No Inevitables

There's a great scene in Lawrence of Arabia where Lawrence goes back to rescue a man who has fallen behind in the desert. Others try to convince him it's a fool's errand, that he too will perish alone in the blazing sun. Lawrence is told to accept that the man is lost and get over it. "It is written," they say. The next day Lawrence returns with the man draped over his camel's back, still alive. "Nothing is written," says Lawrence.

That's also the narrative of America. Nothing is written. It is our deepest cultural myth and the way to our hearts. It explains our very soul as a people. Never give up. There is always hope. The Amazin' Mets can win the World Series, Appalachian State can beat Michigan and an amateur American hockey team can humble the mighty Soviet Union.

An entire industry, perhaps our most beloved industry, exists because of that myth, to nourish it and be nourished by it in turn. The appetite for it is insatiable. Walt Disney, Frank Capra, George Lucas and Steven Spielberg understood this and became very wealthy men. American Idol is predicated on it, for as Jiminy Cricket reminds us, "when your heart is in your dream, no request is too extreme."

The conviction that nothing is written defines our spirit, and because we believe it we make it reality often enough to keep believing. "It's always darkest before the dawn," the proverb tells us. It is woven into the most treasured tales of our past. It's why a militia of farmers defeated an empire, why a people in bondage were set free, why one president could galvanize a nation in need by saying, "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself," why another could convince us to shoot for the moon, "not because it is easy, but because it is hard," and why another could look on a continent in chains and command, "Tear down this wall!"

I was reminded of these lessons while watching the New Hampshire primary returns come in. Six months ago John McCain was written off. "Non Factor," "Over the Hill Mac" read the headlines. Today he is the victor. His dream lives on. On Monday Hillary Clinton was written off. "Panic," "She's So Yesterday" read the headlines. Today she is the victor. Her dream lives on. The man she defeated is himself an exemplar of the same tenet, an apostle of the possible, a surmounter for whom nothing is written. His dream too lives on.

The analysts had the people of little New Hampshire all figured out. They had been surveyed and dissected from every conceivable angle, their preferences and predilections measured, their hot buttons mapped and their demographics tabulated. The results were but a formality. They were written. The political strategists were already at work charting the next phase of the campaign and developing spin to take best advantage of the situation. The pundits were busy opining on what it all meant and debating whether the vanquished would be able to go on. Then the people of New Hampshire decided they were going to do something else. They would do the writing themselves, thank you.

Americans revel in these narratives. We resist being categorized, pigeonholed, sorted and boxed. We love proving the experts wrong. We love waking up in the morning to a picture of a grinning Harry Truman holding a copy of the Chicago Tribune with the banner headline "Dewey Defeats Truman." We hate being told we cannot. That is exactly the way to get us started. For us there are no inevitables. Nothing is written.