All Apologies

I've enjoyed reading Andrew Sullivan through the years. He was an old-school conservative who didn't embrace the neocon ideology. I don't always agree with his conclusions, but I always enjoy his thoughtful reasoning.

Unlike other conservative writers, he posted an essay today on his blog fessing up to his own inadequacies concerning the Iraq War. What I Got Wrong About Iraq. He wrote it for Slate, the online magazine.
He writes that he committed four cardinal sins: Historical Narcissism, Narrow Moralism, Unconservatism, and Misreading Bush.

Historical Narcissism: Listening to criticism from the Left, he says that he filtered it through his Reaganite/Thatcherite historical filter and focused on the ideological arguments to the detriment of clear analysis of the true situation.

"I allowed myself to be distracted by an ideological battle when what was required was clear-eyed prudence."

Narrow Moralism: Having weighed the pros and cons of the Iraq War before it began, he felt that no matter what happened, it couldn't be wrong to remove an evil dictator from power.

"I became enamored of my own morality and this single moral act. And he was a monster, as we discovered. But what I failed to grasp is that war is also a monster, and that unless one weighs all the possibly evil consequences of an abstractly moral act, one hasn't really engaged in anything much but self-righteousness."

Unconservatism: Knowing the historical problems that the British had in running Iraq and of the Sunni-Shiite division, he dismissed history and his own conservative ideology. He bought the Administration story that Iraq was more secular and modern than most Middle Eastern countries.

"I greatly under-estimated them - and as someone who liked to think of myself as a conservative, I pathetically failed to appreciate how those divides never truly go away and certainly cannot be abolished by a Western magic wand. In that sense I was not conservative enough."

Misreading Bush: Although the Administration's execution of the war was fraught with incompetence, he believes war is often paired with incompetence. Instead, he feels it was misreading Bush's personal morality that was the most pertinent misread he made.

"I had no idea he was so complacent - even glib - about the evil that men with good intentions can enable. I truly did not believe that Bush would use 9/11 to tear up the Geneva Conventions. When I first heard of abuses at Gitmo, I dismissed them as enemy propaganda. I certainly never believed that a conservative would embrace torture as the central thrust of an anti-terror strategy, and lie about it, and scapegoat underlings for it...

"I certainly never believed that a war I supported for the sake of freedom would actually use as its central weapon the deepest antithesis of freedom - the destruction of human autonomy and dignity and will that is torture.

"To distort this by shredding the English language, by engaging in newspeak that I had long associated with totalitarian regimes, was a further insult. And for me, [it was] an epiphany about what American conservatism had come to mean."


I had a different experience from Mr. Sullivan in the early days of the war.

I remember a business dinner just after the war began, where someone asked me what I thought about the situation.

I thought about it and said, "As an American Indian, the Administration's rationale sounds uncomfortably like Manifest Destiny."

I was uncomfortable with the ideological rationale being forced down the country's throat at the expense of rational analysis. Inherent in the idea of Manifest Destiny was the superiority of Christianity and Western political philosophy as compared to the perceived inferiority of American Indians, their religions and governments.

The American people by and large, were convinced of their superiority due to their Christianity and sought to stamp out what they felt were inferior peoples with inferior religions. Indians were denied religious freedom despite the U.S. protection of religion in its constitution.

We were being asked to trust the Administration without asking bothersome questions. No where in history can I recall a situation where people were told to blindly trust their leaders when it when it turned out well.

As Sullivan points out, the Administration's use of totalitarian tactics and rhetoric were very troubling to me, as well. Of course, totalitarian tactics were closely tied to the implementation of Manifest Destiny. People tend to skim over those moral issues where Indians are concerned. But we remember.

Had Sullivan recalled the worst of American military and civil atrocities against Indians, he might have been more troubled by the Administration earlier.

The failure of the President was due to his fundamentalist religious views. He feels that the end justifies the means in Iraq because he sees himself as a Christian and Iraq's religion and culture as inferior.

In his mind, God has sent American to save the Iraqi people. He just substituted "democracy" for "Christianity". It is the same hubris that was used to execute Manifest Destiny.

Bush failed to grasp the importance of the religious divides in Iraq because from the start, he didn't think Islam is a religion on par with his own. It was unimportant to him and to his administration's analysis.

It is the same religious certitude that goes with any fundamentalist religion, be it Christian, Jewish, Muslim or even atheism. Once convinced of divine right, otherwise good people will engage in no end of atrocities to further their ideology at the expense of their humanity.

It is ironic that fundamentalist religious zealots on both sides of the war have diminished both countries. It is an irony I'd prefer to do without, but here we are.

The Undiscovered Country

The subject of suicide came up today. It reminded me of the fragility of life. We often forget how tender and vulnerable it is. Death had been on my mind; my father died in late January. This forced me to really think about what I believe about death and suicide.

I don't think that we understand suicide enough to be judge over those who attempt it or who are successful. Instead, we should show love to those who attempt it. We should love and cry with the family and friends who are impacted by it. We should show understanding.

Some religions condemn suicide and consider it a lack of faith or a sin. Instead of loving the people involved, they judge them. They seem to think that if the person had sufficient faith, she would not have committed suicide.

They forget that sometimes faith is a luxury.

In the Bible, Job had faith. He endured all the slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune that was thrown his way by God's prosecutor, the satan (it is a title in Job, not a personal name). We know from the introduction that Job's suffering is caused by a friendly wager between God and his satan.

Like we see a lot of today, Job's religious friends have judged him. They believe that Job has sinned against God and that God is punishing him. They repeatedly tell him to curse God and die; literally, commit blasphemy so that God will strike him dead. After seeing the level of the trials and tribulations seemingly meted by God against Job for his sins, they can't imagine that Job is redeemable. But Job refuses their advice. He has faith.

The Book of Job even offers multiple versions of the parable to look at faith from different angles. In one, Job partially gives in; he feels sorry for himself and asks God, "Why me?" God chastises Job for his lack of faith - Job is incapable of comprehending the mind of God or his rationale.

Job is rewarded by God for his faith. That begs the question for me. Even if a person is rewarded with a new family and goods, can he ever really get past the loss of his first family? Or is it a wound that he carries as the price of faith?

Job's faith is an admirable goal, but not everyone can make it to the goalpost. Just because Job's suffering is part of God's plan, does that mean that everyone's suffering is? It seems to presume a lot to think that all bad things are tests of faith from God. Surely, our hubris undoes us if we think so.

I believe that God gave us free will. Part of that freedom is the choice of whether to live or not. We have to respect another person's decision, even if we think it is the wrong one.

I'm reminded of why American Indians made such poor slaves when the Europeans first tried to enslave us. Personal freedom was the keystone of our cultural and religious beliefs. God gave us our freedom; man was meant to be free.

Even within Indian warfare, women and children who were enslaved were usually adopted into the tribe in some capacity and given their freedom. A slave was not necessarily permanent chattel as in European slavery.

Freedom was more important to us than our lives, even if an unnatural death might mean that the person could not pass to the next world. Life without freedom was not a life worth living. It was a life without honor and harmony. Other Indians would understand their decision as rationale and honorable.

In Hamlet, Shakespeare says that the only thing that keeps us from committing suicide is the fear of the unknown. We fear not death itself, but that undiscovered country from which no travelers ever return.

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?

To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd.

Hamlet is dreaming of the sweet release from his woes. To fall asleep and know those vexing troubles no more is enticing. He wants that release.

To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;

Hamlet ponders if we continue to exist after dying. What comes next? The fear of the unknown haunts him.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

Hamlet argues with himself - reminding himself of the many tragedies that befalls man in his life.

But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?

He considers the finality of death and that men often endure the pains of life rather than face the unknown after death. In fact, there might be even worse things to endure after death. He isn't even thinking about heaven or hell in a religious context. He is just considering the prospect that not knowing may mean worse to come, whatever form that eventuality might take.

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

The endurance of life is easier than facing his fear of the unknown. He acknowledges that it is his cowardice that colored his inaction. His resolve to kill himself has become 'diseased' by fear. The 'disease' of fear weakens his hand until he loses his resolve.

Many might understand the soliloquy to be about the fear of death, but it isn't. Shakespeare believes that the suicidal person already has overcome that fear.

Instead, Shakespeare suggests that the suicidal person is considering what comes after death. Sometimes the fear of the undiscovered country is all that keeps us alive.

We normally think that someone who attempts or commits suicide was not in their right mind. We ascribe irrationality to them to explain what we perceive as an irrational act. I don't think that a suicidal person is necessarily irrational.

Hamlet's soliloquy illustrates an example of a rational mind. He is weighing the cost of his death against the cost of life. In Hamlet's case, the cost of death - the fear of the unknown - is greater than the weight of life.

Were he irrational, he would kill himself without thinking about the cost of death, what comes next, or if the next world will present even greater woes than this one. His analysis of his options and capability of making a decision displays that he is capable of rational thought.

Reducing Shakespeare's theory to a mathematical equation: L = CL < style="font-style: italic;">perception of his or her options are skewed. For instance, in depression, one might not be capable of accurately perceiving and assessing all one's options. A person mired in alcoholism or drug use may be chemically unable to stop without help from others.

Sadly, there aren't always good solutions even to temporary problems. Sometimes a person who is depressed doesn't respond to any medications or therapy. Sometimes, the brain of the addicted person is so ravaged by the disease that the pain of stopping is greater than the pain of death or the unknown.

Cluster headaches are known to cause people such unending agony that even opiates don't relieve the unending pain. Perhaps, in some people, life represents a living hell where there isn't an acceptable, reasonable resolution that includes life.

In those cases, the person may not have any other choices, the strength or faith to outweigh the cost of death. For them, the benefits of death far exceeds the benefits of living. How can we judge or condemn them?

I almost died after a minor surgery many years ago. The anesthesiologist gave me too much fluid and I was drowning as my lungs filled up. The doctor refused to believe that it wasn't my asthma, although a nurse kept trying to get him to give me a shot to cue my body to dispose of the excess fluid.

My brain began shutting down functions, starting with my vision. As I struggled to breath in darkness, my hearing began to dim, too. The voices of the doctor and nurse faded, but were in the background.

A clear voice told me that it was not my time to die, but if I wished to die, it was okay. The voice was full of warmth and love.

I knew that only I was hearing the voice. I knew I was dying. It was the most peaceful experience I've ever had. There was no instruction or attempt to sway my decision. The choice was utterly and entirely mine. Further, my decision was acceptable, no matter which one I chose.

As soon as I chose to live, the voice and the peacefulness was gone. I was back, struggling for every breath with barely enough strength to make the next one.

Immediately after my decision, I heard the doctor give in and allow the nurse to administer the shot. It took an hour of hard, labored, even painful, breathing that tired me to my very core, but I lived. It took the rest of the night for my body to fully eliminate the fluid. Frankly, the cost of dying was less than the cost of living, but I saw greater benefit in living.

From that experience, I learned that we all have a choice to live or die. Further, it appears that our choice is not solely based on the cost of living or the cost of dying, but the juxtaposition of the benefit of living against the benefit of dying.

I had a choice to commit a sort of suicide or not. I knew that there was a shot that might save my life. There was a reasonable chance that I might live. Yet, it was acceptable for me to die, if I wanted to do so.

The physical cost of living was, as I already knew, cold, hard and painful. Dying would be easier; it was peaceful and warm - it would take almost no effort at all. God would not condemn me, rather God understood and would accept my choice.

Yet it was not the costs that helped me decide, it was the benefits. I knew it was not my time. I knew that there were things I wanted to do. I knew that there were people that I loved who would be hurt by my early departure.

Those benefits outweighed the cost of living as well as the benefit of death. In mathematical terms, L = BL > (CL, BD, (CL + BD)).

If the Benefits of Living outweigh the Cost of Living, the Benefits of Death or both, then it would be rational to decide to live. Likewise, if the Cost of Living or the Benefits of Death or both are greater than the Benefits of Living, I understand why someone would want to take his or her life.

I may not agree with his decision, but I'm not going to substitute my judgment for his. I must respect his decision.

It doesn't mean that I can't be concerned, offer to help in a loving way or even try to talk him off the ledge. I just have to accept his decision if he chooses death.

Sometimes philosophy sucks.