ignoring their own obsession with safety. Liberals, to be sure, are not consistent when they ultimately call for a new social approach to sex and love, which includes the suggestion of such authoritarian measures as getting rid of the statute of limitations on sexual harassment or assault; some of them advocate a quasi-totalitarian vision of safety while criticizing the Patriot Act as a fascist infringement on their freedom. In this sphere, ironies and hypocrisies abound. Yet conservatives are no more consistent, since many of them endorse every surveillance measure across the board, refusing to see that these are a significant part of the general expansion of the domain of safety that they otherwise deplore.

    Those “petites règles compliquées, minutieuses, et uniformes” which, Tocqueville holds, are instrumental to the social despotism that may deform a democratic order, now come down mainly to our obsession with safety. Modern states issue laws and regulations focusing on the most minute details of our private and public lives, from seat belts to smoking. We are living in a renaissance of technocratic paternalism, abetted by new developments in economics and social science. It is not entirely malign, of course. The twentieth century was a golden age of insecurity, with its world wars and wars of decolonization, its mass terrorism and migrations, its cultural uprootings and dislocations, not to mention the breakdown of the family unit, the spread of drugs and AIDS, and a general loss of stability. The fetishization of safety in the twenty-first century seems almost like a response to the decades of fear and dread that preceded it. This is a society in permanent need of reassurance. Some of our recent Covid19 policies had a performative quality that seemed to address a need for mental security rather than the virus itself. Even the anti-vaccine movement relies on a version of the precautionary principle — a baseless and paranoid version, a truly perverse instance of “safetyism.”

    Georges Bernanos saw the danger in the modern refusal of danger. In La France contre les robots, which appeared in 1947, he addressed the rise of generalized surveillance, observing that, although it had been initially promoted by democratic states, it resulted in the crushing of civil freedom by the fascists, the Nazis, and the Bolsheviks — and the destruction of millions of lives. To a nostalgic monarchist such as Bernanos, the fact that totalitarianism came to power in the West as the dark face of democracy was no paradox: it promised the protec- tion that “the people” desperately wanted. Bernanos made a striking observation about something we all take for granted — passports and fingerprints. Twenty years earlier, he wrote, no respectable Frenchman would have been fingerprinted, such a formality being reserved for labor camp prisoners. One could even travel with a simple business card, and someone else’s name could well be printed on it. The ideal of safety could never justify the sacrifice of a person’s right not to be spied on.

    The quasi-anarchism that Bernanos admired was a matter of dignity and trust. Today his grievance sounds utterly archaic. Every citizen is, for his or her own safety, treated as if he or she were a soldier or a convict. It is awful — and in the case of the tech companies, it is nothing more than corporate avarice — but most of us accept it. If, on the one hand, we are more of a global village, with borders seemingly obsolete (in Europe, for example), those borders are on the other hand more hermetic than ever — as if a robotic kind of control were actually replacing traditional humane borders, just as an infantilizing and intrusive pedagogy has replaced more rigid yet also more empowering forms of education. Our panic about immigration is not unrelated to this terror of a loss of perfect control.

    Our society has chosen surveillance over overt violence. This has deeper ramifications than the Patriot Act or biometrics. Your fingerprints are not only checked at the airport, where a certain degree of anxiety may be justified. As they are now able to monitor and to control — in a painless and almost invisible manner — their children’s comings and goings, modern parents often prove to be exceptionally intrusive. The surveillance state is made up of surveillance families. Parents who would gladly accept seeing their nine-year-old children change sex do not hesitate to regulate strictly, through sweet and safe suggestions, the way they interact with other children and learn how to live. Not in centuries have parents — and educators — so tightly swaddled their little ones’ minds and wills: smooth-voiced policing is more manipulative and effective than the rod. Go to any playground. Back in the day — as many films, photographs, and books attest — parents would encourage their kids to go off and play with their peers, to brawl, scratch themselves, kiss one another, graciously lend toys and clothes to their little friends. Children were encouraged to experience life at their own immature and delightful level. Nowadays the perfect mom never loses track of her child, and harasses him or her with pointless words of caution or congratulation: “Good job, Cassidy!” Because, you know, Cassidy needs to feel empowered. Empowerment used to prepare one for risk. Now it prepares one for the avoidance of risk.

    From their earliest age, children are deprived of time to daydream as well as of the opportunity to graze their elbow. Curiosity is regarded as just an invitation to trouble. “It’s not polite to stare at people!” “Don’t touch this: it’s full of germs!” “Don’t go there, you’ll hurt yourself!” And once the children become teenagers, their parents will gently try to geo-locate them: after all, didn’t they hide a camera in their nursery? They will be safe and healthy — healthy kids, then “healthy sexual citizens.” “Healthy,” meaning that you do not know what disease is, and “safe”, meaning that you have never experienced freedom. From the vantage point of any philosopher, writer, or artist that lived during the past fifty centuries, the children will grow into half-dead human beings. They will be as dull as a plastic lid.

    When you teach these grown-up children at university, it is no mean feat to make them realize that risk is not always the same thing as danger, nor is being challenged in one’s instincts or beliefs the same as being threatened. After having been constantly praised for their prowess in the playground, they will have a hard time accepting that their research is unorig- inal or flawed, or that they have shortcomings in art history, literature, or even pop culture — which is often more their parents’ or instructors’ fault than their own. Judith Shulevitz memorably reported in 2015 that students at Brown claimed they had been “triggered” by the presence on campus of a right-wing anarchist pundit named Wendy McElroy. In order to recover from their “trauma,” they set up a “safe space” equipped with cookies, coloring books, pillows, and videos of frolicking dogs. In other words, they recreated a nursery.

    What one has to understand is that the problem with “safe spaces” is not so much an ideological as an educational one. An entire generation — there are exceptions, of course — seems to have grown up in a paradise where God’s universal mercy has the wondrous ability to make everyone the elect, and their every whim just so many strokes of genius. Parents of all political persuasions have sacrificed everything on the altar of safety, raising their children like Marie raises Sarah, sheltered from barking dogs. In an ethos in which failures and painful experiences are deemed harmful in themselves and lacking in any benefit or reward, high intellectual standards are fatally perceived as cruelty. Interestingly enough, elite parents are probably those least likely to see that our mind is like our immune system, or like any political entity — that it must be challenged to keep from ossifying. As a result, universities are teeming with demi-habiles who discover on arriving that a few seductive ideas could spare them the challenges of a more thorough education. Affirm them, protect them, promote them, congratulate them.

    But is there any more encompassing definition of privilege than this walled world of phony positivity? When one thinks of the many millions of children growing up in places that are not “unsafe” but unsafe, the present-day cult of protectiveness looks very unattractive indeed.

    This puritanical safety is sought everywhere now, although it remains, by definition, out of reach. Once deemed wrong, sex is now deemed unsafe. From the rise of AIDS to the MeToo movement, we have been incessantly told that there is no such thing as safe sex — safer sex, maybe. In fact, the idea that the sexual revolution drew to a close with AIDS can only be understood against the backdrop of previous attempts at demonizing the sexual revolution. A few years earlier the curse was the spread of herpes, described as “the dark underside” of the fleshpots of the 1960s and 1970s. For many commentators, AIDS was a new opportunity for a sex panic, and to impose their prudish agenda. Venereal disease — or STD, as we less poetically call it — had a moral meaning. Sexual guilt was part of the previous generation’s frenzy. There was a sense that it had all gone too far, that the end would therefore come, that people might even get killed, like Sharon Tate, for the havoc that their hedonism had wrought. Disease, rape, and murder were now numbered among the results of freedom. The AIDS-related obsession with safe sex made a kind of sense in the general atmosphere of extreme anxiety.

    Obviously, it was not only Patrick Buchanan who believed that “the sexual revolution has begun to devour its children.” More recently, this was made unexpectedly clear by the wide acceptance, in enlightened circles, of the reactionary interpretation of the sexual revolution as being “sexual predation,” and, as such, the key to understanding Harvey Weinstein’s and other crimes. As if no Sardana- palus had existed in previous centuries, freedom has been described as the true culprit. Desire is on trial. Lust is in the dock. As a response to the naïve Aquarian belief that eros could redeem mankind, there emerged the equally naïve but more depressing dogma that caution would save us. Abandon, wantonness, spontaneity, brazenness, audacity: in sexual relations these are now the slippery slopes to violation and injury. Our ongoing prudish moment is the Augustinian response to the sola fide cheerfulness of the 1960s. The ubiqui- tous insecurity of our era, the insistence upon omnipresent sexual jeopardy, is a backlash against that candid optimism. In both cases, the risks inherent to life are either ignored or bluntly delegitimated, with a new kind of temperance being now more or less officially advocated. Unlike in the Victorian age, this abstinence is espoused on behalf of safety rather than virtue.

    None of these observations are meant to deny that there are risks that are real, and not worth taking; and that many men have treated many women, or many other men, odiously; and that rape is hateful and rapists are monsters; and that power has hitherto not been distributed to the advantage, or the parity, of women; and that offices should be more character- ized by respect. But these alarms should not be confused with other concerns, which may seem similar but are emphatically distinct, in kind and in degree. We have carried our proper horror of abuse into regions of human ambiguity and excitement where it does not belong. It is not only rape, it is also lust and its sort of love, that scares us. What has always made sex an occasion for awe is precisely its disruptive and destabilizing power, its inalienable riskiness. (Observers such as Norman Mailer in America and Romain Gary in France noted that this sense of awe was missing in the sexual revolution of the 1960s.) Sex is ringed with the dangers — of pregnancy, of death, or, more simply, of frenzy and fury and the loss of self. Spinoza distrusted titillatio because it shattered the soul-body equilibrium. The moral strictness of the Victorian age, the public rigidity of the 1950s (the private reality was more complicated), and our own cult of safety only point to a deep fear of wildness and confusion, of the instinctual life, of the explosive confrontation with finitude — of ourselves.

    Moreover, we love to be scared and we love to be repulsed. “J’aime avoir peur,” Belle suggestively tells her monstrous lover at the end of Jean Cocteau’s adaptation of Beauty and the Beast. Fear and disgust are part of the erotic experience, of life itself. When asked by the Beast if she does not find it repulsive to have him drink from her cupped hands, Belle replies: “Non, cela me plait.” It delights me! Those transgressive words bring to my mind another aesthetic memory. In Octave Mirbeau’s Diary of a Chambermaid, Célestine, the eponymous heroine, 197 sleeps with a young bourgeois, a certain Monsieur Georges, who is dying from tuberculosis. The passage in which she begs him to spit his bloody saliva into her mouth is probably one of the most ghastly in French literature — and also one of the most sublime. I have taught this text to American and other non-French students. Many expressed an understandable revulsion, but I have been struck by the fact that others, especially younger ones, seemed to enjoy the gorgeous peril depicted, the disturbing representation of a fanatical desire. As if a need for extremity was resurfacing in a tepid world.

    In the 1980s, only Republicans and priggish WASP ladies advocated just saying no. A few years ago, I brought to the attention of my students a survey on Generation Z’s sexual mores. It highlighted the fact that young adults — or teens from the age of fifteen on — were less sexually engaged than previous generations, did not take their driving tests, and were unable to understand facial expressions less simplistic than emojis. Many in the classroom laughed at the ingenuousness depicted in the article, but I remember that some self-described progressives did not see any problem with being abstinent until a certain age. Isn’t it safer, they mused? In my literature class, a handful described the lascivious poetry I assigned to them as “objectifying” and therefore “wrong.”

    Many students actually enjoy going against the grain of the new orthodoxy, but what bothers me is that it is graduate students in the humanities who tend to think in the conformist way, and that most of those who share such puritanical qualms are not buttoned-down Episcopalian missionaries but radicals and progressives. The very people who will write a thesis on the question of transgenderism in French Polynesia are disturbed by sex when it appears in a novel. They feel threatened by it, they distrust the flesh, they want representations of sexuality that are sanitized and consistent with their apprehensions and their beliefs. Foucault even taught them that sex did not exist after all (though he certainly lived as if it did). As a consequence, they treat it as they do literature or art — as a social construct, a personal policy.

    The war on passion and its indeterminate consequences extends also elsewhere. In the matter of transgenderism, it is interesting to see that what once undermined the safe borders of gender and identity — Myra Breckinridge-like — through sometimes aggressive and Dionysian rhetoric and art has now become just another identity, as stable and cliché-ridden as all identities. In utilizing the acronym LGBTQ, we not only defend the rights of homosexuals and transgender people, we also disenchant them — inhibiting, in my view, a more genuine fluidity. Androgyny has been the most creative force in art and literature because it subverts the rigid definitions that we have inherited and damages the fences that morals and politics try to put around the sexual abyss. The pseudo-gen- der-fluidity currently promoted on campuses is a new type of fence. For the beauty of masculinity and femininity — which includes flamboyant androgynous men who are actually like women, and garçonnes as well — is indeed a threat to safety. There is something at once divine and demonic in beauty. Our puritans do not want our campuses to look like Plato’s Academy, or our art history classes to be redolent of Eleusinian mysteries. Things have to be strict and neat. They do not want the Stonewall rebellion to happen again between the gates of our universities. The promotion of shapeless — and really asexual rather than transgender — body positivity falls within the scope of those institutions’ increasingly intrusive control of their students’ sex life. It is meant to circumvent the dangers of erotic experience.

    Consent once pertained to the realm of the gift. The medieval belle dame who rewarded her devoted knight with her don de merci would thereby dominate him while also being somehow alienated by his power. It had to do with initiation and ritual, with magic. But the consent that latter-day feminists brandish at every turn resembles a notarial certificate more than this sacred gift of flesh. To be sure, most people still enjoy sex as they see fit, but many of them have been persuaded into believing that every step of a sexual encounter needs to be clearly, mutually, prudently established. The Antioch College Sexual Offense Prevention Policy seemed awkward many years ago, when it was released. These days you are notified on entering college or graduate school that you cannot have a sexual interaction with anyone unless he or she has unequivocally consented. Ambiguity has been banished, as if it were an alibi for misogyny.

    Safe sex, a postmodern Carrie Nation once expounded to me and hundreds of other graduate students, means that you have to ask permission before every step, from touching hands to French-kissing and so on — and I recall the words “enthusiastic yes” flitting through the PowerPoint on the podium. Whereas “no” certainly means no, “yes” is always suspected of not meaning yes. According to the current code, staring at someone in the library (I no longer recall for how many seconds) is inappropriate and threatening. Speaking flirtatiously to someone without having been encouraged to do so might also be an unsafe practice. You would think that Title IX enforcers have shares in dating apps. And this legalistic madness also demands complete prior transparency about oneself: in this climate the bill recently backed by New York Democrats, which would amend New York State’s penal code to define consent as “freely given knowledgeable and informed agreement,” makes much sense. Lying to a prospective sex partner about one’s wealth or one’s intention or even one’s name would be considered an infringement upon consent. Mischief and play and deception will no longer be charitably interpreted.

    One should be careful about strangers, to be sure — but strangers are also exciting, and every social and sexual relationship, beautiful or ugly, can only begin with a first meeting between strangers. There is certainly never a justification for coercion. Yet the unpleasant fact remains that consent, valuable and even sacred as it is, is seldom easy to delineate. Attraction happens so fast. We must be wary of the expansion of the notion of consent, as of the expansion of the notion of safety. Efforts to construe it as more objective and palpable than it may reasonably be are potentially totalitarian, and certainly puritan, and anyway they will not preempt mistakes and misunderstandings. Such an unremitting quest for individual perfection, and for the perfect management of circumstances, is as futile in a secular context as it was in a religious one.

    Germaphobia, the pathological fear of contamination, is a bipartisan disorder. Trump’s wall against Mexican immigration was an expression of right-wing “safetyism,” and theformer President’s description of himself as a germaphobe was consistent with this overemphasis on safety and purity — the alt-right’s version of identity paranoia. If we remember that a great many parts of the American South are originally Mexican (as the names of its cities, mountains, and rivers attest), then Trump’s stigmatization of Latino migrants must be read as 201 an overall distortion, typically puritan, of America’s roots — of the Latin substratum of a country desperately described as white. His contention that Mexican migrants are “rapists” only makes it more obvious.

    Danger, contamination, and sex are interconnected in this worldview of fear and contempt, and they all relate to a certain part of the society that it wishes to hide or to erase. In Trumpian rhetoric, the Mexican plays the same role as the blacks and the Native Americans did one or two centuries ago (and in some quarters still do). He is the Schatten, the Jungian shadow of the “civilized” white, and he is frightening for that very reason. (Jung remarked in Symbols of Transformation that white Americans often imagine the lower part of their own personalities in the guise of a “Negro” or an “Indian”.) It is never safe to stare into one’s own inner abyss. Southern whites championed family values and were obsessed with black rape, but they were merely projecting their own guilt onto the former slaves. Accusations against black and foreign sex maniacs, dropouts, or drug addicts only mirrored the immense and all-too real chaos that they, the whites, had themselves sparked. Had not slavery massively disrupted black families, while also allowing rape and consequently miscegenation?

    To see the excesses of MeToo as, among other things, a revival of the puritan mentality amounts to realizing that the roots of this movement also lie in certain elements of the white American tradition — to recognize the MeToo aspect of those “honest” Southern ladies of previous centuries, shivering with fear (and probably fascination) on seeing a black male, and of Kenneth Starr and his lawyerly prurience, and of those who call President Biden “Creepy Joe” because he is more touchy- feely than their new propriety can tolerate. Trump’s rallies were sometimes described as “safe spaces for Trumpists,” and this was more than just an irony or an analogy: the Trump cult, too, seeks such spaces. For it, too, the world outside is a scary place, teeming with secret murders, pedophilia, conspiracies, and organized evil. State assistance, even in the form of public health measures against a pandemic, amounts for them to a new kind of idol-worship — the Mark of the Beast. Demons are everywhere, preying on our souls and our bodily fluids. A similar obsession with safety, then, with being saved from confusion and pollution and sin, pervades American mentalities across the political spectrum.

    Ideological utterances stand out against the background of deeper and apolitical sensibilities. There are those who see nature as fallen, though originally good, and in seeking safety they are simply looking for a means to overcome their fallen state. They want the assurance that, being among the elect, the correct, the children of light, they will ultimately be redeemed from the realm of darkness. For others, nature is a benevolent mother, the source of goodness and beauty, and evil springs from social causes, from particular social causes, against which goodness and purity must be secured. Everybody seems to believe that they can have the kernel without the husk, that the shell of evil and ugliness can be somehow surgically removed, leaving good wholly unattached to evil, as if the attachment of the kernel to the husk, of light to darkness, is without any intrinsic merit, as if reality can be distilled and clarified, no doubt by radical means, to an unalloyed marvelous essence.

    Yet a different view of the compound nature of human existence is possible. The biblical and kabbalistic mind, for example, envisions things quite differently. The God of Genesis creates light out of darkness, but He never erases the primeval forces of tohu and bohu — “welter and waste,”in Robert Alter’s fine translation. Life, whatever else it is, is 203 also horror and chaos. Tohu and bohu still live within us — “in the bowels of these elements,” as Marlowe’s Mephistopheles suggests. That is why to experience life fully amounts to being often unsafe, or, rather, to renouncing any definitive sense of security. It is, in John the Savage’s words, “the right to grow old and ugly and impotent; the right to have syphilis and cancer; the right to have too little to eat; the right to be lousy; the right to live in constant apprehension of what may happen tomorrow; the right to catch typhoid; the right to be tortured by unspeakable pains of every kind.” A dangerous struggle, a mortal right, for sure, but a vital one, inseparable from poetry, freedom, and even virtue.

    In ancient Judaism, the Israelites had to bring, once a year on Yom Kippur, a sacrifice to Azazel, a desert demon or deity. They tried to placate this evil spirit with the ritual bribe known as the scapegoat. That is, redemption was reached through sin itself, rather than by its negation. The Brazen Serpent likewise cured Israelites who had been bitten by snakes. The waters of the red heifer purified the impure, but also rendered the pure impure. Mixture and the interpenetration of opposites was a kind of ontological structure. Impurity could never be eliminated once and for all. This is a way of thinking in which life extends into death and death into life — in which good and evil are like twins, holding each other’s heel in their mother’s womb.

    This “primitive” mentality entails some measure of dirt-avoidance, but it was the modern age, paradoxically, that saw a broadening of the idea of dirt, even though it relies on more objective and sophisticated means and standards: hygiene and a knowledge of pathogenic organisms. It was moderns who created the illusion of perfect cleanliness. The ancient rituals recognized the potency of disorder even as they endeavored tocreate order. Danger lay in marginal states, and therefore it was both “respected” and combatted, and certainly not ignored. The ancient Israelites knew of Azazel, and they knew how to deal with him. They strived to avoid him, but they did not consider destroying him. Admittedly, their world was in a high sense safe and orderly, since it was supernaturally protected against impurity and uncleanliness. It was not, however, as secured as ours. In a way, they needed the element of insecurity which the neighboring wilderness, Azazel’s realm, embodied.

    In The Birth of Doubt, his recent book about uncertainty in early rabbinical literature, Moshe Halbertal demonstrates that the ancient rabbis responded to the sectarian dread of impurity by granting more room for uncertainty. The Dead Sea sect, in the cloister of the desert, had utterly refused to engage with uncertainty regarding matters of purity — in the case of carcasses, for instance, which in the canonical priestly doctrine put people at risk of becoming impure and contaminating others. The rabbis refused to entertain such a fanatical — and utterly unrealistic — standard of clarity, and instead they expanded the realm of uncertainty, the legitimacy of doubt, in matters of law. This suggests that “safe spaces,” conceived as secluded areas where no one may be endangered by the outside and the unfamiliar, are in some measure akin to structures such as the Qumran communities, or modern-day rigorist yeshivas, or Catholic convents — more or less isolated communities geared toward avoiding all stumbling blocks and precluding all contact with polluting influences. For ideas, like carcasses, can defile us.

    Such rites as the Brazen Serpent worship were performed as late as the eighteenth century in Western Europe — and until today among those Hopi tribes whose beliefs and customs Aby Warburg famously brought to light. Many French and European cities — Bordeaux, Metz, Provins, Tarascon, Barcelona — organized processions to honor a saint who had supposedly vanquished a throng of snakes or a dragon in the remote past. The grateful citizens would parade a dragon made of wood or cloth, as if to show that the former enemy had become a friend and a tutelary power.

    In some cases, the procession was the reenactment of the dragon’s killing at the hands of a revered saint, or rather the ceremony through which evil was transformed into good. The apotropaic symbol of the dragon became ubiquitous in the twelfth century as a protector of cities. Likewise, some prestigious families put themselves under the patronage of a fantastic creature — in the era of the Crusades, for example, a wyvern (a mythical winged dragon) in the case of the renowned Lusignans clan, who claimed that they were descendants of Mélusine, half-woman, half-serpent, a benevo- lent figure of French folklore. After she left their castle, the venerable dragon-fairy would still watch over them, as an evocative illumination from the Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry makes clear. In this way the dragon, although a symbol of Satan and therefore of ultimate discomfort and danger, could become, in premodern mentalities, an image of protec- tion. Some aspects of the modern age still operate according to this logic. There is something apotropaic about vaccina- tion, for instance, since it exposes us to the very threats it is meant to fight — the germs themselves — rather than merely abolishing them. (I am not suggesting that modern medicine is no different from medieval magic.)

    As the ethos of caution and safety gains ground, one has to visit places where it has not yet triumphed to understand how strange it is, how alienated from our mortal realities, how afraid of flesh and death it is. Here is a familiar example. There is always a moment when, for all their open-minded- ness, Western tourists in, say, Mexico City, or Mumbai, have to choose anxiously between their petty germaphobia and a more generous hedonistic urge. When they are tempted by the fragrant and colorful appeal of the street food, it goes beyond a gastronomic encounter: the decision to taste or not to taste involves their very tolerance for hazard. Now consider some old-fashioned European place such as the Bar San Calisto in Rome’s Trastevere, where one may drink caffè corretto and smoke the sigaretto while peacefully listening to the first chirping and mewing of the pigeons and seagulls, or to the old customers cursing each other in Roman dialect: do not urban pleasures, and even the sense of memory, go hand in hand with such “unsafe” practices? Does not Bohumil Hrabal’s soul seem to rise to the ceiling of Zlateho Tygra, the great café in Prague, entangled in heavy smoke rings and the crisp and even rancid scent of beer? In most cafes and restaurants in Paris and New York, by contrast, our intolerance for anything “unsafe” is starkly visible in the absence of smoke and the decreasing presence of alcohol, in the belles salades, even in the spacing of the tables. And their nice clean walls, on which all traces of previous meals and earlier merriment have been scrubbed away, make them look like places without a past. These places attest to our longing for the impeccable, which amounts to an overall rebuke of history. Has anything human ever been impeccable, which of course means sinless? And so we pursue a safer but more desiccated life, a life of suspicion and surveil- lance, a life organized more around costs than around benefits, in a present secured in the comfort of its increasingly polished horizon, relentlessly riveted by itself.

    Sahara Dust

    The air is sharp with dust: it’s hard to breathe.
    The sky’s scraped white with it, the light turns gold
    And ominous. I cough and cough and cough.
    It blows each year from Africa, a seethe
    That Pollocks the parked cars with ochre, rust,
    The powdered pigments for the nimbus on
    The icon of a not-quite-sainted saint,
    An “osios” perhaps: holy enough.

     

    The air is edged with dust. The black-bird sings
    The riffed cadenzas of all other springs.
    One magpie clatters, black and white as rain,
    Clearing the grey matter of the brain.
    The trees pull thin air out of light. It’s quaint,

     

    We used to think, Sahara dust. On cue,
    Each year, but more and more. Oxymoron:
    The desert empties but it doesn’t shrink.
    Worn carpet shaken out against the sky!
    If sometimes there are clouds half-lined in zinc,
    And tinted with a putto-bottom pink,
    So are the sickly seasons furbelowed,
    Too-late romantic as Rachmaninoff.

     

    Our children know this evening of dust,
    The chalky sky, my iterative cough.
    It’s like the future to them, tired hit song
    They never have not known, so hum along,
    But still I can’t get used to it. Can you?
    Is being newly old what makes it new?—
    The past so fresh—like wet paint—no—like dew.

    Time, Signature

    When I was small, my grandmother, who taught piano, told
    me someday I would learn to “read” music; I was astonished!
    What ogres, what emperors, what gingerbread, what coffins
    of glass? Perched on five telephone wires, birds noted their
    gibberish, like an unspooled Phaistos disk. When grown-ups
    crescendo-ed overhead, when discords tensed for the felted
    hammer, I went pianissimo, and hid, dampened, beneath the
    black-lacquered forte, my fort. Silence was a box of rest, like
    stale licorice. If only I had the clef to the cryptic grammar!
    Every girl, bored, dreams fairytales. Arching its monobrow,
    the supercilious fermata suspended disbelief. When, later,
    I learned that the only thing written in music was music,
    imagine my disappointment, my relief.

    The Caryatid

    Even though she has set down
    The unwieldy entablature
    And walked back into her life,

     

    Her posture,
    Her disheveled intricate coiffure,
    Betray preoccupation.

     

    Preparing dinner, she slices
    The fluted celery stalk into drums,
    The mushrooms into ionic capitals.

     

    She is too old to be young anymore,
    The moonlight petrifies.
    She has left beauty behind, a ruined porch.

     

    It leaves her lightheaded,
    Being freed from history, that long mis-
    Understanding.

    What Brings Bad Luck

    Hat on the bed,
    A peacock feather
    Dragged indoors
    From the blue-eyed weather,

     

    Reflection smashed,
    A baker’s dozen,
    Chain letter from
    An estranged cousin,

     

    The bumbershoot
    Bloomed in the hall,
    The ladder’s lintel,
    The owl’s call,

     

    The horseshoe’s frown,
    The salt knocked over
    & not tossed across
    The left shoulder,

     

    A lone magpie,
    A pre-glimpsed bride,
    Friday next,
    The bed’s wrong side,

     

    The sable cat
    Bisecting your way,
    A crack underfoot,
    The Scottish play,

     

    A gleaming penny
    Not picked up,
    New shoes set
    On a tabletop,

     

    Scissors left open
    From sheer habit:
    A month begun
    Without “rabbit, rabbit,”

     

    The grave (whose?) trodden,
    The wish (hush!) spoken,
    A run of good luck
    Still unbroken.

    Jump Rope Song

    (with a nod to X.J. Kennedy)

     

    The rope that makes of air a sphere,
    Or else a grin from ear to ear,
    Is something earth-bound feet must clear

     

    When the parabola swings round.
    Right before the snapping sound,
    You have to float above the ground.

     

    The trick is tempo, neither slow
    Nor fast, and rhyming as you go,
    And then forgetting what you know

     

    (The end of every glad endeavor).
    You count, until the numbers sever,
    Since nobody can skip forever.