If I told you that I just drove my SUV downtown and arrived at my intended destination, and that transport via gas-sucking behemoth was the only possible way I could have done so, I hope you'd tell me I'm nuts. I could have taken a bus or subway, carpooled or ridden my bicycle. Oddly, this modicum of common sense seems to have deserted Americans en masse in our post ­911 stampede for vengeance. Once we bombed the Taliban out of power, even former policy critics inexplicably concluded that a relentless-and often indiscriminate-bombing campaign was indispensable to ensuring our objectives.

In an otherwise rational New York Times article, for example, Jane Smiley frets about the fate of innocent Afghans and then concludes: "At the same time, it does look as if bombing was required to break the hold of the Taliban." Whence this unfounded assumption?

To admit that one cannot imagine an alternative is in itself an embarrassing display of neocortical minimalism. To equate "one path" with "only path" is a logic-defying feat of sophistry. If we believe that there is only one way to achieve any desired goal then we need mourn the death of imagination along with the human casualties of 9/11.

Let's not plan that funeral.

Americans have long been renown for our imagination and ingenuity. History is replete with our technological innovations and contributions to social evolution. "The pursuit of happiness" enshrined as one of our inalienable rights? What a concept! The notion that we need not be forever earthbound? Airplanes-who knew? Americans knew! Why? Because we dared to imagine the impossible.

On September 11th, we were presented with a wholly original threat-and with it the opportunity to summon an equally inventive response. Sadly, out of a universe of options both tried and not yet conceived, we chose our standard fallback position.

In his State of the Union speech, President Bush acknowledged that "This time of adversity offers a unique moment of opportunity-a moment we must seize to change our culture." Alas, aside from resurrecting JFK's Peace Corps and reworking his own father's failed 'thousand points of light' vision-thing, the president's notion of cultural innovation consists of urging us all to volunteer for homeland security duty. We may as well be staffing the first-aid station and guarding the deck chairs on the Titanic. Even if we destroy the Al Qaeda iceberg, our unipolar belligerence and intolerance of self-scrutiny will ensure a rising tide of "illegal combatants," committed to sinking our ship of state.

Thus threatened, we must of course track down those responsible for acts of terror and bring them to internationally honored standards of justice. But if we do not also unearth and address the root causes of terrorism and its appeal to supporters, this war will become as intractable, divisive and ultimately unwinnable as our decades-long war on drugs.

In his speech, the President elaborated on the "culture of responsibility" theme "we have a great opportunity during this time of war to lead the world toward the values that will bring lasting peace." Which smells suspiciously Orwellian, and makes about as much sense as the state's practice of 'killing people to show people that killing people is wrong.' If we want to lead other nations to practice peaceful values, does it not make sense that we begin the global education by embodying those values ourselves?

By way of considering ingenious responses to 9/11, we would do well to admit that perhaps we can learn from others, and study the example set by South Africa. While we rightfully grieve the loss of some 3,000 innocents, imagine an entire race of people suffering the lash of institutional slavery--over the course of generations. What sort of retribution might have been "justified" once the majority came to power? The world may have understood--though not condoned--a period of institutional vengeance, even a bloodbath.

Instead, under the guidance of Nelson Mandela, the new Government of National Unity undertook an utterly original path to healing a fractured nation. Eschewing violence and the ethic of vengeance, they chose instead to establish criminal proceedings that allowed victims to face those who had violated them or their loved ones. The perpetrators in turn confessed their crimes and helped bring closure, often tendering apologies. In a juridical stance of uncommon mercy, the process even included amnesty for many.

The Truth and Reconciliation Commission: That, my friends, and not drone bombers, is thinking outside the box.

Obviously, South Africa emerging from apartheid posed very different challenges than does the situation facing America today. Nevertheless, there are lessons we may infer as we conjure alternative approaches to the war on terrorism. Surely, the Truth and Reconciliation model invites us to be our most compassionate and evolved selves, to move beyond the stock answers that have no place in a profoundly interdependent world. We need call forth vision and courage on the order of King and Ghandi, Susan B. Anthony, Cesar Chavez, Aung San Suu Kyi and millions of other people whose names we'll never find in history books. People who marched and demonstrated and fasted and prayed and wrote and made art, ordinary people who made enormous sacrifices by refusing to accept the status quo when they could envision a better life for all.

In terms of specific solutions, I don't have many answers, but I'm working on them. Along with millions of other thoughtful Americans who know in our hearts that daisy-cutters and racial profiling and Axis of Evil designations are not likely to produce genuine security and lasting peace. We must cultivate the visionary in each of us-fast-because the more people who commit to invoking a world without violence, the sooner we'll figure out how to manifest it.

Go ahead now, dare to imagine the "impossible." And on your next trip downtown, ride a bicycle. It's time we all discover muscles we never knew we had.