David Gelernter

What does it mean to "believe" in America? Why do we always speak of our country as having a mission or purpose that is higher than other nations?Modern liberals have invested a great deal in the notion that America was founded as a secular state, with religion relegated to the private sphere. David Gelernter argues that America is not secular at all, but a powerful religious idea--indeed, a religion in its own right.Gelernter argues that what we have come to call "Americanism" is in fact a secular version of Zionism. Not the Zionism of the ancient Hebrews, but that of the Puritan founders who saw themselves as the new children of Israel, creating a new Jerusalem in a new world. Their faith-based ideals of liberty, equality, and democratic governance had a greater influence on the nation's founders than the Enlightenment.Gelernter traces the development of the American religion from its roots in the Puritan Zionism of seventeenth-century New England to the idealistic fighting faith it has become, a militant creed dedicated to spreading freedom around the world. The central figures in this process were Abraham Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt, and Woodrow Wilson, who presided over the secularization of the American Zionist idea into the form we now know as Americanism.If America is a religion, it is a religion without a god, and it is a global religion. People who believe in America live all over the world. Its adherents have included oppressed and freedom-loving peoples everywhere--from the patriots of the Greek and Hungarian revolutions to the martyred Chinese dissidents of Tiananmen Square.Gelernter also shows that anti-Americanism, particularly the virulent kind that is found today in Europe, is a reaction against this religious conception of America on the part of those who adhere to a rival religion of pacifism and appeasement.A startlingly original argument about the religious meaning of America and why it is loved--and hated--with so much passion at home and abroad.

When something works well, you can feel it; there is a sense of rightness to it. We call that rightness beauty, and it ought to be the single most important component of design. This recognition is at the heart of David Gelernter's wittily argued essay, Machine Beauty, which defines beauty as an inspired mating of simplicity and power. You can see it in a Bauhaus chair, the Hoover Dam, or an Emerson radio circa 1930. In contrast, too many contemporary technologists run out of ideas and resort to gimmicks and features; they are rarely capable of real, structural ingenuity. Nowhere is this more evident than in the world of computers. You don't have to look far to see how oblivious most computer technologists are to the idea of beauty. Just look at how ugly your computer cabinet is, how unwieldy and out of sync if feels with the manner and speed with which you process thought. The best designers, however, are obsessed with beauty. Both hardware and software should afford us the greatest opportunity to achieve deep beauty, the kind of beauty that happens when many types of loveliness reinforce one another, when design expresses an underlying technology, a machine logic. Program software ought to be transparent: it should engage what Gelernter calls "a thought-amplifying feedback loop," a creative symbiosis with its user. These principles, beautiful in themselves, will set the stage for the next technological revolution, in which the pursuit of elegance will lead to extraordinary innovations.

On June 24, 1993, David Gelernter opened a package that exploded, blowing off most of his right hand and damaging his hearing, eyesight, and chest. Ironically, the perpetrator, the technology-phobic "mad genius" we know as the Unabomber, managed to punish one of the very few people who are deeply skeptical about computers and openly critical of technology. Perhaps the greater irony is that the bomb meant to destroy a man's life remade it, and the wounds meant to break his spirit only strengthened it. Now, in this haunting memoir, Gelernter makes a metaphor of himself, seeing in his own near-death and recovery the same disfigurement and promise for American society as a whole. As he ponders his own spiritual condition and the healing power he found in family, religion, community, and art, he critiques the American soul and its devaluing of these very treasures. Instead of teaching and lauding the virtues of courage, critical thinking, and good judgment, Americans have made a media circus out of crime. We are so busy peeking pruriently into the twisted minds of madmen that we have forgotten the acts of violence are not significant because they tickle our bloodlust, but because they force us to rethink our priorities. In a power analysis of the media's response to his experience, for example, Gelernter points out that the Unabomber was described as a "genius, " as "sick, " as "fascinating, " but never as evil. Gelernter asks the chilling question: What does it mean when a culture no longer believes in evil? What happens to a society that has lost its ability to react morally in a crisis? After all, when a man is blown up by a bomb, we should question, not gawk; learn the deeper lessons, not bask in the lurid details. A gripping and poignant narrative as well as a thought-provoking analysis of our culture and where it's headed, Drawing Life is about the resurrection of an extremely thoughtful human being and the extraordinary power of one man's will to live.

Discusses how the education quality has change over the years in the United States.

In 1939, exhausted by a decade-long depression, Americans faced a brewing European conflict that would prove to be the most destructive war in history. At this dark juncture, a World's Fair was held in New York City that evoked such acute hope in its promise of a glorious future that a whole generation was drawn to it and transformed by its vision. People came from all over the world to see the fair, and it was not uncommon for many to attend ten, twenty, even thirty times. There, the awed spectators gazed at a utopian world of superhighways, spacious suburbs and other technological wonders. As David Gelernter brilliantly recounts in 1939, it was a future that has largely come to pass, but one that, in its realization, has drained us of the very pride and hope that were so palpable at the fair itself. In 1939, Gelernter gives us a virtual reality picture of the World's Fair and the passionate feelings it still evokes in those who were there. In entering that picture, we gain a clearer understanding of why our future stands in such dark contrast to the glittering utopian vision of 1939.