A Review of Kenneth Waltz's "Man, State, and War"

During the academic year 2024-2025, a colleague requested that I lead a seminar for PhD students, one that  would be organized around a key text considered to be a classic in the field. He sent me a list of potential books, and I selected Kenneth Waltz’s Man, State, and War. His works are required reading around the world for majors in international relations, and in my career as a teacher of the discipline I have assigned his works when discussing questions of war and peace, so that students may learn the particular answers provided by the school of thought commonly known as ‘realpolitik’ or simply ‘realism’. With wars raging in Europe and the Middle East, the question of why wars occur has become pressing. Science, in my view, cannot provide a definitive answer, but theories which aim to explain war can help to sharpen our thinking, assist in considering plausible explanations, and establish the parameters of testing our arguments in the light of evidence in the form of observable events, facts, patterns, or tendencies.

Man, State, and War is very helpful for this endeavour. Unlike most scholarship, which usually and understandably interrogates narrow or niche nodes of inquiry, the text aims to answer one of the big questions of human affairs, which can be pithily summarized as “Why War”? Or, more specifically, why do wars persist throughout history despite very different epochs, cultures, economic and political structures? Man, State and War provides an answer which itself was not original but which—and here is the novelty and value of the text—is expressed in a very accessible form, in a way which provokes fruitful thought and generative discussion.

 The reason for the recurrence of war, argues Waltz, is that the overarching system of international relations is anarchical in the sense that there are no authorities above the state which can peacefully resolve conflict the way, say, a court or legislature can do domestically. Consequently, states must rely on themselves for dispute resolution, and in the absence of an overarching political or legal structure with legitimate coercive power, it is their strength—in the form of economic and military power—which will determine the outcome. The incentive for states, then, is to maximize power, and since all are behaving this way, there is a constant struggle for supremacy which often breaks out in war.

 One reason for the argument’s importance is that it challenges other explanations, such as a corrupted human nature or the notion of “bad” states, which most believed before Waltz’s text and perhaps still do. In part because of the way the argument is presented, and in part because it challenges widely held views on the reasons for war, the text has become a classic, meaning it has value that transcends the period in which it was written (mid-1950s), and had a significant influence on later writers in a way that makes it required reading for understanding the history of thought.

 The first time I read parts of the text was during my MA and PhD studies between 2007-2013, and I closely re-read the text in its entirety in the Spring of 2025 to help ensure fruitful discussions during the seminar. Re-reading the text after so many years and the accumulation of knowledge and experience allowed, I think, for a more in-depth interpretation of Man, State, and War. This blogpost will present my analysis of the text’s main contributions to our understanding of war and peace, while making connections to the wars currently raging in Ukraine and the Middle East.

 Commonly held—and wrong—explanations for war

 Most people most of the time perhaps do not theorize the question of war for any number of reasons. One may be that for some, war is a just a part of human affairs, similar to other social practises, and hence there is little need for explanation anymore than we need to explain why, for example, we eat, sleep, poop, marry, and reproduce. Others take this supposed natural tendency as their starting point in attempting to explain war, and in fact classical thinkers have linked war to features of human nature which predispose man to violence. Man, State and War cites thinkers as diverse as Confucius, Saint Augustine, and Niebuhr who observe some intrinsic defects, moral or cognitive, which prevent groups from peacefully and rationally resolving their differences. For Christian thinkers, this was ultimately the result of man’s original sin, which came from Adam’s disobedience and desire to become a god himself. More secular thinkers writing in the 20th century, such as Henry Morgenthau, discarded the religious content but maintained the form of a defective human nature which he called animus dominandi, or the desire/wilfulness to dominate.

 The chief critique of this argument in Man, State and War is that human nature is too imprecise a variable. Human nature is related to everything, including, importantly, peace, and so if it is the cause of war, it must also be the cause of the absence of war. Intellectually this does not take us very far, because over-explanations by definition are hard to test or refute. If we want to explain why, for example, WW1 occurred, and we posit human nature as the explanation, and can say the same for why the war ended, we are not in fact providing an explanation for the war that can be challenged with other arguments (such as German militarism, or British and French colonial supremacy, etc).

 Another widely held explanation is that it is the character of the state which generates war. This explanation is indissoluble from the modern state system which emerged in the 17th century, and the birth of two ideologies—liberalism and socialism—in the 18th and 19th centuries. The latter ideologies not only provided ideals around which states and societies should be organized, they also attempted to explain many social institutions, including war. For liberals, the main cause of war was non-liberal states, by which they meant monarchy, mercantilist, or other political forms which did operate on the basis of their understanding of liberal democracy, which includes enshrining the right to property, and votes in multiparty elections. Most people most of the time want to better their economic condition, and it is they who mostly pay the price of war; it follows that if citizens have a say, they will vote against war. Ergo, wars occur because small unrepresentative political authorities such as monarchies want to gain glory or territory. It follows that if all countries became liberal democracies, war would disappear from human affairs.

 Waltz also shows how implausible this. To say that war would disappear if all countries were liberal democracies is tantamount to say we would stop fighting if we all agreed on the fundamentals of life; in this sense, in form it is little different from saying war would end if we were all Muslims, Christians, or Bhuddists. This may or may not be true, but it is trivial, speculative, utopian, and hence does not conform to the rigours of scientific investigation. Moreover, the core belief that liberal democracies are more peaceful than monarchies does not stand up to scrutiny. Man, State, and War cites England’s Glorious Revolution in 1688, which many liberals see as a key historical turning point. Waltz shows how England subsequently became more entangled in the affairs of other nations and hence more prone to war. The reason is that a change in the regime led to a change in the nature of warfare. Under monarchy, wars were fought mainly by mercenaries and for limited objectives; consequently the damage was often minimal. Liberal states, in contrast, justify war on the basis of ideals, and in this sense was similar to a religious crusade. Wars become, as a consequence, more frequent and destructive.

 The ideological elements of socialism—critical of private property and markets—differ significantly from liberalism, but for our purposes they have more in common than they like to admit. Both are products of the 18th and 19th centuries, are utopian, and teological. Both also derive from their ideology explanations of war, and blame small coteries of unrepresentative elites who act on the basis of selfish or narrow interests. While for liberals it is monarchies or authoritarians, for socialists it private capital who profit from war and are able to use their influence to capture the state apparatus. If capitalism is the cause of war, the solution is for all countries to adopt socialism. Here we encounter the same trivial observation made by liberals, mainly, if we were all the same, we would not fight. Waltz also cites evidence from WW1 to show the failure of this theory’s predictions. As war fever was heating up, socialists across Europe shared the above-mentioned explanation. Representatives of workers, who were the majority, were determined to not participate unless the war was “defensive”. As fighting became inevitable, workers and socialists almost invariably sided with their nations rather than with workers in neighbouring countries, and when fighting began, almost all of them contributed to their nation’s efforts on the ground that it was “defensive”. Thus, when push came to shove, loyalty to the nation trumped any socialist convictions about the reasons for the war.

 The reason both of the main explanations mentioned above—human nature, and the structure of the state—fail, says Waltz, is that they do not take into account the structure of the international system. To help readers understand on a deep level how this system works, Man, State and War relies especially on the thought of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and particularly the stag hunt parable. Imagine 5 starving men go hunting for a stag, and that success requires their combined efforts. During the hunt, one man sees a rabbit, if he kills and eats it he will satisfy his own hunger and improve chances of survival, but this will undermine the interests of the group. If he refuses because of an ironclad commitment to the group, he risks missing this opportunity and starving to death. Which option does he take? According to the parable, taking the former option places him in a state of war with his fellows, and this will occur frequently. In a state of anarchy, there is no system to punish that individual for betraying the interests of the group.

 The point of the intellectual exercise is to highlight several features of anarchy. One is that self-interest will trump the collective interest especially when valuable resources are in play. Second is that under anarchy one cannot rely on others because the threat of defection is very high. Third, self-reliance creates competition for scarce resources, and when inevitable disputes occur, they are resolved through force not law or morality. Fourth, if power determines outcomes, intentions or the character of states does not matter. Rather, coercive power—economic and military capability—is determinative. Consequently, states may feel threatened by the relative not absolute capabilities of their rivals. From this emerges the balance of power, a feature that is structural and cannot be wished away.

 From this perspective, wars occur relatively frequently because there is nothing to stop them. The immediate causes are usually the kinds of common disputes which arise because men want things, not because they are devils, but it is anarchy which ultimately turns these disputes into war. For Waltz, this explanation is neither moral nor immoral, it is amoral, similar to a fact of nature. Does this mean that the utopian desire for eternal peace is a pipe dream? Most likely war can never be abolished, but its outbreak can be mitigated via a judicious adjustment of the balance of power. According to the theory presented in Man, State, and War, a major cause of the outbreak of war is the security dilemma, which occurs when one state threatens others because of its asymmetric capabilities. Excessively powerful states feel less obliged to avoid war because weaker states cannot retaliate in a way that imposes severe costs. At the same time, if states increase their relative power too rapidly, weaker states may be inclined to strike before it is too late, leading to the outbreak of war. In contrast, a stable balance of power creates mutual deterrence, whereby states know that they will pay a high price if they attack, making them more reluctant to fight and more likely to negotiate a peaceful settlement of the dispute. In latter works, Waltz uses this framework to explain why the Cold War did not break out in direct fighting between the USA and the USSR: they were relatively militarily balanced, especially because of the possession of nuclear weapons, and this imposed restraint and hence peace.

 This places a responsibility on all states to maintain a relatively stable and equal balance of power, despite the inevitable inequalities among them. Powerful states must avoid provoking their rivals by engaging in action which makes their capabilities overwhelmingly preponderate and therefore threatening. Weaker states, meanwhile, must also resist the temptation to surpass other states in terms of coercive power. Achieving this when only conventional military forces are involved is very hard in part because of the high degree of uncertainty, but nuclear weapons can alter calculations in a way conducive to peace, as they are relatively equal in their destructive capacity, and leave little room for uncertainty. Consequently, states which possess them have a de facto equality of power. For this reason, many realists have defended the counter-intuitive position that allowing states to develop these weapons is conducive to peace not war.

 During the seminar, students and I discussed some of the problems with this explanation. Regarding the Cold War, it was rightly pointed out that, although there was no direct conflict between the USA and the USSR, they fought indirectly—in Korea or Vietnam—which led to millions of deaths. Thus, rather than preventing war, relative parity between the two superpowers only served to redirect it in other directions, and in ways that were very destructive for other countries. Moreover, the emphasis on power inequalities in the context of an anarchical system does not explain why, for example, two unequal states like the US and Canada, or China and Singapore, can have very peaceful relations.

 We can now attempt to see the practical and contemporary value of the arguments presented in Man, State, and War via a consideration of two conflicts raging at the time of writing, in Ukraine and Middle East. Regarding the former, realists almost universally blame Western countries, and in particular their attempt to expand NATO, on the grounds that it destabilized the balance of power. NATO is a military organization controlled by the US, and members states have offensive military hardware controlled by the Washington on their territories. American statesmen such as George F. Kennan knew that this would antagonize Russia, for this reason Secretary of State James Baker assured Russian leaders that NATO would not expand. This promise was not kept, triggering hostilities. Those who blame Putin or Russian imperialism are relying, consciously or not, on the “bad states” argument presented above, which assumes, of course, that the US and its European partners are “good” states. They neglect to consider that if, for example, Mexico were to join a military bloc controlled by Beijing, military action from Washington would be inevitable. The solution, then, is for Western countries to renounce their goal of Ukraine’s membership in NATO. Under the presidency of Donald Trump, the US has already done this, and major European countries will eventually have to accept the same terms.

 The war between Israel and Iran is perhaps more complicated. The former launched the war to prevent the latter from obtaining a nuclear weapon, yet from the perspective of Waltz’s arguments, had Iran possessed such a weapon, the war would not have happened. Many Israelis and their backers say a nuclear Iran poses an existential threat, but the text under discussion leads to other conclusions, namely, that it would be conducive to peace because of the effects of deterrence. A nuclear Iran could not use the weapon against Israel because it knows that Israel’s counter-attack with nuclear weapons would destroy Iran. Many Israelis might reply that the logic of deterrence doesn’t work because Iran led by suicidal Islamists. This is said despite the fact that Iran has all the trappings of a modern state—clearly defined territories, citizens and responsibilities towards them and towards its neighbours. Therefore, Iran, like all other states, would not risk its own survival. It follows that the logic of deterrence would be just as effective between Israel and Iran as, say, between the nuclear armed Pakistan and India. In the latter case, you also have one side with an Islamic government, but there is no evidence that this has altered its calculations on the potential use of nuclear weapons. In fact, a case can be made that, although fighting has broken out between India and Pakistan, it has always almost always quickly resolved in part because both sides want to avoid the existential risk of nuclear confrontation.

A Review of Virgil's The Aeneid

It took me around a year to get through Virgil’s timeless classic The Aeneid, not because of its length or difficulty, but rather because of the manner in which it was read. A hard copy lay beside my bed throughout this period, as one of my habits is to read a physical book—not a kindle or other electronic device—before going to sleep. And given that by the time I lay down in bed in the evening I am very tired, there are limits to how much I can read under those circumstances. Often, in fact, I am too tired to read at all and upon laying down immediately fall asleep, leaving the text untouched for days. The main reason is that during the day I am very busy with other activities, and when I am not working, I take the opportunity to study Chinese, which is quite time consuming. For that reason, this past year I have had little time for pleasure reading or for writing blogposts. 

This way of reading a book—slowly and over a lengthy period of time—will perhaps limit the depth of appraisal, as identifying connections between its different parts—usually necessary to capture the book’s overarching message or impact—becomes tenuous or difficult as memories of earlier passages fade even while reading progresses. Nonetheless, I was able to absorb enough to develop a lasting impression which will be the focus of this blogpost. The key elements worth noting are the aesthetic quality of the text, which is emotionally intense and musical, and the content of the story which is reminder of the wide civilizational gap which separates us from the ancients. To demonstrate the latter, it would be useful to compare the worldview presented in The Aeneid with contemporary Western sensibilities which have been strongly influenced by Christianity; this religion, in the history of Western civilization, represented a major rupture in terms of how the cosmos, humans’ place in it, and the society of our fellows, were understood. The Aeneid is a stark reminder of that fact.  

The version I read tells the story in verse, and each line is structured to give a rhythmic quality to the text. Often, a paragraph begins with a line composed of one word which appears not at the beginning, or left side of the paragraph, but at the right-end (see below for examples), forcing the reader to read one word then pause before proceeding. The effect is that of anticipation of an impending movement or motion which transports or nudges the reader to the subsequent scenes. Unlike in Dante’s Divine Comedy—a text which was strongly influenced by Virgil’s masterpiece—the lines in The Aeneid do not rhyme, but this does not detract from their musical like quality. After the first and usually very brief sentence, each line of each paragraph has a similar length, producing symmetrical pauses as the reading proceeds, contributing to the text’s musicality. Unlike us moderns, the ancients read out loud, and I did the same for large sections of the book, and discovered that this greatly adds to the sense that The Aeneid is a song as much as a poem. 

At the same time, one’s voice when reading aloud is influenced by the emotionally intense language, and this too enriches the experience. The emotional intensity of some parts of the story convey hope and despair, triumph and loss, or pleasure and suffering. Scenes depicting war and those depicting romance, not surprisingly, leave the most lasting impression in this regard. In the second chapter, the final hours of Troy, we read about the death of Priam, king of Troy and father of Aeneas, at the hands of Neoptolemus son of Achilles, who 

…drags the old man,
straight to the alter, quaking, slithering on through
slicks of his son’s blood, and twisting Priam’s hair
a flash of steel—he buries it hilt-deep in the king’s flank
Such was the fate of Priam…
with Troy blazing before his eyes
the monarch who once had ruled in all his glory
the many lands of Asia, Asia’s many tribes
The head wrenched from the shoulders.
A corpse without a name.

The final chapter, “The Sword Decides All,” recounts the battles which occurred after the Trojans landed on Italian soil and were resisted by the local Latins. These encounters would determine the fate of Aeneas’s enterprise and the subsequent history of the peninsula. Here the reader also encounters gripping scenes of fighting between the Trojans and the natives of Italian soil:

As the Latin columns charge them
charging them come Agyllines and Trojans streaming up
with Arcadian ranks decked out in blazoned gear and
one lust drives them all: to let the sword decide.

“War lust” appears frequently in the text, highlighting how the ancients entangled sexual drives with violence and face to face combat. Both are a form of intimacy in that the parties,’ often sweaty, bodies clash and contract, pounding and penetrating, with a power dynamic akin to a contest of wills which will leave only one with achieving their objective, or that makes one the supplicant and the other with the power to refuse or walk away. The Italian language has preserved this close connection between lust and violence, as the word “conquistare,” or conquer, is synonymous with successful seduction, and is still used to convey that meaning in everyday conversation. 

The same chapter culminates with the final battle between Aeneas and Turnus, the latter a leader of Latins, which would determine the Trojans’ founding of the settlement—Rome—which eventually would become the Roman empire. The fighting lasts for several pages, and Turnus is gravely injured and losing his strength:

                                                           Just as in dreams
when the nightly spell of sleep falls heavy on our eyes
and we seem entranced by longing to keep on racing on
no use, in the midst of one last burst of speed
we sink down, consumed, our tongue won’t work
and tried and true, the power that filled our body
fails—we strain but the voice and words won’t follow.
So with Turnus.

Turnus is prostrate on the ground but not yet completely defeated. While facing his opponent Aeneas, he says:

I deserve it all. No mercy please.
Seize your moment now…

Aeneas, ferocious in armor, stood there, still, 

shifting his gaze, and held his sword-arm back…

Aeneas seems reluctant to strike the final blow, but fate had other ideas. Aeneas’s comrade, the young Pallas, who had been injured by Turnus earlier in the battle, appears and reminds Aeneas of the terrible losses and sacrifices incurred during combat with the Latins. He plants:

his iron sword hilt-deep in his enemy’s heart.
Turnus’ limbs went limp in the chill of death.
His life breath fled with a groan of outrage
down to the shades below.

Perhaps the most gripping part of the text recounts the love affair between Aeneas and Dido, Queen of Carthage, in the chapter “The Tragic Queen of Carthage.” In the previous chapter readers see their budding love developing during a banquet she made for the Trojans, whom, as fate would have it, while sailing from Troy to Italy, had shipwrecked on North African soil. The opening verses of the chapter set the stage for the drama which was about to come:

                                              The Queen
consumed by the fire buried in her heart.
The man’s courage, the sheer pride of his line
they all come pressing home to her, over and over.
His looks, his words, they pierce her heart and cling—
no peace, no rest for her body, love will give her none.

Their love is consummated only because of the gods’ machinations, especially Juno who of course unbeknownst to the poor Dido, have more venal motives, namely to prevent Aeneas from fulfilling his destiny to found the Roman empire. If Aeneas developed a romantic attachment, thought Juno, he would remain in Carthage with his lover. One day, Aeneas and Dido are out hunting, and the Juno triggers a thunderstorm that forces them to find shelter in a cave, where alone and in close quarters, the natural next step could occur:

The skies have begun to rumble, peals of thunder first
and the storm breaking next, a cloudburst pelting hail…
primordial Earth and Juno, Queen of marriage
give the signal and lightening torches flair
and the high sky bears witness to the wedding
nymphs on the mountaintops wail out the wedding hymn. 
This was the first day of her death, the first of her grief.

Aeneas is genuinely in love with Dido, but he was destined against his will to sail to Italy and found the new colony which would become Rome, meaning he could not remain in Carthage. Dido, of course, enflamed by her love, could not accept this course of action, and is maddened by her grief:

in the midst of outbursts, desperate, flinging herself
from the light of day, sweeping out of his sight
leaving him numb with doubt, with much to fear…

                                                 Love, you tyrant!
To what extremes won’t you compel our hearts?
Again she resorts to tears, driven to move the man
or try, with prayers—a suppliant kneeling, humbling
her pride to passion.

At this point in the text hope is not completely lost, as Aeneas is deeply torn by destiny and love pulling him apart. Although readers know the outcome, Virgil gives readers the impression that Aeneas may change his mind, as he wrestles with the dilemma, but in the end he must sacrifice pleasure and desire for the greater good of self-sacrifice and glory, a recurring motif in Roman history and mythology, which would be reproduced in a different form with Aeneas’s descendants, and first kings of Rome, the twin brothers Romulus and Remo; the former murdered the latter because of a sacrilegious violation of the new city’s religious traditions which threatened to undermine the entire project. 

When Dido finally realizes her appeals are to no avail, she is outraged and wants vengeance. Virgil presents readers with what perhaps is the most memorable section of The Aeneid, in the verse which foretells the Punic wars, the existential conflict between Carthage and Rome which lasted 146 years and which almost relegated the Roman experiment to the dustbin of history:

This is my prayer, my final cry—I pour it out
with my own lifeblood. And you, my Tyrians
harry with hatred all his line, his race to come:
make that offering to my ashes, send it down below.
No love between our peoples, ever, no pacts of peace!
Come rising up from my bones, you avenger still unknown,
to stalk those Trojan settlers, hunt with fire and iron
now or in time to come, whenever the power is yours.
Shore clash with shore, sea against sea and sword
against sword—this is my curse—war between all

our peoples, all their children, endless war!

Civilizational divide

The Aeneid is also a window into how the ancients thought about their place in the cosmos. It is worth remembering that the text was not considered, as it is today, simply a novel or poem to be approached as an abstract work of art. Rather, it was popularly read by masses and elites, and as recounted by the historian Mary Beard, it was a cultural reference point among the different classes of the empire, and perceived as an accurate account of Rome’s founding. In that sense, its status was closer to the Bible or the Koran rather than a simple piece of literature. The gods’ machinations in the lives of protagonists were not, as might be understood today, entirely a product Virgil’s expansive imagination. Rather, it reflected how people believed the gods actually behaved and interfered in human affairs.  And from this starting point we can assess the wide civilizational gap which separates the ancients from their descendants in the medieval, modern, and post-modern periods. 

The first thing to note is that Aeneas was the son the goddess Venus and the Trojan prince Anchises, in the sense of being conceived via carnal, physical intercourse between a goddess and a mortal. The gods, thus, sired warlike offspring, strong and dominating alpha males who conquer entire countries, slaughtering and looting in their quests for glory, all of course, with the favour and assistance of divine forbearers. Aeneas, of course, is not unique in this regard; different gods produce different offspring, but they almost always form the ruling class, the nobility, who can count on the gods’ favourable interference in their attempts to conquer, kill, enslave, rule. 

Compare this with the Christian understanding of the relationship between God and man. First is that Mary is impregnated, not by an act of coitus, but rather by the Holy Spirit, that mysterious substance which is part of the trinity and therefore God; this perhaps helped to preserve her purity as a woman married to Joseph. Second is that the offspring is not a conqueror or a dominant and attractive alpha male, but rather an ordinary looking, perhaps even emaciated, humble and non-violent peacemaker. Third is that he is born among a subject peoples, as the Jews were under the Roman empire, and teaches that doing God’s will on earth entails helping the lowly—sick, poor, weak. 

The Christian understanding of God and man would have sounded bizarre to the ancients for the simple reason that this conception of the divine was utterly alien to them. And their different understandings of the divine helps account for their different norms, morals, legal systems, and how society was organized. Among the ancients, the divine favours strong, the beautiful, and brave warriors, and it logically follows that the gods, too, had these attributes. If so, and if they were the highest possible authority, earthly relations had to be organized around these same principles. In contrast, a son of God who is born among subject peoples, and teaches humility, charity, and service rather than glory and domination, implies that this divine would favour the weak not the strong. If so, society could not for long be organized in the manner of ancient times; rules, norms, and laws would eventually reflect the new belief system to the extent that it was believed by legislators and lawmakers. And for this reason there arose belief systems which raised the status of the lowly, such as human equality and human rights, which would have been inconceivable among the ancient Romans precisely because it was incommensurable with their metaphysical beliefs. 

During antiquity, there was no single religious truth or holy text. Different peoples had different gods, and connected to them via sacred objects and shrines. A common practice in ancient Rome was to discern the will of gods by examining the flights of birds, or the entrails of slaughtered animals, and one of the functions of priests was to accurately interpret these. In contrast, in the Christian era, priests were learned scholars who studied the classics of ancient Greece and Rome and who attempted to discern God’s will via a philosophical exegesis of texts, or what would later be called theology. This move away from studying God’s will in nature towards doing the same in texts, and the need for a specialized scholarly class to accomplish such an endeavour, led to the establishment of the first universities in Europe which would later become the secular institutions that they are today.

The will of the gods was omnipresent in nature and The Aeneid reveals this in how the ancients anthropomorphized the heavens, seasons, and weather, which were often capitalized to convey willfulness or agency:

                                                                                By now
dank Night had nearly reached her turning-point in the sky
and stretched on the hard thwarts beneath their oars
the crews gave way to a deep, quiet rest, when down
from the starts the God of Sleep came gliding gently
cleaving the dark mists and scattering shadows.

For Christians, in contrast, God was and is a supreme lawgiver who created a mechanistic universe which operates according to lawlike regularity. This gives the sense that for the ancients, nature or natural forces were enchanting and magical, while Christians believe that God may intervene but in the form of miracles or rare events which are in a sense unnatural (hence the term supernatural). The ancients lacked this conceptual separation between the divine and nature, and this too was reflected in their institutions. The emperor, for example, also had the title of pontifex, which translates to bridge, meant here as a function which connects the people and the divine. And in fact some emperors were considered in the literal sense to have divine ancestry and therefore worthy of being worshipped as gods. In the Christian era, of course, these roles were completely institutionally separate; the pope was God’s representative on earth, while the prince, king, or emperor was a lawmaker, and both were mere mortals. It is this institutional separation which made possible the secular societies which would subsequently emerge and which characterize the modern period.  

Reflections on Progress in Learning Chinese

In this blogpost I will recount my latest achievement in my quest to master the Chinese language. Some background information will be helpful. For foreigners studying Chinese, there is an elaborate system characterized by 9 levels which go by the name of “HSK”; for example, HSK1 is absolute beginner, while HSK9 is the most advanced, and HSK4 to HSK5 are lower to upper intermediate. To better understand what this means concretely, at the beginner level one can express simple words and perhaps basic sentences (“I like,” “I want,” “I will,” etc), at the intermediate one can engage in conversation about daily life and even about more complex subjects related to culture, history, and economics, while at the most advanced level, one has the capacity to produce a scholarly work in standard Chinese.

I recently completed HSK 4 and began HSK 5, which squarely places me in the intermediate stage. I can now easily converse in Chinese if the topic is work, leisure, hobbies, food, family, friends, travel, in sum, the stuff of everyday life. I can also now have conversations about more complex themes such as the state of the economy, war and peace, religion and spirituality, although here, I sometimes lack the vocabulary to fully express my thoughts. But, importantly, when I stumble because I hear something unfamiliar or am unable to form the proper sentence, I can easily say in Chinese what exactly is unclear and difficult while asking the interlocuter to explain in a different way. This usually does the trick to keep the conversation flowing in Chinese.

I am now experiencing the fruits of this progress. A few weeks ago, for example, I needed to change my cell phone data plan, which was unsuitable for my needs. This required going to the mobile phone store and explain that the current plan is insufficient, and that I require a new one at a reasonable price. I did this entirely in Chinese; the conversation on this topic lasted about 20 minutes, and only a few times the saleswoman’s words were unclear.  Another example: recently as I was on the high-speed train, I happened to sit down beside an attractive woman, and given that I am single, I was inclined to speak with her, which I did. We ended up conversing—mostly in Chinese, as she spoke a little bit of English—for almost 1 hour, and even exchanged contact information. Although in the end it did not lead to anything other than this impromptu introduction and a few text messages, it was the first time that I connected with a complete stranger of the opposite sex almost completely in Chinese. 

I can now also watch and understand Chinese news, especially on topics I am familiar with, such as the US-China relations, or the war in Ukraine. This has led to the discovery that Chinese political commentary is actually quite nuanced and diverse, and often more neutral and hence objective than that found on many Western channels. This may be a big surprise to Westerners who likely have an image of the country’s political communication as stifled, top down and homogenous. 

I have been studying the language for just over two years now, and at this pace, I should reach HSK6—which is the beginning of advanced—in 1 year or 18 months. The sense of accomplishment is profound in part because of the difficulty of learning the language, especially the writing system. I have memorized hundreds of characters, a drop in the bucket considering there are over 50 thousand, but enough to read and write simple sentences. 

As ever, such an extraordinary experience has sparked reflections about the nature of life, and especially the weird process by which something that, at one time is fantastical or imbued with awe and amazement, becomes part of daily reality and banal. I can still remember the first time visiting the country in early 2023. I was on a plane from Vienna to Shanghai, and almost all the passengers were Chinese. Of course, I could not understand a word they were saying despite my attempts to discern meaning from other cues, such as body language and facial expression. The befuddlement continued the subsequent weeks, as I struggled to communicate with locals I interacted with, for example at the hotel, in the taxi, or the supermarket. By then, I had started learning Chinese on the language learning app Pimsleur, and knew some basic sentences, but I naively believed that this, plus being fully immersed, would allow me to quickly pick up the meanings of words and sentences, as occurred when I was a beginner in French and Spanish.

Learning Chinese is a whole different experience. My knowledge of Italian plus shared cultural reference points allowed me to learn the former two languages relatively quickly; in both French and Spanish I became proficient, or advanced, after 2 years. Not so with Chinese, in part because of the wide gap which separates it with European languages. This renders the learning of the language very difficult and slow for Westerners, which is one reason why so many abandon the enterprise. Of course, this was not an option for me, as despite the difficulty, the more I learned, the more fascinated I became with it, and the more I was driven to proceed. And so I continued my learning schedule of two private, 1 hour lessons, plus 4 or 5 language practices, per week with conversation exchange partners.

Two years ago, the thought of being able to converse in Chinese, know enough characters to read and type simple sentences, and use the language in regular interaction with locals, was alien and fantastical. As ever, the mind tends to exaggerate the unknown, fill it with wonder and amazement, similar to the feeling one has about important life moments not yet experienced—travelling, making love, completing a PhD, owning a house. Then these things occur, and often become banal, just part of ordinary existence. Learning Chinese has been a bit like that. At moments I have a sense of amazement from the knowledge of this language, but for the most part, it has become rather normalized, like other parts of my routine. This tendency of the brain to refashion experiences from extraordinary to banal perhaps is an evolutionary adaption to help us move on to learn and discover new things. 

It also reveals how the drive to succeed at an endeavour can produce a deep sense of accomplishment and yet it also leaves a feeling of dissatisfaction. Given that I am at the inter-mediate phase, I am still not completely satisfied, and this frustration is one of the reasons I am motivated to learn more and reach an advanced level. Of course, other factors are driving me to continue, including the fascination with Mandarin, which, like other languages or other social phenomenon, is the product of thousands of years of evolution and reflects a unique people, culture, and history characterized with distinctive characteristics, quirks, patterns, and anomalies. It opens a window into this ancient civilization, which for some reason developed a language that, unlike European tongues, conveys meaning with tone and context rather, or more than, with pronunciation and vocabulary. This in itself evokes wonder and deepens my drive to continue learning.   

Mandarin is my fifth language, and the others are English, Italian, French, and Spanish. When adding the numbers of people who speech each language (respectively, 1.3 billion, 1.35 billion, 63 million, 321 million, 595 million) the total is around 3.7 billion people, which means I can now communicate with just under 50% of people around the world. 

A Review of Emmanuel Todd's "La Défaite de l'Occident"

It is always refreshing to read the work of Emmanual Todd, as he is one of the few Western intellectuals to challenge beliefs which, from time to time, tend to be shared by journalists, politicians, and other members of the commentariat (and the group from which they mostly derive, namely, upper class professionals). The first time I was exposed to his ideas was in 2008, during my PhD, in a course on the subject of the rise and fall of empires, including the American one. Todd famously predicted the collapse the USSR in the early 80s, while most others at the time predicted stability, and he did this on the basis of demographic and cultural variables that were elsewhere ignored; most of his contemporaries tended to look at indices of hard power like territory, military, and economy, which, when adding the motivations of USSR’s rulers, pointed to continuity. In this example, his training in anthropology plus his analytical ability proved to be an asset, allowing him to see what most others did not. 

This tendency among Western commentators, especially in Anglo countries, to mostly sing from the same tune on the subject of geopolitical questions (it sometimes seems as if they are taking their cue from the editorial positions of the Economist, of which I have been a faithful reader for almost 20 years) is observable in the conflict which has destabilized Europe, the war in Ukraine.  In the book I will review in this blogpost, La Défaite de l'Occident (The Defeat of the West), Todd provides an alternative perspective to the mainstream one and in so doing encourages readers to question their beliefs and even revise them.

An Inconoclast

The standard view of the war in Ukraine is that it started on Feburary 24, 2022, and that one man, Vladimir Putin, is largely responsbile. His motivations, it has been stated at one time or another, range from covid-induced craziness, to the imperialist attempt to re-establish a Russian empire as the loss of the USSR was never psychologically come to terms with. Whatever the motivation, Putin and his generals are presented as acting on the basis of pure malice, ignorance, or irationality, while Ukraine and its Western backers are the voices of reason, justice, and morality. This narrative is given more layers of meaning by depicting the conflict as one between “democracy” and “authoritarianism”, which presumes that Ukraine and its Western backers are paragons of democratic rule, while Putin and his henchmen are dictators afraid that democracy in Ukraine will set an example which will lead to more demands for democracy in Russia. Questioning this framework leads to one getting labeled as a “Putin puppet” or some other designation which not so subtly implies that, in polite discourse, only one interpretation is acceptable, and that those who criticize it are either ignorant or victims of Russian propaganda.

La Défaite de l'Occident provides readers with a very different interpretation in part because Todd focuses on different variables. As in his other work, and reflective of his training and expertise, he looks at culture, religion, family structure, demographics, and sociological indicators, and how they help to explain foreign policy decisions in general and the NATO-Ukraine conflict in particular. The theoretical assumption is that the key to understanding international behaviour is to look at domestic society and politics. This is a theory of international relations which obliges us to examine a longer span of history rather than the last few years or decades. Accordingly, before examining Todd’s analysis of the war, it is essential to present his ideas on the fundamental changes in the West and especially the US, and how they relate to decisions and patterns vis-à-vis the conflict.

Rise and Decline 

Todd begins with the development of modern nation-states and looks at the role of Christianity in their formation. The Protestant reformation was crucial in this regard as it led to the publication and distribution of the bible in the vernacular languages (previously it was published only in Latin, the language spoken by the elite), as believers were obliged to establish a personal relationship with God via the written word, and not, as in Catholic countries, through the inter-mediary of the church hierarchy. This led to widespread literarcy and to the standardization of distinct languages in Protestant countries, mostly in Northern Europe. A consequence was the development of a shared value system, rooted in Protestantism, between masses and elites which would form the basis of national consciousness. Thus it was religion, and not the ideals of the French revolution, which led to the political form which we call the nation-state which would eventually become the dominant political unit in the international system. 

Protestantism was different from Catholicism in other respects. The latter’s concept of original sin implied that all were equal, while Protestant sects such as calvinism believed that some were favoured and selected by God (the doctrine of predestination), which introduced into Christianity ideas about divinely sanctioned natural hierarchy. In one of Emmanual Todd’s more original and controversial statements, he argues that this helps to explain the fact that some of the worst forms of racism occurred in Protestant countries. Nazism in Germany grew mostly out of the Protestant not Catholic parts of the country; the US abolished slavery relatively late and afterwards institutionalized segregation; Canada, the US, Sweden, and not Catholic countries such as Italy and Spain, implemented eugenics, that abonimable state-sanctioned policy of sterilization of so-called inferiors.

Leaving aside this dark aspect in Protestant countries, across the Western world religion would eventually provide a glue which binded governors and the governed; a shared language and moral framework also established the conditions for community ties and civic associations. Democracy understood as multiparty elections and the rule of law functioned with a relatively high degree of stability and legitimacy when shared values among various social classes anchored in national conscioussness were present.

Family structure worked in combination with culture and religion to produce a relatively stable social order in which democracy could function, but here too there were differences among Western countries. The nuclear family which reigned supreme in Protestant countries had hierarchical elements which reinforced the ideas of superiority and inferiority inherited from their religion. On the other hand, there were liberal elements in the realm of gender relations, namely, the social of status of both mother and father could be transmitted to the children; this, says Todd, helps explain why Protestant countries were also among the first to advance the feminist cause.  

From my reading of La Défaite de l'Occident, to understand contemporary international relations and especially Western and non-Western relations, we need to explore how the relatively stable system mentioned above began to weaken, and especially the breakdown of shared values which binded elites and masses. One must begin by pointing out that the frailing of Western institutions, such as the nation and the state, is not the discourse of obscure Russian or Chinese propoganists. It is well outlined in the work of serious Western scholars including Colin Crouch, Christopher Lasch, Michael Lind, David Goodhart, and Christophe Guilley. This crisis has been especially evident since the 2010s, as populism grew and produced several major changes in Western history, including the Brexit referendum and the Trump phenomenon, which demonstrate that millions of citizens reject their country’s system and are willing to vote for anti-establishment parties. This is evidence of a lack of legitimacy, without which political regimes, democratic or other, cannot be stable. Political polarization is another key feature of contemporary Western democracies, whereby there has been a centrifugal proliferation of many parties with supporters who view compatriots from other parties as evil or corrupt rather than, as would be the case in an ideal civic system, as possessing different views derived from reason and potentially adjustible via civil debate and discourse. Even the US, where two major parties remain, has seen a splintering into different political families which in many ways are incompatible although they sometimes campaign under the same party banner (MAGA and mainstream Republicans are the most visible examples of this trend). 

Todd’s contribution to this well-known centrifugal tendency is to connect it to the decline of religion, while introducing a distinct vocabulary to help readers grasp his reasoning. Religion went through three phases in the West and particularly Protestant countries such as the US: 1) active, 2) zombie, 3) nihilism. In the first, religion provided the shared value system mentioned above which, most importantly, bound the governed and governors and ensured a high degree of stability and legitimacy. In the zombie state, most people no longer go to mass, but they continue to engage in the religious ceremonies which mark life’s three major stages: birth, marriage, and death. Their subjective worlds are now more influenced by secular ideologies or hedonist considerations such as consumerism than by religion. In the zombie state, all religious practices and beliefs have fell by the wayside even though the legacy of religion is still visible in the names of streets, public holidays, art and architecture. 

The decline of religion in the second and third phases does not lead to the secular humanist ideal of reason, rather than superstition, being the main guide to belief. Rather, new political ideologies reign supreme and provide moral frameworks, the basis of social action and determine the formation of networks and relationships among key actors. One ideology that Todd focuses on, as it is relevant to the understanding the decline (and, as per the title, the defeat) of the West is neoliberalism, which placed market relations above all other criteria in guiding political action. Privileging economic growth and free trade contributed to, among other things, the increasing financialization of the economy, whereby capital less and less was allocated to manufacturing which was central to the creation of a middle class; rather, more capital went to stocks, bonds, and especially property, all of which was made possible by easy access to credit and high levels of debt. This helped to generate inequality as some sectors, especially banking, accounting, and law, benefited far more than others. 

In La Défaite de l'Occident, Todd reminds readers that, although this trend is visible across the West, it reached extreme proportions in the US because of the status of the dollar as the international reserve currency, which increases demand for US securities, lowering interest rates and allowing both the American federal government and US consumers to increase debt-based consumption. At the same time, it articifically inflates the value of the dollar and in so doing punishes US manufacturers while favouring imports. Another consequence is that fewer citizens study engineering, as it is more profitable and status enhancing to study business, finance, or law. Todd presents data which illustrates how China and Russia produce far more engineers than the US, and that this helps to explain why their production prowess in either natural resources or manufacturing compared to rivals, a fact not unrelated to the events in Ukraine (more on this below). 

To these trends Todd adds the indicators of health such as obesity and chronic disease, which have reached unprecedented levels in the US, and have led to a health sector which consumes 18.8% of GDP (in 2022). The opoid epidemic is more evidence of fraying social ties, as are mass shootings and gun violence. The US is the only Western country where life expectancy has decreased, which is attributable to the higher death rates of middle-aged white men in deindustrialized cities and towns. 

For Todd, it is no coincidence that these trends coincide with with the zombie and nihilist stages of religion, which led to, among other things, extreme atomisation, or the break down of community and civic ties and the rupture between masses and elites. Numerous opinion polls attest the fact that politicians and journalists are the least trusted actors, Todd reminds readers. They are percieved as selfish, dishonest, and corrupt in part because of the breakdown of social ties, the increase in inequality, the rise of social problems are the direct consequence of decisions taken by powerful people who have more in common with powerful people in other countries than they do with their lower-class compatriots. 

These observations lead Todd to question that concept which has been central to the neoliberal era, GDP. Movements in this indicator are almost daily deployed in the media as a measure of success or failure of government policy, or to compare the performance of countries and then to distill conclusions about their relative strength or weakness. In particular, the US’s ranking on GDP, both aggregate and per capita, is often cited to illustrate its status as top dog in the system. La Défaite de l'Occident shows that when we take into account that much economic activity, such as finance, often reflects parasitic ponzi schemes, or pharmaceuticals, which is indicative of widespread chronic disease and hence weakness and decline, GDP begins to lose its force as an accurate indicator of national strength. He further shows that if we measure GDP in terms of actual material production which contributes to national strength by substracting the mentioned economic activities, US GDP per capita in 2022 drops from $76 000 to $39 520 (below we will see the importance of this when we connect it to Todd’s analysis of the war in Ukraine). 

Finally, the decline of religion and its replacement with neoliberalism leads to a new clerisy with a self-ordained mission to spread liberalism around the world, through force if necessary. This pattern has occurred across the West but again, it has taken extreme proportions in the US in part because of its imperial status. During much of the 20th century, American foreign policy was led by a WASP elite imbued with Protestant values anchored in a widely shared national consciousness. According to Todd, they were more likely to understand or recongize cultural or civilizational differences which made the Western model inapt for Eastern societies, including Russia’s. It was replaced by a foreign policy elite imbued with the ideology known as neoconservatism, which is a bit of a misnomer, as it aimed to promote liberal democratic revolutions around the world utilizing various methods to enact regime change. A network of bureacrats, politicians, journalists, and academics replaced the WASP elite to make neoconservatism the dominant foreign policy paradigm, a fact recognized by the Obama administration’s designation of this network as the “blob”, which highlights how they form a kind of homogenous and invasive agent which can spread its tentacles in the aparatus of state and society. 

This “blob” is at least partly responsible for the many policy fiascos which have destablished and damaged many countries, including the invasion of Iraq, the intervention in Syria, the overthrow of Ghaddafi, and, most importantly for the present work, the war in Ukraine. For the present purposes, what matters is that it is an indicator of Western and especially US decline. We can now connect the disparate but connected themes above to the main case study.  

The war in Ukraine

The mainstream interpretation of the war—the one challenged by Todd—is that it was an unprovoked invasion of a sovereign democratic country by an authoritarian one which aims to re-establish a lost empire. When we take into acount the critiques above, a very different interpretation emerges. First, in a West and especially the US characterized with crises of representation, polarization, rising inequality, atomization, and the severed bond between the governors and the governed, it becomes misleading to characterize them as “democratic” in the ideal or unqualified sense. Todd goes farther and labels them as liberal oligarchies, as majority rule becomes untenable when there is a centrifugal splintering, polarization, and rupture in the ties that binded most citizens to their rulers. If the majority does not rule, decisions still have to be made, and these decisions often come from powerful minorities such as lobbies or the “blob” which have captured society’s commanding heights. Meanwhile, he doesn’t deny Russia’s authoritarian character, but reminds readers that opposition to Putin mostly comes from upper-class Russians in European and cosmopolitan cities like Moscow and St Petersburg; lower class citizens who live in rural areas or the periphery form the majority, and they continue to support Putin. From this strictly numerical perspective, it could be argued that Putin enjoys more popular support than most Western leaders, many of whom are utterly detested by the majority of their compatriots especially the lower class ones (Justin Trudeau and Emmanuel Macron are the most flagrant examples of this trend). It follows that, rather than the conflict being one of democracy versus authoritarian, it is more accurate to frame it as Western liberal oligarchy pitted against Russia’s majoritarian/illiberal authoritarianism. 

The democracy vs authoritarian interpretation simplifies and obscures in other ways. Ukraine is actually divided along ethnic lines, and Todd presents a map to highlight this. In an election on 2010, the pro-Russia candidate of Viktor Ianoukovytch received between 60% and 90% amount of votes from the Russian speaking regions in the South East. They were allowed to protect their language, but Kiev passed a law which aimed to impose Ukrainian language on these regions. This delicate ethnic balance, plus the historical importance to Russia, was one reason why strict neutrality was one of the conditions of independence and enshrined in the constitution; in 2014, this was removed and replaced with the aim of joining Western institutions including NATO.  These complex ethnic, historical, and political dynamics are either ignored or minimized in most Western commentary, in part because of the democracy vs authoritarian frame leads to a binary reductionism (not coincidently, many Western commentators made the same mistake in their interpretations of ethnically diverse Iraq, Syria, and Libya).

As mentioned, Todd observes that Western states and especially the Anglo-Protestant ones have entered into the nihilist phase, and one characteristic of nihilism is to deny objective reality. To illustrate this gap with reality, he cites many of the utterly failed predictions and claims made about the war. Examples include Bruno Le Maire saying that Western sanctions would make the Russian economy collapse, or Macron’s well-intensioned but naïve statement that the West should avoid “humiliating” Russia (Russia could, if it wanted, with its hypersonic missiles, destroy France instantly). In the summer of 2023, moreover, Western citizens were led to believe that Ukraine’s counteroffensive would turn the tide, in part because the country was amply supplied by Western technology, money, and arms. One reason for this mismatch between interpretation and reality, we learn from La Défaite de l'Occident, is that Western leaders believed that since together they had the highest GDPs, they were more powerful. North American and European GDP combined is more than 20 times greater than Russia’s; this is similar to comparing the GDP say, of Germany and tiny Malta. And yet Russia is prevailing on the battlefield. Why? In part because a portion of Western GDP is fictional and not related to material production, especially the essential hardware during times of war: artillery, rockets, missiles, transport vehicles, equipment. Russia also possesess the natural resources, such as agricultural products, minerals, and oil, which it turns out have added value during times of conflict; food inflation skyrocketed in Western countries, during 2023, in part because their markets were now closed to essential primary goods produced by Russia. Countries which continued normal trade with Russia, such as India or China, enjoyed stable prices. It is this which helps to explain why, in the past two years, Russia’s economic growth has exceeded Germany’s, France’s, and Italy’s, according the IMF. It also highlights how highly financialized economies may produce many rich people but they do not necessarily add to national strength which is tested during times of war. 

Perhaps the most revealing denial of reality comes to the surface when we examine that the European and North American interpretation of the war is not shared by the rest of the world and especially the global South. China, India, and most of Asia, as well as Africa and South America, interpret Western leaders similar to how many ordinary and lower class Westerners do: as selfish, corrupt, and dishonest. They therefore are highly cynical about the moralizing of Western elites, especially when many of these same elites are responsible for the destabilizing and destructive interventions in Iraq, Syria, and Libya. Moreover, they reject the social model propounded by the West of hyper-individualism, hedonism, and materialism, which, they conclude, leads to the breakdown of society. Rather, they want the good parts of modernity like technological development and economic growth while preserving their society’s cosmology (or metaphysical/spiritual values) and traditions which bind citizens of different social classes in general and masses and elites in particular. Given this interpretation of the West, the world outside Europe and North America (that is the vast majority of the planet) is more likely to interpet the conflict as being the result of Western arrogance which provoked Russia. And as many of them have been victims of Western arrogance, either in the form of colonialism or more recent interventions, they are cheering for Russia even though in public they speak with pious platitudes about the need for peace and diplomacy.  

The tendency to deny reality leads to other observable patterns, such as Western leaders telling their citizens that the objective of support for Ukraine, including potentially sending troops, is “Ukraine’s victory” or Russia’s “strategic defeat”. Apart from the impossibility of defining these goals, it obscures the real stakes and relative positions of the beliigerents and, in so doing, is not helpful for ending the war. We know from various sources, including the letter Putin sent to Washington before the invasion, plus the negotiations which occurred two months after, that Moscow’s main demands are the preservation of Crimea to protect its naval base in Sevastepol and access to the black sea; the protection and autonomy of Russian minorities in the South East; and the permenant status of neutrality of Ukraine. Negotiations in Turkey in 2023 also highlighed that Russia would accept Ukraine joining the EU, but not NATO, as it is a military organization. If Western leaders genuinely believe that none of these demands are acceptable, and that only complete withdrawal from Crimea, Donetsk and Luhansk, while allowing Ukraine to join NATO, can end the war, they should be explicit about the price they are willing to pay for this. Judging by their actions, they are unwilling to sacrifice their own citizens’ lives, nor are they willing to risk nuclear war. If this is the case, then those objectives are unachievable and only a negotiated compromise can end the conflict. 

Such a compromise, along the lines under negotiation in 2023, is the most likely outcome. The tragedy is that it could have been achieved earlier, before hundreds of thousands of lives were lost, and hundreds of billions of dollars worth of infrastructure destroyed. The West’s and especially the US’s inability to see its own weaknesses, its tendency to simplify or to deny reality, the rise of inequality and the rupture of masses and elites which has effectively replaced majority rule with powerful minorities like neoconservatives, all contributed to this state of affairs, and all can be traced to the zombie and nihilistic phases of Western culture. This is the most important lesson of La Défaite de l'Occident. 

On Learning Chinese

In this blogpost I like to record events and experiences which have left a lasting impression. It is for that reason that most posts are on important books I’ve read and on places I’ve travelled to. I have occasionally written on experiences unrelated to those topics, such as the passing of a good friend, or the excitement of learning how to start and tend a fire. In this blogpost, I’ll write about my experiences of learning Chinese. It is my 5^th language—Italian and English my first, and I learned French and Spanish later in life—and learning Chinese has been unlike the others for reasons I will now try to articulate.

 

While living in France and Spain, learning was accelerated by forming friendships with locals, many of whom could not speak English, and so in those countries, I never had to pay for language lessons. In contrast, learning Chinese while living in China’s economic capital, Shanghai, takes a great degree of conscious effort and investment because it is an international city where most can speak at least some English. For these reasons, it would be possible for me to live comfortably in the city without ever learning the local language (which is often the case among foreigners I meet). Of course, this would be unacceptable and something I would later regret.

 

I started learning on an app in November 2022, which involved 1 hour per day of listening to, and repeating, words and short sentences. Then, from late February to early May of 2023, I took a course at the university which entailed two 90-minute classes per week. During July and August of 2023, I paid for four 1-hour private lessons per week, a decision made because I spent that entire summer in Shanghai and had some extra time from not having to teach classes. And starting in September of 2023, I reduced the number of weekly classes to two, while practising several times a week with language exchange partners.  At the time of this writing (November 2023), I am at the HSK 3 level, which roughly corresponds with beginner-intermediate; I can now structure full sentences, and have conversations, about daily life—for example work, food, friends, weather, travel (while often making copious amounts errors in pronunciation and grammar).

 

As learners will inevitably discover, a unique feature of Chinese is the importance of tone. There are four, which roughly correspond with high, low, rising and falling. A change in tone of the same syllable produces a whole new meaning. This is one of the biggest hurdles for students because this structure is absent in other languages. Consequently, foreigners and especially Westerners must train their listening to spot patterns in shifts of tone, and developing this skill involves a lot of laser-focused listening and deciphering of the same sentences over and over again until the shifts can be detected.

 

It is also essential to train the tongue to pronounce sequences of sounds which do not exist in the other languages I speak. For example, 我们 可以从  中间这会条路, which translates to “ we can start from the middle of this road and go up,” is pronounced "wo men kè yi cóng zhöng jiän zhe tiao lu shang qu.”  Try saying that very fast!  These kinds of sentences are tongue twisters because the phonetic sequences are alien to foreign vocal chords.

 

Another important feature is that Chinese is a very context-based language which means that meaning is often derived equally from the specific situations rather than from the sounds emanating from the speakers mouth. For example,  差不多 is pronounced "cha bu duo", and in one context means “similar,” in another this same pronunciation means “ending.”

 

It is essential to learn the Chinese characters. This is something I wanted to avoid because of the extra work and difficulty. There are around 50 thousand, and so it would be impossible at this stage in my life to learn them all. I’ve been told that 1500 are used in 90% of text, and memorizing them is in principle doable, but still: I have a busy schedule and so there are limits to the amount of time I can devote to studying Chinese. Nonetheless, it eventually became unavoidable, for several reasons. One is that I sometimes need to type and receive text messages in Chinese. Of course, I can use the translator, and I often do, but I also would like to read and type Chinese without the aid of technology. Additionally, learning the characters allows for a deeper understanding of the language, which of course has value in its own right. As of this writing, I’ve memorized several dozen, and so can type and read simple messages like “where shall we meet?”, “at what time?”, “let’s meet at the library.” By next year, I hope, I’ll be able to read full paragraphs.

 

It is a very metaphorical and hence poetic language, which accounts for the countless axioms and pearls of wisdom often expressed in pithy form. An example is 一叶知秋, pronounced "yí yè zhi giù," which translates to "the falling of one leaf heralds the coming of autumn," but which means "a small sign can indicate a great trend." 

Moreover, so many words I’ve learned seem to be creative combinations of several separate concepts. One of my favourites is “enthusiasm” 热情 which combines the characters for "hot" and "emotion." 

 

Another charming feature is how Western names become sinocized. My own, Filippo, is 菲利波 and pronounced "fe li bo." Madrid is 马德里 pronounced "ma de li"

The Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire

In the Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire, Edward Luttwak makes several useful contributions to scholarship on international relations, and to readers interested in the underlying dynamics of imperial politics, past and present. A key claim is that the Roman empire can be usefully divided into three distinct stages, loosely corresponding with expansion, consolidation, retrenchment. Each phase reflected an imperial strategy with a distinct hierarchy of priorities conditioned by various factors including Rome’s unsentimental and materialist culture, the ebbs and flows of Rome’s enemies, especially Parthia in the South and the German tribes in the North, and by the “economy of force”—defined as the available resources, men and infrastructures, necessary to carry out Rome’s will. Remarkably, readers learn, this “grand strategy” occurred despite Rome not having maps, or indeed any official documents which outlined systematic thinking about international relations.

To sustain this argument, Luttwak relies on several assumptions which, in my view, are quite sound. Perhaps the most important one is that, in discerning patterns of Rome’s imperial policy, we need to pay attention to what Romans did more than what they said. Looking only at the latter, for example, would be misleading because Roman writers often spoke with highfalutin rhetoric about their empire as being the apogee of mankind, and destined to reign forever. In reality, Luttwak shows, Roman officials were very pragmatic and utilized various techniques to achieve the two main objectives for inhabitants of the empire, security and prosperity. It was the effective provision of these two goods which ensured the obedience of Rome’s subjects, and cost-benefit calculations occurred among them as well. When the empire provided these valuable goods at an acceptable price, the system was stable, but when Rome could no longer secure their provision, or could only do so at an unacceptably high cost, its days were numbered, which is precisely what occurred. 

In this blog post, I will outline Luttwak’s account of Rome’s imperial strategy while endeavouring to distil insights relevant to the dynamics of international security and, more generally, to patterns of imperial politics in the present era.

Three systems

Rome, as we know, was a republic from 509 BC to 27 BC, and officially became an empire after the civil wars which began with the killing of Caesar and which culminated with Octavian’s defeat of Anthony and Cleopatra. Luttwak’s story, then, begins when Octavian, later named Augustus, became Rome’s first emperor. The first system, categorized by Luttwak as “Julio-Claudian,” roughly lasted from 27 BC to 69 AD, and was characterized by expansionism. Military spending under Augustus, who reigned for 45 years, was roughly half of total expenditures, and major conquests included Britain, and parts of Germany until the defeat in the battle of Teutoburg which put an end to Augustus’s attempt to conquer the North.

Augustus 

A key objective was to provide security to the frontiers of conquered territories, a necessary condition for prosperity and Romanization. However, the methods used to provide these goods were not homogenous across the vast expanse of the Mediterranean. In some provinces, Romans settled and established direct political control. In others, Romans relied on the client system; this latter is extensively analysed in The Grant Strategy of the Roman Empire because of how it supports the book’s main thesis. Many local tribes were acutely aware of Rome’s awesome military strength, and especially its willingness to crush recalcitrant or disobedient peoples (most dramatically illustrated by the siege of Masada). Rome strategically utilized this armed suasion to establish client relations with some tribes: the latter could provide security at the frontier in return for autonomy and various perks including citizenship and subsidies. From Rome’s perspective, this was a much cheaper way of establishing rule than sending legions to settle and pacify local peoples, and it allowed the allocation of precious resources to more troublesome areas, especially in the Western part of the empire. The client system allowed a very favourable “economy of force”—that is, the relation between military inputs (soldiers, settlers, infrastructures necessary for transportation and taxation) and outputs (security of the frontiers). 

Another effective device for maintaining security with a favourable input-output ratio of material resources was demonstrated by the status of Armenia as a neutral and buffer state.  This small country was sandwiched between two ancient great powers—Rome and Parthia—who periodically fought for supremacy between 54 BC and 217 AD. These wars, of course, were costly, and so both parties had an interest in peace, and one of the ways they secured this was agreement over Armenia’s status. Luttwak elaborates on the special and systemic character of a buffer state. It cannot be a great power, otherwise it itself would threaten the security of its neighbours, but its geographical location can potentially be used by competing great powers to threaten rivals. By agreeing to strict and enforceable neutrality, it reassures its powerful neighbours and, in so doing, lessons the sense of insecurity which is often the catalyst to war (as we will see below, this has important implications for the war in Ukraine, which at the time of writing this blogpost remains unresolved). 

The second system assessed by Luttwak in the Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire, called “Antonine,” lasted roughly from 69 AD to the 3rd century AD. Here, we see the fruits of the successful system built by Augustus and his immediate predecessors: shared prosperity and Romanization. During this period, Roman technology, culture, and wealth radiated outwards from the capital to the provinces and clients across the empire. The paradox of this development is that Rome’s enemies also adopted Roman knowledge and technology and, consequently, became more advanced in terms of political organization and military capacity. They now posed a greater threat than previously, when they were scattered and mostly illiterate barbarian tribes who often fought among themselves (divisions which Rome strategically exploited, of course). 

As Rome’s enemies became stronger, the cost of providing security to the frontiers increased, and the client system became less and less useful. Now, Rome had to commit more resources and especially soldiers, but also building extensive barriers which divided the empire from its enemies; Hadrian’s wall in Northern England is the most famous example. The economy of force was now less favourable in the sense that military inputs were directly proportional to military outputs. This system was sustainable, of course, as long as available resources permitted. But the crises in the third century including plague, internal strife, and economic recession put serious strain and began the process of the empire’s unravelling. 

This led to the third and final system in Luttwak’s framework, in which Rome was constantly on the defensive, because of the twin pressures of internal decay and decline and the increase in barbarian strength. Under these conditions, Rome could less and less provide the empire’s raison d’etre: security to citizens, an essential condition for their prosperity. Meanwhile, the capital still demanded payment of taxes to fulfil its fiscal needs. Here, the calculations of Romans especially in the provinces and frontiers were altered; their obedience and willingness to pay taxes depended on Rome’s provision of security and prosperity, and when it could no longer be provided at a reasonable price, they became more willing to accept the security provided by Rome’s enemies. The Western part of empire consequently slowly unravelled until its demise in the fourth century.

These three systems, argues Luttwak, reflected, as per the book’s eponymous title, “Rome’s Grand Strategy.” Many scholars may be sceptical about this argument, given the following considerations: first, the concept of grand strategy is a contemporary one, and it seems anachronistic to apply it to antiquity. Second, and related, is that there is little evidence in the narrative sources that Romans thought systematically about international relations in the manner posited by Luttwak. Third, Romans lacked maps which allowed them to precisely delineate their frontiers, an a priori essential condition for strategic thinking about imperial policy. 

Luttwak begins his response to these critiques by challenging common notions of strategy. For most contemporary readers, the concept conjures images of specialized officials in a capital’s headquarters engaged in elaborate and systematic theorizing about the various costs and benefits of different approaches; this eventually results in an agreement of the most optimal way to move forward, itemized in some official document which then guides decisions. Readers of the Grand Strategy are invited to consider a rather non-intuitive but plausible definition of strategy as a reflection of the decisions made during the struggle of adversarial forces, which is refracted through the lens of culture and constrained by the available resources. Applied to Rome, decisions about the provision of security depended on the character of her enemies; if they were strong and were a major threat, Rome would send the legions on the offensive and militarily crush them; if the threat was minor, such as border raids by small tribes, the client system was sufficient. 

Threats were interpreted through Rome’s pragmatic unsentimental, and materialist culture, where close attention was paid to the allocation of precious resources, and adjustments were made if required by circumstances. By looking at the changes in how Rome managed its frontiers, we can distil insights on the drivers of imperial policy, which reveals a calculating and systematic thinking which would be obscured if we looked only at the textual sources. To illustrate this tendency, Luttwak compares Rome to the empires of Alexander the Great and Napoleon; the latter two, unlike Rome’s, were very short lived-in part because of the egotistical expansionism of the two emperors. Alexander and Napoleon, both of whom sought glory and conquest as an end in itself, lacked the pragmatism that would have perhaps led to a greater sensitivity of the material costs and benefits of a particular action, and to better decisions on how precious resources could be optimally allocated in a way that ensured the security and hence stability of their conquests. 

Roman Emperors, of course, boasted and waxed philosophical about Rome’s eternal mission to civilize and rule mankind. The reality was rather different, which is why Luttwak invites readers to make conclusions about what Romans actually did more than what they said. This observation is sound and could usefully be applied to imperial politics in the present day. If one were to pay attention only to the official documents produced in Washington’s bureaucratic-military machinery, one may conclude that the capital’s policy is to spread liberty to all mankind. The reality is perhaps more prosaic: establish relationships with countries regardless of the regime, provided they support the empire’s goals. Moreover, although officials may develop official documents on strategy, decisions will always flow from the strength of adversaries. In the present system, for example, the rise of China, and Russia’s willingness to sacrifice blood and treasure to push back against NATO expansion, are interpreted through reigning cultural paradigm of decision-makers in Washington. Decisions on the management of the empire’s boundaries and zones of influence will also be conditioned by ideas on how to allocate scarce resources of military inputs (soldiers, infrastructures, etc). The clearest example of this was former president Barak Obama’s “pivot to Asia,” which aimed to redistribute precious resources away from the Middle East and towards the far East, and includes strategic use of Washington’s Asian allies (Australia, Japan), protectorates (Taiwan) and clients (Philippines), to counter the rise China. 

The example of Armenia’s status as a neutral and buffer state to keep the peace between Rome and Parthia has important lessons for imperial politics in the present era. As is outlined in the Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire, the benefits were manifold, including reducing the outbreak of costly wars between the two ancient great powers, and in so doing, allowing Rome to allocate more resources to more troublesome frontiers such as Britain and Germany. Readers cannot avoid seeing the uncanny parallels with the war in Ukraine. After the country’s independence from the USSR, it committed itself to strict neutrality, but this was overturned in 2014, when Victor Yanukovych was overthrown in a coup. It subsequently made a commitment to join NATO, a military alliance which is perceived as hostile in Moscow. Before Russia invaded in January 2022, president Putin proposed a return to neutrality, which, according to Jeffrey Sachs, was rejected by the US and subsequently Ukraine. It is for this reason that Sachs, and many other commentators, affirm that Ukrainian military neutrality, in the form a strict commitment to not enter NATO, is a condition for peace between Russia and the West. Evidently, such an outcome may be in Washington’s interest; if its goal is to contain or counter the rise of China, an optimal allocation of resources would include finding a peaceful settlement over Ukraine so that more can be allocated to the Asian theatre. 

It may seem remarkable that Romans could make the types of calculations assumed in the Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire without the use of maps, but Luttwak plausibly argues that they could establish their frontiers via other methods. In some parts of the empire, they built barriers which clearly established the boundaries of inside/outside, and Hadrian’s wall was the clearest example. Elsewhere, there were natural barriers which performed the same function, such as the Rhine and the Danube in Germany. Where there was a lack of barriers, natural or manmade, the names of local tribes or peoples, and their relationship to Rome (client, neutral buffer, settlement, etc) sufficed. Moreover, Rome’s elaborate construction of roads, on top of precise travel itineraries for travel and for official correspondence, added to their geographical knowledge. Together, these elements gave the imperial capital an abstract representation of the empire’s boundaries sufficient to make decisions adumbrated above.  

Ultimately, no amount of strategizing can overcome the twin dynamics of internal division and weakness, on the one hand, and the increased strength of geopolitical rivals on the other. But it can make the difference between the egoistical hubris of short lived empires and the longer lifespan of more pragmatic ones like Rome.