If I could talk with the animals . . .

We've all had the experience of talking in a chatroom to someone we've never met before. You type something, and seconds later a reply appears on your computer screen. The conversation can be inane or seriously intellectual, but we take on faith that somewhere in the world, a human being, just like us, is typing replies on his or her own computer.

But what if the server handling the chatroom is not relaying our messages to another human being? What if the server has its own sophisticated program capable of mimicking human responses to input? Such programs have existed for quite a while, of course, but at some point it becomes apparent from the canned nature of the reply that we are not dealing with a human. But suppose the software becomes so sophisticated -- volunteering information, initiating new topics, expressing surprise and humor, responding completely naturally to our own remarks -- that it becomes impossible for any observer to determine objectively whether we are dealing with a person or a program.

Is the program, or the server on which the program is installed, "conscious"? If, hypothetically, there is no test that I can perform at my terminal that would differentiate the mimicking program from a human being, how do we know, objectively, that the program is not conscious? Or, conversely, how do we know that the people with whom we interact daily are not robots -- robots programmed to speak and behave as they do, robots which do not share "consciousness" with us?

And, for that matter, what do we mean when we claim that we ourselves are "conscious"?

All this is a well-traveled road in science fiction, of course. Recall HAL, the computer in the Kubrick movie 2001, Space Odyssey. HAL appeared completely, humanly conscious, even to the extent of disobeying instructions, killing its (his?) wards, and expressing remorse and fear of death as it (he?)was being shut down by the crew. These questions are also familiar territory in philosophy (see solipsism) and in psychology, as well as in the speculation of 12-year-old kids lying out on the lawn staring at the stars.

What brings it to mind is a review in this week's Economist of a book by a Brandeis professor named Irene Pepperberg. (Caveat: I haven't read the book.) According to the review, Dr. Pepperberg lived for 30 years or so with a roommate named Alex, an African Grey Parrot. She taught Alex to learn the English words for about 50 objects, to have a total vocabulary of about 100 words, to count from one to six, to "perform simple addition," and to make use of categories such as "same," "different," shape, color and material. Alex also could combine words in a rational manner to make new words for new objects.

Alex made headlines last year when he died. His last words to his owner were, "You be good. I love you."

Was Alex consciously speaking in the same sense as a young child consciously speaks? Or was he just "parroting" words? How do we know? If we assume that Alex could actually perform the tasks that Dr. Pepperberg claims for him, how do we know if he was merely a computer responding to stimuli as she had programmed him to do, or if -- on the other hand -- he was actually using the speech that Dr. Pepperberg had taught him to express "himself" in the same way that a child would? If he was simply a robot, a black box that spoke back automatically to input stimuli, then are our dogs and cats also robots when they express themselves non-verbally? When my cat approaches softly and puts his cheek against mine, is he simply reacting to expected warmth? Or is his behavior simply a learned response to his past experience that I tend to scratch his itchy head when he does so?

If we grant dogs and cats some level of conscious behavior, and parrots some ability to use human speech as an expression of consciousness, where does that leave the computer program? If a program can be designed to mimic a dog's behavior -- a far simpler matter than my original hypothetical of one imitating a human being -- does the computer have a dog's consciousness? Is the fact that a real dog's "program" is encoded in organic neural synapses rather than in semi-conductors a critical distinction? Why and how?

Hey, I don't have any solutions! And as far as I can tell, neither do scientists. The nature of consciousness, as viewed as a scientific question rather than as a matter best left to philosophy or theology, appears totally up in the air at present. Maybe, insofar as "consciousness" seems to be a purely subjective phenomenon, it is not even a subject with which science can deal.

But I expect we will hear much more about it from the scientific community in the coming years.

-------------------------

Irene M. Pepperberg, Alex & Me: How a Scientist and a Parrot Uncovered a Hidden World of Animal Intelligence -- And Formed a Deep Bond in the Process (2008). The author published a less anecdotal study earlier, entitled The Alex Studies: Cognitive and Communicative Abilities of Grey Parrots (2000).

Sir Barack and the Black Knight

"I'm not afraid of the fight, I'm ready for it," McCain told noisy supporters at a rally.

--Oct. 28, 2008

Welcome aboard!

--The Economist (10/25-31/2008)

The Obama campaign is proving attractive to a number of conservative intellectuals: disillusioned Republicans who are fed up with Bush and find Obama's "pragmatism, competence and respect for the head rather than the heart" to be congenial. So reports "Lexington," The Economist's commentator on American affairs, in this week's issue:

For many conservatives, Mr Obama embodies qualities that their party has abandoned: pragmatism, competence and respect for the head rather than the heart. Mr Obama’s calm and collected response to the turmoil on Wall Street contrasted sharply with Mr McCain’s grandstanding.

Much of Mr Obama’s rhetoric is strikingly conservative, even Reaganesque. He preaches the virtues of personal responsibility and family values, and practises them too. He talks in uplifting terms about the promise of American life. His story also appeals to conservatives: it holds the possibility of freeing America from its racial demons, proving that the country is a race-blind meritocracy and, in the process, bankrupting a race-grievance industry that has produced the likes of Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton.

I think Democrats should welcome with open arms anyone who seeks a rational approach to our nation's problems, and who shares certain core values held by most Americans regardless of party -- even if the conclusions of these former Republicans regarding the policies that would best implement those values may differ from current Democratic orthodoxy.

Over the past decade, the essential difference between the two parties has become one of enlightened rationalism vs. emotional tribalism, not such traditional issues as their varying approaches to tax policy or tariffs or even immigration reform.

So -- Welcome to Colin Powell and Chris Buckley, and to all the other Republicans who may be wavering as the GOP ship begins to sink.

Indian summer

But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
--James Whitcomb Riley

As faithful readers, you are well aware that the Northwest had a cold spring and a not-much-better summer. Winter now is fast approaching, and 2008 was beginning to feel like a wasted life, an awareness of lost opportunities with the chill of death already on the horizon. But Nature's taken pity, and granted us an Indian summer.

No one really knows where the term originated. I've always assumed it came from English colonists who observed the Indians harvesting their crops and preparing for winter. A more sinister theory is that an Indian summer provided war-like natives a spell of additional good weather during which they could continue their attacks on the colonists.

My own images of Indian summer, however, are all warm, happy and romantic. One of my books as a kid had a favorite illustration of a boy and his grandfather looking out over a hazy autumn cornfield, next to a pile of burning leaves that the grandfather had finished raking up. A huge harvest moon hung on the horizon. The old man was telling stories to the boy, while the boy stared out at the field and imagined the shocks of corn to be Indians dancing about their camp fire. Another book, a child's book of poetry by James Whitcomb Riley, had atmospheric drawings I liked looking at, while my mother read the accompanying poem about an Indiana farm boy's love of autumn days when the frost was on the pumpkin, and the corn was in the shock.

No shocks of corn around my house, I'm afraid, and the pumpkins are all stacked in front of Safeway. But when I go out, I feel the morning air still cold, the sun warm. The leaves dazzle with all the colors of fall -- yellow-green, yellow, orange, red, burnt umber, brown. Across the street, a neighbor's tree turns a brilliant scarlet for a week, before the leaves drop and blow away. Mixed smells of dead leaves and smoke hang in the air.

The squirrels frantically gather nuts, and squirrel them away. The morning sky shines a brilliant blue, far clearer and deeper than any hue of summer. College students walk toward the university with purposeful strides, invigorated by the crisp early morning. Old people seem more alert and friendly, out walking their dogs.

As the day goes on, temperatures warm into the upper 60's, and walking in a sweater becomes uncomfortably warm. At the same time, the sky starts to cloud up. I fear rain, and winter. But the next morning brings yet another brilliant day of Indian summer.

Some philosophers say life seems precious only because we know we are mortal. Knowing that death is certain, but that for now we are alive, provides an occasional sense of intense joy that would otherwise escape us. The same with the seasons. Hawaii has no Indian summer. Every day in Hawaii is summer, and every day is the same. Who cares if it is July or January? But Indian summer to us in the Northwest is intensely pleasurable; we know that we're living on borrowed time, that we're enjoying one final fling before we fall into the cold and dark of the months of winter.

This year's mid-October is beautiful and exhilarating, even yet more beautiful because we sense November looming ahead.

Scouring the Shire

WASHINGTON - Rushing to ease endangered species rules before President Bush leaves office, U.S. Interior Department officials are trying to review 200,000 comments from the public in just 32 hours, according to an e-mail obtained by The Associated Press.

The Fish and Wildlife Service has called a team of 15 people to Washington this week to pore through letters and online comments about a proposal to exclude greenhouse gases and the advice of federal biologists from decisions about whether dams, power plants and other federal projects could harm species. That would be the biggest change in endangered species rules since 1986.
. . .
Environmentalists said the move was the latest attempt by the Bush administration to overrule Congress, which for years has resisted efforts by conservative Republicans to make similar changes by amending the law.

"Somebody has lit a fire under these guys to get this done in due haste," said Jamie Rappaport Clark, executive director of Defenders of Wildlife and the head of the Fish and Wildlife Service under former President Clinton.

Well, isn't that sweet! One last chance for George W to gut our environmental protection laws before that damn bunch of tree-huggers takes office! More goodies for his corporate base. "Après moi, le déluge", says our very own Texas version of Louis XV.

Kind of reminds me of "The Scouring of the Shire," that second to the last chapter of The Return of the King, a chapter that the movie omitted. All about Saruman's final revenge against the detested hobbits after they defeated his lord, Sauron of Mordor. He and his henchmen appropriated for themselves everything of value in the Shire. And wantonly ruined whatever they didn't want.

So I guess that will be Bush's final legacy. Like Saruman's revenge for his own loss:

I have already done much that you will find it hard to mend or undo in your lives. And it will be pleasant to think of that and set it against my injuries.

But, like hobbits, we are resilient, and we will eventually recover from this nightmarish eight years. And, of course, Bush has never had either the intelligence or the malice of Saruman the Wise. He is just a weak, little man who continues to be manipulated by persons and powers stronger than himself. Oliver Stone probably portrayed the whole sorry picture pretty acurately in his current movie.

But it's almost over.

Fifteen days and counting . . .

It's nail-biting time for political junkies. And finger-crossing time for us Obama supporters. I mailed in my ballot yesterday. Now comes two more weeks of waiting.

On the surface, everything seems to be going great guns for the Obama campaign. Obama and Biden were the consensus winners of all four debates. The economy tanked at the best possible time -- one almost suspects that the Bush administration itself pulled the plug, as one final shot across McCain's bow! The polls for the past month have consistently shown an Obama lead.

The electoral college map looks even better. The interactive map accessible from Yahoo's home page goes so far as to show a 344-167 Obama lead, with North Carolina remaining as a battleground state, but leaning to Obama). (Another six states with no polling data available are virtually certain to break 20-7 for Obama.) Other estimates are more cautious, but still favorable. The Bush presidency has record low approval ratings, and an initial burst of enthusiasm for Sarah Palin has died for everyone except the true believers.

More good news over the weekend: Colin Powell endorsed Obama. The endorsement came two days after the Oliver Stone movie "W" was released, portraying Powell as the only member of the Bush team with any intelligence and integrity. And the Obama campaign announced that it had raised an incredible $150 million during September. Obama has purchased all available TV time between now and the election.

And yet, I'm uneasy. Very uneasy. Living on the West Coast, surrounded by Obama supporters, I feel very insulated from whatever's going on in the heartland of America. All my information comes from the national media, which, even to me, appear biased toward Obama (except for Fox News, which lives in a bizarre parallel universe of its own, and is even less credible).

As Newsweek recently noted, the spread between the two candidates, shown by the polls, is strangely small considering all the factors that should favor any Democratic candidate this year. Although polls vary, the spread actually seems to be narrowing slightly. I've always been concerned about the so-called Bradley effect, but I sense a simmering hostility toward Obama that really isn't explicitly racial. Newsweek describes it as a fear of the "different," the "who is this guy, anyway?" effect.

The election may be an Obama landslide, but it just as easily could be a McCain upset.

So I'm keeping my fingers crossed. I've signed up to be an Obama observer at the polls. (My county is one of the last two Washington counties that still provides polling booths for those voters who prefer to cast ballots in person -- after this election, the entire state will vote exclusively by mail.) Washington historically has had little problem with voter fraud, and an Obama victory is a foregone conclusion in this state, so I don't see my day of service as actually contributing much to the cause.

But it's just the only way I can think of to ward off anxiety by doing something, anything. Aside from crossing my fingers and biting my nails .

Guilt by association

And the Pharisees and the Scribes murmured, saying, "This man welcomes sinners and eats with them."
--Luke 15:2

The Republican campaign continues to gasp with alarm over Obama's association with Bill Ayers and the Rev. Jeremiah Wright. Obviously, the Republicans are grasping at straws to attack Obama's credibility, and obviously there is no evidence that any radical or racist views by either man somehow rubbed off on Obama, affecting any decisions he would make in the future.

But that isn't really the Republican argument. Republicans argue that Obama's willingness even to associate with these men -- regardless of any effects on Obama's policies or opinions from that association -- is sufficient in itself to prove his lack of good judgment. In other words, one must not merely think correctly himself, but must also not associate with those dangerous people who do not think correctly.

Consider also McCain's outrage -- real or feigned -- at Obama's willingness to talk to the Iranians without "preconditions." And at Obama's meeting with Palestinian leaders when he visited Israel last summer.

A common psychological thread runs through these attitudes.

I sense that many Republicans feel a compulsion to keep themselves (and others) free from any contamination that might result from rubbing up against the wrong sorts of people, ideas and even thoughts. ("He is not one of us!") And they feel this need especially acutely in their leaders. On the other hand, most Democrats, I suggest, feel that exposing themselves to every idea, however outlandish, and to every sort of person, however different, can be only neutral at worst -- and highly valuable at best. If you work the streets as a politician or activist in the black south side of Chicago, for example, you want to learn what motivates the people you are serving, even where those motivations may be unpleasant and despicable. If this means working with 1960's radicals with whom you disagree, or attending a church led by a firebrand pastor -- so what?

Similarly at the governmental level. If the Iranians pose a serious threat to American interests, Democrats believe we should try to understand what motivates them. Does Iran have legitimate interests that motivate its actions, interests that possibly could be satisfied in a less frightening manner? Is the Iranian government motivated by years of American support for the Shah, and, if so, can we do anything to defuse that long-simmering hostility? Is Iran motivated by fear of Israel? By a desire to be a leader in the Muslim world? By nostalgia for the glory of the Persian Empire? Can we help them satisfy any of these psychological needs or compulsions without compromising any of our own interests or the interests of our allies? Are Iranian leaders simply irrational anti-Americans, beyond any hope of rational debate? If so, that would be useful to ascertain as well.

Simply labeling the Rev. Wright or Ayers as dangerous radicals, past or present, should not put those men off-limit to any future contact by responsible citizens. Simply labeling Iran as "evil" -- besides being a gross simplification of any person's or any government's motivation -- does not warrant isolating it from any future contact with our government.

But less interesting than these policy conflicts themselves is the difference in psychology between Democrats and Republicans that may give them birth. As a liberal Democrat (and as an attorney who knows that solutions to most disputes can ultimately be negotiated), my own psychological makeup makes it hard for me to imagine how a policy of "Know Not Thy Enemy" benefits anyone, government or individual. Also, as a brief glance at history suggests, enemies have a way of morphing into useful allies virtually over night.

But not if we have insulated ourselves from all human contact with them in advance.

Reaping what we sow

Even during the war, when I had traveled here, I had thought that if Vietnam hadn't been so beautiful we would not have ravished it, nor would the French have bothered to colonize and plunder it.

--Paul Theroux

For the last seven years we have been at war, first in Afghanistan and then in Iraq. We are still fighting in both countries. Are we "winning"? Are we making the world safe for democracy? If we lose the war in the Middle East, will we forfeit the respect of the rest of the world.

Right now, I'm thinking not of those questions, but of what Afghanistan and Iraq will be like a generation from now. This question comes to mind from my reading of Paul Theroux's Ghost Train to the Eastern Star. I've mentioned before my fascination with his idiosyncratic travelogue, The Great Railway Bazaar. That book was an account of his four months of travel by train, in 1973 at the age of 32, from London to Japan, through India and Southeast Asia, and then back to London through the USSR.

Thirty-three years later, having turned 65, he decided to repeat the trip -- again by rail -- insofar as still possible. Ghost Train, published this year, is the story of that trip -- a study of cities and countries, villages and peoples, many of which have changed considerably since 1973, and others that have changed little. The book is also a mirror in which Theroux finds revealed the changes in himself, the image of a much older and somewhat sadder individual, again reacting, but this time differently, to rough travel and third-world peoples.

In 1973, his earlier visit to South Vietnam came not long before the Americans finally pulled out, leaving that devastated land in the hands of a corrupt South Vietnamese government that quickly collapsed when confronting the North Vietnamese military forces. We had occupied and fought in the country for over ten years. We dropped more tonnage of explosives on the tiny area of North Vietnam than we had on Germany and Japan combined in World War II. We said we wanted to preserve "democracy" in Vietnam, and did so by propping up a military puppet government. We wanted to avoid the "domino effect" that our "experts" hypothesized would result from our defeat -- the theory that, one by one, the countries of Southeast Asia would collapse like dominoes before the forces of godless, anti-Western, Communist materialism.

Vietnam did fall. Out of spite, we embargoed the starving country and silently supported China in its war with Vietnam. We supported Pol Pot and his genocidal Khmer Rouge in Cambodia when Vietnam tried to depose him. Vietnam prevailed in both struggles. There were no dominoes. Cambodia is now a kingdom. Laos (on which we also dropped enormous numbers of bombs and landmines in a war that Nixon and Kissinger never admitted took place) remains a professedly Communist state that nevertheless welcomes Western business and tourism. Other states in the area -- Thailand, Burma, Malaysia, Singapore -- have varying forms of government, none of which is even remotely socialist, let alone Communist.

In 1973, Theroux's train from Saigon had run only as far as Hue, which by then was a desolate, bombed-out city, part way up the coast. It had been a dangerous ride, with the constant threat of attack from guerilla forces. Beyond Hue, the track was cut as it entered Communist-held North Vietnam. Travel to Hanoi had then been an impossible dream. Hanoi was just a target for American bombing.

Now, 30 years later, travel to Hue, and then on to Hanoi, and even into China, was as easy as buying the tickets.

He discovered, as all tourists do, that Hanoi is a beautiful city of French architecture and planning -- wide boulevards, cathedral, opera house, government buildings, colonial mansions and villas --surrounded by the normal chaos of an Asian city. He contrasted the French occupation of Vietnam with that of the Americans.

The French had been humiliated in battle ... and driven out; but at least they had left long boulevards of imposing buildings behind. And we had left nothing except a multitude of scars and the trauma of the whole miserable business, ten years of terror and seven million tons of bombs.

Theroux talked to many Vietnamese -- in Saigon, in Hue, and in Hanoi. He was overwhelmed by their friendliness toward him as an American. He heard their stories of horror, including accounts of the Christmas bombing of Hanoi -- a "genocidal act of pure wickedness," in Theroux's opinion -- ordered by President Nixon in 1972. He saw the quiet, unemotional exhibits in the war museums, displaying the artifacts and consequences of the bombings, presented as the historical facts of an unfortunate time, not as an attack on Vietnam's adversaries.

One of the greatest aspects of the new Vietnam was its compassion, its absence of ill will or recrimination. Blaming and complaining and looking for pity are regarded as weak traits in Vietnamese culture; revenge is wasteful. They won the war against us because they were tenacious, united, and resourceful, and that was also how they were rebuilding their economy.

As horribly as the war in Vietnam affected our military personnel, as well as the Vietnamese people, we were unbelievably fortunate in our defeat. We were defeated by a people who look to the future not to the past. While our cultures are different, the Vietnamese share with us an entrepreneurial, hard-working spirit that makes them an easy people for us to work with. When I visited Laos and Cambodia last fall, I learned that the French had strongly favored the Vietnamese over their other two Indochinese colonies because of the Vietnamese traits of ambition and diligence. (The Vietnamese plant rice; the Cambodians watch it grow; the Lao listen to it grow. --French colonial joke.) Like us, the Vietnamese are a forward looking people who do not nurse grievances.

In Iraq and Afghanistan, I fear that our luck has run out. Do we see anything in their culture that suggests they ever let by-gones be by-gones? Do we feel they forgive and forget an injury? Does the culture of the Middle East in general suggest a civilization that is forward looking and optimistic?

I suspect we will be paying a heavy price -- paying for our torture and bombings, for our half-baked plans to impose our own concept of democracy, for our perceived coveting of Iraqi oil, for the humiliations we have forced upon these proud and hyper-sensitive Arab peoples -- for generations to come.

Separate but equal?

Chicago's Board of Education is preparing to open its first high school for gay and lesbian students in either 2009 or 2010. The school will provide openings for a maximum of 600 students. Admission will be awarded by lottery from a pool of applicants. Community opinion to date appears to support opening such a school.

The idea of an all-gay school seems analogous to already existing African-American academies and all-girl schools, schools often opened under charter school arrangements. I can see the same benefits in all three cases. I also have the same reservations.

The Chicago school board cites the primary reason for opening such a school to be the high absentee and dropout rate among gay students, because of the hostility, bullying, and violence that they experience, or at least fear. Removal of those factors would make study and learning easier for them. Similarly, studies have shown that in some circumstances, girls and blacks are more self-confident and assertive in voluntarily-segregated environments. Blacks have the opportunity to develop confidence through participation in black studies programs, and girls may do significantly better in math and science when they are not worrying about how boys perceive them when they show interest and aptitude in such subjects.

My reservations about all such programs, especially for gays and blacks, arise from the fact that we don't live in a segregated society. In Brown v. Board of Education, as we recall, the Supreme Court found that segregated schools, at least for African-Americans, were inherently unequal. Unless handled very carefully, separate schools can lead to ghettoization, where students learn to be self-confident within their narrow peer group, but do not learn the social and behavioral skills, and the competiveness, necessary to assimilate and interact successfully with the broader society that they'll confront after graduation.

(Also, of course, a very large proportion of gay high school students feel comfortable attending high school with their straight peers -- or at least as comfortable as it's possible for anyone to be in high school -- but these are not the ones who would apply to a segregated school in any case.)

A less important consideration, especially considering the small relative population planned for such segregated schools -- but still a point to be considered -- is that the majority population learns to get along with minority groups through familiarity. An all white school does not prepare white majority students to work and live beside blacks in college and beyond. In the same way, homophobia, to a large extent, is a fear of the unknown. Gay high school students have won increasing acceptance and assimilation within the last generation, simply because of their increased visibility and prominence in the school population, at all social and leadership levels. This acceptance by others during their student years will carry forward into their peer group's adult lives.

In any event, the Chicago school is a worthwhile experiment by a well-intentioned school board. Herding all gay and lesbian students into separate schools would be -- as it would be with girls, blacks, Jews, or red-haired students -- a horrendous idea with serious civil rights implications. But schools tailored to help a certain limited number of students who are having a particularly difficult time "fitting in" during their adolescent years may be an experiment worth trying.

The results and consequences should be carefully monitored, as I suspect they will be.

Sacrificial trees

The University of Washington has one of the most beautiful, tree-shaded campuses in the nation. It came as a shock, therefore, as I strolled across campus today, to hear the harsh buzz of a chain saw. Suddenly, off to one side of me, I saw a tree wobble, collapse to the ground, and die. Closer investigation showed a number of neighboring trees also destined for immediate death.

Bit by bit, areas of the campus, once densely forested, have been cleared and built up as the university reaches out for ever more classrooms. Today's traumatic episode begins the construction of Paccar Hall. This new building for the business school is being built just north of Denny Hall, and just east of the new law school, on the southeast corner of Memorial Way and Stevens Way.

You can't stop progress, as they say. In this case the new construction does represent progress -- even at the cost of a few trees. Most of Paccar Hall will replace existing surface parking, and the cost of trees will be minimal. Once completed, a second adjacent building will replace Balmer Hall, an existing rather tacky 1950's building now serving the business school. The two new buildings will be joined together. Landscaping ultimately will no doubt restore the sacrificial trees.

The UW has unusually uniform and attractive "collegiate gothic" brick architecture. During the 1950's, one of the more lamentable eras in American architectural design, a few jarringly modern buildings were constructed. Besides Balmer Hall, these included the unfortunately named "Sieg Hall"(formerly called simply the General Engineering Building), and a central section of Suzzalo Library. This construction not only clashed with the rest of the campus, but was inherently unattractive even by the standards of the time.

During the last fifty years, however, the university has returned to brick construction that may lack the ornate detailing of the earlier buildings, but nevertheless blends attractively with the rest of the campus. (And within the last ten years, the school built a substantial addition to the old physics building that completely matched the gothic, castle-like appearance of the original, showing that the necessary skills to detail such buildings have not been lost.)

I hate to see even one tree fall to the ground, let alone a grove. But I'm pleased to live near a university that has shown as much care for the esthetic integrity of its campus, including trees and landscaping, as it has for the utility of its new construction. A friend, a graduate of Yale, visited me from out of town a few years ago. He expressed regret that his own alma mater had failed to show the same care in preserving an overall design to its campus.

So, I'm looking forward to seeing the new building as it rises. Together with the law school, it will present an impressive introduction to the campus through the main north entrance.

Time to let the dogs out -- Woof, woof, woof, woof!

If the law supports you, argue the law. If the facts support you, argue the facts. If neither the law nor the facts support you, pound on the table.

So goes the humorous old recipe for winning at trial.

And for John McCain, in these last 30 days before the election, it's apparently fist-pounding time. The voters don't like his views on the issues. They don't respond to his personality (although they may be at least intrigued by that of his running mate). All that's left is the old razzle-dazzle, the misdirection play, the smoke and mirrors.

Time for the attack dogs!

Thus Sarah Palin's mock horror yesterday at Obama's "palling around with terrorists." Thus GOP analysts' suggestions that McCain must win by undercutting Obama's personality, making him appear "supremely unacceptable" in the eyes of the average voter (twelve percent of whom already believe him to be a Muslim). Thus the comment in this week's Economist that "If the election is fought about anything except culture, then the Republicans are on difficult ground."

So. Expect to suddenly hear more about abortion and gay marriage. Expect to hear more about elitest, wine-drinking, Harvard-attending arugula-eaters. Expect to hear more about wishy-washy liberal peaceniks.

More darkly, expect to hear from anonymous blogs -- although probably not from McCain himself, who will take the "high" ground -- incendiary talk about Obama's middle name, references to "towel heads," dismay directed at the Rev. Jeremiah Wright, curiosity about why a nice American colored boy would be sent to school with Muslims in Indonesia, references to "The Manchurian Candidate." Expect to hear the word "uppity."

"Who is this guy, anyway?" -- the question that the average Joe from Appalachia has been asking all along -- will be the McCain-Palin subtext from now until November. Watch for it playing on your local TV set.

The descent of American politics into pig-wrestling has dismayed America's best friends abroad.
--The Economist (10-4-08)

Let's face it. The low road, the path of cultural resentment -- perfected, as the Economist notes, by Richard Nixon in the late 1960's -- worked in spades for the Republicans in 2000 and 2004. Why mess with a proven ad campaign, especially when you know that the consumer doesn't like your product?

Brother Sun, Sister Moon

For those of us interested in such things, church calendars set aside today's date to commemorate the life of St. Francis of Assisi. Because, many moons ago, at confirmation, I chose St. Francis as my patron, his life story tends to come to mind each October.

I suspect many people squirm a bit at mention of St. Francis. Not only because of excessive use of his statue as decoration in gardens and homes of a certain sort, but because stories of his life are so frequently sentimentalized. Paintings of Francis preaching to the birds -- cute, fluttery little fellows hovering about him like Disney's birds singing with Cinderella -- are either charming or nauseating, depending on your own temperament

But he was a real person, not a cartoon confection. Francis was born in about 1181, son of a rich merchant. He had a privileged upbringing, hung out with wealthy friends, became a troubador (the rock singers of his time) at the height of that fashionable activity, and aspired to write French poetry.

At some point, he became disturbed at the poverty around him and turned aside from his more-or-less slacker pleasures to devote increasing amounts of time caring for the poor and the ill. In about 1205, he experienced a mystical vision that confirmed him in his new life. He eventually came into conflict with his bewildered father. Like the Buddha in India, who underwent a similar transformation 1,500 years earlier, he renounced his inheritance, gave up all his property including the clothes on his back, and went out onto the streets to live as a beggar. (Something to think about as we walk contemptuously past a bearded guy on the sidewalk, holding a cardboard sign.)

Eventually, he felt moved to form a new community, now known popularly as the Franciscan order, the first religious order that focused on preaching to the common people rather than living apart from them in a monastic setting. He preached throughout the Mediterranean world, died in 1226, and was declared a saint two years later.

St. Francis loved nature and wildlife, and his biography is full of stories, real or simply devout, about his ability to communicate with animals. He is said to be the first poet in the Italian language, a century before Dante, writing in his native Umbrian dialect rather than Latin. He is the patron saint of nature and of environmentalists, of merchants and stowaways, of Italy and the Philippines.

When a young person chooses a patron saint at confirmation, he indicates in some way the kind of person he aspires to be. Measuring his life later against his youthful aspirations is always humbling, and always worth the humiliation. Is devotion to household pets, a devotion I share with the late Leona Helmsley, my only connection to the sanctity of Francis of Assisi? Certainly I've never had mystical visions, or even a stronger than average sense of divine providence in my life.

But Francis's life, despite his later meetings and negotiations with popes and bishops, teaches that a worthwhile life need not be based on dramatic events, visions, martyrdoms, crusades, scholarly writings and debates, charismatic leadership. A good life is based essentially on small choices made day by day that go unnoticed, perhaps even by the person making the choices. Still not an easy goal, by any means, still a goal we all fall short of, but a goal at least within the aspirations of the average person.

St. Francis was a man of great talents, but he saw himself, at heart, as a simple beggar, one of God's fools, living close to nature, confronting his Creator in the face of his neighbor. Not a bad role model to choose when you're young. Not a bad view of life to keep in mind as you get older.

Realpolitik in Louisiana

This election year, when a certain amount of populism has come back into fashion, seems a good time to remember the remarkable career of Louisiana governor and senator Huey Long.

Long (aka "The Kingfish") was one of the few Democrats to oppose FDR's New Deal as being too conservative. He freed Louisiana from total domination by corrupt corporations, notably the Standard Oil Company, to the acclaim of its poverty-ridden citizens and the horror of its educated and wealthy elite. Between 1928 and 1932, he rammed through the legislature a remarkable program of public works and progressive taxation, surviving impeachment in 1929, and winning election to the U.S. Senate in 1932.

Long's accomplishments did not come without a cost: his total personal domination of every agency of Louisiana government -- he virtually eliminated self-government for New Orleans and other cities -- and deliberate, planned corruption and cronyism in the awarding of government contracts. Long was loved by the masses, but he was completely ruthless in destroying the careers not only of his political opponents, but of their innocent relatives as well. He was compared, at the time and since, to Mussolini. Assassinated in 1935, he left a dynasty that exerted great influence in the state, right up until the death of Senator Russell Long in 1987.

As a guy with some modest literary pretentions, I'm embarrassed to admit that I've never read Robert Penn Warren's 1946 novel, All the King's Men, based loosely on the life of Huey Long. Nor have I seen either the 1949 Oscar-winning movie of that book, or the less successful Sean Penn film from 2006.

However, last night I did see Intiman's theatrical production, adapted from the book by Adrian Hall. The production was totally delightful, and may have provided me just the push I need to go back and read its source. From plot summaries I've read of Warren's novel, the play followed the plot of the book closely.

First of all, I can tell you that I'm very happy not to have grown up in the rural South, and, especially, not in 1930's Louisiana! The people and events -- and certainly the accents -- at times were creepy reminders of the gothic plays of Tennessee Williams, although Warren's interests, intent, and philosophy of life were quite different from that playwright's. The play (and, I gather, the book) tells the story of Willie Stark, a self-described "redneck" politician, and his ascent to political power -- an ascent based on class resentment and the support of the hitherto powerless masses, and on Stark's determination to govern for the benefit of the underprivileged. Stark scorns his critics, reminding them that corruption and sin are simply the human condition; unlike his critics, he acknowledges and accepts that fact and uses life as he finds it -- including fear, bribery, graft and corruption --to advance the welfare of the lower classes.

But Stark's rise is but a background to the primary story, which is that of Jack Burden. Burden, a newspaper reporter with roots in Baton Rouge society, becomes first an amused observer of the Willie Stark phenomenon, and ends up as Stark's right hand man.

The play presents Burden's life: his progress from detached observer, to ironic participant, to philosophical nihilist, and, finally -- transformed by shame for bowing to Stark's pressure and betraying his own step-father, causing his suicide, by the loss of his childhood sweetheart, and by Stark's ultimate assassination -- into a more fully realized human being who accepts the paramount importance of a man's responsibilities to others and participation in their lives.

Intiman mounts its production with a cast of 18. The cast sings in ensemble a number of songs from the period, songs that convey a feeling for life in the Depression South. John Procaccino and Leo Marks, who play Stark and Burden respectively, give outstanding, nuanced performances as real people doing their best in a corrupt and selfish world. This production plays nightly through November 8 at Intiman Theatre.

Honey, I discarded the kids

A troubled teenager, in a novel I read recently, worried wryly that his parents probably lay awake all night debating whether a "fifty-fourth trimester abortion" might not be a viable option.

Post-natal abortions aren't yet an option for frustrated parents, but Nebraska has come up with the next best thing: legal abandonment. Like all or most other states, Nebraska has adopted a "safe haven" law, permitting a mother to leave a child with a state facility without facing criminal penalties. These laws were passed to prevent "dumpster babies," unwanted newborn babies abandoned by their terrified mothers.

But Nebraska's new law is unique, in that it applies to all children up until the age of 19.

By Sept. 23, two more boys and one girl, ages 11 to 14, had been abandoned in hospitals in Omaha and Lincoln. Then a 15-year-old boy and an 11-year-old girl were left.

The biggest shock to public officials came last week, when a single father walked into an Omaha hospital and surrendered nine of his 10 children, ages 1 to 17, saying that his wife had died and he could no longer cope with the burden of raising them.

--Erik Eckholm, New York Times (10-2-08).

Officials blame these abandonments on family financial crises, lack of available psychiatric services and the insurance to pay for them, and parents who are confronting behavioral problems they simply don't know how to handle.

All of these concerns are real. And yet something is wrong. Americans for generations reared large unruly families on virtually no money at all. Farm families relied on subsistence farming. Urban families squeaked by on tiny, pre-minimum-wage incomes. Pre-Dr. Spock parents did not have the advantage of child care manuals or state agencies that promoted enlightened child care policies. Children and teens were no less rebellious and unruly then than now.

But parents did the best they could, and usually got the job done. A few kids turned out great and far exceeded their parents' expectations. Most became reasonably decent citizens, much like their parents. Some were disappointments, ran away from home, became criminals or deadbeats. But all were loved, or -- even if not loved -- raised to the best of their parents' abilities.

I feel uneasy judging others for their response to problems I haven't faced myself. And yet, we seem to be confronting a growing social tendency to give up in the face of adversity, a tendency that carries over to child-rearing itself. Like those who abandon their beloved, healthy pets -- or have a vet put them to sleep -- whenever the animal becomes a bother, or who declare bankruptcy at the earliest opportunity rather than struggle to meet their obligations, many people today seem willing to just walk away from inconvenient responsibilities.

Not most people, of course. Although the abandonments described in the NYT article are dramatic, they obviously represent a small minority of all the Nebraska families that are facing the very real pain of raising "problem" kids, many of whom will turn out just fine in a few more years.

But the story from Nebraska still illustrates a gradual, but discouraging, decline in our ability as a society to face adversity, or even simply annoyance, without flinching.