Nietzsche and the Second Iraq War (Part II)

(continued from Part I, posted on 4/3/06)

I do not intend to devalue the sacrifice made by U.S. soldiers in the present war, although the perpetrators of the Abu Ghraib atrocities can go to hell. If we look to history, however, the American public has far less to complain about regarding loss of life in Iraq than it did during the majority of 20^th century U.S. wars. Here, Nietzsche’s observations on pain, which I quoted in Part I of this essay (see April 3rd post below), prove most instructive. American citizens, the majority of whom supported the invasion of Iraq at its outset, have become the “hysterical bluestockings” of whom Nietzsche writes. The subjective pain that our nation feels today, after 2,322 casualties, far outstrips the pain felt by the United States after losing 300,000 troops by V-E Day in 1945.

One could argue, of course, that our involvement in the sequel to the Great War was unassailably just, that in 1945 we defeated the most evil regime of the 20^th century, and that the more or less traditional style of warfare waged against the Nazis allowed Americans in combat and on the home front to see victory so clearly they could grasp it. But these objections point to other developments in America’s liberal-democratic consciousness that come into sharp focus under the lens of The Genealogy of Morals. Most glaringly, the United States has developed an extensive case of bad conscience, including distrust of its own motives among citizens in liberal hotbeds and an inability to fulfill the promises it makes due to a growing public distaste for both inflicting and receiving suffering. (When I say that the American public has distaste for suffering, I mean not only peace-advocating leftists but also the sort of upper-middle class conservative fraternity brother whose pro-military convictions would surely wilt if a draft were to intervene between him and his career as a financial analyst.)

Let us face the facts: regardless of any support members of the current Bush administration gave to Saddam Hussein in the Iran-Iraq War, by 2003 Hussein had proven himself to be just as venal, contemptible and malevolent as Hitler, though he certainly lacked Hitler’s terrible, systematic vision. (I will spare readers a list of Hussein’s crimes against the citizens of Iraq; they have been trotted out often enough by now.) Yet a majority of people in the world who actually think about these things, including a sizeable number of U.S. citizens, would call what the U.S. did in dispatching Hussein illegal—at least—and probably immoral as well. Americans who accuse the U.S. of immorality in its occupation of Iraq are the nation’s latest wave of bad conscience, earlier examples of which include Civil War-era abolitionists and Vietnam-era protestors and civil rights agitators. The present attack of bad conscience arose in response to the disaster of September 11, a severe, thunderous punishment that descended upon a nation in the midst of post-Cold War prosperity. 9/11 forced many of us into an uncomfortable introspection, a guilt-ridden re-examination of our great nation’s history. Some have taken to the streets with their “No Blood for Oil” picket signs, and some have merely told the pollster on the phone that they no longer believe we can win in Iraq. Confidence (however strained) in the future of the United States, which Reagan provisionally restored during his presidency, has once again lost its luster.

Given these considerations, we are still far from being dominated by bad conscience if we can reelect George W. Bush by a margin of 4 million in the popular vote. It is more of a growing force within our national consciousness, manifesting itself in various ways, some subtle, some less so. I would venture that American bad conscience expresses itself most vehemently in our lack of a military draft. Common sense dictates that for a politician in this age, suggesting a draft would be tantamount to political suicide, indicating that our swollen middle class harbors a broad uneasiness toward violence. Or, in Nietzsche’s never-charitable words, we have assumed “the tired, pessimistic look, discouragement in the face of life’s riddle, the icy no of the man who loathes life…” (again from the Genealogy).

No doubt neoconservatives who still support Bush’s “vision” would see in this essay confirmation of anti-war liberals’ folly, while those same liberals would see in it a description of a necessary moral voice developing within the psychology of our nation. (I say “would” because I’m certain that neither group has an interest in the mild polemics of an aging hypermodernist; eventually one learns to be content with the ear of the gods.) But whatever our perspective, we must admit that America’s cringing in the face of pain does not bode well for our imperial way of life. There is always a more willing polity waiting in the wings.