Note: This pamphlet was written as an analysis of the presidential campaign rhetoric of former U. S. president Jimmy Carter and Walter F. Mondale, a former United States Senator from Minnesota and Vice President of the United States in the Carter Administration, who ran unsuccessfully against the incumbent president, Ronald Reagan, in 1984.
Originally published by Dawn Publishing Company, Dollard des Ormeaux, Quebec, Canada, 1984. It appeared between the Democratic Party nominating convention and the general election.
“The one-time protégé of Hubert Humphrey softly articulated the politics of compassion.”
–Fay S. Joyce
“Notes on the Campaign Trail”
New York Times Magazine
July 8, 1984
“The New Realism”
While accepting the presidential nomination of his party, Walter Mondale made a statement that may be unique in the history of such occasions. He apologized to the American people.
Specifically, he apologized for the Democratic Party’s recent past. An “honest, caring man—Jimmy Carter—picked me [as] his running mate, and in 1976 I was elected Vice President,” he recalled. But in the next four years something, or several things, went very wrong because “in 1980 Ronald Reagan beat the pants off us.”
“So tonight I want to say something to those of you across the country who voted for Ronald Reagan—Republicans, independents and yes, some Democrats: I heard you. And our party heard you. After we lost we didn’t tell the American people that they were wrong. Instead we began asking you what our mistakes had been.”
Mr. Mondale left the identification of those mistakes to his audience. But he did offer some hints.
“Tonight we come to you with a new realism…. Look at our platform. There are no defense cuts that weaken our security, no business taxes that weaken our economy, no laundry lists that raid our treasury.
“We are wiser, stronger, and we are focused on the future. If Mr. Reagan wants to rerun the 1980 campaign, fine. Let them fight over the past. We’re fighting for the American future.”
To praise “a new realism” must mean that the ‘old’ Democratic Party was not realistic enough. What was the character of this (as it were) old surrealism? That is, what is “the past” that Republicans may want “to fight over”? Have Mr. Mondale and the Democratic Party truly abandoned this surrealism of the past? Or has he, and his party, merely camouflaged it for partisan political reasons?
The Old Ideology
A few years ago, American television ‘covered’—the metaphor tells more than its users know—” a gathering of “New Deal” alumni: men and women who wrote speeches and contrived programs for the remarkable Franklin D. Roosevelt. Nostalgia reigned (in FDR’s absence) and sentimental stories were told. One alumnus went so far as to tell a reporter that “the New Deal institutionalized compassion.” Whether it did or not—whether that is possible or not—is of course debatable. It tried, and American politics underwent at least a partial revolution.
Of American politicians, Woodrow Wilson first recognized the rhetorical utility of compassion as a theme, not merely as a tone. [1] In his book A Discourse on Statesmanship, Paul Eidelberg calls Wilson’s public teaching “the politics of compassion,” quoting Wilson’s praise of “a government rooted… in the pains and sufferings of mankind… a government which is not pitiful but full of human sympathy.” [2] Wilson did not live to see the realization of his dream, but after a dozen years of Republican dominance, the Democrats, with Roosevelt, won their chance. Thereafter, more than one Republican candidate was caught between exasperation and the impulse to cry, ‘Me, too.’
But by the late 1960s, the Democratic Party’s rhetoric wasn’t working. Neither was its celebrated coalition of Northern labor unionists, academics, and Southern politicians. The debate on the Vietnam War damaged the Party by separating those who wanted to extend the politics of compassion to the North Vietnamese communists and those who did not. Vice President Hubert Humphrey, a man who proudly identified himself with the now-old politics, lost to Richard Nixon after being attacked on his ‘right’ by the racist, George Wallace, and on his ‘left’ by the war critic, Eugene McCarthy. In the early 1970s, a declining economy brought the politics of compassion to its nadir; the middle classes complained, with perhaps less justice than passion, that none of this compassion was for themselves. George McGovern lost the 1972 presidential election so badly because Americans saw him as ‘too permissive’—that is, too tolerant of what pundits called, with customary impercipience, ‘the counter-culture.’ Composed mostly of the sons and daughters of middle-class liberals, the counter-culturists merely pushed the politics of compassion to its so-to-speak logical conclusion: the dream of a world without conflict, without competition, where one ‘makes love, not war,’ where one makes love, not business deals, not arguments—where one makes nothing that is inharmonious and not-fun. Mr. Nixon, obsessed with competition, didn’t have much trouble beating something so congenitally unable to defend itself as McGovernism.
Fortunately for the Democrats, fortune never rests. Nixon failed even as he succeeded, as many have chronicled so exhaustively. The Democrats got another chance, but they needed a new rhetorical strategy. Enter the amiable-but-serious “peanut farmer” (owner of a government-subsidized peanut warehouse) and “nuclear physicist” (former engineer on a nuclear submarine) from Plains, Georgia.
Jimmy Carter and Political Religion
Georgia Governor James Earl “Jimmy” Carter explicitly identified himself with the New Deal’s politics of compassion. At an AFL-CIO convention he averred that “we are part of the currents of history,” and “this campaign [of 1976] was under way in 1932, when [Republican President Gerald Ford’s] party nominated [Herbert] Hoover and ours [the number of Republicans at AFL-CIO conventions is small] nominated Franklin Roosevelt.” [3] Carter traced the not-quite-apostolic succession through Harry S. Truman (“a common man like many of you, and like myself”), John F. Kennedy, Lyndon B. Johnson, Humphrey, and McGovern. And after the Party nominated him, Carter delivered the campaign “kickoff speech” at Warm Springs, Georgia, where “the warm waters gave [FDR] strength and hope.” As president, Roosevelt “gave strength and hope to an afflicted nation.” [4]. Now Jimmy Cater, too, came to Warm Springs, whence he would go forth to heal the afflicted.
However, when he campaigned for the nomination, many politicians of compassion opposed Mr. Carter. Henry Jackson, Morris Udall, Birch Bayh, Lloyd Bentsen, Frank Church, Freed Harris, and, at the end, California Governor Edmund G. “Jerry” Brown wandered through all or part of the maze of Democratic primary elections. Carter defeated them for several reasons. One of the most important was his tone—the way he spoke and the way he carried himself—which calmed and reassured a nervous electorate. But one important thematic cause of his victory was his use of (will historians be able to conceive of it?) love. Wallace and Nixon had countered the politics of compassion with a politics of self-righteous anger. Mr. Carter apparently had the wit to see that love (purged of the ‘permissive’ sexual content of the slogan ‘make love, not war’) is more respectable than self-righteous anger, and that everyone, especially the middle class (the class that elects American presidents) would much rather be respectable. He confessed his love for humanity, a love that supplemented and, as Christians would say, ‘saved’ the politics of compassion. Government, he insisted repeatedly, should be, can be, “honest and truthful and fair and idealistic, compassionate, filled with love.” [5] At the same time, government should be strong (Ford’s lack of ‘leadership qualities’ was an issue) and competent (Ford’s lack of competence was also an issue). One model for this was a Christian social activist named Eloy Cruz, whom Carter met while visiting Mexico:
“He had a remarkable ability to reach the hearts of people in a very natural and unassuming way and quickly convinced them that he loved them and God loved them. I observed him closely as we spent that inspiring week together.” [6] Such close observation proved electorally profitable.
A more famous model was the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., who was “the man, more than any other of his generation, who gazed upon the great wall of segregation and saw that it could be destroyed by the power of love.” [7] Somehow, power and love intersect; Mr. Carter demonstrated that they can seem to–and did seem to, in American electoral politics in 1976, as he won the presidency.
Political Christianity
That demonstration was possible because American electoral politics is a matter of winning the consent of a people composed principally of Christians and secularized ‘christians.’ While pundits described the Carter style of speech-making as gospel-sermonizing, and noticed that he professed “born-again” Christianity, they overlooked the fact that the substance of what he was saying was also derived from Christianity. They too were essentially Christian in morality if not in belief; to them, compassion and love seemed entirely natural sentiments for a person to invoke, although some were more doubtful than others concerning the politician’s sincerity.
Compassion and love in politics, humanitarianism, obviously comprise a secularized form of Christianity—charity metamorphosed into sentiment. It’s no accident that the humanitarian Woodrow Wilson came along after American intellectuals had turned from the consolations of religion to those of modern science. Wilson was Nathaniel Hawthorne’s Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale, Baconized. And Carter, the “nuclear physicist,” yet less secularized than Wilson, told one audience, “It’s completely anachronistic [sic] in the makeup of a nuclear physicist or an engineer or a scientist to be satisfied with what we’ve got, or to rest on the laurels of past accomplishments.” [8]. For the most part, modern scientists are what Bacon wanted them to be: engineers of progress, gradually satisfying the human desires for comfort and self-preservation. And government “is a contrivance of human wisdom to provide for human wants.” [9] Christianity, politics, and modern science intersected in the mind of Jimmy Carter. After becoming present, he told one journalist that he had studied “philosophy” by reading Bertrand Russell’s A History of Western Philosophy six or seven times, underlining pertinent sections; Russell (in many of his moral teachings if not in his private life) is the perfect example of a Christian-without-Christ. We may assume that Mr. Carter simply added his own belief in Christ as he read along.
The synthesis doesn’t work. Nietzsche charged the Christian teaching with gratifying the self-pity and resentment of slaves—a harsh contention one might wish to dispute, or at least qualify. But Nietzsche’s contention does unmask the politics of compassion and love. Transplanted to political soil, especially in the modern world, Christianity mutates. Christians teach that men need God’s love, without which they are justly damned. But citizens need no love from the gods of the political world. As citizens, rich and poor alike need not compassion but something approaching justice: that which, in Christian eschatology, would leave humanity damned. Love binds Christians; justice—as imitated by law, custom, precept, example—binds citizens. And the things that imitate justice are things of this world.
The Politics of Resentment
Mr. Carter knew that. “I have spoken a lot of times this year about love,” he told the Democratic delegates, “but love must be translated into simple justice.” [10] Perhaps regrettably, love does not so “translate.” With Christian love, intention counts more than results; in politics justice counts as an end, not an intention. To Christianity, God is love; love is the greatest power in the universe. But genuine Christianity never teaches that love is the greatest of the secular powers.
To approach justice (shall we dismiss the utopian insistence that we can attain it?) one must win, here and now. One has opponents whose defeat must not wait until the Day of Judgment. (It wasn’t such a bad thing that the likes of Hitler and Stalin were opposed by other men of this world; we may reasonably thank God for some politicians). America’s judgment day is the first Tuesday in November, and the judges are fallible. Turning the other cheek pleases Jesus; voters tend toward the unsublime. Inevitably, the politician of compassion and love, while claiming to appeal to conscience, in fact rouses less exalted sentiments from a lower part of the soul:
“Too many have had to suffer at the hands of a political and economic elite who have shaped decisions and never had to account for mistakes nor to suffer from injustice. When unemployment prevails, they never stand in line looking for a job. When deprivation results from a confused and bewildering welfare system, they never do without food or clothing or a place to sleep. When the public schools are torn by strife, their children go to exclusive private schools….” [11]
Mr. Carter expresses compassion and love but evokes self-pity and resentment. The politician of compassion and love wins votes not by exhorting us to love our enemy but by promising to turn him out of office. And although at times he may contend that society is imperfect because man is imperfect [12], he more frequently implies that evil is not so much within us, the result of a freely-chosen fall from grace, but that evil is out there, oppressing decent folks like you and me. Vox populi, vox Jimmy.
Having attained office, the politicians of compassion and love fails for much the same reason as his predecessor, the politician of compassion, failed. The self-pity and resentment he exploited in order to win the election don’t go away, and all the love-talk in Creation can’t really unify the country. His carefully-wrought consensus dissolves. And because “Jesus teaches us not to judge other people,” and “You can’t enforce morality” [13], Mr. Carter had difficulty bringing himself to enforce a consensus, or at least a workable majority, in the country; he wanted to persuade, in effect to campaign for consent. Campaigning was the one thing he was good at, the one thing that made him feel morally strong. But campaigning isn’t governing.
The Foreign Policy of Surrealism
In foreign policy, the politics of compassion and love accomplishes even less than it does at home—as the compassionate President Wilson learned sixty years ago. Love and power rarely meet when fellow-citizens meet; they meet even more rarely when statesmen meet.
Still, Carter should not be confused with the entirely secularized ‘christians’ on this. For one thing, he was not afraid of death. (“I just look at death as not a threat. It’s inevitable, and I have assurance of eternal life”) [14] Nor did he define peace in merely negative terms: “… peace is not the mere absence of war. Peace is action to stamp out international terrorism. Peace is the unceasing effort to preserve human rights. Peace is a combined demonstration of strength and good will.” [15] He was sufficiently clear-headed to say he wanted “an international framework of peace within which our own ideals can become a global reality” [16]—which implies the dissolution of regimes founded upon Marxism-Leninism. He recognized that “indirect challenges” in which the United States and the Soviet Union “confront each other by proxy in various trouble spots… make a mockery of the very concept of détente.” [17]. In defending human rights (which are “our greatest source of strength”) he wanted to balance “idealism” and “realism.” [18]. Realistically, he saw that communists live under “an even greater level of oppression” than do victims of right-wing oppression. [19]. And he offered Americans an understated warning: “We do not seek to intimidate, but it is clear that a world which others can dominate with impunity would be inhospitable to decency and a threat to the well-being of all people.” [20]
Unfortunately, the president’s “balance” of “idealism” and “realism” tilted in the direction of “idealism.” It did so because Mr. Carter’s sense of the real was infused with idealism. Such an infusion sensitizes one to the world of the Gospels, but that world is not the world of international politics. His notion of “strength” (as in his phrase, “a combined demonstration of strength and good will”) was itself infused with the Christian notion of “good will.”
Sentimental Populism
One of the anecdotes Carter enjoyed telling during the 1976 campaign concerned his first reading of Tolstoy’s War and Peace. Tolstoy’s lesson, as Carter summarized it, is that “the course of human events, even the greatest historical events, are not determined by the leaders of a nation or a state, like presidents or governors or senators. They are controlled by the combined wisdom and courage and discernment and unselfishness and compassion and love and idealism of the ordinary common people.” [21] He went on to observe that if such was true of Czarist Russia and Imperial France, how much more it must be true of democratic America. Tolstoy combined nationalism and pacifism, egalitarianism and Christianity (sometimes secularized, sometimes not); Mr. Carter found him a congenial voice, and took his view of history from him.
That is why he could deliver himself of such sentiments as:
“Because we know that democracy works, we can reject the argument of those rulers who deny human rights to their people. We are confident that democracy’s example will be compelling.” [22]
“The great democracies are not free because we are strong and prosperous. I believe we are strong and influential and prosperous because we are free.” [23]
“Our country is strong in international affairs. And we ought to once again assert our leadership, because we lost it [this was another slap at Ford]. But that leadership ought not be based on military might or political pressure or economic power [now hitting the ‘Metternichean’ Nixon and Ford Administration Secretary of State, Henry Kissinger], but on the basis of the fact that this country in its foreign affairs is honest and truthful and fair and predictable…. I don’t see any difference in the orality that we ought to assert in foreign affairs than what the character of the American people is.” [24]
This is Tolstoy Americanized. The sane people who assumed, during the campaign, that they were hearing a flatterer in search of votes were too ‘sophisticated’ to imagine that the man meant what he said.
Carter the president acted, for the most part, as Carter the campaigner told us he would. At the University of Notre Dame, he elaborated:
“Being confident of our own future [because democracy is a “compelling” “example” to peoples who do not enjoy it], we are free of that inordinate fear of communism which once led us to embrace any dictator who joined us in that fear…. For too many years. we have been willing to adopt the flawed and erroneous tactics of our adversaries, sometimes abandoning our own values. We have fought fire with fire, never thinking that fire is better quenched with water.” [25]
By “fire” he meant fighting; by “water” he meant negotiating (the international equivalent of campaigning) and exemplifying. Exemplifying what” American “values”: compassion, love, and so on. How examples serve to compel remained mysterious. It was all very reminiscent of George F. Kennan’s conception of ‘containing’ the Soviet Union, which was to be a diplomatic not a military effort. And like Carter, Kennan was a liberal Christian who hoped to advance American interests with Christian and ‘christian’ sentiments.
Carter the campaigner said: “I want the United States of America to be pre-eminent in all the world, but I do not equate pre-eminence solely with military might nor with the ability to subjugate others or to demonstrate prowess on the battlefield We must have adequate forces to defend ourselves. But…. [26] A list of Carterian virtues followed. The list ended, of course, with compassion and love.
Love as Political Power
But how shall America defend itself? “[W]e should cease trying to intervene in affairs of other countries unless our own country is endangered” [27]. Because “danger” meant, to Carter, only direct and immediate danger, he “would never again see our nation become military involved in the internal affairs of another country unless our own security s directly involved” [28]. The American Tolstoyan seriously believed that “Had we spent another fifty thousand lives and had spent another 150 billion dollars in South Vietnam and had we dropped the atomic bomb on North Vietnam, we still could not have propped up the governments of Thieu and Ky,” the last rulers of the non-communist regime in the south [29]. You can’t beat The People, whom Carter assumed were on the side of the Communists. You can only win their hearts with compassion, love, and ‘simple justice.’ After all, one can win an American election by talking up those things.
That goes for relations with the Soviet Union, too. It is as if he expects an invocation of their great national writer, Tolstoy, will melt their hearts. “[A] genuine spirit of cooperation between the democracies and the Soviet Union should extend beyond a negative cessation of hostilities and reach toward joint efforts in dealing with such world problems as agricultural development an the population crisis” [30]. To those who would reply that Marxist-Leninist ideology, combined with non-pacifist nationalism, tends to cause the Soviet rulers to see “such world problems” rather differently than American Tolstoyans do, Mr. Carter might reply, again, that in the long run The People will prevail. “The great challenge we Americans confront is to demonstrate to the Soviet Union that our good will is as great as our strength until, despite all obstacles, our two nations can achieve new attitudes and new trust, and until in time the terrible burden of the arms race can be lifted from our peoples.” [31] To demonstrate this good will to skeptical Russians, he responded the aforementioned “indirect challenges” of confrontation-by-proxy by attempting to negotiate a reduction of weapons supplies to the Third World. He showed unilateral inaction—or, as he would say, “restraint”—when faced with Soviet intervention. He wanted to negotiate “a freeze on further modernization and continuing substantial reductions of nuclear weapons as well” [32], without suggesting exactly how one monitors and enforces a “freeze” on modernization and without mentioning that really substantial reductions in nuclear weapons might lead to a return to large-scale ground warfare. (It is worth remarking that half of Tolstoy’s novel depicts The People at war). There, are limits to the secular power of good will. Yet even after his years in office, after the 1979 Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, Carter could respectfully quote the late Soviet ‘President’ Leonid Brezhnev’s absurd jibe, “If we do not succeed [in limiting nuclear arsenals] God will not forgive us.” Remembering this, Carter could actually bring himself to write, “I felt close to him.” [33]
In his laborious negotiating/campaigning for the peace treaty between Israel and Egypt, Carter displayed the power and the weakness of liberal-Christian good will. Good will lent him tenacity; he was as tenacious in negotiating with Anwar Sadat and Menachem Begin as others have been in fighting. But good will again overrode realism. Example: on March 10, 1979, in Cairo, President Carter addressed Egypt’s “People’s Assembly.” He told them that while “the forms of our faith [Islam, Judaism, Christianity] are different…. the message of Providence has always been the same,” and he quoted peace-celebrating passages from the Koran, the Bible, and the New Testament to ‘prove’ it [34]. He overlooked the non-pacifist, even anti-pacifist content of certain religious teachings, thus missing part of the spiritual (not merely secular) reality of the Middle East. He could do this because he had faith in The People’s love of peace, and believed The People are the ones who determine the course of events. But of course Egyptian policy after Sadat’s murder remains to be seen. Dictatorship enders populism fragile.
So does fanaticism. Or perhaps one should say that populism can eschew humanitarianism and partake of fanaticism.
The Irony of Populism
It is an irony that this most populist of presidents was victimized by a populist uprising: the overthrow of the Shah of Iran, his replacement by the Ayatollah Khomeini, and the subsequent capture of United States embassy employees by men acting in the name of the Ayatollah. “How could any decent human beings, and particularly leaders of a nation, treat innocent people like this—week after week?” [35] Carter’s naïve indignation at the treatment of the hostages was tempered nonetheless, with compassion: “The safety and well-being of the American hostages became a constant concern for me, no matter what duties I was performing as President.” [36] Decent compassion be came an obsession, an obsession communicated to the public. In his memoirs Carter blames his defeat in the 1980 presidential election on public disappointment over failure to settle the hostage crisis. He gives no sign of seeing that his own magnification of that crisis caused conditions that made severe disappointment possible, if not inevitable. Humanitarian populism, thwarted by fanatical populism, fell victim to a populism of frustration.
Carterian populism, based on a liberal-Christian view of politics and (therefore) history, upholds a politics of compassion and love at home and abroad. At home, that politics yields a mood of self-pity, envy, and resentment; abroad, it yields tenaciously-negotiated decline. Because the politician of compassion and love dislikes any power that is not based on compassion, love, and the consent derived therefrom, he prefers not to do much more than exhort. Eventually, people notice that and act accordingly. In Mr. Carter’s case, it didn’t take long.
There They Go, Again
“Here I go, again.” Ex-president Carter’s opening words before the 1984 Democratic Party Convention described not only his own speech but every speech to come. Speaker after speaker invoked the politics of compassion and love, with special emphasis on its ‘tough’ side—namely, the resentment self-pity generates. From New York governor Mario Cuomo (who praised government “strong enough for compassion and love”) to the Reverend Jesse Jackson (“My constituency is the desperate, the damned, the disinherited, and the disrespected”), the continuity was clear. But perhaps the most revealing charge of all was ignited by Rep. Geraldine Ferraro, who questioned President Reagan’s Christianity because Reagan does not endorse the particular form of political Christianity to which today’s liberals adhere.
In his speech accepting his party’s nomination, Walter Mondale praised Carter before condemning his opponent in Carterian terms. “What we have today is government by the rich, by the rich and for the rich…. Mr. Reagan believes that the genius of America is in the board rooms and exclusive country clubs…. When he raises taxes, it won’t be done fairly. He will sock it to average-income families… and leave his rich friends alone.” Or, even more colorfully: “He gave each of his rich friends enough tax breaks to buy a Rolls Royce… and then he asked your family to pay for the hubcaps.”
Turning to foreign policy, Mr. Mondale descended to hysteria. “Every President since the [atomic] bomb has gone off has understood that [we have the capacity to destroy the planet] and talked with the Soviets and negotiated arms control. Why has this administration failed? Why haven’t they tried? Why can’t they understand the cry of Americans and [sic] human beings for sense and sanity and control of these God-awful weapons? Why? Why?” The fact that it was the Soviet ‘negotiating’ team that walked away from the arms talks went conveniently unremarked. Once again, sentiment overbore reality.
There can be no question on one point. The politics of compassion and love works ‘on the campaign trail.’ It makes for effective speeches. If carefully modulated it can even make for inoffensive, if not good government. (One cannot say the same for its opposite, the politics of cruelty and hate—that is tyranny). But, like any passionate thing, the politics of compassion and love tends to maximize itself. It runs to extremes. It cannot by itself govern well because it cannot govern itself at all.
The nature of his politics thus gives Walter Mondale a chance to win the presidency. But his politics would also make his presidency nearly impossible to sustain. Voting is often a sentimental act. Governing is not.
Notes
- Abraham Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address commends charity, not compassion. Lincoln associates charity with the aftermath of just punishment and repentance.
- Paul Eidelberg: A Discourse on Statesmanship: The Design and Transformation of the American Founding (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1974), p. 343. When reading previous inaugural addresses, President-elected Carter “was touched most of all by Woodrow Wilson’s.” See Jimmy Carter: Keeping Faith: A President’s Memoir (New York: Bantam Books, 1984), p. 19.
- Jimmy Carter: A Government As Good As Its People (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1977), p. 172.
- Ibid. p. 162.
- Ibid. pp. 60-61.
- Jimmy Carter: Why Not the Best? (New York: Bantam Books, 1976), p. 149.
- Jimmy Carter: A Government As Good As Its People, op. cit., p. 109.
- Ibid., p. 35.
- Ibid., p. 15.
- Ibid., pp. 129-130. The phrase “simple justice” was current at the time, popularized by the title of a best-selling book on discrimination against American blacks which had been published a year before the election.
- Ibid., p. 128.
- See, for example, his “Law Day Speech,” May 4, 1974, in A Government As Good As Its People, op. cit., p. 34. Here he goes so far as to claim that “the structure of law is founded on the Christian ethic that you shall love the Lord your God and your neighbor as yourself.”
- Ibid., p. 181 and 182. The context of these relatively ‘permissive’-sounding remarks was a briefly-famous interview in Playboy magazine.
- Ibid., p. 187. This also was said (surprisingly enough) during the Playboy interview. The interviewer, predictably, questioned Mr. Carter rather forcefully on his religious beliefs.
- Ibid., p. 131.
- Ibid., p. 132.
- Ibid., p. 120.
- Ibid., p. 166.
- Ibid., p. 168.
- Ibid., p. 261.
- Ibid., p. 41.
- Jimmy Carter: “Remarks of the President at the Commencement of Notre Dame University,” May 27, 1977, White House Press Release, p. 2.
- Ibid., p. 4.
- Jimmy Carter: A Government As Good As Its People, op. cit., p. 63.
- Jimmy Carter: “Remarks” at Notre Dame, op. cit., p. 2.
- Jimmy Carter: A Government As Good As Its People, op. cit., p. 27.
- Ibid., p. 69.
- Ibid., p. 149.
- Ibid., p. 70.
- Ibid., p. 120.
- Ibid., p. 120.
- Jimmy Carter: “Remarks” at Notre Dame, op. cit., p. 5.
- Jimmy Carter: Keeping Faith, op. cit., p. 245.
- Jimmy Carter: “Address to the People’s Assembly of Egypt,” in “Text of Addresses by Presidents Sadat and Carter,” New York Times, March 11, 1979.
- Jimmy Carter: Keeping Faith, op. cit., p. 481.
- Ibid., p. 459.
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