"The stars in their courses," seemed to combine against Robert Lee at Gettysburg, wrote Shelby Foote, novelist, narrator, and pallbearer in more ways than one to William Faulkner.

Foote's choice of a title for his eloquent description of a poorly planned, worse executed, and ultimately self-destructive campaign, carried out by one of the world's truly great soldiers, at the height of his (and his army's) power, could well serve for the American army and its generals in Iraq.

Lee truly believed his cause was just, and that he had no choice but to destroy an army by invading a territory he could not hold, even if he won. A "victory" he believed might lead to recognition, by someone, maybe even the French, who could hold their noses and recognize the justice of his cause, or the legitimacy of his war, or if nothing else, the economic value of "association."

But Lee's own pride, the successes of the brave men who fought under his command, and his abiding affection for them, led him (he later admitted) to believe he could not back down and face his army, or his family, or theirs. Pride . . . and fear of disgrace . . . thus led him to work "blind" (most of his cavalry was out of touch) . . . and worse, to ignore sound tactical advice from a dull but steadfast old warhorse of a general, named Longstreet. It led him to disaster . . .

For which the third day at Gettysburg became both sign and symbol. Lee's obstinate pride broke his army, the cause for which he fought, his own heart, and that of the South. Defeat led to more death, and a peace marked by occupation, resentment, recrimination, and more than a century of half-hearted "reconstruction" and passionate defense of apartheid.

Happily, Lee's opponent was, ultimately, us . . . and Lee's loss and all the suffering that followed was, ultimately, the world's . . . and our . . . gain.

We now, however, enjoy no such luxuries in our choice of opponents, and the burdens of the failure of this government of the United States of America will rest heavier on our own shoulders and those of our children.

After Gettysburg, Lee wrote out his resignation, which Jefferson Davis refused. Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia fought on for nearly two more years, inflicting and suffering casualties numbering in the hundreds of thousands. I like to think Lee later regretted not insisting.

General Longstreet, Lee's old warhorse, stayed on as well, waiting until after the war was over, and Lee dead at Washington & Lee, before blaming his commanding officer for compelling him to carry out orders that he knew were badly, if not fatally flawed.

The "stars in their courses" did not doom Lee and his army. On the battlefield at Gettysburg, Lee did, with the help of flawed plans, poor intelligence, and his beloved lieutenant. Both paid the price of a willingness to pay any price, except resignation. The only stars that could have saved anything were stars on the table . . . or stars across the desktop . . . Lee's and Longstreet's stars . . . resigning rather than doing what they . . . and others . . . believed was their duty in service to an incompetent government and an unworthy cause. They could not bear the shame and now it is theirs forever.

The stars in their courses move on. Old men's stars, some in groups of four, are already on the table because of Iraq. Watch the desktops for more. And know how difficult it is to bear the burden of placing them there.