By foreseeing a civil war, a dear friend scolds, I’m fomenting one. I agree, that would be vile. But to say what one sees is to shape it, not make it. The boy who observed the emperor bare-assed did not strip the emperor.

I do not know what will happen. But when I see our ship of state – more like a dinghy – rushing toward a cataract – while passengers party – oughtn’t I shout? If you’re the first to smell fire, should you hush, not to disturb repose?

Denial is tempting. Many patients attempt it after a deadly diagnosis. This is not happening, they and their loved ones comfort themselves. Delusion palliates suffering – for a time. But that time’s wasted, which might have been spent preparing, settling one’s affairs.

My defense against catastrophe is to expect the worst, taste the full bitterness of the prospect to fortify myself. I am always dying. My hypochondria makes each dawn delightful: I am not dead yet!

Neither is America – yet – we may dodge that bullet for now – but I’m not counting on it. Symptoms are grim. Other nations’ histories suggest the progress of our disease. How we sickened is a topic for a quieter hour, if we live that long. No wasting energy now debating how to repair our brokenness. If America fails – I mean the America formed by our Founders and two-plus centuries of experiment and collaboration – its flawed engineering will be of academic interest only.

To survive we must win the war. To win the war we must, first, acknowledge we’re fighting one. Our enemies have been characterizing this contest as war for more than a decade. The Nameless One and others meant what they said when they spoke of silencing their opponents. Our flat-footed optimism mistook their ghoulish language for rhetoric, not promises.

History will correctly rebuke our team for a failure of prevision. How, we will be asked in hindsight, did we not see this coming? My words did, but my heart didn’t. I warned of dangers I figured we’d avert. If I truly believed our house was on fire, wouldn’t I have behaved differently?

Having hectored ourselves onto a war footing, we must fight the war to win. That means, with all we’ve got, no holds barred, do our die. We must, alas, become vicious and ruthless in defense of liberty, lest we lose it. Forcing ourselves into this furious state of mind takes some doing if you’re a lazy, irenic softie like yours truly. I’m the least martial guy I know – leave me alone in the quiet with my books! Only quiet, we may have forgotten, is a luxury, not a right, and must be earned. To enjoy our ease, we must save our state.

The smartest tactics to win this war? Here my opinions don’t count. I’m a foot-soldier in this conflict, not a general. My choice is which leader to support, then do what I’m told. To win a war, a disparate people must coalesce into a unified fighting machine. A “divided command” predictably precedes defeat. Who those generals might be is our current panicky discussion but, fear not, we will soon know, because we’re toast otherwise. “Either we hang together,” as Ben Franklin purportedly quipped, “or we hang separately.” If we pick the wrong commanders, and we might, we’ll have to switch them out for others. Lincoln frittered half the war before hiring that discreditable drunk, General Grant.

Finally, we must not grump, lament, blame, but fight with a happy heart. Be glad you have important work to do! (I am speaking to myself.)