Yet in his seminal work Democracy in America, Alexis de Tocqueville says, “I do not know any country where, in general, less independence of mind and genuine freedom of discussion reign than in America.” [1]

How could this be the case, in light of the factors that Americans think make them free? The answer, according to Tocqueville, is that the very rule by the majority which Americans believe aids their liberty, instead subjects it to dire peril.

In the United States, nothing exists outside the majority to curtail its influence, says Tocqueville. The majority possesses command of everything. American society holds the needs and wants of the many above the few or the one. This stems from the American belief that the most wisdom lies with the greatest number of people; after all, if everyone has equal intellectual capacity, then whatever the most people think must be correct. For the Americans of Tocqueville’s depiction, the majority simply cannot fail.

Even those Americans who fall outside the majority fall to its will without much difficulty because Americans are equal to each other, without class distinctions. What the majority wants, most minorities can therefore swallow. Besides which, many Americans outside the majority hope someday their group will become the majority, so they recognize the majority’s right to rule as it would.

By Tocqueville’s reckoning, this makes the American majority, in a word, omnipotent. No force can halt or even delay its advance. As a consequence, the majority has no time or even inclination to consider the thoughts and ideas it squashes underfoot. [2]

Boosting the majority’s power is the structure of the legislatures. Each year, elections for the legislatures take place, often sending new representatives with new ideas to the federal capital and the various state capitals. And the legislatures have a lot of power to do what they want. The speed with which the majority selects representatives, and the power those representatives have, gives the majority the ability to enact its every whim on America’s polity. [3]

Tocqueville questions how a system in which the majority rules thusly can be free from despotism. If one man can abuse power, why can a majority not do the same? The character of men, says Tocqueville, does not change just because they are in a group. If a group—the American majority—has power without barriers, power without “time to moderate itself,” then liberty is at substantial risk. No guarantee exists against tyranny. If individuals or minorities suffer oppression, to whom can they appeal? No one, pronounces Tocqueville, for the legislature, the executive, the military, the jury, and sometimes the judiciary are under the dominion of the majority. [4]

The “tyranny of the majority” could surpass that of the absolutist. The absolutist cannot stop thoughts contrary to his own from percolating. His power lies only on the temporal plane; he has no control over mental worlds. When the majority has resolved something, though, discussion of the issue stops, and everyone goes along with the majority’s flow. The majority’s will strikes at the hearts and minds of people, stopping them from contradicting the majority, as well as crushing “the desire to do it.” [5]

Within the American majority, Tocqueville grants that one is free. But outside the majority, one finds unhappiness. A political career is impossible, for one cannot please the “single element of force and success” (i.e. the majority). And when one speaks his mind, against what the majority believes, people abandon him, and he becomes a virtual social leper. His opponents in the majority will not recognize him, nor will those Americans who think as he does, for they lack courage and do not want society to shun them, too. Consequently, one likely will surrender to the majority, and one will shut his mouth as if he is sorry he ever opened it.

This estrangement the majority bestows upon its foes assaults their very souls. This is how the majority’s tyranny can outclass that of the absolutist, whose weapons harm only the body while leaving the spirit intact. [6]

Unlike some of the aristocracies of Europe, the American majority will not allow observers to make the slightest fun of it. Writers must extol the virtues of the majority, and they can never criticize it.

“The majority, therefore,” says Tocqueville, “lives in perpetual adoration of itself.”

Tocqueville concludes, “There is no freedom of mind in America.” Whereas the Spanish Inquisition could not stop the circulation of books of which the monarchy disapproved, the American majority has no need even to try such a thing, for the very thought of publishing books contrary to the majority never occurs. Whoever is outside the American mainstream can find no device with which to spread his views and opinions. [7]

Another reason why Americans have no freedom of mind is their tendency, more than others, to accept dogma. Tocqueville concedes that everyone on the planet believes a fair share of dogma, which is evil because it makes one an intellectual slave, but necessary because otherwise one could not consider anything closely, as he would be too busy trying to prove everything. Americans enslave themselves to dogma to a frightening extent, however, according to Tocqueville.

This spawns from the American assumption everyone has more or less equal knowledge. With this notion in mind, an individual feels weak in comparison to a multitude of people; each of them is intellectually equal to him, so the combined wisdom of the mass must dwarf his own. This permits the mass—the American majority—to force its beliefs into his mind and the mind of everyone else.

The majority in this way does not persuade anyone of anything. It merely force-feeds people ready-made opinions, relieving them of the burden of constructing their own beliefs. This seriously compromises any chance of intellectual liberty or independent thought, says Tocqueville. [8]

The American majority’s control over the United States leads American historians to emphasize general causes of events. Individuals do not receive much attention. As a result, many folks start to think individual action is not voluntary. Instead, they think large forces that affect millions of people control their destinies. Scholars focus on how events came to be, and they do not think of how things could have gone otherwise. Essentially, free will itself comes into doubt. [9]

Despite all of the reasons Tocqueville cited for the rule of the majority constituting a tyranny, freedom still exists somewhat in the United States because it lacks administrative centralization. The majority can command all it wants, but to carry out its commands, the majority must use executors “who often do not depend on it, and whom it cannot direct at each instant.” Federalism, then, saves the Americans from descending into majoritarian dictatorship. It can “delay or divide” the will of the majority, sapping it of its full strength. [10]

[2] Ibid., 235-237.

[3] Ibid., 238-239.

[4] Ibid., 240-241.

[5] Ibid., 243.

[6] Ibid., 244-245.

[7] Ibid., 245.

[8] Ibid., 408-410.

[9] Ibid., 469, 471-472,

[10] Ibid., 250-251.

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These advocacies of violence for one’s own selfish ends are not Machiavelli’s only breaks with the teachings of ancient philosophy and Christianity. Machiavelli also put forth a conception of the world whereby no natural order exists. God or luck is not around to guide the world or anyone on it. Humans and their own initiative are responsible for shaping and changing the world. Consequently, if one wants to acquire anything, one must fashion or achieve it himself, without relying on divine providence or luck.¹

Agathocles the Sicilian, King of Syracuse, whom Machiavelli describes in the middle of The Prince, is a paragon of Machiavellian philosophy.

This man was born of non-royal lineage to poor parents; his father was only a potter. Agathocles lived a lifetime of crime, but his sins were of “such virtue of spirit and body” that he rose through the ranks of the military to become praetor of Syracuse. And then, Agathocles decided he wanted to become Syracuse’s leader. He naturally sought to achieve this goal with the same criminal methods that brought him to prominence in the military.

After warning Hamilcar the Carthaginian, a general fighting in Sicily, what he was planning, Agathocles summoned the senators and populace ostensibly for a discussion of important public issues. But when everyone had gathered, Agathocles commanded his soldiers to slaughter all the senators and wealthiest people of Syracuse. With them then dead, Agathocles took control of the city as its prince.

Despite the brutality of Agathocles’s rise to power, however, there was nary a public complaint about the affair. Agathocles was secure in his position during his reign as well.²

This all demonstrates the Machiavellian principle that violence and criminality are the means by which one obtains power. “To kill one’s citizens, betray one’s friends, to be without faith, without mercy, without religion” are not ethical, says Machiavelli, but they constitute the path to empire and dominion. So any overlord who employs these methods is not the inferior of any other leader.³

One might think this is nonsensical, for violent actions do not inspire love, and are not good leaders ones who are loved? Machiavelli contends this is not true. Love relies on “a chain of obligation,” that men will break because they are evil. Therefore, a prince who must use a people’s love for him to rule lives upon a shaky foundation. Also, seeking love paradoxically inspires hatred, because funding beneficent works for some people requires either taking property from other people or financing the works oneself. The latter makes one poor, and ergo weak and contemptible. And the former enrages those from whom money must be taken.

Instead, says Machiavelli, inspiring fear within one’s subjects is the better course of action. If the people fear their leader, they shall retain that fear into perpetuity, rather than forgetting it as they do love when convenience strikes. The violence that instills this fear will not cause a country to hate its leader, either. The prince need only take care to show justification for his endeavors, and to refrain from touching men’s property and women. After all, Machiavelli proclaims, “Men forget the death of a father more quickly than the loss of a patrimony.” (This ties into why taxation to fund good works, in the pursuit of love, instills hatred instead.)⁴

Additionally, to avoid hatred, a leader must ensure he commits most of his atrocities swiftly as he is assuming power. This is necessary “to secure oneself.” Afterwards, the prince should discontinue routine violence and only use it for “utility for the subjects.” Otherwise, if cruelties persist, one’s people will not feel secure, and so they will despise their leader.⁵

Agathocles demonstrated Machiavelli’s philosophy of violence very well. He wrested supreme power for himself with a swift flash of brutality. But he refrained from seizing anyone’s property, and his thirst for blood did not run rampant during his administration. This is why, according to Machiavellian values, the people of Syracuse feared Agathocles but did not hate him. Consequently, Agathocles gained and kept power without significant opposition.

Another Machiavellian principle Agathocles showed during his seizure of power was caution of the aristocracy. The rich always scheme for more possessions and more control, says Machiavelli. Whereas “the people want not to be oppressed,” the aristocrats “want to oppress.” Should any opportunity arise, “the great” as Machiavelli calls them, will betray their leader for their own gain.⁶ Thus, when Agathocles executed the richest citizens of Syracuse, he eliminated what could have been a threat to his rule, as per Machiavellian guidelines.

Machiavelli also emphasizes relying on oneself, instead of on fortune or on other people. Fortune, after all, does not exist; humans are the makers of their own fates. And other individuals are wicked schemers who will take advantage of one’s reliance on them.⁷ The only force or person, on which one can depend, is oneself.

Agathocles receives praise from Machiavelli for his self-reliance. Agathocles did not rely on anyone’s help as he rose to power. Instead, he climbed through the ranks of the military by his own efforts, experiencing “a thousand trials and hardships.” After Agathocles staged his coup d’etat, he maintained his rule himself through “many spirited and dangerous policies.” He did not depend on others or on any public love of him.⁸

He also did not rely on luck when, into his reign, the Carthaginians twice defeated him in battle and eventually laid siege to Syracuse itself. Instead, Agathocles took the initiative to defend his city, and turn the tide of the war against Carthage. While keeping some troops in Syracuse to withstand the Carthaginian siege, Agathocles slipped out of Syracuse with the rest of his men and assailed Africa, where Carthage stood. Agathocles beat Carthage on its own soil, thereby freeing Syracuse and forcing the Carthaginians to concede Sicily to him.⁹

² Ibid., 34-35, 37.

³ Ibid., 35.

⁴ Ibid., 63-65, 66-68.

⁵ Ibid., 38.

⁶ Ibid., 39-40.

⁷ Ibid., 66-67.

⁸ Ibid., 35.

⁹ Ibid., 35.

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This oath to believe in God and act according to his principles comes from Zoroastrian scripture, a representative of the millennia-old literature of Persia. Despite its age, scholars have not examined Persian literature to any great degree. Many of its few extant remains lay spread across the Earth, residing in public and private hands, improperly inventoried or even unrecorded. Those receive at best incomplete supplementation from meager references in the writings of Greek, Latin, and Arabic authors. Therefore, in combination with their own scarcity, students of Persian literature have yet to construct a whole model of ancient Persian literary works.²

The first written Persian literature appears in Pahlavi, the language of Persia under the Sasanian dynasty, rulers of Iran from 226 to 651 AD.³ Pahlavi spawned from Old Persian, the only traces of which are rock inscriptions commanded by Darius the Great and later Archaemenian kings, and it evolved into Modern Persian. The Pahlavi literature scholars know about today compares to the Bible’s Old Testament in size and deals largely with religion and liturgy.⁴

As it did on the Arabian Peninsula,⁵ poetry also held importance in Persia. When Iranian poetry arose is uncertain, but a legend from the famous Iranian poet Firdausi places its invention at around 3000 BC, during the reign of King Jamshid in Iran’s Golden Age. Two types of poetry existed at first: the ballad and the epic. The ballad, which tells a story, eventually begot the lyric, the hymn, the satire, and the panegyric. The epic, a longer storytelling mechanism, of which The Shah-Namah by Firdausi is an example, likely derived from the ballad as well. In the modern era, nothing remains of the first ballads, nor of any “love poetry” artists might have created. Heretofore-mentioned Zoroastrian scripture comprises the first Persian poetry on record.⁶

Zoroaster, from whom Zoroastrianism takes its name, resided in either northwestern Iran around 600 BC,⁷ or in eastern Iran around 1400 BC,⁸ depending upon the source. Wherever Zoroaster originally lived, the teachings of “one of the great religious leaders of the East”⁹ soon spread throughout Persia.¹⁰ Zoroaster told of a Dualistic world where good and evil dominate; leading the forces of good is Ahura Mazda, or Ormazd,¹¹ the “lord of wisdom, the one, eternal, uncreated, good, wise, and munificent god.”¹² Commanding the forces of evil is Angra Mainyu, or Ahriman. Good and evil will struggle against each other until the end of the present world, when Ahriman will fail, as men, with their free will, choose good, banish evil, and bring vohu hsapra, or paradise.

Meanwhile, before the coming of paradise, Ormazd describes the actions of humans in his “life-book,” which Ormazd will use to determine people’s judgments upon death. Men who have lived well will cross the Cinvat Bridge into heaven, and men who have lived poorly will experience the torture of hell or the wait for ultimate decision in purgatory.¹³ During their lives, humans should pray before “the life-giving force” that is fire. This is not fire worship, as many have erroneously assumed, but worship of God via the fire.¹⁴

Enjoying some of its greatest influence 1,000 years before the rise of Christianity as the state religion of the Archaemenian kings, Zoroastrianism faltered after Alexander the Great conquered Persia in 333 BC and destroyed many of its holy books. Following the Mesopotamian invasion came a dark age of 550 years, in which any literary or religious activity that might have occurred left no trace, either in poetry or in prose.¹⁵ With the coming of the Sasanian dynasty, though, Persian religion and literature restarted. After ousting the Parthians in 229 AD, the Sasanians revived Iranian traditions that had lapsed into disuse.¹⁶ Pahlavi prose evidence reveals a rebirth of Iranian poetry, recording that even two Sasanian kings were poets. One king, Bahram Gur (420 to 438 AD), allegedly created the Persian rhyming couplet while lion hunting with his gorgeous lover, Dilaram.¹⁷

In the spiritual realm, the Sasanians revived Zoroastrianism as the religion of state once more. This time, however, the Sasanians instituted a church hierarchy, similar to that of the Byzantine Christian church. The priests who comprised this hierarchy were the Magi, who had already established themselves as Zoroastrian adepts before the Sasanian dynasty. (Some of these Magi, according to Christian theology, were the Wise Men who witnessed the birth of Jesus Christ.) The Magi maintained the prayer fires and helped people make sense of the myriad forces of light and darkness on Earth.¹⁸

Zoroastrianism prevailed in Iran until the Muslims conquered it in 651 AD. Despite their respect for other monotheistic religions, the Muslims henceforth suppressed worship of Ormazd. To escape oppression, some Zoroastrians ran for India, while a few others elected to weather Muslim discontent and remain in Iran. Remnants of these Zoroastrian groups, known as Parsis, still exist today, and only through them has the modern world learned about Zoroastrianism and its scriptures.¹⁹

The main component of those scriptures is the Avesta, the “bible and prayer book” of the Zoroastrians.²⁰ Though it debuted sometime afterwards, the Avesta’s meter bears similarity to that of the Indian Vedas.²¹ Avistak, the Pahlavi word from which Avesta probably comes, means “wisdom, knowledge, the book of knowledge” or “the original text, the scripture, the law.”²² Appearing throughout the Avesta are bits and pieces of poetry, which though few, prove the utilization of poetic expression in Iran at least 3,000 years ago.²³

The language in which the Zoroastrians constructed the Avesta takes its name from the work: Avestic. It is a sister language of Old Persian and Sanskrit, and therefore, in spite of its manifestations in Pashto, it is not an ancestor of Modern Persian.²⁴ What actual script Avestic might have used is a mystery, because Alexander’s Macedonians ruined most of the original books, and the Sasanians wrote down the Avesta in Pahlavi when they recorded it from their oral tradition. In this Pahlavi text, instead of reading the Avesta from left to right, as a Westerner would, one reads it “from right to left.”²⁵

Several divisions form the Avesta. The oldest part, the Gathas, likely promulgated from Zoroaster himself. Other sections came later, as subsequent generations of Zoroastrians, up to the Sasanians, worked on and added to the Avesta.²⁶ An example of the newer sections is the Yashts, which contained poetry, interspersed with prose, proclaiming the virtues of several demigods, heroes, and powers. Octosyllabic meter formation, a la the Kalevala verse from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s “Hiawatha,” characterized the Yashts’ poetry. The language of the Yashts is younger than that of the Gathas, but the Yashts are poetically and religiously older,²⁷ featuring polytheistic notions and other religious principles antedating Zoroaster.²⁸ The tenth Yasht, for instance, praises a figure from early Iranian mythology, Mithra, who observes and helps men, sparks battles, and dispenses justice.²⁹

The Avesta would remain unknown to most of the world but for the Parsis, individuals who continued their Zoroastrian ways after the Muslim seizure of Persia, and who thus preserved the Avesta through the generations. These Parsis, in the middle of the 18^th century, introduced Westerners to the Avesta, exposing them for the first time to a native and contemporary source about early Iranian literature and thought. This allowed scholars to begin serious research of Persian literature and religion.³⁰

Effects of that Persian religion and literature continue to reverberate across the globe. Modern monotheistic religion, still the primary driving force behind geopolitical events, has borrowed extensively from Persian Zoroastrianism, with, amongst other examples, the Muslims appropriating the concept of an “unbegotten” God,³¹ and the Christians copying the notion of a purgatory.³² While in Babylonia’s captivity, the Jews interacted frequently with the Persians, likely adopting, or at least considering, some of their ideas, which in turn passed to their monotheistic progeny.³³ The physical remains of Zoroastrianism and early Persian literary and religious thought might be few—only scraps of manuscripts³⁴ and 140,000 Parsis exist³⁵—but their influence will exert itself for millennia to come.

² Yu. E. Borshchevsky and Yu. E. Bregel, “The Preparation of a Bio-Bibliographical Survey of Persian Literature,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 3 (April 1972): 169.

³ Williams A. V. Jackson, Early Persian Poetry from the Beginnings Down to the Time of Firdausi (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1920): 2; Williams A. V. Jackson, An Avesta Grammar in Comparison with Sanskrit (Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1892): xxxi; and Edward G. Browne, A Literary History of Persia, Volume II (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1951): 3.

⁴ Browne, 3.

⁵ Dr. Mohammed Sharafuddin, lectures at The George Washington University.

⁶ Jackson, Early Persian Poetry, 1, 2, 6.

⁷ Ibid., 2.

⁸ Jonathan Bloom and Sheila Blair, Islam: A Thousand Years of Faith and Power (New Haven, Connecticut: Yale University Press, 2002), 22.

⁹ Jackson, Avesta, xi.

¹⁰ Jackson, Early Persian Poetry, 2.

¹¹ Jackson, Avesta, xxiv.

¹² Bloom and Blair, 22.

¹³ Jackson, Avesta, xxiv, xxviii.

¹⁴ Bloom and Blair, 22-23.

¹⁵ Browne, 3.

¹⁶ William D. Whitney, “On the Avesta, or the Sacred Scriptures of the Zoroastrian Religion,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 5 (1855-1856): 341.

¹⁷ Jackson, Early Persian Poetry, 8.

¹⁸ Bloom and Blair, 23.

¹⁹ Jackson, Early Persian Poetry, 14, and Avesta, xi.

²⁰ Jackson, Avesta, xi.

²¹ Jackson, Early Persian Poetry, 4.

²² Jackson, Avesta, xi.

²³ Jackson, Early Persian Poetry, 6.

²⁴ Browne, 3.

²⁵ Jackson, Avesta, xxxi.

²⁶ Ibid., xxiii, xxix.

²⁷ Jackson, Early Persian Poetry, 4-5.

²⁸ Ilya Gershevitch, “Zoroaster’s Own Contribution,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 23 (January 1964): 14.

²⁹ Jackson, Early Persian Poetry, 5.

³⁰ Whitney, 340-341.

³¹ Dr. Sharafuddin.

³² Kevin Knight, “CATHOLIC ENCYCLOPEDIA: Purgatory” <http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/12575a.htm>, 21 March 2003.

³³ Jackson, Avesta, xxx.

³⁴ Borshchevsky and Bregel, 169

³⁵ “Zoroastrianism and Avesta: Overview and FAQ” <http://www.avesta.org/zfaq.html>, 30 March 2003.

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Barthelme, Donald. “A City of Churches.” The Best American Short Stories. Ed. John Updike. New York: Houghton Mifflin Co., 2000. 503-506.

Prester is a town where everyone follows the same philosophy and lives the same way. The town’s residents are not individuals with their own distinct identities, but units comprising a ubiquitous and soulless collective. Surprisingly, Prester is not a city in the old Soviet Union; instead, it is the setting of Donald Barthelme’s “A City of Churches,” which takes place in the United States. Barthelme’s Prester is, appropriately enough, a city filled with churches, which ordinarily would not inspire a dark description such as soulless. Barthelme, however, uses diction and irony to paint a picture of a town that is outwardly wholesome, but inwardly disconcerting.

Some people might not understand how a city of churches could possibly be disturbing. After all, if churches represent love, purity, and virtue, how could any amount of churches be too many? Barthelme’s descriptions of Prester adeptly answer that question. Prester is a city where the streets are “solidly lined with churches, standing shoulder to shoulder” Everywhere in Prester, people are “confronted with more churches.” If variety is healthy, then these details reveal a town that should be in the emergency room. All of Prester’s residents work at or live in a church; for example, “A red-and-white striped barber pole was attached inconspicuously to the front of the Antioch Pentecostal.” As this detail reveals, even the town’s barber shop is in a church. Had Cecilia decided to stay in Prester, her car rental office would have been in a church, complete with “a counter and a telephone and a rack of car keys. And a calendar.” Prester’s churches function as restaurants, with Saint Barnabas serving “wonderful spaghetti suppers.” In Prester, nothing other than a church offers dwellings, jobs, or services. Of course, after Cecilia asks if any building other than a church even exists within Prester, Mr. Phillips, Prester’s real estate agent, answers, “None.” Barthelme’s diction presents Prester as a town with strikingly little diversity.

Barthelme’s diction also portrays the churches within Prester as intensely eager for more members. “The mouths of all the churches… [are] gaping open. Inside, lights could be seen dimly.” To elaborate, the churches all have wide and tall entrances so passers-by can see inside, with the lights serving as representations of heavenly energy, enticing people to enter. If that fails to work, the churches engage in desperate behavior to win new recruits, which Barthelme describes using excellent irony. In an attempt to gain just one more devotee, Mr. Phillips tells Cecilia,”I don’t think I’d pick the car-rental business if I was just starting out in Prester. But you’ll do fine.” Later, Mr. Phillips says, “No one would rent a car here,” but then he maintains, “We need a car-rental girl.” Mr. Phillips is apparently so irrational that he has no idea Prester’s desire to have “a car-rental girl” contradicts its lack of genuine need for one. Even when Cecilia refuses to stay in Prester, Mr. Phillips begs her to change her mind. Mr. Phillips’s irrationality soon becomes frightening when he grabs Cecilia’s arm and declares, “You are ours… There is nothing you can do.” The real estate agent is willing to use force to compel Cecilia to stay, despite his knowledge that his town has no need for her services. The irony of Mr. Phillips’s actions—the irrationality of those actions—bespeaks a monumental sickness in Prester’s way of life.

To reveal the details of this sickness, Barthelme utilizes diction and irony to show a society in which everyone is a myrmidon who does the same thing in the same way. Deviation from that pattern is, to quote Mr. Phillips, “very unusual.” In Prester, expressions of individuality are “funny”; all people are members of a group, represented by a church. According to Mr. Phillips, people can join “the church of their choice,” but all of the churches in Prester are Christian, so no choice truly does exist. Prester’s churches try to conceal their sameness by using a variety of names, such as “Bethel Baptist,” “Holy Messiah Free Baptist,” “Saint Paul’s Episcopal,” and “Church of the Holy Apostles,” but the practice is merely a weak façade. Prester’s residents do seem to know, though, that their town’s life-style is not healthy. In response to Cecilia, after she says the concentration of churches in Prester probably is not “balanced,” Mr. Phillips replies defensively, “We are famous for our churches. They are harmless.” Mr. Phillips’s response is a non sequitur, and as such, it indicates Mr. Phillips might have unconscious doubts about the health of life in Prester. A short while later, while Mr. Phillips is still trying to convince Cecilia to make her residence in Prester, a young fellow shouts to Cecilia, “Everyone in this town already has a car! There is no one in this town who doesn’t have a car!” This could mean dissent against Prester’s establishment does exist at some level in the town; the man’s youth lends credence to that notion, because young people tend to join popular groups that rebel against societal traditions. The year in which Barthelme wrote “A City of Churches”—1973—was rife with the activities of such groups, and Barthelme could be reflecting those activities with the young man here.

The diction and irony with which Barthelme describes Prester effectively depict a town where uniformity and stagnation permeate the way of life, and where the populace appears to know something is wrong, but few dare to admit the truth. If these few persist in their beliefs, though, they could help change Prester’s society for the better, just as a few dissenters did in the Soviet Union to assist communism in its downfall and in the United States to bring about civil rights for all citizens. Perhaps, in a decade or two, a building will spring up in Prester that has no pretensions about being a church. Maybe Prester will gain the vitality that comes with diversity.

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To illustrate her point, Didion first uses the examples of Klaus Fuchs and Alfred Rosenberg. Fuchs was a British traitor who leaked nuclear secrets to the Soviets, and Rosenberg was the Nazi administrator of Eastern Europe, where the Germans committed their most heinous and most murderous acts during World War II. Both the traitor and the murderer tried to justify their actions by claiming they were doing as their morality demanded. After these examples, Didion then says Jesus Christ also use morality to justify what he did. This juxtaposition of seemingly paradoxical ideas proves Didion’s assertion that morality can vary from person to person.

The juxtaposition also helps to prove that people can use morality to justify almost anything. Individuals such as Osama bin Laden believe they have the moral right to order actions that take the lives of thousands of innocent civilians. Many Christian fundamentalists think the American government can morally enact laws that oppress homosexuals. Such interpretations show that what people think is morality more likely is just the way people think things should be. Morality is not a device by which people determine right from wrong, but a tool people use either consciously or unconsciously to serve their own ends.

Clearly, universal standards of right and wrong do not exist. The circumstances Didion outlined in her essay, as well as current world events, demonstrate that fact. But many people do not agree with that analysis, and as Didion points out in her essay, that trend is dangerous. People who adhere themselves to a supposedly universal moral code can delude themselves into thinking people who do not follow that code are infidels who are less than human. As the events of September 11, 2001, show, the consequences of that line of thought can be tragic. People must resist thinking in terms of moral absolutes if the future is to be safe from terrorism and oppression.

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People always need convenient scapegoats to blame for society’s problems. The practice of deflecting responsibility is certainly nothing new. Before the advent of television, culture critics assailed books as the cause of juvenile corruption. Now, software developers and movie studios are the ubiquitous demons supposedly debauching the youth of America.

The focus on and criticism of violent forms of media is entirely misplaced. Thousands of people watch violent movies and play bloody video games each year without going on rampages of death and destruction. A relatively mature individual who is sound of mind will not kill or maim someone because of a brutal act the individual has seen in a motion picture or a video game.

Few people will admit the real problem: oblivious and naívé parents. These parents, instead of spending time with their children to impart to them the standards of civilized behavior, simply rely on the television or the computer to teach life lessons. These parents think nothing of it when their little kids (who certainly are impressionable, unlike mature people) play violent video games or see blood-soaked movies. Therefore, these children grow up thinking of violence as an acceptable solution to life’s problems. They don’t know any better because their parents didn’t act as a force to counteract the messages from violent media.

Some people, such as Mr. Ashcroft, believe the entertainment and gaming industries should refrain from making violent products. But the thousands of people who can enjoy such things without hurting or killing people should not be punished for the insane acts of a deranged few. Parents have the responsibility to make sure their impressionable young children are not exposed to violent media. The time has come for them to live up to that responsibility.

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