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    Archives for July 2017

    Al-Qaeda and ‘Islamism’

    July 22, 2017 by Will Morrisey

    Second Lecture delivered at “Islam and the West,” Lifelong Learning Seminar, Hillsdale College, Hillsdale, Michigan

     

    Muhammad founded a monarchic regime and an imperial state upon a prophetic religious doctrine. Authority remained personal, as in all of the ‘ancient’ and ‘medieval’ regimes, with the subject’s allegiance owed first to God, then to the Prophet/Monarch. Had the ‘modern’ or scientific-administrative state existed in the seventh century, Muhammad would have condemned it as a sort of idol. Although a person, Allah differs from the God of the Bible in that he is first and foremost not a spirit but a will. This inclines Islam away from viewing reason as authoritative, as in the Christian emphasis on God as Logos or Word.

    With time and schisms, traditional Muslims often contented themselves with less-than-strict caliphs who ruled over societies in which clerics had influence but did not necessarily exercise direct political rule. For the men scholars now call Islamists, political activity to enforce the Sha’ria comes back to the center, as it had been under Muhammad himself. But Islamists face a problem Muhammad never saw: rather than the tribes of ancient Arabia, or the surrounding loosely-confederated empires, Islamists operate in societies in which centralized rule intrudes more into everyday activities than it ever did in ancient and medieval empires. To push against such rule in the hands of infidels and heretics, Islamist engage civil-social organizing, electoral politics, and/or guerilla warfare and terrorism. This is why scholars often call Islamism “political Islam,” even if Islamists themselves, thinking of their enterprise as a return to Muhammad’s practice, regard such a phrase as redundant. Given the Islamic emphasis on God as a supreme Will rather than as a supreme Word, or a reasoning God with whom one may speak, and even argue (as the prophets of Israel did), political Islam tends not to be really political in Aristotle’s strict sense. For it, rule doesn’t involve give-and-take or consent but is more a matter of command and obedience.

    The more radical Islamists, the ones who use war as a means of gaining power, are not simply throwbacks to Muhammad, no matter what they may claim. In the modern world, terror or fear was designed first as an instrument of modern state building, as seen most clearly in the political philosophy of Thomas Hobbes, who invokes the terrors of civil war to justify the counter-terror exercised over factions by the modern state, the “mighty Leviathan.” Marxism-Leninism (which, as we’ve seen, influenced some of the Islamists) deployed statist terror as an instrument of remaking human nature. (The so-to-speak classical argument for this may be found in Leon Trotsky’s book, Marxism and Revolution, but Lenin, Stalin, Mao, and Pol Pot were the most notable practitioners of it among Marxists, and Lenin and Stalin were imitated by the tyrants of the right, particularly Hitler).

    Terrorism developed as a revolutionary tactic under conditions of modern statism, as a way of fighting the fear-inspiring mighty Leviathan. This is the most dramatic of the distinctively modern dimensions of Islamism. You will not find homicide-suicides in the Koran, although you will find militants and martyrs. Islamism thus entwines Islamic ideas with modern ones, Muhammad with Machiavelli. In the case of homicide-suicide terrorism, the synthesis has produced an action that neither of its forebears commended.

    In the first lecture I mentioned that Islamism also reflects the egalitarianism of modernity. The social equality that Tocqueville describes yields republican regimes or despotic ones. Under Islam, with its less-than-firm commitment to reason, despotism has been the more frequent outcome. The breakup of the Ottoman Empire resulted in the elimination of the caliphate by the statist-nationalist modernizer, Mustafa Kemal. That same breakup also saw the advance of modern, statist empires—Britain, France—in the Middle East. Both indigenous and foreign rulers in the Middle East thus deliberately depoliticized their societies—again, in Aristotle’s sense of ‘the political’; this left such civil-social organizing as was permitted to the Islamists, who have had the Koran-inspired courage to organize themselves against tyrannical rule and to deliver the social services the corrupt and incompetent statists have failed to provide. That is, the secular nationalists who wrested rule from Western imperialists after World War II squandered the political capital they had built up in that struggle by their very despotism and also by copying the Soviet model of economic development, a model that failed to compete effectively in the world market anywhere it was tried.

    The decline of local aristocracies in the face of the onslaught of modern statism brought a vast democratization of Islam. This is a circumstance likely to produce ‘self-made’ religions or variations of religions, designed to appeal to popular passions. Under the Islamic regime-ethos, voluntary martyrdom results in no pain at death and promises great rewards in Paradise. Further, because one’s birth, life, and death are all predetermined by Allah, civilians (including children) killed in terrorist attacks were destined to die, anyway, so there is no moral harm in doing God’s will. So, for example, in one jihadist publication, women are instructed to understand that “The blood of our husbands and the body parts of our children are our sacrificial offering.” When the Ayatollah Khomeini ordered the use of children as human mine-sweepers during the war with Iraq, he described this as a “divine blessing” to them. It is easy to see how such an approach might destabilize modern states that are new, despotic, corrupt, and incompetent. And so it has. Given the fact that Islam is a form of universalism or inter-nationalism, a democratized and hyper-fanatical form of Islam will appeal to many—especially many young men—who resent their local nation-state and thirst for glory.

    Another feature of modernity is the valorization of commerce and industry as indispensable elements of the human conquest of nature. As modern commerce and industry developed, the use of oil to fuel large and powerful machines was discovered, famously empowering those peoples on lands with oil reserves underneath them. We recall the sharp increase in oil prices resulting from the embargo imposed by the Arab oil cartel in the mid-1970s. Revenues often went to support Muslim clerics, who were regarded by the monarchies as social counterweights to the communists—who, during the Cold War, enjoyed more formidable international support than local clerics could expect. Further, urbanization brought peasants into the cities, where they kept their allegiance to the clerics but also came physically closer to the centers of state authority. The same held true for the influx of students into the universities; even then-fashionable Marxism could not appeal to students recently removed from the countryside to the degree that radical Islamism could do, especially since Islamism incorporated Marxist motifs into a larger theological framework familiar to the students. Re-Islamization of Middle Eastern societies proceeded ‘from below,’ forming strong networks of persons in but not of the modern state.

    To put it in ‘regime’ terms, then, Islamists amount to a new would-be ruling body or set of rulers on the geopolitical scene, one that represents its members as being of the ‘old regime’ of Muhammad. For the past few decades, the most notorious Islamist radical group has been al-Qaeda, founded by Osama bin Laden.

    Bin Laden’s story is now familiar. Born in 1957, he was a member of the generation of Arabs who would question nationalist secularism. His Wahhabist upbringing would have led him to question it, anyway. But he would eventually diagnose and reject the Saudi version of Wahhabism on ‘Qutbian’ grounds. As a member of a prominent, but not royal, Saudi family, he was near enough to see, but distant enough to reject, royal family decadence.

    He formulated a regime-centered policy to combat that decadence. As early as 1996 he called upon his fellow Saudis to “change the regime” of Saudi Arabia, which he regarded as a mere agent of the United States. The Saudi regime has “imposed on the people a life that does not appeal to the free believer”—a life insufficiently Islamic. Indeed, after World War I, the Saudis had allied themselves with the British in bringing down the last caliphate, the Ottoman Empire. The United States replaced Great Britain as the Saudi regime’s principal Western ally after the Second World War, and Bin Laden characterized America as “unjust, criminal, and tyrannical” on four grounds: it “stole our oil”; it “executed” 600,000 Iraqi children with its embargo following the first Gulf War; it supports Israel; it subordinates itself to Jews, the arch-tyrants of the modern world. Jews, and therefore the Americans they control, are servants of Satan. Americans did not cause the Soviet Union to fall; God did, and to claim otherwise is blasphemy. Bin Laden denied that the United States assisted the mujahedin in Afghanistan. In addition to being evil, the United States is contemptible; it is “weaker than the picture it wants to draw in people’s minds.” Not only the American government but the American people themselves are contemptible, “a lowly people ho do not understand the meaning of principles,” a “debauched” people—”the cowards of this age.” Economic relations might be permissible with such a rabble, insofar as those relations serve Islam. But in occupying the Arabian peninsula Americans have declared war “against God, his prophet, and the Muslims.” The only valid Islamic answer is jihad. “May God show them his wrath and give them what they deserve.”

    Despite its many vices and weaknesses, America remains the most powerful country of the age. How to fight it? For this, bin Laden had no state of his own, and even if he had, what state could stand against the United States? he needed an organization that could torment the godless superpower without presenting a target America could destroy. In his war on Israel, Palestinian leader Yasr Arafat had developed the policy of intifada, a low-level form of combat employing guerilla fighting and terrorism, needing no established state organization. Arafat himself had seen the success of guerilla warfare against the United States in Vietnam. Bin Laden in effect decided to take an Islamified intifada worldwide, and aim it at America.

    The first experiment was in Afganistan, against the Soviets, who were then the more immediate threat. “Al-Qaeda” means “The Base,” and Afghanistan proved such a necessary territorial launching pad for jihad. There, bin Laden developed an international cadre of jihadis, young men who had severed their social ties at home and replaced them with the strong bonds that form among warriors. After the war, the bin Laden segment of the mujahedin did two things. In Afghanistan, they allied with the Taliban, Islamists backed by Pakistan. The Pak prime minister, Benazir Bhutto, had allied herself with one of the Pakistani Islamist parties in the hope of splitting the movement and co-opting it; she sent aid to the Taliban, hoping to secure Pakistan’s western flank, and so to be able to concentrate her attentions on Pakistan’s perennially tense relations with India. With both Pakistani and Arab-Islamist backing, the Taliban founded the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan in 1996.

    The Taliban solution to the problem of modern statism turned out to be very simple; they had no modern state at all, no impersonal, centralized bureaucracy. They simply enforced moral codes, collected tolls, and fought the remnants of their local enemies. They had no universalist ambitions. Meanwhile, bin Laden and his organization (along with several other jihadi groups) enjoyed a safe haven for their worldwide operations, aiming most immediately at the expulsion of the United States from Arabia, and at the overthrow of the Saudi monarchy, with the ultimate aim of effecting the triumph of Islam throughout the world—God willing.

    The core of al-Qaeda was small, consisting of fewer than 200 operatives, tightly controlled by bin Laden. But its network was and remains vast; al-Qaeda-trained jihadis have fanned out into about 80 countries around the world in what capitalists might call a franchise operation. Among other things, this meant that even if bin Laden and his core group were destroyed, the franchise or cells would live on, having been trained to act independently to subvert their local regimes by terror. In other words, al-Qaeda operates in the opposite manner from the centralized, modern state.

    The expulsion of Israeli troops from Lebanon by Hezbollah in the 1990s provided a small but important test case for this strategy. The leader of Islamic Jihad, an al-Qaeda affiliate, drew the lesson: “Our jihad has exposed the enemy’s weakness, confusion, and hysteria. It has become clear that the enemy can be defeated, for if a small faithful group was able to instill all this horror and panic in the enemy through confronting it in Palestine and southern Lebanon, what will happen when the nation confronts it with all its potential? Martyrdom actions will escalate in the face of all pressures [and is] a realistic option for confronting the unequal balance of power. If we are unable to effect a balance of power now, we can achieve a balance of horror.” Insofar as such “martyrdoms” destroy innocents, the Islamist strategy seems in-Islamic. However, the regime of democracy solves this problem for al-Qaeda partisans, at least in their war against the Western republics. If the people are sovereign, then no one is innocent.

    In a limited way, bin Laden’s achievement was impressive, if vile. This is a brilliant and ruthless way to attempt to destroy modern statism, much more formidable than the tactics of the various ‘anti-globalization’ groups on the Left who have been reduced to breaking shop windows and chanting at G-8 summits before getting swept away with tear gas and propelled water. Radical Islamists have focused precisely on the institutional structure of the modern world. The modern state justifies its existence primarily by providing security and, in the commercial republics, an orderly framework for liberty. The Marxist project—overthrowing the ‘bourgeois state’ and replacing it with “the dictatorship of the proletariat,” leading to the elimination of all states worldwide and the advent of Communism—has failed, and he anarchist or radical libertarian projects obviously partake of utopianism as well A network of terrorists, however, effectively amounts to a non-governmental organization, an NGO, with guns, or an international drug cartel with ideas—indeed, with religious ideas and religious laws.

    Such an organization can ‘network’ on the civil-social level, under the state’s law-enforcement radar screen. From there, it can do in a systematic way what anarchist bomb-throwers did, well, anarchically, and therefore impotently: delegitimize statism. Hence bin Laden’s appeal to American mothers in his 1997 CNN interview: “To the mothers of soldiers of American troops… I say if they are concerned for their sons, then let them object to the American government’s policy and to the American president.” To replace the modern state, bin Laden intended to found a stateless ummah under the regime of the prophet Muhammad, ruling through clerics who invoke the prophet’s name. It is as if the Christian ecclesia or assembly had moved to substitute canon law for civil law wherever Christianity went. To put it again in regime terms, a clerical aristocracy will arise out of modern social egalitarianism in order to rule the world, out of a worldwide network, already in place.

    It is worth noting that the egalitarianism of the modern project—the systematic attack on aristocratic classes, very often at the service of statist centralization—is no more consistently maintained in radical Islamism than it was in fascism or communism. Fascism quite explicitly proposed a new aristocracy to replace the by-then-decadent ‘old regime’ aristocracies of Europe. For its part, Communism proposed a supposedly temporary neo-aristocracy that the Communists called the ‘revolutionary vanguard of the proletariat.’ Intellectually armed with Karl Marx’s self-described ‘scientific socialism,’ the revolutionary vanguard would lead the proletariat first to victory over the capitalist bourgeoisie, and then on to a classless and stateless society.

    On this topic in Islamist thought, the Egyptian Islamic Jihad leader Ayman al-Zawahiri proves particularly instructive. Zawahiri is a former surgeon in the Eghyptian army and a member of the Muslim Brotherhood since the age of fourteen; he took over the leadership of al-Qaeda after the death of bin Laden. His book is entitled Knights Under the Prophetic Banner, published in 2001. In Zawahiri’s model, radical Islamism replaces the racial/national warfare of fascism and the class war of Communism with religious warfare or jihad. Sounding very much like an Islamicized Marxist, Zawahiri calls for a reconstitution of the relations between the “elites” and the “masses.” The elites must lead the masses in jihad, in a “scientific, confrontational, rational” manner, as he puts it. Elites must take care first to mobilize broad support among the masses before undertaking violent jihad; otherwise, they will be overmatched by the states. “The jihadist movement must move toward the masses, defend their honor, prevent injustice, and guide them along the path leading to victory.” It is up to the elites to guide the masses, to set strategy for them. Perhaps even more than Lenin, Mao appears to have been a sort of model for Islamists—Mao, with his emphasis on guerilla warfare and his famous contention that America was nothing more than “a paper tiger.” This makes sense, inasmuch as Mao appealed much more to ‘Third World’ sensibilities than any Russian Marxist could do.

    With this correct relationship between elites and masses, leaders and followers, solidly in place, jihad can proceed with a series of terrorist and guerilla operations, operations that can turn modernity against itself. Known in contemporary military circles a ‘asymmetrical warfare,’ terrorism and guerilla war apply violent force to the key, weak pressure points of the modern state. Thus disrupted, the state will collapse, despite its vast logistical superiority. As mentioned earlier, the result will be the rule of the ummah, the body of Islamic believers, the final worldwide politeuma or ruling body established by Allah. This body might be loosely organized under a worldwide empire or caliphate, but it would not be modern-statist. Thus will Islam accomplish, with the energy of religious fervor, what communists could only dream of, and failed to do. But, then, the historical progress toward communism was seen as a merely human process, whereas the worldwide jihad has Allah on its side. Jihad has the highest of moral and religious purposes, according to the late Abdullah Azzam, a Palestinian-Arab theologian and founding member of al-Qaeda: Jihad “can purify souls and elevate them above reality.” Not that this will be easy. “Islamic society needs to be born, but birth takes place in pain and suffering.”

    The American war in Iraq saw another instance of this strategy. In this case, the existing state having been removed not by jihadists but by the hated Americans, the jihadists have sought to prevent the founding of a new state, particularly a new state on socially democratic, commercial-republican regime lines. A democratic-republican state would be especially dangerous to their cause, inasmuch as such a regime might make Islamist vanguardism a matter of the ballot instead of the bullet and the bomb. Apart from the recent experience of Turkey, actual rule by Islamists has proven unpalatable wherever it has been tried; no less an authority than Zawahiri himself has decried the establishment of commercial republicanism in Iraq and vows to prevent it. In Zawahiri’s view, ‘democracy’ is a religion—an alternative, false religion in which human judgment and sovereignty and law override Allah’s judgment, sovereignty, and law. Democracy gives authority to “man’s desires, whatever they may be,” “replac[ing] God absolutely.” The worldwide struggle of Islam therefore must aim finally at Satan’s tool, the worldwide movement toward democracy. Which regime will prevail on the earth?

    The strengths of the al-Qaeda strategy are noteworthy, but its limitations are considerable. In the days following the September 11 attack, I wondered aloud, “Where’s the follow-up?” Although this made some people around me a bit nervous, and I suppose I could have been more sensitive and considerate, it was clear then, and has become even clearer since then, that while a worldwide terrorist organization can disrupt its enemies, it cannot quickly seize and hold political power on a wide scale. It will remain a physical threat to states for a long time, but it is unlikely to destroy any but the weakest of them. Indeed, bin Laden tended to talk very much like a child of the television and Internet age, extolling the 9/11 attack for its symbolic meaning more than for any material effect it inflicted.

    And then there was the problem of the counterattack. The U. S. war against the Taliban proved far more effective than bin Laden likely expected it to be. He probably thought of the United States as another Soviet Union, soon to be bogged down and cut to pieces by his mujahedin. The problem with that analysis—shared, you will recall, by the many exceedingly foolish commentators who popped up on television chat shows and op-ed pages—is very simple. Notwithstanding bin Laden’s silly lie about American victory in the Cold War, the mujahedin who fought the Soviets in Afghanistan could use supplies from America, principally Stinger missiles. Against the United States, however, the mujahedin had no reliable suppliers of first-rate weaponry. What is more, the United States of 2002 could not be compared to the Soviet Union of the 1980s—politically, militarily, or technologically. The Taliban and bin Laden had no idea what they were in for. As a result, both were driven back, and most of the key al-Qaeda senior and mid-level members were arrested or killed.

    Second, the CIA Counterterrorism Center developed a plan called the Worldwide Attack Matrix. Using intelligence seized in the Afghan war, they tracked down the rosters of terrorist trainees, and tracked those trainees back to their host countries. Sharing intelligence with other states—few of which had any reason to want their own regimes destabilized by fanatics—the CIA helped to stop a planned series of attacks on U. S. military sites, businesses, and diplomatic offices in Singapore and elsewhere. All told, the modern state continues to deploy impressive resources of its own. Indeed, one of the main assets al-Qaeda continues to enjoy is willing or unwilling shelter lent to them by certain modern states themselves, where terrorists can be confident they will not be attacked, lest the host state’s sovereignty be violated. This fact has not gone unnoticed in Washington: hence the Bush Administration’s strategy of “regime change.” Although that strategy itself soon fell into disfavor, it intimidated a number of otherwise anti-American regimes into cooperation with the United States, long enough to tighten security in many countries around the world.

    What, then, has the internationalist Islamist movement been thinking since the 2011 death of bin Laden and the degradation of the original core of al-Qaeda? Under the not-very-dynamic leadership of Zawahiri, al-Qaeda has often been reduced to urging its local franchises and even lone-wolf sympathizers to mount their own terrorist attacks. None of the franchises has been able to expand its power beyond their own regions, most of which are remote from world capitals. Low-intensity warfare, especially in Islamic countries, is about the most al-Qaeda can do. Meanwhile, within the jihadi movement itself, al-Qaeda has been challenged by a breakaway organization, the ‘Islamic State,’ which has proved more violent and radical in its methods than the parent organization itself. I shall save discussion of ISIS for the final lecture in this series, on Syria.

    The main danger that jihadi organizations pose to the United States and the other commercial republics today continues to be their power to distract those regimes from much more powerful rivals, China and Russia. They, too, are prepared for a long conflict with the West, and they are much better equipped to wage it.

     

    Primary source readings

    Yonah Alexander and Michael S. Swetam: Usama bin Laden’s al-Qaida: Profile of a Terrorist Network. Ardsley: Transnational Publishers, 2001. Contains an appendix of documents by and about bin Laden and al-Qaeda.

    Gilles Kepel and Jean-Pierre Milelli, eds.: Al Qaeda in Its Own Words. Pascale Ghazaleh translation. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2008.

    Filed Under: Nations

    Islam and Modern Politics

    July 20, 2017 by Will Morrisey

    Lecture delivered at Lifelong Learning Seminar, “Islam and the West,” Hillsdale College, Hillsdale, Michigan.

     

    This week I will give five talks on Islam and modern politics. Today, I’ll talk about the origins of the ideology called ‘Islamism’ or ‘political Islam.’ Tomorrow I will discuss radical Islamism (specifically the ideology of the al Qaeda organization) as understood by its founder, Osama bin Laden and its other principal spokesmen. Following that, I will lecture on the regimes of Saudi Arabia, Iran, and Syria, respectively. Saudi Arabia and Iran are the two most insistently ‘Islamic’ of the well-established regimes ruled by Muslims, and Syria’s civil war illustrates the clash of several would-be regimes, each backed by foreign regimes—some Islamic, some not.

    My co-speakers are giving you an idea of what Islam is, but if I am to speak on Islam and modern politics, I still owe you an account of what I mean by ‘politics’ and what I mean by ‘modern.’ By spending the first half of this first lecture on those themes I intend to make my subsequent thoughts on Islamic politics much clearer. An added benefit to this approach is that I will be presenting a way of thinking clearly, as a citizen, about politics generally. What I’ll be saying next will be useful when you think about Saudi Arabia and Iran, but also when you think about China, Russia, Brazil, and the United States of America. One of my colleagues earlier asked good question: How to learn about Islam? I want to begin with the question of how political scientists learn about anything. Optimistically, I assume that political scientists are educable.

    In trying to understand human communities, political science resembles anthropology, economics, and sociology in one way: It starts with individuals and families, looking specifically at the types of ruling that goes on in them. Political science differs from anthropology, economics, and sociology in one principal respect: It looks to the regime as the key feature that defines our lives together.

    It so happens that the term ‘regime’ has been much in the news for the last several decades. The Clinton and Bush administrations have pushed for in such countries regime change as Bosnia, Serbia, Kosovo, Afghanistan, and Iraq. What, exactly, is a regime. Why should anyone want to change one. Thus the basic term of political science happens to have become central to the American political debate, a debate that we know, at least since the terrorist attacks by radical Islamists on 9/11/2001, to involve our very lives and our way of life.

    In political science, a regime roughly parallels a species, or perhaps a genus, in biological science. It’s a term of classification or identification. As in biological species, we identify regimes by the behavior of the organism, the purposes it pursues, and its form or structure.

    Regimes consist of two elements:

    1. Rulers. How many people rule the community—one, a few, or many?—and what is their character. It makes a difference if only one person rules a community, or if only a few or many do; it also makes a difference if they are for the most part good or for the most part bad, whether (for example) the one who rules is Queen Anne of seventeenth-century England or Mao Zedong of twentieth-century China. This matters, not only because one set of rulers will act differently than another, but also because we tend to ‘look up’ to rulers, model our lives on them. A collection of Soviet-era educational materials had the piquant title, “I Want to Be Like Stalin.”

    2. The Way of Life, the moral atmosphere of the society—its “habits of the mind and the heart,” as Tocqueville puts it—will foster the characteristic human type who lives in a given society. Business person or warrior, saint or sybarite, cowboy or computer geek? Or maybe all of those things, in which case you know you’re in America.

    3. The purposes of a regime should be consistent with the rulers and the way of life. In America, the Declaration of Independence asserts that just governments aim at securing the unalienable, natural rights of the governed. In the Soviet Union, the purpose of the regime was to advance the ‘dialectic of history,’ first towards socialism and eventually towards worldwide communism. Neither the ancient Athenian democrats nor the contemporary Iranian mullahs would endorse the purposes of either of those regimes.

    4. The form or structure of the regime refers to the authoritative structures by which the rulers rule. How are the most ambitious people in the society channeled into the positions of authority and prestige that they crave? And on what channels do those positions run? One might compare a regime’s form to an power grid, both directing and concentrating, but also limiting, the enunciation and enforcement of the ruler or rulers’ commands, including laws.

    Obviously, these four elements of the regime—rulers, way of life, purposes, and institutions—are interrelated, mutually influential. If the rulers change, the way of life and institutions may change, in order to accommodate the intentions of the new rulers. For example, the election of Adolf Hitler and his Nazi Party in Germany in 1933 soon led to a new way of life for Germans, under a new set of ruling institutions, institutions that did not include a genuinely authoritative legislature, as the previous regime had done.

    If the institutions change, the way of life and rulers will change. The way of life of Japan after the installation of General Douglas MacArthur’s constitution in the 1940s, and the kind of rulers Japan has had since that time, have both changed radically from what they were in the 1930s until August 1945.

    If a community’s way of life changes, then rulers and institutions will change—usually somewhat gradually but no less profoundly. Consider the changes in the Roman Empire after Christianity pervaded its society ‘from below,’ so to speak. Finally, if the purposes of the regime change, this may well have profound consequences regarding the community’s rulers, way of life, and form. Many political communities have changed radically in these respects with the introduction of Islam, which sets down a far different set of purposes for human life than those pursued by, for example, Zoroastrianism.

    All of these regime elements form an ethos or character specific to the regime. A person born to the same set of parents might be biologically identical if born in 1920s Hamburg on 1920s Pittsburgh, but his or her view of the world, life expectations would be very different; in important ways, the person himself would be entirely different.

    A regime change is therefore nothing less than a revolution—whether violent, as in the United States and in France in the 1780s and 1790s, or peaceful, as Czechoslovakia in the 1980s and 1990s. The regime which prevails in our society effects all of our lives physically and morally, spelling ‘liberty or death,’ sometimes to millions.

    Since Aristotle’s time, four massive facts have intervened to modify, if not to alter fundamentally, Aristotle’s system of political classification.

    1. The first of these are religions that are both prophetic and international—specifically, Christianity and Islam. These are prophetic rather than civil religions in the sense that they require their adherents to ‘speak truth to power’ and not simply to reinforce existing regimes. They are international, indeed universal in that the God of the Bible and the God of the Koran rule over all human beings, not only particular communities or peoples. Notice that both of these religions have regimes: God is the King of kings; He is also the founding lawgiver, prescribing institutions and also requiring a particular way of life. This sets up a circumstance in which the City of God ‘cross-cuts’ the City of Man, sometimes commending a given regime and sometimes calling it to account or even undermining it. Prophetic and universal religions change both internal politics and international politics, permanently.
    2. The modern state appeared, invented by the Florentine philosopher, Niccolò Machiavelli and put into practice widely in Europe by the middle of the seventeenth century. Aristotle saw two basic kinds of political communities, in terms of size and centralization. The polis was small and centralized, tightly-knit, a place where even a regime of ‘the many’—either a mixed regime or a democracy—could assemble all of its rulers in one place for deliberation in common. In such highly centralized and highly ‘politicized’ communities, the regime mattered intensely to everyone because the rulers really could rule everyone, really ‘reach into’ the life of every family. The empire, in contrast to the polis, was big but decentralized, typically a loose confederation of political communities whose subordinate members paid tribute in money, honor, soldiers, and slaves to the central government—which might have any of the six regime types—but otherwise left most major ruling decisions to the local rulers. The modern state combines the centralized rule of the polis with a size closer to that of some of the ancient empires. Machiavelli and subsequent political philosophers and statesmen invented ways of making this possible, of making the central ruling authority capable of reaching down into the families, into what now would be called ‘civil society,’ in contrast to ‘the state.’ These included the technologies generated by modern science, animated by the ambition enunciated by Machiavelli’s philosophic disciple, Francis Bacon: “the conquest of nature for the relief of man’s estate.” Other modern political methods included an impersonal and professional bureaucracy—avowedly ‘scientific’ in its methods of rule—and modern, standardized military practices, seen most notably in a writer like Carl von Clausewitz.
    3. A third feature of modern society, again urged by Machiavelli and his innumerable followers, consisted of an acquisitive, commercial/capitalist society—not mere trade routes or port cities, which had existed for centuries, but whole societies devoted to acquisition, with systems of finance to match. Such a political economy of acquisition could generate the vast revenues needed to support the modern bureaucratic and military apparatuses of the modern state. The modern political economy typically led to the ’embourgoisement’ of society, the rise of the middle classes and the partial displacement of the titled aristocracies.
    4. Social embourgoisement, but also professionalization of military and civilian bureaucracies also enhance the democratization of society, societies in which, increasingly, who you were mattered less than what you were, and particularly what you could do to enhance the power of acquisition—politically, militarily, and economically.

    These four massive facts, the last three at the service of the modern scientific project, have come together to form what we have come to call the distinctively modern life. That life raises the perennial question of regimes in the most serious ways. From the disposition of your soul for all eternity to the disposition of soul and body here and now, it matters more than ever who rules, by what institutions they rule, the way of life and the purposes rulers and ruling institutions enforce. Given the massive and transformative powers of modern states, as ruling entities and as frameworks for civil-social activities, regimes matter to us, to ordinary citizens or subjects, in some ways more than ever.

    The history of the past two centuries accordingly has seen vast, sometimes worldwide struggles over exactly this regime question. The American regime of commercial republicanism is one answer to the question. But we’ve also seen the military republicanism of revolutionary France, the military tyranny of Napoleonic France, the constitutional monarchic imperialism of Metternich’s Austria, the military-capitalist monarchy of Wilhelmine Germany, the military and ideological tyrannies of Communist Russia and China, Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany. Today, Islamism addresses this same question of who will rule us and how we shall be ruled in the modern world.

    Consider these basic terms of political science with respect to Islam, and especially to contemporary Islamism. Muhammad was a political ruler and, more than that, a lawgiver and founder of a new regime. The regime he founded was a monarchy, and he began the conquest of territories that became a vast empire soon after his death. The empire he founded was an ‘ancient’ empire, not a modern state. Authority in that empire derived from persons—ultimately, from Allah—and not from impersonal functions in a centralized bureaucracy. For Islamists, too, politics is central. But unlike Muhammad they operate in societies where the modern state reaches down into the lives of every individual and family, societies in which centralized rule intrudes more into everyday activities than it ever did in the empires of antiquity or the middle ages. Pushing back against the modern state, and against the modern project generally, Islamists put politics in the foreground of their enterprise. This is why Islamism is often called “political Islam.”

    Islamism also reflects the social-democratizing tendency of modernity. The breakup of the Ottoman Empire resulted in the elimination of the caliphate by the statist-nationalist modernizer, Kemal Ataturk. That same breakup also saw the advance of modern, nation-state empires—Britain, France—in the Middle East. The elimination of the caliphate has brought a vast democratization to Islam. Under the caliphate, only a trained Islamic scholar could issue a fatwa; today, an adolescent can do so, and some have. Now, that’s democratization for you.

    To put the matter in theoretical terms: modernity involves egalitarianism and the sharp break with tradition implied by the conquest of nature. Both egalitarianism and anti-traditionalism undermine the authority of the family, of fathers and mothers, of parental rule. To undermine the family is to generate individualism, the sense of ‘I’m on my own.’ But undermining the family in no way stops human beings from being human, that is, from being social and political animals who desire a sense of ‘belonging,’ of community; therefore, to undermine the family is only to initiate a quest for a substitute for the family. In modernity, we see several such substitutes. One is nationality; significantly, one’s country is called ‘the fatherland’ or ‘the motherland.’ Another was communism—the life of the communist cell, in which members experienced fraternity without parenthood. Yet another substitute for the family has been religious revival. This comes as a surprise to secularists, who had supposed, since the Enlightenment, that they alone would control the moral terrain of modernity. Socially, Islamism—for all its ‘traditional’ trappings and claims to orthodoxy—resembles the revivalisms or fundamentalisms that have characterized much of modern religious life. Islamists break with their families, adopting a self-made version of a particular religion in a new, ‘adopted’ family—experiencing, as they do, the intense emotions associated with family life. In the phrase of the French scholar Olivier Roy, Islamists are agitated by the “side effects of their own Westernization” or more precisely their own modernization. Politically—and here they differ from, for example, the fundamentalist revivalisms in Christianity—recent Islamists tapped into the political leftism of college and university campuses in the West, especially in Europe, which is where they experienced the emotional consequences of their removal from their real families, and where they began to think through their encounter with modernity.

    An earlier generation of Islamists also tapped into fascism and communism after World War I. The elimination of the Ottoman Empire and its replacement by modern empires also meant a crisis for Arab and Iranian nationhood. In subsequent decades, Arab rulers allied themselves with Soviet Russia, and later with Nazi Germany, in their quest for national independence—a dangerous strategy from which they were saved by the commercial republics, which defeated those alternate empires. In the 1950s, Arabs won their independence not through Islam but through nationalism—Nasser in Egypt, the Ba’athists in Syria and Iraq. Even the Palestinian Arabs, living in and out of Israel, appropriated a nationalist identity and program, and will now tell you, in the fanciful way that nationalists tend to adopt, that they are the descendants of the ancient Philistines, and therefore predate the Jews in their residence on the land.

    As long as the nationalists had credit among predominantly Muslim peoples, the thinkers now called Islamists remained on the fringes, their followers persecuted by nation-statist rulers. These men included Ruhollah Khomein in Iran, Sayyid Qutb in Egypt, and Mawlanda Mawdudi in Pakistan. In fact, Qutb was hanged by Nasser in 1966.

    But Arab nationalism became discredited in the eyes of many within a single generation. The nationalists failed to conquer Israel, losing spectacularly in the Six-Day War of 1967 and falling short in 1973. Nationalist rulers also came down firmly on the despotic side of the social-democratization issue, blocking the next generation from political participation. The post-independence generation of Muslims thus never fully sympathized with nationalism; many listened to the transnational notions of Islamism, spread by modern technology to a worldwide audience. Islamism also benefited from the  religio-political policy of the nationalist despots, who co-opted many of the more traditionalist clergy, rather in the way the Soviets co-opted many Russian Orthodox clergy. Thus compromised, the traditionalist lost prestige in the eyes of the young, and their loss was Islamism’s gain. Urbanized and educated, Islamists exemplified Tocquevillian democratization, but did so without the middle-class background of the liberal democrats or commercial republicans of nineteenth-century Europe. Furthermore, in the last twenty-five years Islamists have notched some important successes: overthrowing the Shah of Iran, defending the new Iranian clerical regime against Iraq and Iraq’s Saudi backers in the 1980s; launching successful terrorist attacks against America and other targets around the world; and of course defeating the Soviets in Afghanistan.

    Who are these people” What is ‘Islamism’?

    Khomeini, Qutb, and Mawdudi all rejected nationalism as a form of idolatry, a neo-paganism to be resisted as violently as Muhammad had resisted the paganism of his time. To Islamists, the sovereignty of anyone but God is idolatry; nation and state are idols. The core of modernity, ultimately the self-deification of man, is false and evil. I shall discuss Khomeini in my lecture on Iran; today, I’ll outline the ideas of Qutb, Mawdudi, and Qutb’s predecessor, Hassan al-Banna.

    In Egypt, Qutb joined the existing radical group, the Muslim Brothers, which had been founded in the 1920s by a schoolteacher named Hassan al-Banna. Faced with the overwhelming power of the modern state, the Muslim Brothers sought to Islamify it, advocating what they called “Islamic modernity.” As the French scholar Gilles Kepel so pointedly notes, “The exact meaning of Islamic modernity has never really been settled.” Understandably so, inasmuch as it is fundamentally a contradiction. Islamic modernity, for the Brothers, involved a sort of totalitarianism—an amalgamation of society, state, culture, and religion, all under the guidance of Islam, and therefore of Islamists. The American founders had warned that any attempt to eliminate all factionalism, to constitute any thoroughgoing unity, would lead to tyranny. Peoples in the Middle East have seen this in those places—Khomeini’s Iran, the Taliban’s Afghanistan—where Islamism has established a regime, and in both of those places the people have been restive under the ‘totalizing’ yoke. Islamists have found that a shared religion does not constitute a sufficiently strong bond to hold a society together, and so have resorted to the frequent use of violence as a supplement.

    Islamism agrees with Wahhabism (and indeed with Islam simply) on the need to Islamify all society, everywhere. It disagrees with Wahhabism on the issue of social equality. Islamism would end landed aristocracy. It is more urban and democratic—more modern—than Wahhabism. Wahhabism can tolerate the Saudi royal family, so long as they seem pious. Islamists do not tolerate them at all.

    As the leader of the Muslim Brothers, Banna copied his organizational practices from the Nazis, who were active in Egypt, against the regnant British Empire, in the 1930s. He established a youth wing; he endorsed the Füherprinzip (the leadership principle); he had his people engage in paramilitary training, and cultivated a cult of the heroic death—all Hitlerian motifs. He was assassinated in 1949, but the Muslim Brothers persist to this day, briefly ruling Egypt a few years ago, and thus far winning and consolidating political power in Turkey.

    Qutb joined the Brothers in the early 1950s, but favored a radicalism of the Left, not the now-defeated radicalism of the Right. The Islamist theorist he admired was Mawdudi of Pakistan, a contemporary of Banna who had advocated an Islamic state in all of India. Mawdudi wanted to take the modern state and use its apparatus to Islamify Indian society ‘from above,’ eradicating what he regarded as the local paganism, namely, Hinduism. Mawdudi founded his part, the Jamaat-e-Islami, on Lenin’s successful Bolshevik model. As you will recall, Lenin was a Marxist, believing that ‘History,’ understood as the course of human events, was proceeding dialectically, as Marxism and Engels had taught, toward its ‘end’ or culmination in a class-free, communalist worldwide society. That is, for Marxists ‘History’ proceeds by the conflict of socioeconomic classes. The urban working class, or proletariat, eventually triumph over the bourgeois class, seize and transform the bourgeois state, and use its power to eliminate all classes. Once classes are gone, the state will “wither away,” as it will no longer have any purpose. To hurry ‘History’ along towards this wondrous consummation, Lenin formed the Bolshevik Party as the working class’s vanguard party, the political party on the cutting edge of the historical dialectic, leading the working class to victory. The vanguard of the vanguard was, of course, Lenin himself, leader of the dictatorship of the proletariat. That regime would come to fulfill Tocqueville’s prediction of a Russian empire facing off against the great commercial republic of America.

    To Mawdudi, Marxian dialectical struggle seemed very reminiscent of jihad. Under the Islamic rubric of jihad, whose “central theme” is “the propagation of the Faith through combat,” he would imitate Leninist political organization.

    Mawdudi departed from Lenin in preferring a more strictly political course of action. His party engaged in parliamentary politics with a patience Lenin seldom exhibited. Here is where Qutb sided more with Lenin than with Mawdudi. Endorsing the ideas of the revolutionary vanguard and of the one-part state leading to a class-free society, Qutb preferred extra-parliamentary methods; indeed, in Nasser’s Egypt, such methods would have been irrelevant. The Muslim vanguard will work for the “abolition of man-made laws,” and their substitution with the perfect law, the Shar’ia, obedience to which he deemed true liberation. Thus, I what would eventually be seen as typical Islamist fashion, Qutb attempted to use modern political techniques as instruments of Islam.

    As for the deeper substance of the modern project, Qutb authored a multi-volume critique of modernity. Modernity, he argued, had caused humanity to lose contact with its own nature. The original error went back much farther than modern philosophy, however. The original error went back to Judaism and Christianity.

    Judaism had been God’s revelation. But Judaism fell prey to legalism because Jews had become slavish during their years of captivity in Egypt. Slavery had actually changed their nature, and so, when they received the laws of God from Moses, they inclined to worship the laws themselves instead of God. This led to the mission of Jesus of Nazareth, who rightly broke with Jewish legalism. However, the early Christians fell victim to harsh persecution, causing the Christian message to become garbled; this adulterated message went too far against legalism. Having abandoned the Jewish law entirely, Christians reached out not to Judaism but to paganism (specifically, Greek political philosophy) as the needed, worldly supplement to their faith. Thus Christianity left itself vulnerable, in Roman times, to what Qutb regarded as Constantine’s pseudo-conversion, which drove the genuine Christians into the monasteries, as ascetic ‘desert saints.’ Asceticism is only another form of Christian extremism, a rejection of the bodily which bifurcates what should be coordinated, namely, spirit and nature. This leads to the characteristic Christian dualisms—sacred versus secular, God versus Caesar—dual standards.

    To remedy this “hideous schizophrenia,” the Prophet Muhammad in the seventh century brought a new legal code. This new code reintegrates spirit with physical nature. The unified, genuinely monotheistic religion of Islam thus reestablishes both the original revelation to the Jews and the original message of Jesus. Almost as boldly, Qutb claims that the return of the proper human relation to physical nature opened Islamic minds to the experimental scientific method, which Muslim scientists discovered in the Middle Ages. Unfortunately, the full use of this method for the benefit of all mankind was blocked by the Christian Crusaders and the Mongols, both of whom disrupted Islamic life shortly after the discovery was made. The scientific method was taken by Christians to Europe in the sixteenth century, and exploited by them. Under Christian auspices, this method was used to reinforce the sacred-secular bifurcation favored in that civilization. Conflict arose between religion and science, the one informed by faith, the other by atheism. Atheist modernity has triumphed over Christendom in this struggle, leading to the crisis of nihilism in the West.

    Thus, in Qutb’s account, Jews, Christians, and Muslim infidels have caused the current plight of Arab Muslims. America, with its separation of church and state, embodies both the Christian and the modern legacy. America’s presence in the Middle East betokens a war against Islam. As a result of the advance of the modern project, the whole world has reverted to the condition of paganism seen by Muhammad. Qutb and his followers are the only true Muslims remaining. They must do what Muhammad did: reconquer the world for God.

    It is worth noting, in passing, that Qutb’s brother, Muhammad Qutb, became a university professor in Saudi Arabia. One of his students was a young Saudi named Osama bin Laden. Bin Laden came to understand that he must undertake a struggle over regimes: Who will rule? How will they rule? What way of life will prevail? What purposes will the rulers, ruling institutions, and prevailing way of life serve?

     

    Primary Source Readings in Translation

    Roxann L. Euben and Mhammad Qasim Zaman, eds.: Princeton Readings in Islamist Thought: Texts and Contexts. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009.

    Hassan al-Banna: Five Tracts of Hassan al-Banna. Available on-line.

    Sayyid Abul Ala Mawdudi: Islamic Civilization: Its Foundational Beliefs and Principles. Leicester: The Islamic Foundation, 2013.

    Sayyid Qutb: Milestones. Available on-line.

    ____. In the Shade of the Koran.

    ____. Social Justice in Islam.

     

    Secondary Readings

    Bostom, Andrew G.: The Legacy of Jihad: Islamic Holy War and the Fate of Non-Muslims. Amherst: Prometheus Books, 2005.

    Bonner, Michael: Jihad in Islamic History: Doctrines and Practice. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006.

    Olivier Roy: The Failure of Political Islam. Carol Volk translation. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1994.

    Kepel, Gilles: The War for Muslim Minds. Pascale Ghazaleh translation. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2004.

    Cook, David: Understanding Jihad. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005.

    Filed Under: Nations

    The Morality of Nuclear Deterrence

    July 11, 2017 by Will Morrisey

    Jonathan Schell: The Fate of the Earth. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1982.

    Nigel Blake and Kay Pole, eds.: Objections to Nuclear Defence: Philosophers on Deterrence. Boston: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1984.

    Originally published in The Political Science Reviewer, Vol. XV, Fall 1985.

     

    The policy of nuclear deterrence appears intellectually uninteresting. ‘Don’t attack me. For if you do, my counterattack will destroy you.’ This is unsubtle. Fine shades of meaning and nice distinctions, the intellect’s delight, do not figure largely here. Intellectuals demonstrate the crudeness of nuclear deterrence in their own way; they write volumes about it, obscuring it simplicity from their own view, if from no one else’s. Nuclear deterrence may offend intellectuals as intellectuals. It is something important that even the very stupid can understand. Only intellectuals were likely to invent nuclear weapons, but now that the weapons exist, they make further intellection appear irrelevant. Small wonder that intellectuals try to blot out the policy in an ocean of ink.

    But perhaps intellect still has something to do. Nuclear weapons can be said to embody modernity. Modernity, based upon a certain conception of science, has empowered human beings to a degree barely imagined in the premodern centuries. This human power to build and destroy accrued because modern philosophers urged men to it and showed them the way. Like the threat of hanging at dawn, nuclear weapons can concentrate the mind wonderfully—this time on the modern enterprise itself. To consider the morality of nuclear deterrence is to consider fundamental moral questions raised by modernity, but obscured by the success of modernity. A great philosopher need not view the prospect of modernity’s failure in order to see the problematic character of modernity. If Minerva’s owl were a philosopher, it would be one of those species that fly both day and night. But Minerva’s owl as described by Hegel is merely an intellectual, needing darkness to search for its food. The shadows cast by nuclear weapons may rouse ‘we intellectuals’ from our dogmatic slumber, enabling us to see matters only philosophers see in the course of humanity’s ordinary diurnal life.

    The books considered here represent intellectuals’ attempts to understand the moral implications of nuclear deterrence. Most of the arguments the authors make, fail. These failures are instructive, therefore valuable. These are valuable books.

     

    Means, Ends, and “The Fate of the Earth”

    Modernity Against Itself

    Jonathan Schell’s The Fate of the Earth provides a theoretical impetus for nuclear disarmament. [1] To say “theoretical impetus” suggests that Jonathan Schell views theory in the modern way—not so much as a foundation for thoughts as an inspiration for acts. [2] Schell does not claim that he provided sufficient impetus to sustain the acts he desires. “A full-scale re-examination of the foundations of political thought… must be undertaken if the world’s political institutions are to be made consonant with the global reality in which they operate or to work out the practical steps by which mankind, acting for the first time in history as a single entity, can reorganize its political life” (219). Although he does not present such a re-examination, Schell does point clearly to where he believes one should go. Calling the threat of nuclear war “the most important reality of our time” (8), he expects our thoughts and acts in regard to nuclear weapons to determine not merely the future of a military technology but “the future of mankind” and, of course, “the fate of the earth.” [3]

    The difficult relations between theory and practice, particularly between political theory and practice, may be said to have had a long history. Schell contributes an incident to that history. One easily sees the problematic character of his contribution near the end of his book. There he describes two schools of “political thinking,” the ‘realistic’ and the ‘idealistic.’ The ‘realistic’ school teaches that “men, on the whole, pursue their own interests and act according to a law of fear”; the ‘idealistic’ school teaches “what Gandhi called the law of love” (224). Insofar as they think logically, members of both schools must agree that “it is no more realistic than it is idealistic to destroy the world” (225). On the following page, however, Schell asserts that “the task” for mankind today “is nothing less than to reinvent politics: to reinvent the world” (226). This may or may not be the most-quoted of Schell’s sentences; it is surely the most-derided. [4]. In the course of only two pages, Schell apparently veers from a reasonable conclusion drawn from theory to the most dubious practical advice.

    I shall argue that in recognizing the dubiousness of Schell’s practical advice, one does not merely add another example to the list of ‘intellectuals’ whose gowns get torn in town. His advice accurately reflects a botched theoretical argument. [5]  In The Fate of the Earth Schell offers almost no sound guidance, in theory or in practice, to those seeking world peace.

    Theory

    According to Schell, “we have thus far failed to fashion or to discover within ourselves, an emotional or intellectual response” to nuclear weapons (4). Schell can only mean that we have failed to “fashion” or “discover” responses acceptable to him; he himself later criticizes the well-known “response” of every United States president since Harry Truman, namely, “deterrence of Soviet expansion in defense of liberal democracy.” [6]

    Schell does not try to minimize the difficulty of arriving at an appropriate response to nuclear weapons. He admits at the outset that we cannot know the extent of the destruction a nuclear war would cause. However, extrapolating from small-scale tests, “one must conclude that a full-scale nuclear holocaust could lead to the extinction of mankind” (93). Therefore, he contends, “we have no right to gamble, because if we lose, the game will be over…” (95). Although “scientifically” we distinguish between extinction’s certainty and its mere possibility, “morally they are the same” (95). Schell fails to explain why he believes that risking something is morally identical to choosing it. He never attempts such an explanation.

    Instead he tries a different argument. He begins with a discussion of science. Schell sees that scientific knowledge does not itself cause “our plight” (109). Rather, we are endangered by the availability of this knowledge to the unwise. He deplores “the lopsided development of human abilities” whereby mankind’s knowledge has exceeded its moral virtues (103). Schell believes that scientists, insofar as they are ‘pure’ scientists dedicated to theoretical research should not be blamed for this. As scientists, they “do not aim at social ends” (104); for example, Einstein’s pacifist intentions met the profoundest disappointment at the hands of the very ‘applied’ science he made possible. ‘Pure’ science, Schell writes, “is a process of submission in which the mind does not dictate to nature but seeks out and then bows to nature’s laws, letting its conclusions be guided by that which is, independent of our will” (105). This description overlooks the difference between classical philosophy, of which the ‘old,’ predominantly Aristotelian science constituted one part, and modern science, anticipated by Machiavelli and elaborated by Bacon. Schell nearly admits this when he writes that “it is the very nature of knowledge, apparently, to increase our might rather than to diminish it” (106)—a formula echoing Bacon’s celebrated aphorism that we can conquer nature by obeying it. [7]  Twentieth-century physics could not exist without the scientific and mathematical impetus of this revolutionized, and revolutionizing, new relation between man and nature. Schell’s mistake has implications more serious than some mere historical confusion. By failing to see the utopian character of modern scientific theory, he can regard the most striking instance of its practice as a kind of aberration. He can overlook the fact that modern science tends toward the spread of knowledge to the unwise; that is, modern science tends toward ‘Enlightenment.’ He can thus underestimate the discrepancy between theory and practice even as he sees and deplores it.

    Schell wants us to “learn to live politically in the world in which we already live scientifically” (108). In his opinion, the survival of the human species “has now become the principal obligation of politics” (109). All other things said to be political goods—liberty, justice, equality, and the rest—are secondary. The first argument Schell advances on behalf of this opinion partakes of the atheism of modern science. Obviously, to make human survival on this earth the principal obligation of politics assumes that there is no ‘life after death’ and no superior Being or beings to worship, to put before man. But even if we grant this assumption ‘for the sake of argument,’ Schell must see that the destruction of mankind by nuclear weapons, even the destruction of the earth, would not destroy the nature that (in the absence of divinity) evidently produced the earth and mankind. For the sake of coherence, Schell would have to deny this possibility; the most he can do is to write that we do not know whether or not nature would reproduce mankind. We may be unique, for all we know. Roughly halfway through his book, then, Schell’s argument reduces to the following: If nuclear weapons threaten the destruction of mankind, and if mankind is irreplaceable, then human survival is the principal obligation of politics.

    One can still grant these premises and notice that the argument fails. Mere uniqueness or irreplaceability does not entail worth. That something is ‘one of a kind’ does not mean it is worth preserving. Among Germans, Hitler was unique but hardly worth preserving, much less cherishing. Nor would Hitler be worthy of preservation if he were unique among human things. If mankind is unique, it may be uniquely good, uniquely good and bad, uniquely bad, or uniquely ‘neutral.’ Schell has established no rational basis for his nuclear pacifism.

    Schell argues that mankind’s apparent uniqueness has a radical moral implication. He observes that we describe our moral categories—good and bad, right and wrong—by the means of language. “And standing behind language is that of which language is expressive—our reason, our psyche, our will, and our spirit” (120). Schell leaves these terms undefined, but he does write that “the foundation of the common world”—that is, the world language makes, wherein human beings can understand one another—”is an exclusively human achievement” (120). Again, this assumes that atheism is true; it also again overlooks what “stands behind” human reason, psyche, will, and spirit, those generators of language. Schell’s argument would hold only if nuclear weapons could destroy nature itself or, at least, render it incapable of reproducing mankind. To say that “mankind is not itself good or evil but the source of both,” merely evades this problem (125).

    As an example, Schell asserts that “anyone who loves justice assumes the existence of a society whose parts can be brought into relationships that are just” (124). This is where one sees how Schell’s misapprehension of the relation between theory and practice in modern science, and his consequent underestimation of the discrepancy between theory and practice, prevent him from seeing the logical mistake at the heart of his moral/political teaching. To love justice does of course presuppose the existence of political order. One need not therefore presuppose the existence or potential existence of a particular political order that can be formed or reformed into a just political order. A lover of justice may desire that any particular political order be made as nearly just as possible, but precisely because he is a lover of justice he should take care not to demand more than that particular political order can bear. Political prudence consists in large part of the ability to make this very judgment. Schell underestimates the difficulty of modern science’s attempt to overcome the discrepancy and pronounces it unjust, a thing to be overcome. This in turn causes him to love mere life too much, for the most part ignoring the basis of life on the one hand and the purposes of life on the other. Or, as he puts it, man “stand[s] prior to all means and ends, shaping and defining them according to his nature and his will” (125). But whether it is God or nature that produces man, whatever produces man must be logically prior to man. Further, without the means and ends of man, his very essence, his humanitas, exists only potentially. Or, as Schell’s most discerning critic observes, while it may be true that “principle without life is not possible,” it is surely true that “life without principle is no longer human.” [8]  If the modern science that may threaten the destruction of mankind also threatens its perpetual enslavement, then our potential for fully-developed humanity would be perpetually de-formed.

    A Theologico-Political Foray

    It may seem that Schell would debase man, make him a creature whose principal aim as a species is mere survival at any cost. But as with modern political philosophy itself, what begins as unjustified debasement moves to (equally unjustified) glorification. “Human beings have a worth—a worth that is sacred” (127). Schell’s atheism or, perhaps, agnosticism, makes this statement puzzling; he seems to want the odor of sanctity without the incense. Yet Schell does offer us a god of sorts. Mankind is “the inexhaustible source of all the possible forms of worth, which has no existence or meaning without human life. Mankind is not, in the ancient phrase, the measure of all things; he is the measurer, and is himself measureless” (129). The measureless measurer: mankind is the only god Schell knows.

    This ‘god’ is not really “inexhaustible,” as other gods are said to be, else warnings against doom would be irrelevant to it. Nor is this mortal god an especially wise one: “Only a generation that believed itself to be in possession of final, absolute truth could ever conclude that it had reason to put an end to human life” (129), and such a belief would be arrogant, according to Schell. Schell’s worshipfulness here tends not toward a belief in mankind’s divine authority but in its all-too-human fallibility. Schell cannot decide if mankind is a collection of beasts whose function is self-preservation or a god upon whose very existence meaning itself depends. His predicament recalls Aristotle’s well-remembered aphorism: “he who is without a polis, by reason of his own nature and not of some accident, is either a poor sort of being, or a being higher than man….” [9]  By considering human beings collectively, as ‘mankind,’ Schell takes them out of the polis, with precisely the result Aristotle describes.

    Schell’s abstraction of ‘mankind’ from political life has a political purpose. We begin to see this when he argues that although “there can be no justification for extinguishing mankind, and therefore no justification for any nation ever to push the world into nuclear hostilities,” it nonetheless “does not follow that any action is permitted as long as it serves the end of preventing human extinction” (130). This is most peculiar, given his previous argument. Schell clearly puts mankind’s survival before all else and yet refuses to recommend certain acts that could serve the end of survival. Schell fears that governments will use his argument as “justification for abusing every human right” (135), and he recalls recent history as a warning. “In the period of détente, the first, tentative steps were taken toward nuclear-arms control… but the totalitarian murk around the world thickened noticeably” (136). Both Soviet Premier Leonid Brezhnev and U. S. President Richard Nixon excused human rights abuses in the name of peace. If Schell means “justification” as synonymous with ‘rationalization’ or even ‘pretext.’ there is no difficulty here. [10]  But he means more than that; he means to dismantle the existing political order itself.

    The nation-states claim “that one or more countries have the right to jeopardize all countries and their descendants in the name of certain beliefs” (132). Human rights are universal; “national beliefs” are not. Schell fails seriously to consider if certain “national beliefs” may coincide with human rights. Consequently, he fails to consider how he would defend human rights in this world if those rights are threatened by those brandishing nuclear weapons. For example, if a United States President Jonathan Schell were confronted by current Soviet Premier Mikhail Gorbachev and offered the choice of surrendering to Soviet tyranny or witnessing the extinction of the species, in the end President Schell would have to surrender. [11] If he followed his own principles, he would have to sacrifice all other human  rights to a reputed right to life, a life degraded by tyranny.

    Such embarrassing possibilities can only be avoided if Schell blames not his own argument but the world itself. This he proceeds to do. He insists that we choose between extinction (now abandoning his earlier caution and asserting that it is a “lie” to say that “life lived on top of a nuclear stockpile can last” (161), and “recogniz[ing] the peril, dismantl[ing] the weapons, and arrang[ing] the political affairs of the earth so that the weapons will not be built again” (418). Not only politics but reason itself has misbehaved and must do penance: “Now reason must sit at the knee of instinct and learn reverence for the miraculous instinctual capacity for creation” (156). [12] A partnership of fear (the instinct for self-preservation) and love (particularly love of generations yet to be born) shall give reason a new direction. [13] To these sentiments Schell adds three “principles”—in fact sentiments: “respect” for human beings, for the earth, and for “God or nature, or whatever one chooses to call the universal dust that made, or became, us” (178). In this last phrase Schell as much as admits that his humanism does not suffice, that the humans he would preserve must have originated somewhere, somehow. He does not revise any of his previous, now contradicted, arguments.

    One must also notice that all of these sentiments or “principles” are anti-totalitarian. The modern tyrant respects neither mankind, nor the earth, nor nature; he would conquer them all and deify himself. Yet Schell’s arguments thus far allow him no serious means, not even serious ethical means, for actively resisting tyranny. If universally adopted, his beliefs would end tyranny as long as mankind upheld them. But they cannot animate men to defend themselves forcefully against tyranny where it exists.

    Practice

    Schell wisely sees that nuclear weapons reveal not so much a technical problem as a political one. Accordingly, he calls for arms control agreements only as a prelude to the dismantling of the world’s current political system, “the system of sovereignty” (187). He raises the first question of all political scientists, ‘Who rules?’

    Schell contends  that the doctrine of nuclear deterrence, where technology meets policy, exposes the failure of the system of sovereignty. In that doctrine, “two irreconcilable principles clash” (197): our fear of using nuclear weapons and our threats to use them. “We cannot both threaten ourselves with something and hope to avoid that same thing by making the threat—both intend to do something and intend not to do it” (197). The argument is of course logically empty. It fails to distinguish a contingent intention (‘We shall counterattack if you attack us’) from an overall or ‘final’ intention (‘By that means we intend to deter you from attacking us’).

    Schell next asserts that mutual deterrence requires building no workable defense against nuclear weapons. For if one side appeared to be readying a practicable defense system, “the other side, fearful of completely losing its forces, might, in a crisis, feel compelled to launch the first strike itself” (200). Schell does not explain why, on his terms, any ruler would in effect commit sure suicide in order to avoid the possibility of being killed.

    Schell’s intended coup de grâce comes last. He believes that there is no rational purpose, “no sane justification” (202), for counterattacking after a nuclear attack. You are defeated. Although you would be destroying your enemy and thus ridding the world of the most murderous regime in history, your counterattack “might be the action that would finally break the back of the ecosphere and extinguish the species” (204). “The whole doctrine  [of nuclear deterrence] is self-canceling” (202), supported in practice only by the fear of revenge, the fear of madness, and perhaps, the decent restraint of all nuclear-empowered rulers so far. This returns us to Schell’s fallacious argument that to risk something is morally the same as to intend it. After a Soviet nuclear attack that would result in the death of millions of innocent American citizens, the President of the United States would have to weigh the certain murder of millions of innocent Soviet subjects and the possibility of human extinction against the certain worldly reward of the Soviet murderers and the possibility—even probability—of an eventual worldwide tyranny. Whichever horrible choice he made, whichever monumental evil he risked, the dilemma would not cancel itself.

    Schell prefers to attempt erasing the possibility of the need to choose between monumental evils by erasing sovereignty altogether. On this he is indeed as vague and utopian as his critics say. He calls for “a common political endeavor, reaching across national boundaries,” an “endeavor” that does not “break” or even “bend” the “rules of conduct essential to a decent political life” (228). “Intellectually and philosophically, it would carry the principle of tolerance to the utmost extreme,” respecting “each person’s will” (229). Obviously, such tolerance, “to the degree it can exist at all, exists under one form of government only—liberal democracy.” [14] Like Shakespeare’s Gonzalo, Schell raises the question, ‘Who rules?’ addresses it by “speaking of revolutionizing the powers of the earth” (226), then forgets it. “The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning.” [15] Having advanced arguments that logically entail the devaluation of liberty and equality, he comes to champion liberty and equality, weakly. He calls today’s United Nations “the empty husk of… irresolute good intentions” (194) but fails to see that his own argument demonstrates why this must be so, that the problem is not mere sovereignty but the radically opposed political principles that animate different regimes.

    The last of dozens of authorities Schell deploys to decorate his argument is Jesus of Nazareth. “I come not to judge the world but to save it.” Let us, also, not judge the world but save the world,” Schell perorates (230). One must note that Jesus was speaking at the time of His first coming-into-the-world. The New Testament teaches that shortly after His prophesied Second Coming, Jesus will not save “the world” but judge it.  This Judgment is said to be followed by compulsory punishment.

    Schell wants messianism without compulsion.  Self-deifying humanity is to redeem itself. It will do so with earnest sentiment, irreproachable civility, and careful planning.

    Second Thoughts

    Schell fails to distinguish between risking an evil and choosing evil. He fails to see that modern science’s attempt to overcome the discrepancy between theory and practice leads to utopianism, whether it is what might be called the ‘hard’ utopianism of Machiavelli or the ‘soft’ utopianism of Gandhi. He fails to find a stable place for mankind in the natural roger, in part because he attempts to abstract man from political life even as he raises the most political of questions, ‘Who rules?’ He fails to see that messianism without force cannot even save itself. Thus at every major point in the course of his argument, Schell confuses the relations between means and ends because he misunderstands the relation between practice and theory, having uncritically accepted the modern account of theory. He is right to call for a “re-examination of the foundations of political thought”—perennially good advice to those equipped to undertake it. But he is right for the wrong ‘reason.’

    Recently, Schell has partially rethought his argument in light of the many objections to it. [16]  He begins by restating his claim that human life has an ‘absolute’ moral status: “The Although he devotes much of his essay’s first part to restating his attack on deterrence, he admits that there is a considerable problem with world government, the often-proferred antidote to the ‘disease,’ national sovereignty, whose symptom deterrence is. Schell admits that almost no one today in the commercial republics of the West really wants world government, and for good reason.

    Almost no one today in the West wants world government because almost everyone there recognizes that a “central authority can be, in a moral sense, as ‘lawless’ as any individual” (II. 43). “[I]f a lawless government were to assume control of the world and such slaughter [as occurs in totalitarian regimes] were to be carried out in the global darkness of the oppression of all mankind the horror of the situation would be beyond all imagining” (II. 44). However, in a “limited, tragic sense, world government, even at its worst, would be a way out of the nuclear predicament,” for it would not cause the extinction of the human species” (II. 44). One simple way to achieve this government would be for the United States to disarm unilaterally and accept Soviet dictates. “The strongest and most honest argument in favor of the possession of nuclear weapons—for those who believe in liberty—is that upholding liberty is worth the risk of extinction” (II. 55). [17] Schell objects to this argument because “we must pay an inconceivable price” if deterrence fails and the weapons are used (II. 55). In other words, he presents his readers with a secularized version of Pascal’s wager.

    Schell, then, attempts to refute the ‘argument from liberty’ by comparing the “radical disproportion between ends and means,” the end of maintaining liberty by the means of risking human extinction, to attempting to deter burglary by instituting a penalty of death” (II. 55). This time, Schell does not misrepresent his opponents’ argument by failing to distinguish between risk and outright sacrifice. But his analogy disintegrates under even a moment’s scrutiny. Burglary means the theft of a possession or possessions; tyranny means the destruction of a way of life. While liberty has no absolute moral status (one may always ask, ‘Liberty for what?’) its ‘possession’ is logically prior to the possession of objects; moreover, the very enjoyment of objects requires some liberty, however limited. Political liberty enables the development of full humanity through the exercise of the distinctively human capacity for speech. The objects of a burglar’s attention are less likely to contribute to such development. The burglar would possess things, the tyrant, people. While instituting the death penalty in an attempt to deter burglary would end human lives merely in order to protect human property, risking a ‘death penalty’ for mankind in order to protect liberty enables some human beings to exercise their distinctively human capacities and prevents the inhuman debasement of most human beings. [18]

    After this last attempt to refute the moral basis of deterrence, Schell admits that, moral or not, rational or not, deterrence now exists. Perhaps in order to meet the charges of utopianism, he seeks a means of worldwide disarmament that begins with the facts of deterrence and national sovereignty, using them for a new purpose. As a first step, Schell recommends formal recognition by countries possessing nuclear weapons of the international status quo; the Americans would agree to, as it were, let Poland be Russia’s Poland while the Soviets would agree to cease their efforts to ‘Sovietize’ additional countries. Although Schell does not say it, this would require Soviet abandonment of its stated world-revolutionary aspirations. In effect, Schell would replace their revolution with his own.

    Schell’s second step would be a worldwide “agreement abolishing nuclear arms” and limiting conventional forces (II. 61). He would have this enforced “not by any world police force or other organ of a global state but by each nation’s knowledge that a breakdown of the agreement would be to no one’s advantage and would only push all nations back down the road to doom” (II. 61). He advocates the construction of defensive weapons systems to be used against greatly reduced nuclear forces, a further disincentive to cheating. Finally, he would “permit nations to hold themselves in a particular, defined state of readiness for nuclear rearmament” (II. 62). This would deter a sudden ‘breakout’ by any country. He calls it “weaponless deterrence” (II. 63), and it would require extensive inspection, including on-site inspection. He notes that a country that cheats might still be deterred from attacking because its rulers might suspect that enemy rulers have cheated in the same way (II. 78).

    Deterrence, then, would “remain in effect at every stage” of Schell’s program (II. 87). After the abolition of nuclear weapons, new ways of solving international disputes could be explored. Schell sees that by accepting deterrence provisionally he relies on a policy that he regards as profoundly immoral. But he finds realistic improvements preferable to futile moralizing. He foresees dangers to the West in his program, among them that the commercial republics might “grow complacent and soft, while the Soviet Union, still kept under a harsh discipline by totalitarian rule,” might remain “militant and tough” (II. 92). He judges such risks worth taking.

    There are, to say the least, some practical problems with Schell’s recommendations. Soviet rulers have yet to fear nuclear weapons sufficiently to consider abandoning ‘fraternal aid’ to ‘socialist revolutionaries’; arriving at ‘balanced’ conventional force levels would exceed balanced nuclear arms limitations in its difficulty; tyrants generally have an understandable reluctance to allow extensive inspection of their territory; cheating will always be easier for tyrants because their superior control over their populations includes control over the organs of publicity. By recommending the use of political judgment to select policies that can make things better but not perfect, Schell leaves behind part of his utopianism. But he continues to underestimate the messianism of late modernity. He acknowledges the serious differences between commercial republicanism and modern tyranny, ‘totalitarianism,’ but he fails to see the implications those differences have for policy.

     

    “Philosophers” Object to Nuclear Deterrence

    Theory Revisits Practice

    To the foregoing a critic might reply (ad hominem, to be sure) that Jonathan Schell is no philosopher. To demonstrate the incoherence of his argument, therefore, hardly rates as a refutation of the best case against the use or possession of nuclear weapons. To identify the best case, one must consider the arguments of thinkers more substantial than a staff-writer for The New Yorker.

    But, perhaps, to paraphrase Flannery O’ Connor, a good philosopher is hard to find. Another exacting soul has insisted on the rarity of philosophers, observing that a man is lucky if only one such exists in his lifetime. But surely this writer is not serious. He must have known that every modern university identifies not one but several of its staff as professors of philosophy. Their works are legion. The collection, Objections to Nuclear Defence: Philosophers on Deterrence, is but one instance of these works. [19]

    “In the early 1980s,” the editors write, “a number of British philosophers established a common belief that the nuclear debate needed more contributions from philosophers themselves”; although “most of them [were] in varying degrees committed to the aims of the peace movement,” they were “unhappy with the conduct of the nuclear debate on both sides,” finding it “inexpert” (3-4). “[C]onfused thoughts lead to practical mistakes and… practical mistakes about nuclear deterrence may mean the end of us all” (4). In a volume titled Dangers of Deterrence: Philosophers on Nuclear Strategy, the professors treated “political and strategic questions.” In this volume they treat “the overarching moral consideration” (4).

    Of the nine essays following the introduction, five may be dismissed as more or less tendentious blather. Michael Dummett, Whykeham Professor of Logic at the University of Oxford, concocts a bilious mixture of wild accusation (the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki “proved ourselves to be criminals as much as those we had been fighting” [32]); lying (“the only time a nation has had the opportunity to use such weapons against an enemy that could not retaliate, it did so” [36]); glib complacency (it “seems unlikely to me that the Soviet Union would want to add to its troubles by extending its domination to the rest of Europe” [38]); paranoia (“the greater danger would be American attempts to destabilize or wreck the economies of neutralist Western powers” [38]); blindness (“all ideological content was long ago squeezed out of the cold conflict with Russia” [39]); and stupidity (the United States, particularly the Central Intelligence Agency, constitutes “a yet greater menace to the freedom of other nations” that does Soviet Russia (39). John Krige, author of a book titled Science, Revolution, and Discontinuity, claims that the Warsaw Pact states will not attack Western Europe because their tanks are too old and NATO anti-tank missiles outnumber them; he fails to mention that Pact military exercises consistently rehearse attacks, not defenses, with this allegedly obsolete and outgunned hardware. He then claims that military data are unreliable and subjectively interpreted, a point that contradicts his previous assurances. This notwithstanding, he ends by claiming that we must not “fall prey” to “skepticism” about military data, but must formulate “rational policies” (84). In sum, a woolier head could not be found amongst all the mutton of Australia. Kate Soper, “a writer, translator, and part-time teacher of philosophy at the Polytechnic of North London,” imagines that because “there can be no such thing as civil defense” of the general public against nuclear weapons (86), planning civil defense only “serves to conceal from us the methods of a police state” that will use bomb shelters to “protect rulers from those they rule” (91)—a curious notion indeed, if they ruled are all killed in a nuclear attack. Rip Bulkeley, evidently an unemployed Marxist, suggests that “nuclear terrorism… has perhaps replaced fascism as the preferred form of barbarism for desperate rulers” (149). Both West and East are capitalist empires, using terror to block the internationalization of labor, even as the sinister internationalization of capital proceeds. The Soviets do American capitalists the favor of terrifying American “subjects” even as the American return that favor by overawing those subjected to the capitalists of the Kremlin. At the same time, the two groups of rulers really are enemies, a contradiction Bulkeley blames not on himself but on capitalism. The charm Marxism exerts on many intellectuals may well partly derive from this extraordinary exculpatory power. Finally, Andrew Belsey, Lecturer in Philosophy at University College, Cardiff, puts the phrase “free world” between quotation marks because he detects, in the wake of Britain’s expedition to the Falkland Islands, “an extraordinary conspiracy on the part of politicians, press, and populace, partly conscious, partly unconscious, to narrow and restrict the boundaries of what are regarded as possible and legitimate ways of thinking” (179)—specifically, by shouting down criticism of the government’s military action. This was surely the broadest conspiracy in British history, involving perhaps ninety percent of the population, conscious and unconscious. The professor warns of “the dangers of fascism” in “the nuclear state,” announcing that it’s “time to trust the people” (181). The conspiring “populace” evidently must not be confused with the trustworthy “people,’ to whom erstwhile secrets, including military secrets, ought to be disseminated. “There is no paradox in every citizen of the state knowing that state’s military secrets,” an averral that makes (paradoxically) a wacky sort of sense, if one endorses Belsey’s plan to abolish the state altogether.

    Ranging from the malicious to the dotty, these five essays confirm that Orwell’s description of periodicals written by England’s “left-wing intelligentsia” in the early 1940s remains accurate today: “There is little in them except the irresponsible carping of people who have never been and never expect to be in a position of power.” [20]  It is as if Dickens had returned from the grave and staffed a philosophy department for the sole purpose of providing himself with material for his next comic novel.

    The other four essays deserve more serious attention. In each, thinking figures more prominently than exclaiming. One consists of a defense of the moral foundation of nuclear deterrence. Bernard Williams, the Provost of King’s College, Cambridge, ends this essay with a brief assertion that British unilateral nuclear disarmament makes sense on purely prudential grounds, which he does not trouble seriously to examine. The assertion qualifies the essay for inclusion in the volume, while the main argument excuses it from scrutiny here.

    “Better Dead Than Red”

    Anthony Kenny, Master of Balliol College, Oxford, and the author of books on Descartes and Wittgenstein, examines the proposition that it is better to be dead than ‘Red.’ He agrees: “One ought to be prepared to be killed rather than to submit to Communist rule,” which “would be a disaster for a country such as the UK or the USA.” “I am claiming that pacifists are wrong and that there can be such a thing as a just war” (13-14).

    A just war serves as “an instrument of policy,” that is, as “a means to a desirable, morally defensible goal” (15). Kenny offers three criteria by which one can judge this: first, “the good to be obtained by the righting of the wrong must outweigh the harm which will be done by the choice of war as a means”; second, “the harm done in warmaking shall be no more than is necessary for the achieving of the legitimate goal of the war”; third, “the rules of war,” particularly the refusal to kill noncombatants, must be observed” (15). While a ‘conventional’ war against communist attackers could fit these criteria, a large-scale nuclear war could not. In a nuclear war, “Better dead than Red” means, “Better for everyone—both on our side and on theirs—to be dead than for us to be made red, than for us to have Communist rule forced upon us” (18). This argument “enshrines a monstrous falsehood” because it excuses mass killing of innocents, that is, mass murder. The “non-material” superiority of the Western republics, which consists of the liberty we have to purse “the many values we cherish,” would be forfeited by such an act. “Respect for innocent human life and for international law is no less a part than freedom of speech or rights against arbitrary arrest of what gives us a right to cherish the values of Western democracy. To the extent to which we forfeit our respect for life and law we forfeit our claim to any moral superiority to defend against Communist threat” (19). Even if a republic could perpetuate free institutions after a nuclear attack by a communist state, if it retaliated with nuclear weapons, this very act would destroy “the claim that it possessed a system of human values… worth defending; its institutions would deserve no more respect or loyalty than those of Hitler’s Germany” (19).

    The problem with the argument becomes clear in that last assertion. Except for Professor Kenny’s colleague, Professor Dummett, few would claim that American use of nuclear weapons on Japanese civilians, including thousands of innocent children, in an attack that was not even preceded by a nuclear attack on American civilians, so blackened ‘the Allied cause’ that our republican institutions were rendered as odious as those of Nazi tyranny. Much as one might condemn the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, few seriously doubt that much good remained intact in their aftermath. Professor Kenny tacitly admits this by referring to the “non-material advantages” the liberal West enjoys over the communist East, advantages that should have disappeared if his argument were true. Therefore, nuclear retaliation against nuclear attack would not necessarily destroy the republican claim to a “system of values… worth defending.”

    Kenny advances other arguments against nuclear retaliation: Revenge is an unworthy motive; retaliation itself would have no deterrent effect, since the first strike already would have occurred; retaliation would “decrease the possibility of the survivors of the strike… receiving the medical assistance and economic aid which they will need if they are to rebuild anything of their stricken society” (21)—no Kremlin version of the Marshall Plan could occur. This last absurdity may best be passed over in silence, after remarking that the point about nuclear deterrence having failed if nuclear deterrence has failed is true but tautologous. If, however, the devastated republic intended to deter not the Soviet attack that had already happened but to prevent the expansion of the Soviet empire into the political vacuum caused by the destruction of the West, then retaliation would be the most effect deterrent and preventative imaginable. Similarly, if revenge is unworthy of us, perhaps the infliction of punishment is not.

    Kenny returns to his strongest point, that deterrence is wrong because it involves “the intention to commit mass murder” (23). The punishment inflicted by nuclear retaliation would punish murderous tyrants, but it would also destroy millions of their more-or-less innocent subjects. The republics are “following a policy which makes it the mark of the good serviceman to be willing, in the appropriate circumstances, to commit murder on a giant scale” (23). Kenny dismisses the possibility of bluff—deterrence without intention actually to retaliate—on pragmatic rather than moral grounds. “I wish the deterrent policy were one of bluff,” because “the wrongness of lying is very much less than the wrongness of the intention to commit mass murder” (22-23).

    On this, two problems deserve consideration. First, bluff is much more feasible than Kenny believes. He assumes that the secret “could never be kept” (24), but there is no reason why nuclear weapons could not be secretly disarmed—not dismantled, but rendered inoperable—by a team of specialists operating as ‘repairmen.’ The small number of people involved could surely remain silent, but even if one did not, the Soviets could not base strategy on such anecdotes. Bluff is probably feasible. This is of course very far from saying that it is likely to be the basis of current policy.

    This leaves the serious objection that a policy of nuclear retaliation, whether stated honestly or with humane dishonesty, requires the intention to commit mass murder from many who live in the country whose rulers adopt the policy. The murders might be retaliatory alone, punitive and preventative; if the stated policy were a hoax, they would not even occur. But the policy would still be either murderous intention or tolerant of, even an inducement to, murderous intention.

    Kenny needs to present an argument showing mass murder, even in extreme circumstances, to be absolutely wrong. For his solution to the dilemma involves what he concedes to be “a terrible risk.” He recommends “total unilateral disarmament by the Western powers,” which would leave them vulnerable to Soviet blackmail.” He judges this “terrible risk” to be “less terrible than that of a nuclear war,” because “the wrong we would do, if we used nuclear weapons in a major war, would be incomparably greater than the wrong we would suffer if the worse came to the worst after nuclear disarmament” (26-27). By the worst, Kenny means a Great Britain “reduced to the status of Romania” or Poland (26). Individuals in those beleaguered countries may risk their lives and kill for the sake of freedom, but none appears to invite the destruction of the countries themselves, or the destruction of innocent Soviet subjects.

    Kenny overlooks (as Schell overlooks) the modern technological threat not only to life but to liberty. Contemporary Romania and Poland might not resemble the ‘socialist’ society of the future, if a technologically-empowered Soviet empire destroyed or enslaved its most powerful enemies. Indeed, one of the circumstances that may well contribute to the relative mildness of Soviet domination in contemporary Central and Eastern Europe (relative, that is, to tyranny under Stalin or Mao) may well be the very existence of republics, where liberty of the press enables citizens to see tyrannical abuses in neighboring lands, and where political liberty enables those citizens do demand and obtain government sanctions against tyrannies. [21]  Kenny and several other contributors to this volume regard Western opposition to Kremlin designs as provocative, but Soviet tyranny might easily harden, not soften, without that opposition. And technological prowess could make modern tyranny perpetual. Further, nuclear disarmament might not make Soviet attack less likely. The absence of Japanese nuclear weapons did not make American nuclear attack less likely during World War II. And if Kenny recommends ‘conventional’ as well as nuclear disarmament, event that need not persuade the Soviets to forego a nuclear attack. By disarming, we tempt avowed enemies to use their arms against us. To tempt evil men to compound their evil itself partakes of evil. Kenny’s fundamental argument against nuclear retaliation is the principle, “basic to European morality for centuries since its enunciation in ancient Athens, that it is better to be wronged than to do wrong” (27). But this is not the whole argument. Socrates, for example, would rather suffer a wrong than commit one, but he does not say that one should suffer a great wrong rather than commit a less great wrong.

    Is the mass murder of nuclear retaliation a greater wrong than perpetual, technologically empowered, worldwide tyranny? Kenny could justifiably claim that it is only if he could demonstrate an absolute moral imperative against mass murder, or, alternatively, if he could produce a moral calculus demonstrating the superiority of likely perpetual, worldwide tyranny over the contemporary toleration of a will-to-murder—a toleration that evidently makes actual murder unlikely. Moreover, his proposed solution to the dilemma, total unilateral disarmament by the republics, ignores the possibility of using non-nuclear weapons systems to counteract weapons of mass destruction. Such a system would obviate or at least reduce the need to staff our armed services with would-be mass-murderers, because it would destroy the enemy’s weapons, not his people, and would not involve the collateral human devastation wrought by nuclear blast, radiation, and heat.

    Another Theological-Political Foray

    Roger Ruston, a Roman Catholic priest who teaches moral theology at Blackfriars, Oxford, should be well equipped to make the absolutist case against nuclear deterrence, the case Kenny can only assert. Ruston’s first few arguments disappoint because he begins with prudential arguments, for which neither his vocation nor his scholarly training has equipped him.

    Deterrence is unstable, he claims, because new weapons are always being developed, and “the more credible the weapons are as a deterrent, the more they have to look as if you would use them; the more usable you try to make them, the more you believe you can use them, the more likely they are to be used in the end” (47). This argument fails because Ruston words it so imprecisely. The more credible the weapons are as a deterrent, the more thy have to look as if you would and could use them in retaliation, a technologically different characteristic than utility in a first strike. Effective retaliatory forces are built to survive attack, but not necessarily to attack. The more your enemy believes you can use then for retaliation, the less likely they are to be used in the end. :Unusable weapons go deeply against the grain of the military mentality” (48), Ruston claims, but the more usable retaliatory weapons are, for retaliation only, the less they should either offend the military of endanger your own civilians.

    This leaves the threat to innocents in the enemy’s country, to whose plight Ruston now turns. “[T]here are some things which may never rightly be done, or even contemplated,” he asserts, “not because consequences do not matter, but because some actions are unacceptable consequences in themselves, whatever the initial justice of one’s cause” (49). The killing of non-combatants is one of those things, although a “defence deterrent” against attackers or would-be attackers is legitimate (50). Nuclear weapons cannot discriminate sufficiently between military and non-military targets; the use of nuclear weapons is immoral, as is the threat to use them. Ruston rightly attacks the contention that this era of ‘total war’ makes everyone guilty—that, because numerous civilians participate in modern war effort, in munitions factories, communication networks, etc., civilians are now legitimate targets of attack, no longer innocents at all. This argument is only partly true. More civilians share responsibility today than in previous centuries, but not all civilians do. The latter are largely innocent of blame. One might also ask, ‘In the totalitarian regimes, what choice do they have?’

    Ruston’s argument becomes more dubious when he attempts to refute a more subtle version of nuclear deterrence justification, advance by Paul Ramsey in his influential books, War and the Christian Conscience and The Just War [22]  Ramsey argues that the threat of so-called collateral deaths inflicted during an attack on military targets is not out of all proportion to the good sought by the making of the threat. The “central” intention of the threat is deterrence, whose aim is peace. Ruston admits the theoretical weight of this argument but calls it unrealistic. It depends upon the rationality of the enemy and the stability of the nuclear balance. Ruston has already failed to prove the nuclear “arms race” increasingly unstable, and adds nothing to his failed argument here. Because any policy concerning nuclear weapons—disarmament above all—depends upon the rationality of all those who possess the weapons, Ruston’s argument fails on this count, too.

    Returning to his absolutist argument against mass murder, he writes, “I believe it is necessary for us to accept that there could be no proportionate reason” for the use of nuclear weapons, because “there are degrees of destruction in relation to which no conceivable justifying purpose could be advanced” (59). For example, the claim that “mutual annihilation—even when it is brought about by the system itself—would always be a better fate than Soviet domination.. would put us outside rational argument altogether” (45). Ruston does not say why it would, thus putting his assertion outside rational argument altogether, at least as far as he is concerned. This is probably where it belongs: as an assertion of conscience, of religious sentiment. Indeed, the most curious aspect of Ruston’s argument is this appeal to rationality. Reason at well be able to prove mass murder wrong, but Ruston does not avail himself of any such argument. He merely asserts that wrongness, and calls it absolute. He claims that the absolute wrongness of submission to tyranny is not rationally demonstrable, but offers no argument there, either. Yet he refrains from any argument based on divine revelation, as well. Citing 35 different articles and books, he never mentions the Bible. Nor do any of the relevant publications by the Vatican rate attention here. An absolutist case against nuclear deterrence, based upon Biblical sources, should not be difficult to make. But Ruston does not make it. He asserts his own principles with a sort of divine certainty. He questions his opponents’ rationality without rationally discrediting it.

    He ends, lamely, by asserting that “ultimate weapons make ultimate enemies,” and by calling for an unspecified “alternative defence system which can be used in a moral and rational way” (62). But if ultimate weapons make ultimate enemies, why are France and Britain, both possessors of ultimate weapons, not now ultimate enemies? It makes more sense to say that ultimate enemies make ultimate weapons to use against, or at least threaten, one another. Soviet Russia regarded itself as the ultimate enemy of the commercial republics, long before Hiroshima. The fact that Soviet rulers endorse the writings of Marx and Lenin as authoritative sources of guidance for all human beings, the fact that these writings contain nothing to prohibit mass murder and some encouragement to it, makes Ruston’s silence on revelation all the more regrettable.

    Moral Fervor: The ‘Ultimate Weapon’?

    Consideration of Ruston’s essay raises the question of morality’s foundation. Susan Khin Zaw, a Lecturer in Philosophy at the Open University, addresses this question in a sophisticated but unsatisfactory manner. She intends “to redescribe the change in our moral world,” a change wrought by  the existence of nuclear weapons (116). She will do so “in a way which will allow moral concerns to take their proper place and have their proper weight in the political and strategic debate” (116). Unfortunately, she begins by misstating the principal moral question raised by nuclear deterrence: “Can it be right to threaten or intend to do something acknowledged to be terribly wrong, even for the sake of avoiding actually having to do it” (116)? This formulation leaves out an important moral good nuclear deterrence brings, the avoidance of having something terribly wrong done to you and yours. If you and yours are worth defending, nuclear deterrence is no mere show of selfishness. Zaw’s misstatement skews her argument later on.

    “[W]e need to rethink our view of what moral writing (writing about morality) is” (119). Zaw identifies two “styles” of moral argumentation: the exhortatory or ’emotional’ style favored by “crusaders”—those who want to change the world” (119)—and the “philosophical” or ‘rational’ style favored by “casuists”—individuals who want to understand the world. Casuists must show that morality is rational—a “highly controversial,” indeed “unproven,” view (121). Zaw’s casuists are not only observers of morality, then but practitioners of it—not so much philosopher as philosophic moralists trying to apply philosophy in a dubious way.

    Zaw prefers the crusaders. She defends their rationality by observing that they do use the casuistic method, comparing a given case with an overarching moral “paradigm” (121), even if they do not the casuists’ rational style. They need to evoke emotion in order to change people’s minds, but that in itself does not make the crusaders irrational. Further, both crusaders and casuists “in effect” ask, “In your heart do you believe it is morally right to do this?” (125). Morality rests on emotion, not reason. “[M]oral relevance in the end cannot be proved without recourse to intuition, gut feeling, or prior conviction” (129). Reason comes in when moralists look for inconsistencies between a community’s practices and its “shared intuitions” (126).

    As a further defense of crusader-moralism, Zaw examines a much-criticized ’emotional’ argument against nuclear deterrence. Paul Ramsey likens nuclear deterrence to a policy of tying babies to automobile bumpers in order to decrease the chance of collisions. Casuists dislike the argument because the analogy doesn’t hold, at least not very far. We recoil at the grotesqueness, or perhaps laugh at the absurdity, of the image of bumper-babies not so much because innocents are at hazard but because those innocents are being subjected to discomfort, confinement, and constant terror, none of which contemporary citizens suffer as a result of nuclear deterrence. Zaw replies, “I recoil morally from babies on bumpers both because it is no life for a baby on a bumper and because it is putting innocents on the firing line” (126). Her reply fails because the moral recoil at the babies’ misery is superfluous and distracting; the extra emotion is extraneous. It may be rhetorically useful, and rhetoric may serve good principles, but rhetoric should not be confused with principle. In addition, Zaw fails to see that the image does not explain why, if nuclear deterrence is bad, one necessarily makes it any better by untying the baby from your avowed enemy’s bumper without requiring him to untie your baby from your bumper. One less baby is at risk, but the remaining baby is at even greater risk from a driver who no longer has to worry about losing his baby. Here Zaw’s misstatement of the principal moral question raised by nuclear deterrence—her omission of the moral goodness of self-defense, if one’s self is worth defending—causes her to overlook a clear implication of Ramsey’s analogy.

    Zaw’s underlying argument, that fundamental moral ‘principles’ really express nothing more than emotion, causes her argument several problems, some of which she sees. If moral judgment “implies membership in a moral community defined by shared intuitions” (126), and if the crusader would somehow change that community, does this not undercut the crusading project itself? Why should the community change to suit the emotions of its crusaders? Then again, why should it not? Why should it do anything? Zaw argues that a crusader may be trying to change only one aspect of the community, by appealing to other aspects of it. But even if the crusade is more radical, she argues, it is not necessarily absurd or self-canceling. “It is possible for the conditions of life to change so drastically that the values with which one is already equipped are simply inadequate for dealing with the world” (129). Having denies the existence of any non-emotional, trans-communal foundation for morality, Zaw quietly avails herself of one: “adequacy.” As an example of this new moral criterion, she mentions the Ik, a tribe studied by anthropologist Colin Turnbull. Confronted with extreme scarcity of food, the Ik bridled the sentiment of compassion and took delight in the misfortunes of the weak. This “new morality suited to the exigencies of the time” exemplifies the process whereby “old virtues can become obsolete” (130-131). Another example of this process may be seen in the reaction of “most modern readers” who find “some of the virtues listed by Aristotle in his Nicomachean Ethics incomprehensible as virtues” (131). Contemporary technological advances, including but not limited to the invention of nuclear weapons, cause Zaw to “suspect that we are now in a time of virtue-generating change”; “plausibly, if we go on as we are we shall not survive” (131).

    All of this appears to assume that survival, and the pragmatic ‘coping’ survival requires, form the purpose of Zaw’s morality. She sees that this might well strengthen the doctrine of nuclear deterrence, which she has criticized not so much because it does not permit survival but because it gives license to a wicked intention. She acknowledges that mere survival is “pointless” (134). But she also insists that both survival and morality are necessary if “the present” and “the future” are to make sense (135). “Moralities, systems of values placed on actions and attitudes [emphasis added—not the retreat to subjectivism], are a central part of the enterprise of making sense of the world” (134). At the same time, without the survival of human beings, whose existence nuclear weapons threaten, nothing will make sense, either: “Signifiers must signify to someone” (141). If humanity perishes, there will be no one. On this level, survival ‘at all costs’ (including national suicide, if necessary) is moral. Survival and morality are one.

    This is Schell’s argument, open to the same criticisms. It assumes atheism is true. It assumes that humanity’s apparent uniqueness entails unique value or that humanity itself encompasses all value. It assumes “there is self-evidence in the assertion that something is better than nothing” (142), then falsely applies that assertion to the level of human survival. The argument also assumes that the alleged loss of significance after irreplaceable and unique humanity’s destruction would make such “suicide” a “pointless” act (141); even this is untrue, as the act of destruction would ‘signify’ up until the last human life expired. The very argument condemning mass murder depends on this, but Zaw wants to make both arguments. Finally, the very term “suicide” is wrong, here. Suicide or self-murder cannot refer to humanity’s destruction, because humanity does not constitute a self.

    The attempt to ‘absolutize’ nuclear war entails the attempt to ‘absolutize’ human survival, or alternatively, the attempt to demonstrate an absolute prohibition against mass murder, including unwanted or ‘collateral’ mass murder, as part of an absolute system of moral principles. The latter attempt requires religious faith, which philosophy can perhaps clarify but not provide. The former attempt requires the investment of humanity with absolute worth It further requires mustering absolute certainty of that absolute worth. But if humanity is a god, it, its own reason requires it to be a skeptical god, a god with doubts about itself. An agnostic god cannot command absolutely. Alternatively, human beings may say to themselves, ‘As far as we know, humanity is irreplaceable, and, therefore, as far as we know, good and evil will forever mean nothing without us. Therefore, the preservation of this species is all-important, an absolute, unless we learn otherwise.’ This provisional absolute (so to speak) does indeed comport with agnosticism. But the “therefore” clause does not follow, for a very simple reason: We cannot jump over our own shadow. As the putative sole source of value, humanity cannot be valued. Value cannot judge the value of itself, because this presupposes some ‘outside’ value, precisely the thing agnostic humanism admits it does not know.

    Zaw claims that nuclear weapons’ destructive potential makes all humanity a “collective.” Unfortunately, “there is no tribe to look after this collective” (141). She dares not say, ‘ruler or rulers.’ In this, her argument resembles a slogan whose apolitical naivete perfectly captures so much of ‘peace movement’ sentimentalism: “Think globally, act locally.” The crusaders now trying to “start… an attempt to create a sustaining tribe” (141) haven’t quite managed a way around the modern embodiment of politics, the nation-state. [23]. On this question of means and ends, Zaw has even less to say than Schell.

    Conclusion

    The modern insistence that theory serves actions amounts to a sort of moralism. This seems paradoxical, since modern political philosophy originates with Machiavelli, its supposedly amoral founder. But Machiavelli is very far from being amoral. He is an immoralist, that is, a sort of moralist. Machiavellianism is  morality that attacks traditional morality. The Machiavellian Bacon moralizes science in a way previous philosophers and religious believers regarded as immoral. In modernity, the scientist becomes less the lover of wisdom and more the knowing prophet, a leader. Traditional science explained practice, changing it only insofar as explanations change what they explain. The new science deliberately changes human practice and attempts to remake nature. As many scholars have observed, modern science does not know what, but it does know how. In its lowest form, modernity yields cynicism; in its elevated form, it yields ‘idealism.’ In any form, it manipulates reality in order to make reality accommodate human desires.

    The writers considered here accept these assumptions. From a political scientist’s standpoint, their most noticeable characteristic is their tendency to devalue liberty. Each of them either overlooks the threat to liberty modern tyranny poses, or trivializes that threat. This devaluation of liberty accompanies a weakening of the desire for self-defense. Commercial republics, it seems, are not worth defending, or at least not if their defense rests on a threat to murder massively in retaliation after nuclear attack But modern political philosophy seems to defend liberty against authority—so much so that a prominent political writer titled a book The Machiavellians: Defenders of Freedom. Have the critics of nuclear deterrence abandoned modernity for some as yet unidentified postmodernism?

    The problem, rather, lies in the modern defense of liberty. John Locke states it rigorously: “…I have reason to conclude, that he who would get me into his Power without my consent, would use me as he pleased, when he had got me there, and destroy me too, when he had a fancy to it: for no body can desire to have me in his Absolute Power, unless it be to compel me by force to that, which is against the Right of my Freedom, i.e., make me a Slave. To be free from such force is the only security of my Preservation: and reason bids me look on him, as an Enemy to my Preservation, who would take away that Freedom, which is the Fence to it: so that he who makes an attempt to enslave me, thereby puts himself into a State of War with me.” (An Essay Concerning the True Origin, Extent, and End of Civil Government, III. 18). The critics of nuclear deterrence who make survival the purpose of human life forget the danger tyranny poses not only to liberty but to life itself. Accustomed to the blessings of liberty, they cannot foresee all the results of its loss. Such books as Solzhenitsyn’s may teach them. If not, they could only learn by experience, an experience that their more courageous and prudent contemporaries are trying to spare them.

    But Locke’s argument leaves an opening to weakness. Liberty is good because it prevents loss of life. The right to liberty serves the right to life; Locke subordinates the one to the other. He does it more prudently than our Jonathan Schells and Susan Khin Zaws do. But he does it. To the observation that Locke elsewhere argues for liberty of religions and liberty of intellect, one must observe that he does so because tamed, tolerant religion does not threaten life, and useful intellect serves comfortable self-preservation. An Essay Concerning Human Understanding is a monument to determinism, not freedom.

    While Locke’s defense of liberty hold for individuals, and even for nations, it cannot defend liberty against a threat of universal destruction. The modern attempt to use liberty in order to conquer nature and put it at the service of human desires, cannot resist the threat to end all human desires by ending human life itself.

    It has been said that modern commercial republics rest on the low but solid ground of self-interest rightly—that is, shrewdly—understood. This has been true, most of the time. It has not been true all of the time. The American Civil War and this century’s world wars do not make sense as mere exercises of bourgeois calculation. The defense of liberty in the nuclear age will require some of Locke’s tough-minded and far-sighted insistence that we defend ourselves by defending our liberty. But it will take more than that. Some of the ‘older’ virtues have indeed become incomprehensible, or perhaps merely uncomprehended, as Zaw suggests. Those virtues served life, but much more than life. Perhaps the best task for intellectuals today is to understand those virtues and help others to understand them.

     

    Notes

    1. Jonathan Schell: The Fate of the Earth. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1982, and New York: Avon Books, 1982. All references here will be to the Avon edition.
    2. See Francis Bacon: The Proficience and Advancement of Learning, Book I. See also Howard B. White: Peace Among the Willows: The Political Philosophy of Francis Bacon. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1968, 14-21.
    3. Karl Jaspers anticipates several of Schell’s formulations. See The Future of Mankind, E. B. Ashton translation, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1961. See especially p. 327: “The first step today is to increase the fear—though perhaps not among the political leaders, who know it, and live in it, if they are responsible. What needs increasing is the fear of the people; this should grow to overpowering force, not blind submissiveness, but of a bright, transforming ethos that will bring forth appropriate statesmen and support their actions.” Despite his weakness for this sort of rhetoric, Jaspers is a man of considerably greater philosophic sophistication than Schell, who may be said to vulgarize Jaspers. Jaspers in turn may be said to derive from, and perhaps vulgarize, Kant. In the United States, Schell has had many intellectual predecessors, the most celebrated of whom is Woodrow Wilson.
    4. See, for example, Albert Carnesdale, Paul Doty, Stanley Hoffmann, Samuel P. Huntington, Joseph S. Nye, Jr., and Scott D. Sagan: Living With Nuclear Weapons, New York: Bantam Books, 1983, 19: “It would be a tragedy if opportunities for practical progress toward nuclear peace were missed because our goals were set too high, beyond the reach of what is possible.” Schell’s “‘solution’ is precisely such an impossible goal…. In reality… neither politics nor the world were invented by men, nor can either politics or the world be reinvented.” The ‘utopian’ character of Schell’s thought provoked the New York Times editorialist to write, “Mr. Schell can’t be bothered with policy. Having confirmed, at numbing length, that nukes are dangerous, he airily departs for higher ground. The planet must be purged of nuclear weapons and the way to do that is to invent a higher allegiance than the war-making sovereign states…. [H]e’s too worked up to dwell on details.” (New York Times, April 11, 1982). For a gentler but nonetheless skeptical assessment, see John Maddox editorial in Nature, Vol. 297, June 10, 1982, 519.
    5. For the opposite view see a review by the distinguished physicist Jerome B. Weisner, who calls Schell’s argument “powerfully logical: (Washington Post Book World, April 18, 1982, 4.
    6. The formulation is Patrick Glynn’s, from his critique of Schell titled “Nuclear Polemics,” Journal of Contemporary Studies, Vol. 5, No. 3, Summer 1982, 61-71. Glynn anticipates several of the main points I make here.
    7. Schell could reply by saying that this apparent, unchecked, will lead to the most radical weakness, the destruction of the mighty.
    8. Glynn, op. cit.
    9. Aristotle: Politics 1253a9.
    10. If so, he should use language more consistently, having said only five pages earlier that there is “no justification” for destroying or risking the destruction of mankind.
    11. He could of course say to Gorbachev that species extinction makes no sense for Gorbachev. Gorbachev could agree, but confidently reply that he knew Schell would not retaliate in any event.
    12. It is not clear how the “miraculous” fits into Schell’s otherwise quite secularized world.
    13. This love is “unconditional,” “willing to forgive any particular failing in the beloved” (175)—an easy enough sentiment to invoke inasmuch as the unborn cannot be said to have any particular failings to forgive.
    14. Glynn, op. cit. Schell makes no effort to reconcile absolute tolerance with the absolute love he commended earlier (see above, p. 11). That such reconciliation is necessary may be seen by reflecting upon the difference between the statements, ‘I love you’ and ‘I tolerate you.’
    15. William Shakespeare: The Tempest, II, i, l. 154.
    16. Jonathan Schell: “Reflections—The Abolition,” Part I, “Defining the Great Predicament,” The New Yorker, January 2, 1984, 36-75; Part II, “A Deliberate Policy,” The New Yorker, January 9, 1984, 43-94. The essay later appeared in a book, The Abolition (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1984).
    17. This is, of course, Glynn’s argument. Schell never mentions Glynn.
    18. Schell also hints that to uphold liberty partakes of subjectivism. The phrase “for those who believe in liberty” suggests that such persons partake of a sort of religiosity or mysticism. Schell does not elaborate on this, much less prove it, if in fact he intends the hint.
    19. Nigel Blake and Kay Pole, eds.: Objections to Nuclear Defence: Philosophers on Deterrence (Boston: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1984).
    20. George Orwell: “The Lion and the Unicorn,” in Sonia Orwell and Ian Angus, eds.: The Collected Essays, Journalism and Letters of George Orwell New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1968), Vol. 2, 74.
    21. To be sure, Stalin and Mao flourished (if that is the right word) contemporaneously with Western liberties. They ruled countries isolated from public scrutiny, however, and at a time when journalists were even greater gulls than they are today.
    22. Paul Ramsey: War and the Christian Conscience: How Shall Modern War Be Conducted Justly? (Durham: Duke University Press, 1961); The Just War: Force and Political Responsibility (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1968).
    23. For an elaboration on this point, see Charles T. Rubin: “The Fate of the Earth Reviewed,” The Gambier Journal, Vol. 2, No. 1 (September 1982), 2, 11-12.

    Filed Under: Philosophers

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