Here's the idea behind chaos theory: An Iowa farmer's truck won't start, which affects the result of the campaign for president of the United States of America.
 
A more familiar illustration of chaos theory connects the fluttering of a butterfly's wing in China to a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico, but the Iowa example is just as apt. In both cases, momentous events are shaped by minuscule influences. Less than two weeks from today the Iowa caucuses will make or break the fortunes of presidential candidates, lifting some up and pushing others out before other Americans have anything to say about them.
 
Iowa is a small state, with a population of 3 million; 1 percent of the nation's total. Of that number, fewer than 10 percent will participate in the caucuses. Only 112,000 Iowans caucused in 2004. The next-day verdict on whether a candidate is surging or lagging can hinge on a few hundred votes.
 
Except they're not really votes. A caucus differs from a primary election in important ways. On Jan. 3, Iowans who are registered as either Republicans or Democrats will go to churches, schools and libraries in 1,784 precincts. There they will discuss their parties' candidates and openly declare their preferences. This begins a several-stage process of electing delegates to the parties' national conventions. It's not a secret ballot, and more than a few voters are intimidated by the process. Caucus participants are whiter, older and more politically involved than average Iowans, who themselves are unrepresentative of the nation as a whole.
 
Yet Iowa has been the second home of many of the presidential candidates for months. As much as $400 will be spent courting the support of each caucus-goer. The story of the 2008 presidential campaign has been told in news dispatches following the datelines of Iowa towns most Americans have never heard of, and won't hear of again for another four years.
 
But the rewards are potentially great. Iowa has tempted long-shot candidates since 1976, when Jimmy Carter vaulted to prominence after the caucuses. Carter didn't win.. he placed second behind the category labeled "uncommitted." But Carter did better than expected, which is what winning in Iowa means.
 
The dangers are also great. Iowa has become the graveyard of several presidential campaigns, from Edmund Muskie in 1972 to Republican Steve Forbes in 1996. Muskie actually won the caucuses, but not by as much as he needed to, and in Iowa that made him a loser.
 
Fortunately for the rest of the country, those few Iowans who attend the caucuses tend to take their responsibilities seriously. And there's something to be said for having the candidates vetted by the most politically involved citizens of a small state, where campaigns can be conducted in person and with relatively little cash.
 
If a big state such as Florida or Texas went first, money would matter even more in presidential politics than it does now. That would be one drawback to the best alternative to the current nominating process, a series of regional primaries. Each region would have to be so large that less one-on-one campaigning, as occurs in Iowa and New Hampshire, would occur.
 
For now, the country is stuck with Iowa. In less than two weeks, Americans will feel the whirlwinds stirred by the butterfly's wing.
 
Copyright, 2007; The Register-Guard, Eugene, Oregon, USA