ROME - MUSLIMS who were outraged by cartoons of their Prophet must have been baffled to hear that Italy's prime minister, Silvio Berlusconi, had likened himself to Jesus. Proof that the West is incorrigibly impious? Or new evidence that Mr Berlusconi, who boasted of the West's cultural superiority after September 11th, is a “crusader”?

Neither really. Although—or perhaps, because—Christianity has been so central to south European society, Latins often exhibit a careless familiarity with its terminology and symbols that can surprise people from farther north. In French or Spanish, a trial or torment is called a “Calvary” after the place Jesus was crucified. And Italians call a hapless wretch a “poor Christ”. That helps explain Mr Berlusconi's claim: “I am the Jesus Christ of politics. I'm a patient victim. I endure everything. I sacrifice myself for everyone.”

Opponents, however, call Mr Berlusconi the most self-serving prime minister in Italian history—a man whose government has repeatedly passed legislation that favoured his business interests, and altered the law to ensure he would not be convicted of any of the many alleged offences for which he has been tried. Yet Mr Berlusconi frequently depicts himself as a martyr—a man who, were he not slaving day and night for the good of his fellow-Italians, could be relaxing and enjoying his immense personal fortune.

This time, though, he was doing more than simply bemoaning his fate. The madly outrageous comments for which the prime minister is famous serve a purpose that is usually unremarked: they focus attention on him, to the exclusion of his political rivals. Mr Berlusconi had used the technique to good effect before parliament was dissolved on February 11th, clearing the way for a general election on April 9th and 10th. Having failed to scrap the rules that mandate equal air time for all political parties during the campaign, Mr Berlusconi set about capitalising on his unrivalled access to the media before the election was formally called. He owns a controlling stake in Italy's three biggest private television channels and, as prime minister, he can decide the fate of the three which are run by the state.

For more than three weeks, Italian viewers saw Mr Berlusconi talking up the record of his government, sometimes for hours on end. At one point, Romano Prodi, the former president of the European Union's commission, who aims to oust Mr Berlusconi, complained that, in the previous fortnight, the prime minister had had 24 times as much television exposure as he had. The prime minister's shock tactics included comparing his achievements in office with those of Napoleon, and promising that he would abstain from sex till polling day.

Crude attention-seeking, maybe. But it worked. Before Mr Berlusconi embarked on his media blitz, his coalition was trailing the opposition by six percentage points. A poll published by the daily Corriere della Sera indicated that, when it was over, the gap had shrunk to about four.

At last, on February 11th, his opponents were entitled to think they might get a fair crack of the whip and, indeed, they chose that day to launch their programme. Mr Berlusconi made his “Jesus Christ” quip and their 379 pages of good intentions were swamped by controversy over the prime minister's audacity.

Whether he needed to bother is another question: the opposition's programme soon became an embarrassment. Its length attests to Mr Prodi's problems in preserving the Union, the hideously awkward group that he leads. At one end it includes a Trotskyist who has defended the right of insurgents to attack Italian soldiers in Iraq. At the other, it takes in former Christian Democrats who would be seen as right of centre in many places.

The fudge-filled programme includes the pet projects of all the seven parties that signed up to it. It vows that Italian troops will be withdrawn from Iraq, but in accordance with a “technically necessary” timetable that guarantees “conditions of security”—a position little different from the government's. It dodges the issue of whether to continue work on a rail tunnel through the Alps north of Turin, near the site of the winter Olympics. That did not escape the notice of the press and, to protests from Italy's Greens, who also belong to the Union, Mr Prodi said it would go ahead at all costs.

The episode left a worrying impression of disunity, and distracted attention from the nub of the programme—a thoughtful analysis of Italy's economic decline and a programme for reversing it. Mr Prodi had earlier pledged to cut unit labour costs by five percentage points. The programme added a fiscal-reform plan to lower employers' welfare contributions while raising take-home pay. This is vigorous, ambitious stuff. But a shake-up of the ailing economy also requires an attack on vested interests in the professions, the unions and the public sector which the left would find difficult to mount. Its main employment pledge is to reduce the number of non-permanent jobs.

A more obvious question is how many voters will take the trouble to read a programme as long as a novel. Mr Berlusconi has taken a more direct approach. Instead of wrangling with his allies, he simply unveiled his programme before consulting them. Ignoring rumbles of dissent, he vowed to seek their backing for an eight-point plan led by tax cuts. It also promises 1.5m new jobs, higher pensions, more community policing, free school books, an end to hospital waiting lists and a plan for the sale of state-owned housing to tenants. Faced with this fait accompli, his political allies caved in. The apparent contrast between the unity of the right and the disarray of the left was painful to see. With its lead slipping, the left cannot afford to be wrong-footed again.