Submitted to a Candid World

Unsurprisingly, I agree with the New York Times: especially if Iraq wants us out, it’s time to get out of Iraq. While I’ve previously wondered aloud about whether pulling out of Iraq is the right thing to do, especially since we knew (or would have known, absent a lying president and a complicit press corps) that going in that Iraq was a long-term commitment, when the rebuilding nation’s will comes into play, our task must inevitably narrow, lest our presence subtly transition from nation-building to occupation.

It’s also well past time that we transition from our futile and naive “democracy-building” mission back to focusing on our initial causus belli: fighting terrorism (remember that?). Especially If Obama plans to draw down troops but not entirely abandon the Iraqis - his plan incorporates residual forces tasked with derailing Al Qaeda - we can call this a “victory,” as long as “victory” is realistically defined.

That will mean abandoning the goal of building perfect democracy in Iraq.

While I acknowledge the honor and raw optimism - dare I say, the audacity of hope? - behind the pipe-dream of building lasting western democracy in Iraq, that goal was never realistic, and it completely failed to account for the importance that historical tradition plays in building democracy. Looking back on our own history, the Anglo-Saxon democratic model grew over the course of a thousand years, a thousand injustices, and a thousand sacrifices. The stunning realization that democracy is “the worst of all forms of government, except all the others that’ve been tried” is a realization bought by blood and the passage of time. Democracy never grows by fiat, it never grows without a fertile historical tradition, and if forced on a nation before its time, it’s never quite right. We need only look at Russia’s slow slide to despotism, and Algeria’s tragicomic early-90s democratic experiment, which ended with the election of an anti-democracy party. Without the proper historical soil, democracy just doesn’t “take”: while we needn’t abandon all hope on Iraq’s democratic experiment, we mustn’t expect it to work perfectly or quickly. It may yet work out, but we can’t “hold our breath.”

And here is John McCain’s problem. All of the experience in the world can’t save America, and can’t save Iraq, unless it’s applied to sensible goals. What we need from our next president is experience, yes, but experience plus perspective.

If you’ve ever argued with someone on the far right, the type that drinks daily from the cup of Human Events and WorldNetDaily, you’ve likely heard and become familiar with the argument that Darwin and Margaret Sanger were racist eugenecists; ergo evolution, abortion, and family planning are racist and evil. Sadly, these bits of spin have become “mainstream,” through such breathtaking works of staggering genius as Expelled, and bear commentary.

Let’s pretend this is a motion for summary judgment, and accept all of “plaintiff’s” allegations of fact as true, just for the sake of argument. So, let’s assume that Sanger and Darwin were both monsters who wanted to “select” or “engineer” away other racists. What of it?

The answer is, nothing. Especially in the case of science, where the idea evolves exponentially beyond its original conception, a “founder’s” personal beliefs are practically meaningless. More generally, there’s no concept “original sin” in philosophy; provided a belief system does not retain the bigoted beliefs of its adherents, it retains none of the guilt for the same. If a philosophy, like a snowball rolling down the incline of history, gathered all the scum of its adherents, no idea would be innocent. All of Christianity would be counted a murderer (the Crusades), all of Islam the same (the wars of expansion), and even democracy and America would be irredeemable (the Indian wars). The mere fact of the continuance of history requires us to forgive the sins of our ideological fathers, and focus on the present. Since conservatives so readily agree that historical revisionism is a flawed way of looking at the world, it’s odd (or, unsurprising) that fundamentalist conservatives forget that simple truth when it comes to ideas they don’t like.

Times are always tough for scholars of biblical history.  At Rice, Dr. Werner Kelber once told us that his scholarship on the Q Document, the lost source of all the synoptic Gospels, had bought him death threats from fundamentalist Christians, incensed by the implication that the Gospels in the Bible may not be inerrant as-now-written, but were rather inspired by an earlier, unitary document.  Apparently, in some circles, biblical history is not a proper realm of inquiry.  But then again, in the same circles, neither is science.

For people who travel in those circles, this is going to be a doozy.  Apparently - per a newly discovered newly researched tablet - the story of the messiah, dead for three days and then reborn, was not original or unique to Jesus of Nazareth, son of Mary, but was rather a persistent theme in turn-of-the-millennium Judaism.

Frankly, if you’ve been paying attention or looked into history at all, this shouldn’t be that surprising.  That a story about rebirth and resurrection should crop up while the Roman Republic was reinventing itself, and while its newly appointed Princeps Augustus was touting his reign as rebirth on a national scale, is no coincidence.  During the first half of what we now call the first century C.E., rebirth was a common religious theme: mystery cults built around rebirth, like the cult of Isis and Osiris, were cropping up everywhere.  New religions always mirror and appropriate temporal events to the divine (look at Mormonism).  Christianity is no different, and it’s not immune from history.  That the non-uniqueness of the Christian story should be so strikingly and starkly presented by this tablet may be shocking, but that human events beget religious beliefs is an anthropological Law.

What I wonder is whether that should be troubling.  No doubt many believing Christians will feel threatened by the discovery that their religion has roots older than the name “Jesus,” and no doubt it proves that religion is always affected (and at least partially inspired) by humans.  It may even suggest that it therefore might be fabricated.  But if you really believe in the truth of the underlying story - i.e., if you’re truly spiritual and not just religious - that shouldn’t matter.  Anything that becomes subject to human inspection must come away with the imprint of the inspector: it’s like Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, applied to the humanities (law people: if you want a laugh along these lines, 212 F.R.D. 110, 116).

Religion, even if divinely inspired, can’t help but acquire traits imputed to it by humanity.  While we can disagree on whether all or part of religion is human-made, we surely can’t believe that all of religion is just how whatever God inspired it intended it to be.  History happens.  If you care about spirituality and faith at a high enough level of abstraction - i.e., if your conviction is far enough removed from the day-to-day life of humanity - the academic facts shouldn’t matter.  As Augustine of Hippo posited a long time ago (in De Doctrina Christiana), religion ought to be more than text deep, and if you can’t get past the minor details to come to the big picture of religion, well, maybe you’re just not very religious in the first place.  The faith of a fundamentalist, who quibbles over every minor point and is threatened by every divergence from The Word, is shallow and vulnerable indeed.

All this is to say that, while the not-so-shocking revelation that our modern Jesus story has mythical roots may be dangerous and damaging to the religious, it ought not matter to people who care about religion enough to think about their faith.

Advance warning: I will be using a picture of Mal Reynolds in all my future gun-related posts. Now, to the issue…

First, I’d like to re-emphasize that Heller, the Supreme Court opinion that codified what we already knew about the second amendment, is not a big deal. As Judge Kozinski said, in happier times, “the parties are advised to chill.” Anyone who ranks Scalia’s Heller opinion above his opinion in R.A.V. v. City of St. Paul either doesn’t know their constitutional law, or doesn’t think that defining the first amendment is that important. For God’s sakes, based on Obama’s reactions, the case isn’t even going to be a campaign issue. Scalia crafted a well-written, but uneventful tract on guns in America, incorporating into the U.S. Reporter what politicians (outside of D.C. and San Fransisco) already knew. Move on!

I’ll say this much about the decision: Heller does show us one interesting thing, but it’s not about guns. It’s about about law and constitutional decisionmaking in general. Scalia approached the decision from a textualist, and originalist perspective, breaking down the second amendment line-by-line, and then putting each part of it in historical context. It’s a very good textual decision from that perspective. It’s also a very good originalist decision. In fact, it may be one of the best originalist decisions ever written. The problem is, that doesn’t say much.

Originalism is hailed by conservatives as the best canon of constitutional interpretation, because it is allegedly “objective.” It freezes a moment in time and uses it to govern all future moments. Thus, an originalist judge, ideally, isn’t interpreting so much as mechanically channeling history and applying it to a given fact set. In theory, there can be no “legislating from the bench,” since an originalist judge is bound to the historical narrative. For the originalist judge, the story goes, personal feelings never enter into the picture.

By relying upon history, and calling it “objective,” originalism presumes that there is only one historical narrative. But there are always competing historical narratives. Judges have read the second amendment’s history in precisely the opposite manner that Scalia did - legitimately, too. [1] And academics have never been able to agree on how the historical records speaks. [2] In the (scant) legislative history of the second amendment, one can reach different conclusions by selecting or emphasizing different historical facts. Scalia wasn’t being objective by falling back upon “original meaning”: he was just being less obviously subjective. Thus, at best, originalism is still subjective, because a judge still must choose the historical narrative to credit.

At best. At worst, the historical confusion is so all-encompassing as to make originalism completely useless in constitutional interpretation. In the first amendment context, falling back on originalism would eviscerate the modern understanding of “free speech”: most states banned blasphemy at the founding, and about half of the Founding Generation thought speaking against the government should get you deported. Neither of these perspectives jive with our modern values; they ought not control our society today, and, since all admit that originalism is useless when touching the first amendment, they don’t.

All of this is to say that, essentially, Scalia wrote a good, moderate, political opinion. But let’s put to bed the myth that he, and other originalist judges, make law by objectively channeling the Founders. (more…)

Historical revisionism - the process by which we re-evaluate our heroes and cultural avatars according to modern norms - is a particular bête noire of the American Right, with the American Spectator proving the case nicely.

Actually, though, the Spectator makes a good point, for once - revisionism run amok is not scholarly, and frustrates our understanding and respect for the past. However, the Spectator’s argument goes off half-cocked. Namely, the Spectator author is right, but she’s arguing against a straw man.

If we were to judge everything against contemporary moral standards, we would no longer have a history. Since much of our morality is progressive - that is, over time, we come to realize new injustices - almost all historical figures fail to live up to modern standards.  As the Spectator author points out, to make a historical figure’s remembrance based wholly on moral failings viewed from a modern perspective is to deny a commandment of the historian - namely, that individuals and events should be looked at in context.

Further, if we’re to demand that our historical role models be perfect to retain their iconic status, we will quickly be bereft of history. Thomas Jefferson was a slave-owner, so he’s out; John Adams was an abolitionist, but probably a homophobe, and the list goes on. When looking at the past, a good historian ought to be able to engage in a conceptual severance, to be able to look at the individual’s positive accomplishments on their own. Where an individual’s failings are really the failings of the era in which she lived, this rule is especially true. Our heroes ought to be good in some way; they need not be perfect.  Let them be praised for their goodness, and condemned, but not in the same breath, for their failings.

A common example where these points come into play is in criticism of high school teachers who teach Huckleberry Finn.  The book, the argument goes, is racist; Huck tosses around the n-word fairly regularly.  Well, yes. But we do not read Huck Finn for the truth of the matter asserted; we read it for the historical context it provides, and to perhaps praise Huck for struggling against the stereotypes he lived in, to come closer than others of his era did to realizing their flaws.

Unlike Lisa from the Spectator, I don’t think that anyone actually argues that our heroes ought to be perfect, tossing them aside if they suffer from a failing of their era.  I’ve never met  “revisionist” who would hold the accomplishments of Jefferson hostage to his endorsement of slavery; rather, revisionists are “big picture” types, who insist that faults be acknowledged alongside triumphs, not that one dwarf the other.  Of course, where the faults outweigh the triumphs, or where the only triumphs come from working in the service of an objective moral wrong (as in the case of Lester Maddox, I’ve argued), history can properly condemn that individual.  And that, I think, is what Lisa from the Spectator would actually object to.

Ancient history is often over-dramatized in the primary sources.  As one of many examples, Plutarch wrote his “biographies” more concerned with teaching a moral lesson than with the facts.  Regardless, it sure makes for good reading!  Today, the sad story of the Etruscans.

The Etruscan League (or, “League of Etruria”) was a loose confederation of twelve city-states in Italy, existing before the rise of the Roman Republic.  The cities of the League practiced a loose, early form of democracy, and committed themselves strongly to the idea of unity through freedom.  But when their strongest city (Veii) lapsed into a kingship, the League expelled it, and refused to defend it against a Roman invasion.  When Veii fell, the League all of a sudden lacked its strongest power, and it quickly fell thereafter to Roman Legions, city by city.

In direct contrast, the thirteen young American colonies, after much politicking, came to the defense of Massachusetts against the British, sensing that the colonies would all hang together, “or surely hang separately.”  The difference of result - enslavement versus centuries of prosperity - shows the strong importance of unity in the face of a common foe, a continuing lesson that today’s leaders ought to heed.  Although I can’t for the life of me think how to apply this lesson today, it’s nonetheless fun to repeat.

Above, the symbol of the Etruscan League, the fasces - twelve sticks bound together around a common commitment to strength through unity, symbolized by the axe.  Curiously, the fasces found its way into Roman, then American iconography.  Hopefully the message will prove just as enduring.

Below, a top ten list of Bush’s worst failures. In one of my favorite episodes of Futurama, one character defends his absurd profession by saying, “when push comes to shove, you gotta do what you love, even if it’s not a good idea.” That pretty much sums up George W. Bush’s entire presidency.

I’m dedicating this post to remembering some of the worst of the worst of Bush’s acts in office, misdeeds which made me greatly question the health of our nation and of our democracy. We need to remember that, if we vote for McCain, we may not be voting literally for Bush, but we’re voting for the same behind-the-scenes people that made him so awful. So, lest we forget, a top ten list, in no particular order:

1. Outing Valerie Plame Wilson: when State Department officer Joseph Wilson discovered that Bush’s State of the Union mention of “yellow cake uranium,” implying Iraqi nuclear capabilities, was not consistent with facts, he told the public. In an urgent effort to discredit Wilson, and shame him into secrecy, Karl Rove - exclaiming, “Wilson’s wife is fair game” - assisted various other press operatives in “outing” Valerie Plame Wilson as an undercover operative. A career ruined, intelligence blown, lives at risk, all for a political point. (more below the line…) (more…)

Bush took a shot at Obama yesterday, comparing Obama’s willingness to talk with foreign terrorist leaders “appeasement.” The reference to Neville Chamberlain is inapt. Chamberlain “appeased” Hitler by giving him territory - part of Czechoslovakia - not by merely talking with him. The cheap (and incorrect) shot sparked some media attention. On the clip below, Chris Matthews makes a complete fool out of conservative radio pundit Kevin James, who doesn’t appear to know his history, but tries to trade on it nonetheless.

Matthews said it best: “when you’re going to make a direct historic reference, get it straight.”