The United States always seem to need someone to demonize in order to have a functioning foreign policy. Now that Hitler, Stalin, and the “Evil Empire” are dead and gone, we have to make do with such lesser devils as Saddam Hussein and Osama Bin-Laden. The French have no such problem. They do not base their foreign policy on visions of foreign devils (if, in fact, France still has a foreign policy of her own). The French seem to derive a certain melancholy satisfaction from being able to feel superior to us—as they did during the Clinton presidency—or sorry for us, as they do now. Our former president was rather appreciated, for he and his impeachment adversaries gave them something to mock—both him as a figure of fun and the narrow minded puritans opposing him, who do not understand what sex is.

We know why they laughed at us under Clinton, but why do they feel sorry for us now? On a recent visit to Aix-en-Provence, I met with Prof. Pierre Courtial, the 86-year-old grand old man of Protestant theology in France. Over tea, he asked me, “What will become of your country now?” “Why do you ask that?” I replied. “Votre président,”he said. “Your President, Mr. Bush.” M. Courtial apparently believed that Bush is not very bright; that he is a dangerous militarist; and that, at the same tune, he is an old-fashioned isolationist. “America is the only superpower left. What will become of us all?”

In the course of a well-attended conference on the relationship between Christianity, money, and economics, it became evident that almost everyone shared M. Courtial’s impression of the new President and of what his presidency might mean. They seem to derive their knowledge chiefly from a combination of Democratic Party press releases and the leading U.S. media, such as the New York Times. The major French dailies (Le Figaro and Le Monde) have their own sources, but they pay far more (and better) attention to affairs in Europe and North Africa than to what goes on in the United States. The result is that even learned Frenchmen have impressions of the President (and America in general) that sound like they came straight out of the Nation. The fact that Mr. Bush is the first American president with an M.B.A.—from Harvard Business School at that—surprised them. Perhaps the best point I made was that he has ended, at least temporarily, the tradition of playing “Hail to the Chief whenever he appears in public. The audience was a bit perplexed about the significance of this, but when I translated “Hail to the Chief” into German—”Heil dem Führer.”—they saw the point. The idea that the new President not only has impressive intellectual credentials but seems to possess a measure of genuine humility both surprised and relieved them.

In Europe, Mr. Clinton had a reputation that was far better than his reality; for the time being, Mr. Bush has a reputation that is far inferior to the man himself. Most Americans neither know nor care what the French think, but what other nations think of us is important. If the French begin to see that we have chosen a President who is neither a buffoon nor a braggart, both of our nations will benefit.