The New Republic

The most level-headed, wise and modestly self-assured of
George W. Bush's appointees, Robert Gates, has proposed a Rooseveltian
enrichment of the already de-Rumsfelded Pentagon: the funding of social scientists
and other professional researchers to work on such problems as China
and Iraq: According to yesterday's New
York Times,  "Gates has compared the initiative--named Minerva, after
the Roman goddess of wisdom (and warriors)--to the government's effort to pump
up its intellectual capital during the cold war after the Soviet Union launched
Sputnik in 1957. Although the Pentagon regularly finances science and
engineering research, systematic support for the social sciences and humanities
has been rare. Minerva is the first systematic effort in this area since the
Vietnam War..."

There is mention of humanities scholars, none for poets and novelists, a loss.
(In Three Days of the Condor, the
Robert Redford character works for a small CIA outfit that reads such
bizarre material in order to pick up out-of-the-box suggestions for unspecified
machinations.) I just finished John Updike's novel, Terrorist, one of his many recent books that most critics slammed.
But Updike may be the wisest of all American observers, and I trust that Minervans
will read--though it won't be necessary to fund--him. The novel is full of
acute observations, usually made by characters that haven't passed the
political-correctness exam. Here, Hermione Fogel, the spinster assistant of a
Tom Ridge-like Secretary of Home Security, comments on the new breed
of security screeners:

"In a land of multiplying security gates, the gatekeepers multiply also. To the
well-paid professionals who traveled the airways and frequented the newly fortified
government buildings, it appears that a dusky underclass has been given
tyrannical power.... Where once a confident manner, a correct suit and tie and a
business card measuring two by three and a half inches had opened doors, the
switch is no longer tripped, the door remains closed. How can the fluid,
hydraulically responsive workings of capitalism, let alone the commerce of
intellectual exchange and the social life of extended families, function
through such obdurate thicknesses of precaution?  The enemy has achieved his
goal: business and recreation in the West are gummed up: exorbitantly so." 

Whether or not this observation will serve Secretary Gates and his Minervan
cohorts I don't know, but its free floating intelligence is the sort of thing that
at least limbers up intellectual muscles.

I'm now 75 pages into Denis Johnson's NBA winning novel Tree of Smoke and though one seventh of the text isn't enough for
pronouncements, it looks as if one of its American war themes seems to be the
fluidity of alliance and enmity. (Japan, an enemy in 1945, is an ally
today. Russia,
an ally in 1945, was an enemy through the Cold War and is now--what?). Not a
great insight, but in Johnsonian detail, powerful. It might be obliquely
covered in a joke from another novel read last week, James Salter's Light Years:

"There were two drunks on an elevator.... A woman got on---she
was completely nude. They just stood there and didn't say anything.  After
she got off, one turned to the other. ‘You know,' he said, ‘It's funny, my wife
has an outfit exactly like that.'"

The Pentagon Minervans shouldn't ignore jokes, irony, sarcasm, cynicism, or wit
of any sort. The human enterprise, even in its destructive and diabolic forms,
turns just as often on these axes as on the doom-heavy ones Messrs. Bush,
Cheney, Petraeus, and McCain apparently prefer.

--Richard Stern

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