I want to say something about Irving Kristol’s passing at the age of 89. The neoconservative movement, which Kristol founded and which, at least for now, is being led by his son, William Kristol, has had, in my view, a very pernicious effect on U.S. foreign and domestic policy. I did not admire Irving Kristol, and I cannot feel grief or sadness at his death. But neither can I feel happy about it.
If it’s true that we are all interconnected in a wondrous and mysterious web of existence, and that everything we do affects everything and everyone else, albeit usually in ways we cannot possibly know on an individual level, then Irving Kristol’s life was connected to mine, and to everyone else’s. And that means his life mattered, and his death matters, too.
How does one take note of another person’s death when either you did not like the person, or you did not like what the person stood for, or opposed what the person did? That’s a hard one to figure out.
When my father died — over 30 years ago now, in October 1978 — a man I worked with at the time gave me something I will never forget. He was probably about the same age then that I am now, and the thing about him was, no one could get along with him except for me. He was, in truth, not an easy personality to get along with. He was brusque in his manner, often sarcastic and curt. Most people found him rather intimidating, and I don’t think they were crazy to feel that way. But for whatever reason, I liked him, and he liked me.
When I returned to the office after my father’s death, of course everyone told me how sorry they were for my loss, and were sympathetic. Terry did, too. But he also gave me something: a fine, gift-quality reproduction on fancy paper, of the famous poem by John Donne — formally titled Meditation XVII, but most commonly known by its first line: “No man is an island.” Ernest Hemingway used another line from the same meditation — “for whom the bell tolls” — as the title of one of his most famous novels.
I don’t want to ignore Irving Kristol’s death, or pretend it didn’t occur, but I also want to say only what is true for me, and what I truly feel. And having given it some thought, I think these lines feel right:
No man is an island, entire of itself
every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main
if a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were,
as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were
any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind
and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls
it tolls for thee.
Rest in peace, Irving Kristol.
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