It’s surprising that, six years down the road, we don’t seem to be overwhelmed with commentary about September 11. Part of that may be because no election awaits us in November; I’m sure that next year will bring with it its fair share of heartfelt testimonials, somber speeches, and assignments of blame.

I don’t mind the break. September 11 has been a constant presence in our national mind since its occurrence, and while the day is exquisite in its tragedy, it seems to have inspired all the wrong kind of lessons. Perhaps the greatest calamity of September 11 is that it doesn’t stand as a tangible low point, a day we have mourned, remembered and rebuilt upon.

Instead, it’s inspired a cascading series of tragedies—tragedies of our own volition—the most prominent of which, the war in Iraq, has killed 800 more Americans than died that day. The chaos we unleashed in Iraq has also resulted in hundreds of thousands of Iraqis being brutalized and murdered and millions more fleeing the country.

In the aftermath of September 11—that night where everyone spoke in hushed voices—I gathered with friends on the porch, and we discussed what would happen next. The invasion of Afghanistan was imminent, we all agreed. It was perhaps even necessary, although I cringed at the thought of accidents and fog and the families to be vaporized.

What has happened since was no accident. It can’t be ascribed to incompetence. Hubris, greed, and lust for power are the authors of the slaughter in Iraq and the putrescence of our nation’s soul. All of these things were explicitly warned against in 1789; they’ve been exposed by the whispers of wise men from antiquity to the present. In the fear and anger of that day, though, emotions cultivated since by those in power, the American people condemned their consciences to be Cassandras, unheard, unlistened to, and unloved. The whole world has suffered.