On Moral Certainty and Israel-Iran

Certainty, in and of itself, is not good nor bad nor right nor wrong—it’s just certain.

Los Angeles Is(n’t?) Burning, Part 2 is scheduled to come next subject to further developments vis-a-vis Iran.

Certainty, particularly about questions of morality, of good and evil and right and wrong, is powerful. It clarifies direction, strengthens resolve, lifts spirits, fortifies defenses, and motivates courageous action. It convinces and can intimidate—it’s no coincidence that the platforms of our political parties are often driven less by majority view than by morally certain individuals and interest groups: strong opinions, strongly held often win out over weak opinions, weakly held.

But certainty, in and of itself, is not good nor bad nor right nor wrong—it’s just certain. Both Churchill and Hitler were certain. Ironically, it was in part certainty about Hitler and the Nazis that kept Churchill in the political wilderness for much of the decade leading up to World War II. Certainty in politicians we support—about whom we’re certain—is attractive, and can be deeply inspiring; certainty in politicians we oppose—about whom we’re certain going the other direction—can be horrifying and utterly confounding.

And certainty is hardly unique to people in positions of power. We, the domesticated descendants of feral forebearers, show an incredible capacity for quick, actionable judgment, but it bears remembering that this useful ability which has so often saved us—“Clarence left camp after nightfall and was eaten by a saber-toothed tiger, ergo I will stick near the fire and avoid cats”—is not just an ability but a need—a need to be certain which can easily send us shooting down the wrong track, determined all the while our path is right or will be made so through our actions. We seek firm moral ground as much by internal compulsion as by choice.

Perhaps it can be said that in each of us is a Manichean who believes we are locked in a battle of good against evil, who grasps at and holds to moral clarity, and a nihilist who believes there is no objective truth or purpose to our existence, who rejects the concept of moral certainty altogether. Paradoxically, both the Manichean and the nihilist can shield us from uncertainty when our moral framework is challenged, the Manichean by justifying our actions or beliefs as in the service of the good and the nihilist by excusing them—there can be no violation of the law if there is no law to violate.

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I am not aware of any current political issue about which Americans feel more certain than Israel’s conflict with Palestine and now with Iran. I have good friends whose parents hail from the Arab world; friends who are from—or have family currently residing in—Israel; friends from Iran; friends who participated with gusto and true commitment in the on- and off-campus pro-Palestine protests which peaked last spring; and Jewish friends deeply shaken and concerned by the uptick in anti-Semitic feeling, rhetoric, and violence that accelerated following what can fairly be called that fateful day of October 7, 2023. They are real people, not caricatures.

Many of the beliefs—of the certainties—promulgated not necessarily by those I know but by the loudest, clearest voices in each movement—that Israel has been, remains, and will irrevocably remain fully justified in every action it takes to secure its existence against Hamas, other Iran-funded proxies, and now Iran itself; that Israelis, at the behest of Europeans and Americans all too happy to peaceably reduce their Jewish populations, colonized a colonized area, setting off interminable internecine conflict; that Israel, in its response to the terrorist attack of October 7, has, among myriad violations of international law, committed genocide and razed entire cities to the ground—are not easily reconciled, and defy attempts to find common ground from which we can navigate differences.

Whatever your view may be, whether you stand at one of the poles or somewhere in between, this article is not an attempt to change your mind. Fair treatment of what is a life-or-death issue for many and of profound moral import for others requires serious study, long consideration, and a whole, whole lot of words. Quick, catchy soundbites are great if you want to light a fire under the respective derrieres of the already converted, but useless or worse as tools to persuade the opposed.

But we now stand at the precipice of something significant—of a U.S.-led effort to destroy Iran's nuclear capabilities. Within the last hour, The Wall Street Journal reported that President Trump told senior aides on Tuesday he approved attack plans for Iran, but was reserving a final order to see if Tehran will abandon its nuclear program. Ignoring that might be worse than writing something ill-conceived and ill-executed. So, in lieu of (a) writing a comprehensive article fully laying out divergent views on one of the world’s most longstanding conflicts—an article I don’t yet know enough to write—and (b) acting as if nothing is afoot or amiss or a-anything, I want to make three brief points, all of which relate to certainty.

MINA/Middle East Images/AFP via Getty Images

First, it’s worth contemplating how and why our opinions might be different—how our certainties might be challenged or transformed entirely—had we grown up in one (or a different one) of Israel, Palestine, or Iran. The American writer Ta-Nehisi Coates, whom I’d imagine many of you really like and many of you really don’t, said in an interview last year that he doesn’t know if, had he been raised in Gaza, he would have had the moral strength not to participate in the October 7 attack. The comment was pilloried and Coates’s basic humanity questioned in pro-Israel circles, but the comment, taken on its own, seems uncontroversial: our beliefs and corresponding actions are heavily influenced by the environment in which we live and particularly in which we’re raised.

If you were alive in the 1930s, you were more likely to be a Nazi if you were in Germany than in America. If you were a white American of the 1850s, you were more likely to support slavery if you lived in the South than in the North; the same would be true of the 1950s and Jim Crow laws. That’s not because all the good and righteous people managed to be born in clusters: we are all capable of good, and we are all more capable than we’d like to think of doing evil and calling it good. Were I born and raised in Israel, I imagine I’d have a very low opinion of my Palestinian neighbors and an Iranian regime which opposes—and seeks to imperil—my existence. Were I born and raised in Gaza, I imagine I’d have a very low opinion of Israelis. That these views might be explicable does not necessarily make them morally justifiable (you decide whether I’m speaking about one side or the other or both), but I hope trying to understand the Israelis, Palestinians, and Iranians keeps us from dehumanizing them.

It’s much easier to kill those whom you no longer see as human.

Second, not allowing that an ideological opponent’s view is legitimate or was reached legitimately is likely to make you less persuasive, not more. I spend a lot of time thinking about how, why, and when minds change. I’m not an expert, but I tend to think changing a mind has more to do with how well you listen, and how well you understand and fairly address your opponent’s arguments, than how eloquently you make your own affirmative arguments. That’s an oversimplification that doesn’t always hold, but, as a general rule, attacking someone’s sense of morality automatically puts them on the defensive. Many debates have been held—and won—without any minds actually changing.

Third, moral certainty in political leaders is more dangerous than moral certainty in civilians. If Chad from Spokane believes Israel shouldn’t exist, or that American support of Israel is a fulfillment of biblical prophecy and a step to usher in the Second Coming of Christ, the most likely outcome is that nothing happens. Chad’s access to planes, bombs, and soldiers is (hopefully) limited.

The American government commands lots of planes, bombs, and soldiers. I don’t know what will happen if we drop a 30,000-pound bomb on Iran: there are plenty of smart people across multiple allied countries who would welcome our destruction of Iran’s nuclear potential; plenty of others who fear American involvement in another Middle Eastern conflict without a clear end time or goal; and plenty more who worry an ostensibly limited attack may metastasize into region- or world-wide war—not to mention those concerned the U.S. has hitched its valuable, weapon-filled wagon to the wrong side of the conflict, or may give up far too early on a diplomatic resolution. Ironically, I’m pretty sure President Trump was supported last November by those Americans who wanted much more forthright support of Israel and many of those who wanted us to avoid intervention and maybe bail on Israel entirely.

Regardless, moral certainty, one way or the other, should inspire us to question ourselves more deeply, not less. America’s past experience across multiple continents teaches us that our actions, as well-considered and just as we think they might be, often yield unintended consequences. Some might argue that militates against all foreign military involvement—I disagree. Just as action has consequences, so does inaction. With a firmer stand against Hitler in 1936—is it obvious I’m still working my way through the Churchill biography?—there might never have been a second world war. But while we can make guesses—styled up as sophisticated predictions—as to what will follow if we pursue any particular course of action, we should never forget they are indeed guesses.

Here’s to hoping we guess right.