Ronald Reagan did not build a structure; he cast a spell. There was no Reagan revolution, just a Reagan bedazzlement. The magic is going off almost as mysteriously as the spell was woven in the first place. There is no edifice of policies solid enough to tumble, piece by piece, its props being knocked out singly or in groups. The whole thing is not falling down; it was never weighty enough for that. It is simply evanescing.
To measure the disenchantment we must remember the power of the trance being dissipated. The Republican Convention of 1984, the love-in at Dallas, was a unique event in our politics. The cult of personality was carried embarrassingly far, but the adulation was all spontaneous and unfeigned -- and somehow nonpolitical.
Contending forces in the Republican Party suspended or muted their hostilities, each to enjoy its own share of the Reagan glory. Potential candidates tried to rub some of his magic onto their futures, but people were not really thinking of tomorrow. It was all a glorious today of heady triumph, + a happy blend of religiosity and athleticism. Reagan's principal appearances during the convention were at a prayer breakfast and for a speech that associated the runners who had just carried the Olympic flame across America with the torch-bearing Statue of Liberty. The crowd burst into cheers of "U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" This transcended normal politics. It was the politics of ecstasy. A Nuremberg rally without the menace.
The only "issue" of the convention was Ronald Reagan's Teflon invulnerability; the principal activity was a delight in sharing his life. This was accomplished not so much by actual appearances at the convention (he came late and moved about little) but by way of the films he had made before he arrived. The 18-minute film that introduced the President's speech at the convention made Reagan himself cry when he first saw it. The one that introduced Nancy was even more touching, ending with his tribute to her. When Nancy went onstage, Reagan appeared on the screen behind her, watching her on his hotel TV, and the crowd shouted and gestured her around to see him and hug the airy apparition above her. It was the consummation of the weird political transaction that was the Dallas convention.
Reagan as symbol of America, as angel of our better natures, as reconciler of our meaner aspects into a smiling strength, as folksy commander of a worldwide empire -- all these were images too high or too deep for ordinary political criticism. How he came to that eminence was a matter of shared history between him and the American electorate -- shared innocence about the responsibilities of great power, about what he deplores as "government" in keeping the accounts of a great nation and a world power.
Shift the scene to Reykjavik. That too was a summit unlike all others. Reagan even denied that it was a summit. It was just an informal meeting of the minds, where he could exercise his charm; and it too seemed verging toward a love-in. The President was accompanied by experts with varying attitudes on arms control, men who deferred superficially to Reagan's vision of a Strategic Defense Initiative entirely benevolent, so purely defensive in nature that its secrets could be shared with the world once it was put in place. Members of his Administration nodded along, as they had at the prayer breakfast in Dallas.