Rational Philosophy

On what we choose to do and how those choices define us.

This is the best picture, make that the only picture I could find of George Bush’s White House reception yesterday for Major League Soccer’s league champions the Houston Dynamos. Although apparently Bush “brought the entire roster into the Oval Office and took individual pictures with each player.” Bush was also present a few weeks ago at the team’s ring ceremony.

But then the Dynamos are a Texas team, no matter that Bush is in the White House, and no matter that while he was receiving the Dynamos Khalid Shaikh Mohammad, the accused and self-claimed architect of the September 11 attacks, five years after his capture appeared before a military court in Guantanamo bay. And no matter that a Senate panel after five years of investigation finally released its findings in which it accused President Bush, Dick Cheney, Paul Wolfowitz, Donald Rumsfeld and others of deceiving or misleading the American public in various ways about the link between Al Qaeda and Iraq, and about Iraq’s threat to the region and the world.

So I’ve been sitting here wondering what made Khalid Mohammad choose to plot and execute such acts of terror, even assuming that he’s taking credit for more than he should. And wondering too what would make the Bush administration take matters of such dire significance into their own hands, acting with such careless, callous and criminal imperiousness. The war has destabilized the region, killed thousands of innocents, and perhaps put us at greater risk of future terrorist attacks.

If, as it seems possible, what underlies both motives is a lack of perspective, a lack of humanity (Khalid Mohammad sees America as unholy, unworthy of compassion, Bush’s crowd sees the Islamic world the same way) why do we feel strongly that there is a difference?

(When I start to equate the two too directly I remind myself that Bush feted his home state Dynamos, Saddam’s son tortured Iraq’s soccer team.)

Khalid Shaikh Mohammad wasn’t born a terrorist. So when and how did it happen? After leaving his native Kuwait as a teenager he moved to North Carolina and studied engineering. At some point as a young adult he made a series of choices about what he believed which culminated in a single-minded dedication to acts of violence against the West in the name of his religion. If we summon up a picture of him in a sleepy North Carolina suburb, a newly minted engineer, picking up the newspaper and perusing the job listings, one can imagine him having made a different set of choices, perhaps ending up living a more or less peaceful life.

But he made a choice to believe in something bigger than himself, bigger than any act of terror he could dream up. His choice was so powerful and freeing that he seems never to have looked back, never to have doubted whether it was right.

As a young man George Bush was a screw up. He excelled only at failure as far as we can tell. But Bush too made a series of choices. He chose to sober up. He chose to go into politics. And he chose to commit himself to religious faith as an influence and guide, something bigger than himself.

The similarity then, the reason we deplore the terrorism of Khalid Mohammad and the duplicity and bloody recklessness of the Bush administration is that both have chosen to forgo personal responsibility in favor of ideological responsibility.

If ever we were to go seeking a definition of evil, this might be it — to choose to set aside one’s personal conscience, to deliberately let it go, so that one can experience the freedom of living by a creed.

On tradition and legacy: Thanksgiving, turkey-pardons, and barbarism.

As an English national I’m supposed to feel ambivalent about celebrating Thanksgiving (not as ambivalent as I am supposed to feel about Independence Day, but ambivalent nevertheless). I’m sure that many people would have to pause if you asked them what we’re supposed to be celebrating on Thanksgiving. Although, does it really matter? It’s a holiday. We get together. We eat. We drive.

In Rome yesterday archaeologists unveiled a cave thought to have been adorned by the Roman emperor Augustus who believed it to be the place where the wolf nurtured Romulus and Remus after fishing them from the river Tiber. The idea of this cave, two thousand years old, fifty two feet inside the Palatine hill, lovingly decorated with seashells and marble, inspires a sense of connection to a rich and vital past state of humanity, one in which myth and reality intertwined. But there’s a brutal aspect to the reality and legend, too, just as the slaughter of turkeys can put a damper on the idea of Thanksgiving. As the story about the Paletine cave mentions, Romulus, for whom Rome is named, went on to kill his twin brother Remus in a power struggle.

The story of Romulus allegedly killing Remus reminds me of two pieces related to Bush this week: Firstly, his Thanksgiving witticism (yes, it was actually funny) in which he skewered his boss, I mean his vice president. In announcing the winners of the emancipated-Turkey naming contest, Bush quipped that the winning names “May” and “Flower” were much better than those proffered by Cheney — “Lunch and dinner.” (What’s behind that mean-spirited reference to Cheney’s voracious appetite, one wonders?) The second Bush tale is less amusing. Scott McClellan, the former White House press secretary, in publicizing his new book, reveals that when Bush pressed Scott to announce that Rove and Libby had nothing to do with the Plame leak, it wasn’t true. Scott stops short of accusing Bush of lying, but the indictment of the administration is clear. The question remains whether this administration’s historical legacy of deception and audacious egotism will be recognized by posterity.

Another story today turns up another dark aspect of tradition. A young Saudi woman has had her sentence increased from 90 lashes to 200 lashes. Her crime: Going out in public with a man to whom she was not related. It gets worse. Her crime came to light in the first place because she was the victim of abduction and gang rape.

We may find this punishment abhorrent. I do. But our reaction is mostly a matter of timing. Up until recently, corporal punishment was considered an entirely appropriate punishment in most corners of the world for many crimes. And in this country going back less than two hundred years many slave-owners thought nothing of beating men and women alike for crimes real and imagined, and society in general accepted it.

Tradition, history, and legacy work as a double-edged sword. They can help to maintain some of the best traditions, remind us of great moments, movements and passges in our history, and it can help maintain some of the worst. Without thoughtful reappraisal and rational questioning of why we hold onto certain laws or patterns of behavior, we will inevitably hold onto bad laws and patterns of behavior. For this reason, I think, we are right to question even those seemingly innocent and well-respected traditions. Today’s cause for celebration, after all, may be tomorrow’s cause for shame.

The New York Times article today on Secret U.S. Endorsement of Severe Interrogations is both appalling and fascinating in its thorough exposure of the administration’s dogged efforts to encourage and enable the CIA to use a wide range and combination of brutal interrogation techniques without having to worry about their legality. But beyond the pertinent questions of what constitutes torture and in what ways the administration blurred the line between branches of government, and, once again, abused its executive power, I was struck by the universal themes of courage and cowardice that sprang out of the circumstances of the story.

The Times reports on a White House meeting involving James Comey, deputy attorney general: “Mr. Comey stated that “no lawyer” would endorse Mr. Yoo’s justification for the N.S.A. program, Mr. Addington demurred, saying he was a lawyer and found it convincing. Mr. Comey shot back: “No good lawyer,” according to someone present.”

Sitting at home reading the newspaper or watching events on TV it’s easy to regard the administration as laughable and not worthy of respect. But to be in its midst, as Comey was, surrounded by powerful supporters of the White House, with your job on the line, his boldness took real courage.

The Times also reports that within the circle of unswervingly loyal Bush insiders “there was a sense that Comey was a wimp” on national security matters.

I’m reminded of Plato’s Socratic dialogues. In criticizing Comey’s moral stance, the administration defines a specific instance of “courage” as the ability to follow through on severe methods of interrogation in order to get valuable information. Socrates would never let them get away with that kind of rhetorical sleight of hand.

It’s notable that at no point in the several years that this story has been unfolding has the administration appeared to betray any compunction about using severe interrogation methods. This may be an extreme thing to say, but one gets the impression that the administration does not view the detainees as human or deserving of human rights, and, therefore, feels that torturing the detainees couldn’t possibly be inhuman.

And perhaps this is their true perspective. It would explain a great deal.

Let’s suppose for a moment that some within the administration don’t feel that the detainees retain any human rights; that any form of torture is justified if it achieves results. Is this a form of cowardice? Is it courageous?

Courage and cowardice are concepts. They have meaning only as formulated through mental processes. A tree is not courageous because it holds fast against the wind (unless it appears in a poem, at which point it becomes a conceptual tree).

The concept of courage is directly opposed to the concept of cowardice. And the concept of courage has as its root two other concepts — fear or an awareness of risk, and strength — holding one’s course despite the fear. Fear is a direct emotional response to a situation of real or perceived danger. Strength or resistence to fear is a result of our conscious faculty, holding back our natural urge to give in to the fear, the power of the conscious mind to control our more immediate fight or flight responses.

Cowardice, in contrast, arises from the concepts of fear and capitulation. We feel fear, we are aware that we do not want to or should not give in to the fear, yet we give in to it anyway.

Going back to my working premise that maybe some in the administration don’t view the detainees as deserving of human rights. If this is correct, then to condone and enable torture of the detainees requires no courage on their part. But neither is it, in itself, cowardly. (Since they are not, in holding this stance, capiltulating to any fear; they feel no fear of the consequences of this approach.)

However, at the risk of extending my conjecture too far, the perspective I’m presuming exists in Cheney and others itself rests on cowardice. — Whenever we decide on a course of action and act, we risk error. If we don’t recognize the possibility for error, it is because we are afraid we will have to admit our failure. Refusing to admit failure, of course, is a hallmark of the current administration. This then, is cowardice at a deeper level.

To build this logic back up: The White House chooses to pursue a policy of severe interrogation that denies the detainees their human rights. The White House refuses to accept that this premise and the course of action being followed may be wrong. In refusing to accept that it may be wrong, the White House acts out of cowardice.

Others in the story betray a more simple and obvious form of cowardice: Gonzalez and Yoo, for instance, who defend the administration’s tactics for their own ends, to please their masters, or just so they don’t have to say ‘no.’

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