253. The Case of the Transformed Leader

 
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I'm talking about public intellectual leadership, like that of Le Monde in Paris.  I thought the editors of The Economist were providing that for us.  When they decided to back the invasion of Iraq their spokesman, in the leading "leader" (editorial), stuck to what mattered in international relations.  Only once did he (or she) refer to Saddam Hussein's personal qualities ("violent and murderous") and not once did he refer to his behavior inside his country, like gassing his people.

Contrast that with the leading leader in the current Economist, urging more forceful action in the Ukraine.  It's all about Vladimir Putin — trying to get an "unwilling" world to see him "as he really is."  That is, basically, as a liar, a point reinforced by the picture of a sinister-looking, grey-faced Putin looking out from the middle of a spider web on the magazine's cover.

Yet theirs is not just a case against a person.  It ends with a recommendation for action.   America has been "talking tough but has done nothing new."  Then the rock-em, sock-em conclusion: "Bridge-building and resets will not persuade [Putin] to behave as a normal leader.  The West should impose tough sanctions now, pursue his corrupt friends and throw him out of every international talking shop that relies on telling the truth."

Which international, truth-reliant talking shops, we wonder, does The Economist have in mind?  The UN Security Council, with Colin Powell laying out the evidence for WMD?  The General Assembly, where Andrei Gromyko denied the shipment of offensive weapons to Cuba?  Or maybe just the world television theater, where Lyndon Johnson explained the aggression against us in the Tonkin Gulf? "

Suppose the Economist editors win on this issue.  Suppose they get the West to impose really severe sanctions.  And then, when they don't work, more severe sanctions, and more.  Isn't there a point where Putin will ask, "How much more have I got to lose if I just invade and take over the place?"  After he bites the bullet on lost trade he can do that so easily.  For this job he's got overwhelming military weight, his countrymen are behind him, and the battlefield is on his doorstep, not ours.

I see the Economist editors gathering in the office the next day.  They see that those responsible in our government face the choice of a backdown or World War III.  In any case, another gigantic mess — with the promise of worse in a renewal of the Cold War.  My guess is that somebody in that room will be conceiving the kind of blog post recently produced about the decision to support the Iraq invasion.  It's titled "Anniversary of a mass delusion," and the author, M. S., was apparently privy to the discussions at the New York Times when its editors decided to back the war.  His post, http://www.economist.com/blogs/democracyinamerica/2013/03/iraq-war,  is said by The Economist  to come from "one of our blogs."

It is so full of regret.  What they had taken as justification for war is now seen to be "all a fever dream" in the minds of "otherwise intelligent men."  The author is left with a very sad conclusion:

that all of us, including those of us considered the most responsible, well-trained and serious, are entirely capable of talking ourselves into lurid fantasies; that the actions we believe constitute difficult but necessary choices may in fact be the gestures of sleepwalkers battling phantoms.

He has in mind discussions in which the thinking looks very much like the thinking of the present Economist editors.  Just as much concentration on irrelevancies (Putin's and his country's vices), just as many ideas presented in inflammatory way (Putin in a spider web on the cover).  It's not too much of a stretch to see the editors as Cold War sleepwalkers.

I think our last thoughts, though, should be on this blogger's regret.  What he's regretting is hawkishness that's different from the hawkishness in The Economist's present leader.  In its leader on Iraq The Economist reasoned its way into a position we had to call "hawkish."  In its leader on the Ukraine the Economist argued in a way we can hardly distinguish from that of the emotional hawks writing for the newspapers we once cast aside in favor of The Economist — because it was more balanced and thoughtful, more focused on the relevant.

252. How do you get the most peace with the least change in human nature?

 

The title question asks us to see the world as cynical utilitarians see it, and that's not an attractive way, but for a while let's do it, and conscientiously.  We'll have no minister, no priest, no eloquent President, no teacher bringing out the best in people, no moral rearmament, no inner transformations whatsoever.  Yet we've got to do something to end all this warring.

What we utilitarians go for is quantity, not quality.  People on one side can be as hostile, menacing, intimidating, abusive, exploitative, domineering, mean, and selfish as they can be, and on the other as cowering, intimidated, exploited, resentful, envious, grudging, mean and selfish as they can be, and both can set records for worried, tense, sleepless nights, but, as long as they are not killing each other in a big way, we are going to say they are enjoying the benefits of peace.

Since terrorists kill people only in a little way they do not deprive us of the benefits of peace.  Show-killing, gaining TV publicity, may deprive us of serenity and ease, but that only lowers the quality of the peace.  We've got to keep our eyes on the numbers.

That means not listening to people with high standards.  "You call this peace?" they ask.  They'll go to war for a better peace.

We're doing numbers so that we can compare benefits.  How does the Pax Romana fare against the Pax Mongolia?  So many Mediterranean people living without war for so many years vs. so many Asian people living without war for so many years.   Plot it, number of people against number of years, and you can see it clearly.  And measure it.  It's the area under the curve.

It's when we're most intensely suffering under war, and most aware of the great difference between low-quality peace and any kind of war, that we look most longingly at periods producing the highest scores, and inquire most carefully into how they were made.  That Pax Romana.  That Pax Mongolia.  And that long, golden peace during the Han Dynasty in China, called the Pax Sinica.  How were they brought about?

Variously, we see, but in all the variables I think we have one constant: a recognized monopoly on killing.  One person (emperor, king, ruler — the hegemon) says, "If you kill on your own I'll kill you," and the others (nobles, warlords, rivals, satraps, everybody in the region affected), believing him, refrain from killing.  You get peace in the region the same way you get peace in a nation, where the government has to have a monopoly on killing.

So, do these hegemons show us the way to a long Pax?  Not quite. Their countries could kill on their single say-so.  Our country, a democracy, has to wait for its citizens' (or their representatives') say-so.  Even in apparent autocracies rulers now have to be much more responsive to the people.

That makes our question harder but in one respect it makes it easier.  We know a lot more about our fellow citizens than we do about hegemons.  We can question them.  "What, friend, is necessary inside you for you to vote for a war?" 

It might take further questioning but, judging by my own reaction, I'd guess that the eventual, most common, answer would be, "Belief that my nation can win."  I think instinct forces that ground answer, instinct as in male lions, between whom fights (with the destructive weapons predation has built) could drain the gene pool.  They glare at each other, estimating capabilities, and one of them backs down.  You can see alley cats back down, though less often, for the same reason.  Humans may not do that but if they don't we are going to call them "foolish," the right word for people who start wars they expect to lose. 

You can see where this leads: if every nation accurately measured a potential enemy's capabilities against its own, no foolish wars would be started and the total number of wars would be reduced by subtraction of the foolish ones.  That would leave a much smaller number.  There's your utilitarian payoff.

You're not going to get that payoff, though, unless (assuming democracy) your people make that accurate measurement of capabilities.  How do you get that?  

I think there's only one way: through study, study of what gives nations military power, study of what gave them power in the past, study of what constitutes power now, study of present choices in the light of what you have found out.  Somebody has to do that.

But how do you get ordinary people to listen to people capable of this study, and act on what they say? 

There'd have to be more widespread study of history.  More citizens going to college, and there more of them taking history courses.  Until you've got an electorate able to use, realistically, what the past can teach.

That may be asking a lot, but if we're going to avoid military folly that's what it will take.  Whatever it takes, though, it will have us asking for a lesser change in human nature than if we ask people to overcome their acquisitiveness or pride or whatever else moves them to go to war.  It's always easier to change the mind — filling it with knowledge, the lessons of history — than it is to change the heart, the change utilitarians don't want to take any chances on.

Do we want to be utilitarians?  Well, do we want to pass up our best chance at a long peace?  A Pax Americana , decades, maybe centuries, with no big killing going on?  Utilitarians clearly offer it. 

What will we lose if we accept their offer? 

For one thing we will lose many chances to act in admirable, wonderful, even thrilling, ways.  As the Nazis invaded Greece the British heart said, "Help them! Help the Greeks."  The British mind said, "Folly.   Our army will be thrown into the sea."  The help was sent, and it soon became clear that the British Army was, unless the Navy responded to their calls for help with an evacuation that would cost it dearly, going to be thrown into the sea.  After the Navy had responded, and met the cost, Admiral Cunningham said, "You can rebuild a ship in three years.  It would take three hundred to rebuild a tradition." 

It's a tradition longer than that of the British navy, it's the tradition of selfless service, the tradition Birhtwold acted in when he chose to die fighting the Vikings, though the battle was lost and his leader was dead on the ground.  "By my lord's side I intend to die."

Choose what the mind tells us, choose not to risk being called a fool, and we will pass up so many chances to satisfy the heart, so many chances to be called noble and honorable.

So do we want to be utilitarians and call Cunningham and all who, out of honor or respect for tradition threw themselves into a lost cause, fools?  Do we want to call the Melians fools?   "We are not prepared, in a short moment, to give up the liberty our nation has enjoyed from its foundation for 700 years," they said, defying the Athenians, who then, as they expected, destroyed their city, killed the men, and made the women and children slaves.  How about the Jews in the Warsaw ghetto, throwing themselves at machine guns?  The Spartans at Thermopylae?

There's a test for you, a good, character-revealing test.  The utilitarians will be calling all of those people fools.  Will you join in?  Or will you call the utilitarians, these people who know the best way to a long peace, will you call them fools?