HALF the world's discontent flows from brahmins and failed artists who, while having no vocation for work of any steady kind, are consumed by a craving for power. This they satisfy by choosing two of the glittering careers open to the "ambitious but lazy second-rater": politics and journalism (the words in commas being Gore Vidal's).

The politician must get office or, if like Nawabzada Nasrullah Khan he has a gift for agitation, he must get a platform from where to harangue the world. Deny him office or the stage and you have a malcontent on your hands, forever dissatisfied with the universal condition.

The journalist craves recognition, which can take either of two forms: adulation or dinner invitations. Provided he gets these, he is satisfied with himself. If he is more lucky and becomes a pundit, with a regular column to himself and able to vent his spleen (a gift which does not come readily to everyone), he has risen to the heights of his profession. Ambassadors call him, politicians on the make seek him out for his opinion and he is generally made much of in the charmed circles in which he moves.

Sometimes a politician rises above the pack and becomes noticed for his distinction and intelligence. But such cases are rare. Politics requires a certain amount of hard talent not brilliance. Politicians must have an eye for the main chance, an instinct for the jugular. Which is to say they must know when to make a move, when to shift with the wind. Without this touch they will be missing the tide all the time (and quoting Shakespeare into the bargain).

But politics does not call for original thought. In fact, to be able to think for oneself is often a grave disadvantage in politics for it sows doubts in the mind and makes one cautious. Benazir and Nawaz Sharif, despite their current disabilities, are successful politicians. Nor should this be surprising: "...the most effective men (and women) of action are often intellectually second-rate." (Russell)

This applies to other climes as well. George W. in the US and Al Gore: not everyone's idea of original thinkers. Yet no one dare call them unsuccessful. It is a middle class conceit to shower the politician with contempt, an attitude flowing quite often from envy. It is like our attitude to money. If we do not have enough of it ourselves we make a virtue of idealism which, in the words of David Landes (The Wealth and Poverty of Nations--brilliant book), "...is the affectation of those who feel they have less than they deserve in the presence of those who have more." I myself am guilty of a lot of idealism.

I think we have it wrong about the oldest profession. How could it come first? Put people together and the first thing they instinctively want is order and power and the creation of a hierarchy which places the strong above the weak. What else is politics? Everything else comes thereafter.

Closely connected to politics is self-promotion which is nother name for journalism. In any honest rendering of human history these would have to be the first professions. And since men (and women) become tired of too much order and prudence they have from the beginning sought release in 'frenzy' and 'madness'--the madness which comes, not to put too fine a point on it, from the fruit of the vine. This is where the saloon-keeper comes in. After politics and self-promotion must have come the timeless art of the bartender. Call this art what you will: Bacchic ritual, Dionysian frenzy, bacchanalian orgy, or, in our less happy times, a night out with the boys. It has been an essential part of human existence.

Here's another quote from Russell which I cite more for resonance than relevance: "Much of what is greatest in human achievement involves some element of (mental) intoxication, some sweeping away of prudence by passion. Without the Bacchic element, life would be uninteresting; with it, it is dangerous. Prudence versus passion is a conflict that runs through history." In Pakistan this conflict has been won conclusively by prudence. Look not for passion in our works or our politics. But what a dry prudence we have crowned which produces neither thrift nor prosperity?

Am I mixing up my history of the world? I think so, for where does the musician, the potter and the wandering poet fit in it? But I was not striving for accuracy, merely trying to accord politics and journalism their proper places in the human pantheon.

In a beautiful essay Charles Lamb says the two races of men are lenders and borrowers - the former worn by care, the latter pictures of fun and gaiety. Perhaps this theory could be improved upon. The human race today is split between drones and brahmins: those who have to work for a living - professionals, bankers, men of enterprise, captains of commerce and industry, professors of academe, etc; and those who are artists to varying degrees - poets, writers, conmen, charlatans, politicians and journalists.Provided they have a good liver, a more vital adjunct to happiness than anything else in the world, the brahmins get more out of life - zap and plain fun. But the proviso is important. Without good digestion nothing tastes well, not even love. Falstaff's zest, Pistol's braggadocio, Sir Toby's carousing: all based on hearty eating. Even Ghalib, I suspect, would not have been the man he was if he could not have put up with excess.

I have been cursed with a weak liver which makes this one of my favourite verses:

Hai Seemab us kee majboori,

Jis ne kee ho shabab mein tauba.

The spirit willing, nay eager; the flesh weak. Can a more malevolent fate befall mortal man?

Military rule is a mixed blessing. While it encourages conmen, charlatans and those laying claim to sure remedies for the human condition, it kills the other brahminic professions like politics and journalism. While speaking of the ill-effects of military rule we tend to stress tangible things - that institutions, etc, are adversely affected. But more harmful than this is the psychic and spiritual effect of any dispensation which stresses conformity - in other words, prudence - and frowns upon the disorder of free expression and behaviour - in other words, passion. Before Pakistan could get over the bad memories of the Ayub and Yahya Khan eras it got Ziaul Haq. Before it could truly get over him, it has got another dose of military rule.

But one should count one's blessings and be grateful for small mercies. For one, journalism continues to flourish even if, and I am sure this feeling is widely shared, newspapers are serving weaker and colder porridge. For another, politicos can still issue statements (much the better part of Pakistani politics) and secure their names in print. Which means that despite everything, the brahminic professions remain alive even if after ten months they show signs of exhaustion.

I count myself lucky even if my sense of good fortune is laced with regret. Ensconced in Chakwal, I cultivate my small patch of brahmanism away from the hurly-burly of big town life. Many things I wanted I have got but a bit late in the day. When I wanted some things badly the means were not at hand. When in the afternoon of my life I have the means, I find my appetite gone sickly. Which is a variation on what Proust said: "Everything comes about just as we desired, but only when we no longer desire it."