By Brian Stewart
Friday, January 07, 2017
The Big Stick: The
Limits of Soft Power and the Necessity of Military Force, by Eliot A. Cohen
Basic Books, 304 pages, $27.99
On the first page of Zero
to One, Peter Thiel’s idiosyncratic manifesto on start-ups, the technology
entrepreneur and venture capitalist reveals his preferred strategy for
recruiting new talent. “Whenever I interview someone for a job, I like to ask
this question,” he writes. “‘What important truth do very few people agree with
you on?’”
Thiel explains that the question is daunting for two
reasons. “It’s intellectually difficult because the knowledge that everyone is
taught in school is by definition agreed upon. And it’s psychologically
difficult because anyone trying to answer must say something he knows to be
unpopular.” A proper response would not only be contrarian, it would likely
elicit a snort of derision from the evaluator.
My own answer (which wouldn’t get me far with Thiel, who
is a strident critic of American global hegemony) is that military might is an
indispensable instrument of national power. Bereft of America’s preparation and
frequent employment of armed force, the liberal world order would swiftly
deteriorate, and perhaps even collapse.
In today’s political climate, it is difficult to
exaggerate how out of fashion it is to utter this truth. Neither major
political party is willing to count itself among the tribe that still believes
unapologetically in America’s rightful role and responsibilities in the world.
The Obama presidency has been distinguished by its narrow reading of U.S.
interests and its reluctance to use force in defense of any wider mission civilisatrice. The incoming
Trump administration promises to accelerate this trend away from global
responsibility and toward a more common status for the United States in the
order of nations.
In The Big Stick,
Eliot Cohen dissents from this reigning consensus. A professor of Strategic
Studies at Johns Hopkins University and a former counselor to the State
Department, Cohen assigns himself the task of defending American military power
— what Theodore Roosevelt called “the big stick” — as the linchpin of
international order. The result is a bracing argument that restores this
woefully neglected dimension of statecraft to its proper position as “the last
argument of kings — or presidents.”
Cohen’s analysis is ineluctably shaped by his dark view
of human nature. Like Plato, he grasps that peace, not war, is the aberration
in human affairs. If history is any guide, order is not a natural feature of
the international environment but almost always an imposition by empires and
great powers — or, as the case has been since the end of the Second World War,
by a single great power: hence, Pax
Americana.
After the war, the United States became the guarantor of
world order, as that role had been vacated with the long, withdrawing roar of
British power. With vast tracts of the world in ruins, America crafted an
economic order at Bretton Woods to stimulate the free movement of goods, services,
capital, and labor. It also constructed a political order to promote liberal
and democratic institutions. And so the world has enjoyed, for more than 70
years, an era of unprecedented prosperity and freedom.
This progress took place in a world without major global
conflict, and that essential condition was made possible by a dominant power
maintaining order by force of arms. The forward deployment of U.S. forces in
Western Europe and East Asia suspended the cycles of war that historically made
those regions cauldrons of slaughter. This feature of the post-war world has
received scant attention precisely because few have noticed the absence of industrial-scale violence. It
is no less of an achievement because it has been unsung.
Against the intellectual fad of a post-American world,
Cohen notes that America remains “immensely strong across many dimensions of
power.” The evidence for this claim is compelling. From its demographic trends
(the best of any developed country) to its dynamic economy to its resilient
political system (albeit less resilient than it seemed before the election of
Trump), the United States maintains a clear edge over its competitors. It also
boasts an alliance portfolio that includes not only longtime friends but also
traditional adversaries (see Vietnam).
Advocates of a restrained American global role have
advanced two main lines of argument against the active maintenance of a free
and open international order. The first is that America’s deep engagement in
the world has become exorbitant. Cohen defends increased military spending by
comparing the current defense budget (slightly over 3 percent of GDP) with
historical averages (during the Cold War, it stood between 6 and 10 percent).
Contrary to popular belief, the nation’s long-term solvency is endangered not
by discretionary spending at the Pentagon but by steady increases in
nondiscretionary spending on so-called entitlements (e.g., Medicare and Social
Security). Half of the defense budget could be scrapped tomorrow without much
improving the nation’s fiscal outlook.
The second principal argument against a vigorous U.S.
global role is that humanity has become more peaceable as the inevitable result
of moral and material progress. On this view, an interdependent global economy
and the march of science and technology, along with universally accepted
“norms” of governance, have tamed the savagery of man.
Do we imagine, truly, that with the advent of the 21st
century the laws of history have somehow been suspended? That, even without
American power, “the underlying foundations of the liberal international order
will survive and thrive,” as the political scientist G. John Ikenberry puts it?
President Obama seems to harbor just that belief. He
failed to commit the United States to underwrite global security with the blood
of its citizens and the strength of its arms. To judge by his refrain that
“there is no military solution” to Russian aggression on the European landmass
(the first such land grab since World War II) or to the geopolitical
catastrophe in Syria, he was not persuaded that such sacrifices were any longer
necessary.
Alas, the better angels of our nature have not prevailed.
The forces of globalization have not created an age of universal peace. The
march of technology has not eliminated man’s deepest motives as spelled out
more than two millennia ago by Thucydides: fear, honor, and self-interest.
Cohen identifies the following dangers that will not be
deterred or constrained without considerable military power brought to bear by
the United States: the steady rise of China to the status of a superpower,
certainly in East Asia; the generational conflict with violent Islamist
movements; several powerful revisionist states, either nuclear-armed or
aspiring to nuclear status, seeking to rewrite global norms; and ungoverned
domains, both real (outer space) and virtual (cyberspace) in which rogue agents
or regimes expand their influence by waging unconventional warfare.
Military power is not the solution to every problem, of
course. Cohen gives soft power its due, observing that in the war against
Islamist terror the U.S. government has not made good use of nonviolent forms
of power. It’s baffling, for instance, that 15 years after September 11, 2001,
America has still not directed against radical Islam the kinds of propaganda
and subversion that were once hallmarks of the long struggle against Communism.
Soft power, however, is as inherently limited as hard
power. Determined foes are often better positioned to withstand, say, financial
sanctions than more-concentrated forms of power where America’s advantage is
more decisive. Cultural exchanges did not bring Osama bin Laden to justice.
Soft power has costs that Americans, in their self-absorption, tend to neglect.
As Cohen notes, the most appealing features of American culture, of rights for
women and minorities, is as likely to leave foreigners sputtering with rage as
it is to inspire emulation.
In a world full of enmity and evil, Cohen writes,
America’s “ability to act with good effect internationally is inseparable from
its military strength, and its ability to use that strength.” Military power is
a blunt instrument, a fact that should weigh against our using it recklessly,
not against using it at all. Cohen does not flinch from advocating the
judicious threat and exercise of force in situations of strategic threat or
humanitarian emergency. He distills a powerful truth when he posits that “U.S.
power serves American foreign policy less by its exercise than by its
potential; less by its action than by its menace.” Indeed, “the most beneficent
form of military strength is that which is so overwhelming that it need not be
used.”
If this observation sounds jarring, it merely proves how
circumscribed the discussion of military power has become. In an age when
American strength and leadership is waning, — by choice, not necessity — Cohen
offers his reluctant but adamant conclusion that violence is often “the least
bad policy choice.” Executives in Silicon Valley may continue to scoff at that
important truth, but as chaos and anarchy waxes around the world, such
imprudence is a luxury that policymakers in Washington, D.C., can ill afford.
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