HK PHILOSOPHY OF FOREIGN POLICY

<table><thead><tr><th></th><th>PAGE</th></tr></thead><tbody><tr><td>I. <u>EQUILIBRIUM, POWER, AND LEGITIMACY</u></td><td>2</td></tr><tr><td>A Structural Problem</td><td>2</td></tr><tr><td>Equilibrium and Legitimacy</td><td>4</td></tr><tr><td>The Nature of Power</td><td>10</td></tr><tr><td>II. <u>THE IMPACT OF DOMESTIC STRUCTURE</u></td><td>13</td></tr><tr><td>Bureaucracy</td><td>15</td></tr><tr><td>American Approach to Foreign Policy</td><td>19</td></tr><tr><td>III. <u>THE NATURE OF LEADERSHIP</u></td><td>28</td></tr><tr><td>Statesman versus Prophet</td><td>32</td></tr><tr><td>To Impose Purpose on Events</td><td>34</td></tr><tr><td>IV. <u>RELATIONS WITH THE SOVIET UNION</u></td><td>37</td></tr><tr><td>A Revolutionary Power</td><td>37</td></tr><tr><td>American Attitude to Negotiation</td><td>41</td></tr><tr><td>Containment</td><td>43</td></tr><tr><td>Détente</td><td>48</td></tr><tr><td>V. <u>EUROPE AND NATO</u></td><td>53</td></tr><tr><td>Improved Consultation</td><td>55</td></tr><tr><td>Strategic Doctrine</td><td>56</td></tr><tr><td>The MLF</td><td>60</td></tr><tr><td>Tactical Nuclear Weapons</td><td>62</td></tr><tr><td>Formulas for European Unity</td><td>63</td></tr><tr><td>Burden-sharing</td><td>66</td></tr><tr><td>The Problem of France</td><td>67</td></tr><tr><td>The Problem of Germany</td><td>71</td></tr><tr><td>The Future of the West</td><td>73</td></tr><tr><td>VI. <u>POLITICAL EVOLUTION: THE NEW NATIONS</u></td><td>75</td></tr><tr><td>Third World Leaders</td><td>75</td></tr><tr><td>Guerrilla War</td><td>77</td></tr><tr><td>Economic Growth and Political Democracy</td><td>78</td></tr><tr><td>VII. <u>THE RELEVANCE OF HISTORY</u></td><td>83</td></tr></tbody></table>

This is a quick compilation of major themes drawn from
the following works:

-- *A World Restored* (1957)

-- *Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy* (1957)

-- *Necessity for Choice* (1961)

-- "Reflections on Cuba" (*The Reporter*, Nov. 22, 1962)

-- *The Troubled Partnership* (1965)

-- *Problems of National Strategy* (1965)

-- "Domestic Structure and Foreign Policy" (*Daedalus*,
Spring 1966)

-- "The White Revolutionary: Reflections on Bismarck,"  
  (*Daedalus*, Summer 1968)

-- "Central Issues of American Foreign Policy,"  
  (Brookings, 1968)

I have concentrated on philosophical themes and have
therefore left out some particular subjects such as the debate
over limited nuclear war in the '50's. Your views on Vietnam
before 1969 are covered elsewhere. The materials which follow
cover basic themes such as equilibrium and legitimacy, the
nature of power, domestic structure, bureaucracy, the problem of
leadership, negotiation with the Soviet Union as a revolutionary
power, relations with Europe, and political evolution in the
new nations.

Peter W. Rodman
December 20, 1977

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# I. EQUILIBRIUM, POWER, AND LEGITIMACY

Analysis of contemporary international relations begins with the perception that the underlying issue is a deep-seated structural problem, rather than a series of isolated upheavals. Many structural changes have combined to make the late twentieth century a period of unusual instability:

> "The twentieth century has known little repose. Since the turn of the century, international crises have been increasing in both frequency and severity. The contemporary unrest, although less apocalyptic than the two world wars which spawned it, is even more profoundly revolutionary in nature.

> "The essence of a revolution is that it appears to contemporaries as a series of more or less unrelated upheavals. The temptation is great to treat each issue as an immediate and isolated problem which once surmounted will permit the fundamental stability of the international order to reassert itself. But the crises which form the headlines of the day are symptoms of deep-seated structural problems. The international system which produced stability for a century collapsed under the impact of two world wars. The age of the superpowers, which temporarily replaced it, is nearing its end. The current international environment is in turmoil because its essential elements are all in flux simultaneously.

***

> "The revolutionary character of our age can be summed up in three general statements: (a) the number of participants in the international order has increased and their nature has altered; (b) their technical ability to affect each other has vastly grown; (c) the scope of their purposes has expanded.

> "Whenever the participants of the international system change, a period of profound dislocation is inevitable. They can change because new states enter the political system, or because there is a change in values as to what constitutes legitimate rule, or finally, because of the reduction in influence of some traditional units. In our period, all of these factors have combined.

***

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"As the number of participants has increased, technology has multiplied the resources available for the conduct of foreign policy. A scientific revolution has, for all practical purposes, removed technical limits from the exercise of power in foreign policy. It has magnified insecurities because it has made survival seem to depend on the accidents of a technological breakthrough.

"This trend has been compounded by the nature of con-
temporary domestic structures. . . . It is an ironic
result of the democratization of politics that it has
enabled states to marshal ever more resources for their
competition.

"Ideological conflict compounds these instabilities. . . .

"When there is ideological conflict, political loyalties no longer coincide with political boundaries. Conflicts among states merge with divisions within nations; the dividing line between domestic and foreign policy begins to disappear. At least some states feel threatened not only by the foreign policy of other countries but also, and perhaps especially, by domestic transformations.

***

"Military bipolarity is a source of rigidity in foreign policy. The guardians of the equilibrium of the nineteenth century were prepared to respond to change with counteradjustment; the policy makers of the superpowers in the second half of the twentieth century have much less confidence in the ability of the equilibrium to right itself after disturbance. Whatever 'balance' there is between the superpowers is regarded as both precarious and inflexible. A bipolar world loses the perspective for nuance; a gain for one side appears as an absolute loss for the other. Every issue seems to involve a question of survival. . . .

"But the age of the superpowers is now drawing to an end. Military bipolarity has not only failed to prevent, it has actually encouraged, political multipolarity. Weaker allies have good reason to believe that their defense is in the overwhelming interest of their senior partner. Hence, they see no need to purchase its support by acquiescence in its policies. The new nations feel protected by the rivalry of the superpowers, and their nationalism leads to ever bolder assertions of self-will. Traditional uses of power have become less feasible, and new forms of pressure have emerged as a result of trans-national loyalties and weak domestic structures.

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"This political multipolarity does not necessarily guarantee stability. Rigidity is diminished, but so is manageability. Nationalism may succeed in curbing the preeminence of the superpowers; it remains to be seen whether it can supply an integrating concept more successfully in this century than in the last. Few countries have the interest and only the superpowers have the resources to become informed about global issues. As a result, diplomacy is often geared to domestic politics and more concerned with striking a pose than contributing to international order. Equilibrium is difficult to achieve among states widely divergent in values, goals, expectations, and previous experience.

"The greatest need of the contemporary international system is an agreed concept of order. In its absence, the awesome available power is unrestrained by any consensus as to legitimacy; ideology and nationalism, in their different ways, deepen international schisms. Many of the elements of stability which characterized the international system in the nineteenth century cannot be re-created in the modern age. The stable technology, the multiplicity of major powers, the limited domestic claims, and the frontiers which permitted adjustments are gone forever. A new concept of international order is essential; without it stability will prove elusive." ("Central Issues of American Foreign Policy," Borokings, 1968, pp. 585-588.)

International order, by this analysis, rests on the two pillars of **equilibrium and legitimacy**: a balance of forces and a general acceptance of the international framework that limits the scope and methods of conflict. Diplomacy in the classic sense is possible only if these conditions are met:

"But the attainment of peace is not as easy as the desire for it. Not for nothing is history associated with the figure of Nemesis, which defeats man by fulfilling his wishes in a different form or by answering his prayers too completely. Those ages which in retrospect seem most peaceful were least in search of peace. Those whose quest for it seems unending appear least able to achieve tranquility. Whenever peace--conceived as the avoidance of war--has been the primary objective of a power or a group of powers, the international system has been at the mercy of the most ruthless member of the international community. Whenever the international order has acknowledged that certain principles could not be compromised even for the sake of peace, stability based on an equilibrium of forces was at least conveivable.

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"Stability, then, has commonly resulted not from a quest for peace but from a generally accepted legitimacy. 'Legitimacy' as here used should not be confused with justice. It means no more than an international agreement about the nature of workable arrangements and about the permissible aims and methods of foreign policy. It implies the acceptance of the framework of the international order by all major powers, at least to the extent that no state is so dissatisfied that, like Germany after the Treaty of Versailles, it expresses its dissatisfaction in a revolutionary foreign policy. A legitimate order does not make conflicts impossible, but it limits their scope. Wars may occur, but they will be fought in the *name of* the existing structure and the peace which follows will be justified as a better expression of the 'legitimate,' general consensus. Diplomacy in the classic sense, the adjustment of differences through negotiation, is possible only in 'legitimate' international orders." (*A World Restored*, pp. 1-2.)

A moral consensus is important but not enough without an equilibrium of forces:

"It is not surprising that Castlereagh and Metternich were statesmen of the equilibrium, seeking security in a balance of forces. Their goal was stability, not perfection, and the balance of power is the classic expression of the lesson of history that no order is safe without physical safeguards against aggression. Thus the new international order came to be created with a sufficient awareness of the connection between power and morality; between security and legitimacy. No attempt was made to found it entirely on submission to a legitimizing principle; this is the quest of the prophet and dangerous because it presupposes the self-restraint of sanctity. But neither was power considered self-limiting; the experience of the conqueror had proved the opposite. Rather, there was created a balance of forces which, because it conferred a relative security, came to be generally accepted, and whose relationships grew increasingly spontaneous as its legitimacy came to be taken for granted." (*A World Restored*, pp. 317-18.)

At the same time, an equilibrium of power is insufficient without some moral consensus:

"The stability of any international system depends on at least two factors: the degree to which its components feel secure and the extent to which they agree on the 'justice' or 'fairness' of existing arrangements. Security presupposes a balance of power that makes it difficult for any state or group of states to impose its will on the remainder.

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Too great a disproportion of strength undermines self-restraint in the powerful and induces irresponsibility in the weak. Considerations of power are not enough, however, since they turn every disagreement into a test of strength. Equilibrium is needed for stability; moral consensus is essential for spontaneity. In the absence of agreement as to what constitutes a 'just' or 'reasonable' claim, no basis for negotiation exists. Emphasis will be on the subversion of loyalties rather than on the settlement of disputes. Peaceful change is possible only if the members of the international order value it beyond any dispute that may arise." ("The White Revolutionary: Reflections on Bismarck," *Daedalus*, Summer 1968, pp. 899-900.)

The task of statesmanship in fashioning a peace settlement is to create the conditions of self-restraint, both intrinsic and extrinsic. The key concepts are limitation of power, proportion, self-restraint. A constructive peace settlement is based on a conception of the future, not retribution for the past:

> "Although every war is fought in the name of peace, there is a tendency to define peace as the absence of war and to confuse it with military victory. To discuss conditions of peace during wartime seems almost indecent, as if the admission that the war might end could cause a relaxation of the effort. This is no accident. The logic of war is power, and power has no inherent limit. The logic of peace is proportion, and proportion implies limitation. The success of war is victory; the success of peace is stability. The conditions of victory are commitment, the condition of stability is self-restraint. The motivation of war is extrinsic: the fear of an enemy. The motivation of peace is intrinsic: the balance of forces and the acceptance of its legitimacy. A war without an enemy is inconceivable; a peace built on the myth of an enemy is an armistice. It is the temptation of war to punish; it is the task of policy to construct. Power can sit in judgment, but statesmanship must look to the future." (A World Restored, p. 138.)

Diplomacy is indeed defined as "the art of restraining the exercise of power" (A World Restored, p. 2.)

It is inevitably difficult to reconcile the international requirements of equilibrium with the domestic requirements of national identity. A just equilibrium will probably make all parties equally unhappy, since absolute security for one would mean absolute insecurity for all others:

> "Any international settlement represents a stage in a process by which a nation reconciles its vision of itself

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with the vision of it by other powers. To itself, a
nation appears as an expression of justice, and the
more spontaneous its pattern of social obligations, the
more this is true; for government functions effectively
only when most citizens obey voluntarily and they will
obey only to the extent that they consider the demands
of their rulers just. To others, it appears as a force
or an expression of will. This is inevitable because
external sovereignty can be controlled only by superior
force and because foreign policy must be planned on the
basis of the otherside's capabilities and not merely of
its intentions. Could a power achieve all its wishes,
it would strive for absolute security, a world-order
free from the consciousness of foreign danger and where
all problems have the manageability of domestic issues.
But since absolute security for one power means absolute
insecurity for all others, it is never obtainable as a
part of a "legitimate" settlement, and can be achieved
only through conquest.

"For this reason an international settlement which is accepted and not imposed will always appear somewhat unjust to any one of its components. Paradoxically, the generality of this dissatisfaction is a condition of stability, because were any one power totally satisfied, all others would have to be totally dissatisfied and a revolutionary situation would ensue. The foundation of a stable order is the relative security -- and therefore the relative insecurity -- of its members. Its stability reflects, not the absence of unsatisfied claims, but the absence of a grievance of such magnitude that redress will be sought in overturning the settlement rather than through an adjustment within its framework. An order whose structure is accepted by all major powers is 'legitimate.' An order containing a power which considers its structure oppressive is 'revolutionary.' The security of a domestic order resides in the preponderant power of authority, that of an international order in the balance of forces and in its expression, the equilibrium." (A World Restored, pp. 144-145.)

The requirements of security must be reconciled with the
claims of legitimacy. This is not a mechanical problem,
again because of nations' historical sense of self and of
their relationship to each other:

"The major problem of an international settlement, then, is
so to relate the claims of legitimacy to the requirements

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of security that no power will express its dissatisfaction in a revolutionary policy, and so to arrange the balance of forces as to deter aggression produced by causes other than the conditions of the settlement. This is not a mechanical problem. If the international order could be constructed with the clarity of a mathematical axiom, powers would consider themselves as factors in a balance and arrange their adjustments to achieve a perfect equilibrium between the forces of aggression and the forces of resistance. But an exact balance is impossible, and not only because of the difficulty of predicting the aggressor. It is chimerical, above all, because while powers may appear to outsiders as factors in a security arrangement, they appear domestically as expressions of a historical existence. No power will submit to a settlement, however well-balanced and however 'secure,' which seems totally to deny its vision of itself. No consideration of balance could induce Britain to surrender the maritime rights or Austria its German position, because their notion of 'justice' was inseparable from those claims. There exist two kinds of equilibrium then: a general equilibrium which makes it risky for one power or group of powers to attempt to impose their will on the remainder; and a particular equilibrium which defines the historical relation of certain powers among each other. The former is the deterrent against a general war; the latter the condition of smooth co-operation. An international order is therefore rarely born out of the consciousness of harmony. For even when there is an agreement about legitimacy, the conceptions of the requirements of security will differ with the geographical position and the history of the contending powers. Out of just such a conflict over the nature of the equilibrium the Congress of Vienna fashioned a settlement which lasted for almost exactly a century." (A World Restored, pp. 146-147.)

Such a policy, however, often arouses domestic resistance--pressures against moderation--because the requirements of equilibrium are never identical to domestic notions of justice:

"There was one man at Paris, however, who for a brief three months represented the conscience of Europe. It is difficult to explain why it should have been Castlereagh who resisted the Prussian clamour for the dismemberment of France in which even Metternich joined to the extent of demanding the permanent dismantling of the outer belt of French fortifications. Or why he should have refused to go along with the Cabinet and Parliament, both urging

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a punitive peace. Yet France was spared and the equilib-
rium of Europe saved by the representative of the insular
power which stood in least danger from immediate attack.
At no other time in his career did Castlereagh show to
greater advantage than in his battle for the equilibrium
at Paris. Misunderstood at home, without the support of
the moral framework which Metternich had provided in
previous frays, he conducted himself with his customary
methodical reserve, cumbersomely persuasive, motivated
by an instinct always surer than his capacity for ex-
pression. This was the man on whom Europe for two
generations heaped opprobrium as the destroyer of its
liberties, because so much had the political equilibrium
come to be taken for granted that the social contest
overshadowed all else; to the extent that it was for-
gotten that without the political structure so resolutely
preserved by Castlereagh, there would have been no social
substance left to contend for.

"As Castlereagh prepared to discuss the treaty of peace, all pressures operated against moderation. An impotent enemy is a fact; a reconciled enemy a conjecture. A territorial accretion represents the surety of possession; to integrate an opponent into the community of nations through self-restraint is an expression of faith. It is no accident that the advocates of 'absolute security' always have popular support on their side. Theirs is the sanction of the present, but statesmanship must deal with the future." (A World Restored, pp. 179-180.)

In the United States, too, there is an historical aversion
to power, even though maintaining the global balance is the
precondition of any positive goals:

"Related to this is our reluctance to think in terms of
power. To be sure, American expansion, both economic and
geographic, was not accomplished without a judicious
application of power. But our Calvinist heritage has
required success to display the attribute of justice.
Even our great fortunes, however accumulated, were almost
invariably held to impose a social obligation; the great
foundation is after all a peculiarly American phenomenon.
As a nation we have used power almost shamefacedly, as
if it were inherently wicked. We have wanted to be liked
for our own sakes and we have wished to succeed because
of the persuasiveness of our principles rather than
through our strength. Our feeling of guilt with respect
to power has caused us to transform all wars into cru-
sades and then to apply our power in the most absolute
terms. We have rarely found intermediary ways to use our
power and in those cases we have done so reluctantly.

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"But foreign policy cannot be conducted without an awareness of power relationships. To be sure, force alone will not overcome the contemporary revolution. An imaginative diplomacy and bold programs are required if we are to identify ourselves with the aspirations of humanity. But unless we maintain at least an equilibrium of power between us and the Soviet bloc, we will have no chance to undertake any positive measures. And maintaining this equilibrium may require some very difficult choices." (Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy, p. 243.)

The contemporary problem of equilibrium is compounded by the extraordinary complexity of the nature of power in the modern world:

"Throughout history, military power was considered the final recourse. Statesmen treated the acquisition of additional power as an obvious and paramount objective. As recently as twenty-five years ago, it would have been inconceivable that a country could possess too much strength for effective political use; every increment of power was--at least theoretically--politically effective. The minimum aim was to assure the impermeability of the territory. Until the Second World War, a state's strength could be measured by its ability to protect its population from attack.

"The nuclear age has destroyed this traditional measure. Increasing strength no longer necessarily confers the ability to protect the population. No foreseeable force level--not even full-scale ballistic missile defenses--can prevent levels of damage eclipsing those of the two world wars. In these conditions, the major problem is to discipline power so that it bears a rational relationship to the objectives likely to be in dispute. The paradox of contemporary military strength is that a gargantuan increase in power has eroded its relationship to policy. The major nuclear powers are capable of devastating each other. But they have great difficulty translating this capability into policy except to prevent direct challenges to their own survival--and this condition is interpreted with increasing strictness. The capacity to destroy is difficult to translate into a plausible threat even against countries with no capacity for retaliation. The margin of superiority of the superpowers over the other states is widening; yet other nations have an unprecedented scope for autonomous action. In relations with many domestically weak countries, a radio transmitter can be a more effective form of pressure than a squadron of B-52s. In other words, power no longer translates automatically into influence. This does not mean that impotence increases influence, only that power does not automatically confer it.

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"This state of affairs has profound consequences for traditional notions of balance of power. In the past, stability has always presupposed the existence of an equilibrium of power which prevented one state from imposing its will on the others.

"The traditional criteria for the balance of power were territorial. A state could gain overwhelming superiority only by conquest; hence, as long as territorial expansion was foreclosed, or severely limited, the equilibrium was likely to be preserved. In the contemporary period, this is no longer true. Some conquests add little to effective military strength; major increases in power are possible entirely through developments within the territory of a sovereign state. China gained more in real military power through the acquisition of nuclear weapons than if it had conquered all of Southeast Asia. ...

"This would be difficult enough were technology stable. It becomes enormously complicated when a scientific revolution produces an upheaval in weapons technology at five-year intervals. Slogans like 'superiority,' 'parity,' 'assured destruction,' compete unencumbered by clear definitions of their operational military significance, much less a consensus on their political implications.

"In short, as power has grown more awesome, it has also turned abstract, intangible, elusive. Deterrence has become the dominant military policy. But deterrence depends above all on psychological criteria. It seeks to keep an opponent from a given course by posing unacceptable risks. For purposes of deterrence, the opponent's calculations are decisive. A bluff taken seriously is more useful than a serious threat interpreted as a bluff. For political purposes, the meaningful measurement of military strength is the assessment of it by the other side. Psychological criteria vie in importance with strategic doctrine.

"The abstract nature of modern power affects domestic disputes profoundly. Deterrence is tested negatively by things which do not happen. But it is never possible to demonstrate why something has not occurred. Is it because we are pursuing the best possible policy or only a marginally effective one? Bitter debate even among those who believe in the necessity of defense policy is inevitable and bound to be inconclusive. Moreover, the longer peace is maintained--or the more successful deterrence is--the more it furnishes arguments for those who are opposed to

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the very premises of defense policy. Perhaps there was no need for preparedness in the first place because the opponent never meant to attack. In the modern state, national security is likely to be a highly divisive domestic issue." ("Central Issues of American Foreign Policy," pp. 589-591.)

Yet it is absolutely essential for a nation to think strategically, even if this means hard moral choices between ideal principles and the necessities of survival:

"A power can survive only if it is willing to fight for its interpretations of justice and its conception of vital interests. The test comes in its awareness of where to draw the line and for what issues to contend. That is why it is so crucial for the United States to become clear about the nature of our stategic interests in the world. It would be comforting if we could confine our actions to situations in which our moral, legal, and military positions are completely in harmony and where legitimacy is most in accord with the requirements of survival. But as the strongest power in the world, we will probably never again be afforded the simple moral choices on which we could insist in our more secure past. The thrust of Soviet aggression will always be directed at the weak points in our armor and to issues in which our psychological inhibitions are at a maximum. To deal with problems of such ambiguity presupposes above all a moral act: a willingness to run risks on partial knowledge and for a less than perfect application of one's principles. The insistence on absolutes, either in assessing the provocation or in evaluating possible remedies, is a prescription for inaction." (Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy, pp. 244-245.)

Similarly, peace, as well as survival, can be ensured only if the objective conditions of equilibrium are maintained:

"Whenever peace--conceived as the avoidance of war--has become the primary objective of a power or group of powers, international relations have been at the mercy of the state willing to forego peace. To entrust the fate of a country entirely to the continued good will of another sovereign state is an abdication of statesmanship; it means that survival is completely dependent on factors outside of one's own control. Peace, therefore, cannot be aimed at directly; it is the expression of certain conditions and power relationships. It is to these relationships--not to peace as such--that diplomacy must address itself." (Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy, p. 244.)

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## II. THE IMPACT OF DOMESTIC STRUCTURE

Domestic structure is a crucial determinant of national policy in two ways:

"The acid test of a policy, however, is its ability to obtain domestic support. This has two aspects: the problem of legitimizing a policy within the governmental apparatus, which is a problem of bureaucratic rationality; and that of harmonizing it with the national experience, which is a problem of historical development." (A World Restored, p. 326.)

The commensurability or incommensurability of nations' domestic structures is a determinant of international stability:

"In the traditional conception, international relations are conducted by political units treated almost as personalities. The domestic structure is taken as given; foreign policy begins where domestic policy ends.

"But this approach is appropriate only to stable periods because then the various components of the international system generally have similar conceptions of the 'rules of the game.' If the domestic structures are based on commensurable notions of what is just, a consensus about permissible aims and methods of foreign policy develops. If domestic structures are reasonably stable, temptations to use an adventurous foreign policy to achieve domestic cohesion are at a minimum. In these conditions, leaders will generally apply the same criteria and hold similar views about what constitutes a 'reasonable' demand. This does not guarantee agreement, but it provides the condition for a meaningful dialogue, that is, it sets the stage for traditional diplomacy.

"When the domestic structures are based on fundamentally different conceptions of what is just, the conduct of international affairs grows more complex. Then it becomes difficult even to define the nature of disagreement because what seems most obvious to one side appears most problematic to the other. A policy dilemma arises because the pros and cons of a given course seem evenly balanced. The definition of what constitutes a problem and what criteria are relevant in 'solving' it reflects to a considerable extent the domestic notions of what is just, the pressures produced by the decisionmaking process, and the experience which forms the leaders in their rise to eminence. When domestic structures--and the concept of legitimacy on which they are based--differ widely, statesmen can still meet, but their ability to persuade has been reduced for they no longer speak the same language.

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"This can occur even when no universal claims are made. Incompatible domestic structures can passively generate a gulf, simply because of the difficulty of achieving a consensus about the nature of 'reasonable' aims and methods. But when one or more states claim universal applicability for their particular structure, schisms grow deep indeed. In that event, the domestic structure becomes not only an obstacle to understanding but one of the principal issues in international affairs. Its requirements condition the conception of alternatives; survival seems involved in every dispute.

***

"At a minimum, it determines the amount of the total social effort which can be devoted to foreign policy. The wars of the kings who governed by divine right were limited because feudal rulers, bound by customary law, could not levy income taxes or conscript their subjects. The French Revolution, which based its policy on a doctrine of popular will, mobilized resources on a truly national scale for the first time. This was one of the principal reasons for the startling successes of French arms against a hostile Europe which possessed greater over-all power. The ideological regimes of the twentieth century have utilized a still larger share of the national effort. This has enabled them to hold their own against an environment possessing far superior resources.

"Aside from the allocation of resources, the domestic structure crucially affects the way the actions of other states are interpreted. . . . The actual choice has been determined to a considerable degree by their interpretation of the environment and by their leaders' conception of alternatives. . . .

"The domestic structure is decisive finally in the elaboration of positive goals. The most difficult, indeed tragic, aspect of foreign policy is how to deal with the problem of conjecture. When the scope for action is greatest, knowledge on which to base such action is small or ambiguous. When knowledge becomes available, the ability to affect events is usually at a minimum. In 1936, no one could know whether Hitler was a misunderstood nationalist or a maniac. By the time certainty was achieved, it had to be paid for with millions of lives.

"The conjectural element of foreign policy--the need to gear actions to an assessment that cannot be proved true when it is made--is never more crucial than in a revolutionary period. Then, the old order is obviously disintegrating while the shape of its replacement is highly

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uncertain. Everything depends, therefore, on some
conception of the future. But varying domestic structures
can easily produce different assessments of the significance
of existing trends and, more importantly, clashing criteria
for resolving these differences. This is the dilemma of
our time." ("Domestic Structure and Foreign Policy,"
*Daedalus*, Spring 1966, pp. 503-505.)

Bureaucracy is the first domestic limiting condition.
Bureaucratic norms of predictability, routinization, the premium
on technical expertise, and the requirements of organizational
morale are major constraints on the policymaker's freedom of
action:

"In the contemporary period, the very nature of the govern-
mental structure introduces an element of rigidity which
operates more or less independently of the convictions of
statesmen or the ideology which they represent. Issues are
too complex and relevant facts too manifold to be dealt
with on the basis of personal intuition. An institutional-
ization of decision-making is an inevitable by-product of
the risks of international affairs in the nuclear age.
Moreover, almost every modern state is dedicated to some
theory of 'planning'--the attempt to structure the future
by understanding and, if necessary, manipulating the
environment. Planning involves a quest for predictability
and, above all, for 'objectivity.' There is a deliberate
effort to reduce the relevant elements of a problem to a
standard of average performance. The vast bureaucratic
mechanisms that emerge develop a momentum and a vested
interest of their own. As they grow more complex, their
internal standards of operation are not necessarily
commensurable with those of other countries or even with
other bureaucratic structures in the same country. There
is a trend toward autarky. A paradoxical consequence may
be that increased control over the domestic environment
is purchased at the price of loss of flexibility in
international affairs.

"The purpose of bureaucracy is to divise a standard opera-
ting procedure which can cope effectively with most
problems. A bureaucracy is efficient if the matters which
it handles routinely are in fact the most frequent and if
its procedures are relevant to their solution. If those
criteria are met, the energies of the top leadership are
freed to deal creatively with the unexpected occurrence
or with the need for innovation. Bureaucracy becomes an
obstacle when what it defines as routine does not address
the most significant range of issues or when its prescribed
mode of action proves irrelevant to the problem.

***

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"Something like this seems to be characteristic of modern bureaucratic states whatever their ideology. In societies with a pragmatic tradition, such as the United States, there develops a greater concern with an analysis of where one is than where one is going. What passes for planning is frequently the projection of the familiar into the future. In societies based on ideology, doctrine is institutionalized and exegesis takes the place of innovation. Creativity must make so many concessions to orthodoxy that it may exhaust itself in doctrinal adaptations. In short, the accumulation of knowledge of the bureaucracy and the impersonality of its method of arriving at decisions can be achieved at a high price. Decision-making can grow so complex that the process of producing a bureaucratic consensus may overshadow the purpose of the effort.

***

"The rigidity in the policies of the technologically advanced societies is in no small part due to the complexity of decision-making. Crucial problems may--and frequently do--go unrecognized for a long time. But once the decision-making apparatus has disgorged a policy, it becomes very difficult to change it. The alternative to the status quo is the prospect of repeating the whole anguishing process of arriving at decisions. This explains to some extent the curious phenomenon that decisions taken with enormous doubt and perhaps with a close division become practically sacrosanct once adopted. The whole administrative machinery swings behind their implementation as if activity could still all doubts.

***

"Then, too, the staffs on which modern executives come to depend develop a momentum of their own. What starts out as an aid to decision-makers often turns into a practically autonomous organization whose internal problems structure and sometimes compound the issues which it was originally designed to solve. The decision-maker will always be aware of the morale of his staff. Though he has the authority, he cannot overrule it too frequently without impairing its efficiency; and he may, in any event, lack the knowledge to do so. Placating the staff then becomes a major preoccupation of the executive. A form of administrative democracy results, in which a decision often reflects an attainable consensus rather than substantive conviction (or at least the two imperceptibly merge). The internal requirements of the bureaucracy may come to predominate over the purposes which it was intended to serve. This is probably even more true in highly institutionalized Communist states--such as the U.S.S.R.--than in the United States." ("Domestic Structure and Foreign Policy," pp. 506-509.)

-17-

Such bureaucratic constraints are inconsistent with the
requirements of creativity or inspiration:

"Thus, national security policy mirrors a social and
political problem: where to strike the balance between
the requirements of organization and the need for in-
spiration. Organization expresses the importance of
continuity; the routine by which it operates represents
a recognition that a society must be able to assimilate
and utilize mediocrity. Inspiration, on the other hand,
is the mechanism of growth; it is the ability to tran-
scend a framework that has come to be taken for granted.
The stability of a society depends on its skill in or-
ganization, which enables it to react mechanically to
'ordinary' problems and to utilize its resources to
best effect. The greatness of a society derives from
its willingness to chart new ground beyond the confines
of routine. Without organization, every problem becomes
a special case. Without inspiration, a society will
stagnate; it will lose the ability to adopt to new cir-
cumstances or to generate new goals.

"There is a temptation to confuse this with smoothly
running administration. But efficient administration,
though necessary, is not enough. A smoothly working
bureaucracy creates the illusion of running by itself;
it seeks to reduce all problems to administrative terms.
The basic motivation of a bureaucracy is its quest for
safety; its preferences favor a policy of minimum risk.
A bureaucracy, therefore, tends to exaggerate the tech-
nical complexities of its problems and to seek to reduce
questions of judgment to a minimum. Technical problems
are susceptible to 'objective' analysis, whereas
questions of judgment contain too many uncertain elements.
An administrative mechanism has a bias in favor of the
status quo, however arrived at. Short of an unambiguous
catastrophe, the status quo has the advantage of familiarity.
No 'objective' criteria can prove that a change of course
will yield superior results. The inclination of a bureau-
cracy is to deny the possibility of great conception by
classifying it as 'unsound,' 'risky,' or according to other
terms that show a preference for equilibrium over excep-
tional performance. It is no accident that most great
statesmen were opposed by the 'experts' in their foreign
offices, for the very greatness of the statesman's con-
ception tends to make it inaccessible to those whose pri-
mary concern is with safety and minimum risk.

"A society owes its vitality to its ability to strike a
balance between the requirement of organization and the

-18-

need for inspiration. Too much stress on organization leads to bureaucratization and the withering of imagination. Excessive emphasis on inspiration produces a tour de force without continuity or organizational stability. The best solution is a bureaucracy that runs smoothly enough to take care of ordinary problems as a matter of routine, but not so pervasive as to inhibit the creative thought that is inseparable from true leadership." (Problems of National Strategy, pp. 425-427.)

Understanding of the relationship of measures to each other, a sense of proportion -- these are at war with the bureaucratic quest for certainty. Administrative structures which are well suited to domestic policy management are usually ill suited to diplomacy:

"For the spirit of policy and that of bureaucracy are diametrically opposed. The essence of policy is its contingency; its success depends on the correctness of an estimate which is in part conjectural. The essence of bureaucracy is its quest for safety; its success is calculability. Profound policy thrives on perpetual creation, on a constant redefinition of goals. Good administration thrives on routine, the definition of relationships which can survive mediocrity. Policy involves an adjustment of risks; administration an avoidance of deviation. Policy justifies itself by the relationship of its measures and its sense of proportion; administration by the rationality of each action in terms of a given goal. The attempt to conduct policy bureaucratically leads to a quest for calculability which tends to become a prisoner of events. The effort to administer politically leads to total irresponsibility, because bureaucracies are designed to execute, not to conceive.

"The temptation to conduct policy administratively is ever present, because most governments are organized primarily for the conduct of domestic policy, whose chief problem is the implementation of social decisions, a task which is limited only by its technical feasibility. But the concern with technical problems in foreign affairs leads to a standard which evaluates by mistakes avoided rather than by goals achieved, and to a belief that ability is more likely to be judged by the pre-vision of catastrophes than the discovery of opportunities. It is not surprising that, at the height of the dispute in Vienna in 1814, Vansittart simply denied the reality of the Russian threat, or that Stadion in 1821 protested against the drain on the Austrian treasury of a campaign against Piedmont. In each instance the risks were immediately apparent, while the dangers were

-19-

either symbolic or deferred; in each case the quest for
determinacy took the form of denying the reality of the
danger." (<u>A World Restored</u>, pp. 326-327.)

These tendencies of bureaucracy are compounded in the
United States by some habits of thought and action, the
product of a unique national experience, which give rise to
a distinctively American approach to foreign policy. Among
these American character traits are an empiricist (or pragma-
tist) philosophy which produces ad hocism and tentativeness,
among other characteristics:

"Foremost among the attitudes which affect the making of our policy is American empiricism and its quest for certainty: nothing is 'true' unless it is 'objective,' and it is not 'objective' unless it is part of experience. This makes for the absence of dogmatism and for the ease of social relations. But it has pernicious consequences in the conduct of policy. Policy is the art of weighing probabilities; mastery of it lies in grasping the nuances of possibilities. To attempt to conduct it as a science must lead to rigidity. For only the risks are certain; the opportunities are conjectural. One cannot be 'sure' about the implications of events until they have happened, and when they have occurred it is too late to do anything about them. Empiricism in foreign policy leads to a penchant for ad hoc solutions. The rejection of dogmatism inclines our policy makers to postpone committing themselves until all facts are in; but by the time the facts are in, a crisis has usually developed or an opportunity has passed. Our policy is, therefore, geared to dealing with emergencies; it finds difficulty in developing the long-range program that might forestall them." (<u>Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy</u>, p. 240.)

"The bureaucratization of our society reflects not only a growing specialization but also deep-seated philosophical attitudes all the more pervasive for rarely being made explicit. Two generations of Americans have been shaped by the pragmatic conviction that inadequate performance is somehow the result of a failure to understand an 'objective' environment properly and that group effort is valuable in itself. The interaction of several minds is supposed to broaden the range of 'experience,' and 'experience' is believed to be the ultimate source of knowledge. Pragmatism, at least in its generally accepted forms, produces a tendency to identify a policy issue with the search for empirical data. It sees in consensus a test of validity. Pragmatism is more concerned with method than with judgment. Or, rather, it seeks to reduce judgment to methodology and value to knowledge.

-20-

"The result is a greater concern with the collection of facts than with an interpretation of their significance. There occurs a multiplication of advisory staffs and a great reliance on study groups of all types, whose chief test is unanimity. Disagreement is considered a reflection on the objectivity or the judgment of the participants. Each difficulty calls into being new panels, which frequently act as if nothing had ever been done before, partly, at least, because the very existence of a problem is taken as an indication of the inadequacy of the previous advice.

"The problem is magnified by the personal humility which is one of the most attractive American traits. Most Americans are convinced that no one is ever entirely 'right,' or, as the saying goes, that if there is disagreement each party is probably a little in error. The fear of dogmatism pervades the American scene. But the corollary of the tentativeness of most views is an incurable inner insecurity. Even very eminent people are reluctant to stand alone. Torn between the desire to be bold and the wish to be popular, they would like to see their boldness certified, as it were, by general approbation. Philosophical conviction and psychological bias thus combine to produce in and out of government a penchant for policy-making by committee. The obvious insurance against the possibility of error is to obtain as many opinions as possible. And unanimity is important, in that its absence is a standing reminder of the tentativeness of the course adopted. The committee approach to decision making is often less an organizational device than a spiritual necessity." (Necessity for Choice, pp. 354-355.)

These qualities add to the difficulty, noted above, of achieving a sense of nuance, of intangibles, or of the relationship of events to each other, which are the art of statesmanship:

"The attitudes of our high officials and their method of arriving at decisions inevitably distort the essence of policy. Effective policy depends not only on the skill of individual moves, but even more importantly on their relationship to each other. It requires a sense of proportion and a sense of style. All these intangibles are negated when problems become isolated cases, each of which is disposed of on its merits by experts or agencies in the special difficulties it involves. It is as if, in commissioning a painting, a patron would ask one artist to draw the face, another the body, another the hands,

-21-

and still another the feet, simply because each artist
was particularly good in one category. Such a procedure
of stressing the components would sacrifice the meaning
of the whole.

"The result is a paradox. The more intense the effort to substitute administration for conception, the greater is the inner insecurity of the participants. The more they seek 'objectivity,' the more diffuse their efforts become. The insecurity of many of our policymakers sometimes leads to almost compulsive traits. Because of the lack of criteria on which to base judgments, work almost becomes an end in itself. Officials--and other executives as well--tend to work to the point of exhaustion, as one indication that nothing has been left undone. The insecurity is also shown by the fact that almost in direct proportion as advisory staffs multiply they are distrusted by those at the top. Officials increasingly feel the need for 'outside'--and therefore unbiased--advice.

***

"But the lack of subtlety and comprehension of the top leadership is not much more amenable to outside committees than to the governmental variety because in the absence of criteria of judgment, advice often adds simply another element of confusion.

"The result is a vicious circle: As long as our high officials lack a framework of purpose, each problem becomes a special case. But the more fragmented the approach to policy becomes, the more difficult it is to act consistently and purposefully. The typical pattern of our governmental process is therefore endless debate about whether a given set of circumstances is in fact a problem, until a crisis removes all doubts but also the possibility of effective action. The committee system, which is an attempt to reduce the inner insecurity of our top personnel, has the paradoxical consequence of institutionalizing it." (Necessity for Choice, pp. 357-358.)

Another factor in the American character is the lack of
experience of tragedy:

"Another factor shaping our attitude toward foreign affairs is our lack of tragic experience. Though we have known severe hardships, our history has been notably free of disaster. Indeed, the American domestic experience exhibits

-22-

an unparalleled success--great daring rewarded and great obstacles overcome. It is no wonder, therefore, that to many of our most responsible men, particularly in the business community, the warnings of impending peril or of imminent disaster sound like the Cassandra cries of abstracted 'eggheads.' For is not the attribute of the 'egghead' his lack of touch with reality, and does not American reality show an unparalleled wealth coupled with an unparalleled growth?

"There has been much criticism of former Secretaries George M. Humphrey and Charles E. Wilson for their emphasis on holding down the defense budget. But, in fairness, the psychological background of their decisions should be understood. Despite all the information at their disposal, they simply could not believe that in the nuclear age the penalty for miscalculation may be national catastrophe. They might know in their heads but they could not accept in their hearts that the society they helped to build could disappear as did Rome or Carthage or Byzantium, which probably seemed as eternal to their citizens. These characteristics make for an absence of a sense of urgency, a tendency to believe that everything can be tried once and that the worst consequence mistakes can have is that we may be forced to redouble our efforts later on. The irrevocable error is not yet part of the American experience." (Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy, pp. 242-243.)

These tendencies are magnified by the business or legal background of many American policymakers, which colors the American approach to negotiation:

"This is reinforced by the special qualities of the professions--law and business--which furnish the core of the leadership groups in America. Lawyers--at least in the Anglo-Saxon tradition--prefer to deal with actual rather than hypothetical cases; they have little confidence in the possibility of stating a future issue abstractly. But planning by its very nature is hypothetical. Its success depends precisely on the ability to transcend the existing framework. Lawyers may be prepared to undertake this task; but they will do well in it only to the extent that they are able to overcome the special qualities encouraged by their profession. What comes naturally to lawyers in the Anglo-Saxon tradition is the sophisticated analysis of a series of *ad hoc* issues which emerge as problems through adversary proceedings. In so far as lawyers draw on the experience which forms them, they have a bias toward awaiting developments and toward operating within the definition of the problem as formulated by its chief spokesmen.

-23-

"This has several consequences. It compounds the already powerful tendencies within American society to identify foreign policy with the solution of immediate issues. It produces great refinement of issues as they arise, but it also encourages the administrative dilemmas described earlier. Issues are dealt with only as the pressure of events imposes the need for resolving them.

***

"This explains in part the peculiar alternation of rigidity and spasms of flexibility in American diplomacy. On a given issue--be it the Berlin crisis or disarmament or the war in Viet-Nam--there generally exists a great reluctance to develop a negotiating position or a statement of objectives except in the most general terms. This stems from a desire not to prejudge the process of negotiations and above all to retain flexibility in the face of unforeseeable events. But when an approaching conference or some other pressures make the development of a position imperative and some office or individual is assigned the specific task, a sudden change occurs. Both personal and bureaucratic success are then identified with bringing the particular assignment to a conclusion. Where so much stock is placed in negotiating skill, a failure of a conference may be viewed as a reflection on the ability of the negotiator rather than on the objective difficulty of the subject. Confidence in the bargaining process causes American negotiators to be extremely sensitive to the tactical requirements of the conference table--sometimes at the expense of longer-term considerations. In internal discussions, American negotiators--generally irrespective of their previous commitments--often become advocates for the maximum range of concessions; their legal background tempts them to act as mediators between Washington and the country with which they are negotiating.

"The attitudes of the business elite reinforce the convictions of the legal profession. The American business executive rises through a process of selection which rewards the ability to manipulate the known--in itself a conciliatory procedure. The special skill of the executive is thought to consist in coordinating well-defined functions rather than in challenging them. The procedure is relatively effective in the business world, where the executive can often substitute decisiveness, long experience, and a wide range of personal acquaintance for reflectiveness. In international affairs, however--

-24-

especially in a revolutionary situation--the strong will
which is one of our business executives' notable traits
may produce essentially arbitrary choices. Or unfamiliar-
ity with the subject matter may have the opposite
effect of turning the executive into a spokesman of his
technical staffs. In either case, the business executive
is even more dependent than the lawyer on the bureau-
cracy's formulation of the issue. The business elite is
even less able or willing than the lawyer to recognize
that the formulation of an issue, not the technical
remedy, is usually the central problem.

"All this gives American policy its particular cast.
Problems are dealt with as they arise. Agreement on what
constitutes a problem generally depends on an emerging
crisis which settles the previously inconclusive disputes
about priorities. When a problem is recognized, it is
dealt with by a mobilization of all resources to overcome
the immediate symptoms. This often involves the risk of
slighting longer-term issues which may not yet have
assumed crisis proportions and of overwhelming, perhaps
even undermining, the structure of the area concerned by
a flood of American technical experts proposing remedies
on an American scale. Administrative decisions emerge
from a compromise of conflicting pressures in which
accidents of personality or persuasiveness play a crucial
role. The compromise often reflects the maxim that "if
two parties disagree the truth is usually somewhere in
between." But the pedantic application of such truisms
causes the various contenders to exaggerate their posi-
tions for bargaining purposes or to construct fictitious
extremes to make their position appear moderate. In
either case, internal bargaining predominates over sub-
stance.

"The ad hoc tendency of our decision-makers and the reliance on adversary proceeding cause issues to be stated in black and white terms. This suppresses a feeling for nuance and makes it difficult to recognize the relationship between seemingly discrete events. ...

"The same quality also produces a relatively low valuation of historical factors. Nations are treated as similar phenomena, and those states presenting similar immediate problems are treated similarly. Since many of our policy-makers first address themselves to an issue when it emerges as their area of responsibility, their approach to it is often highly anecdotal. Great weight is given to what

-25-

people say and relatively little to the significance or
these affirmations in terms of domestic structure or
historical background. Agreement may be taken at face
value and seen as reflecting more consensus than actually
exists. Opposition tends to produce moral outrage which
often assumes the form of personal animosity--the atti-
tude of some American policy-makers toward President
de Gaulle is a good example." ("Domestic Structure and
Foreign Policy," pp. 515-518.)

The United States, unlike some other democracies, lacks a
leadership group with a substantive training and a habit of
reflection:

"It is sometimes argued that the characteristics described here are inseparable from the democratic process. But it surely is not inherent in a democracy that its most eminent people are formed by an experience which positively discourages political thinking and perhaps reflectiveness of any kind. In Great Britain, for example, the ablest young people have traditionally been drawn into political life. They have been exposed throughout their careers to a concern with problems very similar to those faced when eminence is reached.

"The balance between the private and public aspects of our life, which has been the subject of national debate with respect to our allocation of resources, may be even more important with regard to the conceptual priorities of our eminent men. If our ablest people cannot be brought to address themselves to problems of national policy throughout their lives, no organizational device will save them from mediocrity once they reach high office. Substantial policy cannot be improvised. A democracy cannot function without a leadership group which has assurance in relation to issues confronting it. We face, in short, a test of attitudes even more than of policies." (*Necessity for Choice*, p. 360.)

As a general matter, above and beyond the problem of
bureaucracy, and for all nations and not just the United States,
domestic political life and historical experience determine the
environment in which the statesman must act. A statesman may
not be able to transmit to his people his insight into his
nation's international requirements. The result, frequently,
is a domestic "rebellion against foreign policy:"

"In addition to the obstacle of bureaucratic inertia, a
statesman will tend to have great difficulty legitimizing
his policy domestically, because of the incommensurability
between a nation's domestic and its international experi-
ence. The whole domestic effort of a people exhibits an
effort to transform force into obligation by means of a

-26-

consensus on the nature of justice. The more spontaneous
the pattern of obligation, the more 'natural' and
'universal' will social values appear. But the inter-
national experience of a people is a challenge to the
universality of its notion of justice, for the stability
of an international order depends on self-limitation, on
the reconciliation of different versions of legitimacy.
A nation will evaluate a policy in terms of its domestic
legitimization, because it has no other standard of
judgment. But the effort to identify the legitimizing
principle of the international order with a parochial
version of justice must lead to a revolutionary situa-
tion, particularly if the domestic legitimizing principles
are sufficiently incommensurable. If a society legiti-
mizes itself by a principle which claims both universality
and exclusiveness, if its concept of 'justice', in short,
does not include the existence of different principles of
legitimacy, relations between it and other societies will
come to be based on force. For this reason competing
systems of legitimacy find it extremely difficult to come
to an understanding, not only because they will not be
able to agree on the nature of 'just' demands, but, perhaps
more importantly, because they will not be able to legiti-
mize the attainable international consensus domestically.

"But even when there exists no fundamental ideological
gulf, a nation's domestic experience will tend to inhibit
its comprehension of foreign affairs. Domestically, the
most difficult problem is an agreement on the nature of
'justice'. But internationally, the domestic consensus
inherent in the definition of a policy must often be
compromised with a similar domestic consensus of other
powers. It is no accident that the tool of policy domes-
tically is bureaucracy, which symbolizes the unity of
will and execution, while its tool internationally is
diplomacy, which symbolizes the contingency of application.
Not for nothing do so many nations exhibit a powerful, if
subconscious, rebellion against foreign policy, which
leaves the travail of the soul inherent in arriving at
decisions unrewarded, against this double standard which
considers what is defined as 'justice' domestically,
merely an object for negotiation internationally. Nor is
it an accident that the vision of itself of so many
societies exhibits a picture of rectitude deprived of its
birthright by the sharp practices of foreigners. For the
impetus of domestic policy is a direct social experience;
but that of foreign policy is not actual, but potential
experience--the threat of war--which statesmanship attempts
to avoid being made explicit.

"The statesman is therefore like one of the heroes in
classical drama who has had a vision of the future but who

-27-

cannot transmit it directly to his fellow-men and who
cannot validate its 'truth'. Nations learn only by
experience; they 'know' only when it is too late to
act. But statesmen must act as if their intuition were
already experience, as if their aspiration were truth.
It is for this reason that statesmen often share the
fate of prophets, that they are without honour in their
own country, that they always have a difficult task in
legitimizing their programmes domestically, and that
their greatness is usually apparent only in retrospect
when their intuition has become experience. The states-
men must therefore be an educator; he must bridge the
gap between a people's experience and his vision, between
a nation's tradition and its future. In this task his
possibilities are limited. A statesman who too far out-
runs the experience of his people will fail in achieving
a domestic consensus, however wise his policies; witness
Castlereagh. A statesman who limits his policy to the
experience of his people will doom himself to sterility;
witness Metternich." (A World Restored, pp. 328-329.)

-28-

### III. THE NATURE OF LEADERSHIP

Implicit and sometimes explicit in the foregoing discussions of equilibrium and domestic structure is a concept of statesmanship. Already referred to are the sense of proportion, the grasp of intangibles and nuance, and the understanding of the relationship of events to each other. These are only part of the portrait.

The fundamental test of a statesman is not only his conceptions but his ability to implement them:

> "What then is the role of statesmanship? A scholarship of social determinism has reduced the statesman to a lever on a machine called 'history', to the agent of a fate which he may dimly discern but which he accomplishes regardless of his will. And this belief in the per-vasiveness of circumstance and the impotence of the individual extends to the notion of policy-making. One hears a great deal about the contingency of planning because of the unavailability of fact, about the diffi-culty of action because of the limitation of knowledge. It cannot be denied, of course, that policy does not occur in a void, that the statesman is confronted with material he must treat as given. Not only geography and the availability of resources trace the limits of statesmanship, but also the character of the people and the nature of its historical experience. But to say that policy does not create its own substance is not the same as saying that the substance is self-implemen-ting. The realization that the Napoleonic Empire was tottering was the condition of policy in 1813, but it was not itself a policy. That the period of revolution should be replaced by an order of equilibrium, that the assertion of the will give way to an insistence on legitimacy may have been 'in the air'. But one has only to study the vacillating measures of most powers to appreciate that neither the nature of this equilibrium nor the measures to attain it were immediately apparent. However 'self-evident' the national interest may appear in retrospect, contemporaries were oppressed by the multiplicity of available policies, counselling con-tradictory courses of action. . . . It was Castlereagh who brought about a peace of equilibrium and not of vengeance, a reconciled and not an impotent France. The choice between these policies did not reside in the 'facts', but in their interpretation. It involved what was essentially a moral act: an estimate which depended for its validity on a conception of goals as much as on an understanding of the available material, which was based on knowledge but not identical with it.

-29-

"The test of a statesman, then, is his ability to recognize the real relationship of forces and to make this knowledge serve his ends. That Austria should seek stability was inherent in its geographic position and domestic structure. But that it would succeed, if only temporarily and however unwisely, in identifying its domestic legitimizing principle with that of the international order was the work of its Foreign Minister. That Great Britain should attempt to find security in a balance of power was the consequence of twenty-three years of intermittent warfare. But that it should emerge as a part of the concert of Europe was due to the efforts of a solitary individual. No policy is better, therefore, than the goals it sets itself. It was the measure of Castlereagh's statesmanship that he recognized the precedence of integration over retribution in the construction of a legitimate order, as of Metternich's that he never confused the form and the substance of his achievements, that he understood that the Central Empire could survive, not on its triumphs, but only on its reconciliations. It was their failure that they set themselves tasks beyond the capacity of their material: Castlereagh through a vision beyond the conception of his domestic structure, Metternich through an effort unattainable in a century of nationalism.

"But it is not sufficient to judge the statesman by his conceptions alone, for unlike the philosopher he must implement his vision. And the statesman is inevitably confronted by the inertia of his material, by the fact that other powers are not factors to be manipulated but forces to be reconciled; that the requirements of security differ with the geographic location and the domestic structure of the powers. His instrument is diplomacy, the art of relating states to each other by agreement rather than by the exercise of force, by the representation of a ground of action which reconciles particular aspirations with a general consensus. Because diplomacy depends on persuasion and not imposition, it presupposes a determinate framework, either through an agreement on a legitimizing principle, or, theoretically, through an identical interpretation of power-relationships, although the latter is in practice the most difficult to attain. The achievements of Castlereagh and Metternich were due in no small measure to their extraordinary ability as diplomats. Both dominated every negotiation in which they participated: Castlereagh by the ability to reconcile conflicting points of view and by the single-mindedness conferred by an empirical policy; Metternich through an almost uncanny

-30-

faculty of achieving a personal dominance over his adversaries and the art of defining a moral framework which made concessions appear, not as surrenders, but as sacrifices to a common cause." (*A World Restored*, pp. 324-326.)

The statesman, sometimes accused of opportunism, is really acting in accordance with a conception of the future and is seeking to shape reality in light of his purposes, not adjusting his purposes to reality:

> "This cynicism as to method has given rise to the argument that Bismarck was above all an opportunist. The charge of opportunism, however, begs the key issue of statesmanship. Anyone wishing to affect events must be opportunist to some extent. The real distinction is between those who adapt their purposes to reality and those who seek to mold reality in the light of their purposes.

> "Bismarck--as all revolutionaries--belonged to the latter group. To be sure, his policy had a streak of opportunism. Yet pure opportunism tends to be sterile; it absorbs more energy in an analysis of where one is than of where one is than of where one is going. A policy that awaits events is likely to become their prisoner. The flexibility of Bismarck's tactics was the result of a well-developed conceptual framework. It grew out of the conviction that the 'Metternich system' stifled Prussia's natural role; it was animated by a clear picture of the new international order that Bismarck wanted to bring about. Bismarck sought his opportunities in the present; he drew his inspiration from a vision of the future." (*The White Revolutionary: Reflections on Bismarck*, *Daedalus*, Summer 1968, pp. 909-910.)

A leader requires above all the courage to stand alone:

> "History will not hand us our deepest desires on a silver platter. A leader does not deserve the name unless he is willing occasionally to stand alone. He cannot content himself simply with registering prevailing attitudes. He must build consensus, not merely exploit it." (*Necessity for Choice*, p. 351.)

*(This is contrasted with the natural American qualities of humility and tentativeness which make it difficult for a would-be leader to stand alone. See above, pp. 19-21.)*

-31-

Some of the personal qualities of statesmanship were nurtured in the aristocratic traditions of Europe, particularly Britain. The value of an aristocracy was that it adhered to a notion of quality and its leaders' estimates of themselves were not dependent on momentary popularity or standing. The conditions of one's rise to eminence also encouraged the right qualities of ability—cohesion, and self-confidence:

"The mediating, conciliatory style of British policy in the nineteenth century reflected, in part, the qualities encouraged during careers in Parliament and the values of a cohesive leadership group connected by ties of family and common education. The hysterical cast of the policy of Imperial Germany was given impetus by a domestic structure in which political parties were deprived of responsibility while ministers were obliged to balance a monarch by divine right against a Parliament composed of representatives without any prospect of ever holding office. Consensus could be achieved most easily through fits of national passion which in turn disquieted all of Germany's neighbors. Germany's foreign policy grew unstable because its domestic structure did little to discourage capricious improvisations; it may even have put a premium on them.

"The collapse of the essentially aristocratic conception of foreign policy of the nineteenth century has made the career experiences of leaders even more crucial. An aristocracy--if it lives up to its values--will reject the arbitrariness of absolutist rule; and it will base itself on a notion of quality which discourages the temptations of demagoguery inherent in plebiscitarian democracy. Where position is felt to be a birthright, generosity is possible (though not guaranteed); flexibility is not inhibited by a commitment to perpetual success. Where a leader's estimate of himself is not completely dependent on his standing in an administrative structure, measures can be judged in terms of a conception of the future rather than of an almost compulsive desire to avoid even a temporary setback. When statesmen belonged to a community transcending national boundaries, there tended to be consensus on the criteria of what constituted a reasonable proposal. This did not prevent conflicts, but it did define their nature and encourage dialogue. The bane of aristocratic foreign policy was the risk of frivolousness, of a self-confidence unrelated to knowledge, and of too much emphasis on intuition.

"In any event, ours is the age of the expert or the charismatic leader. The expert has his constituency--those who

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have a vested interest in commonly held opinions;
elaborating and defining its consensus at a high level
has, after all, made him an expert. Since the expert
is often the product of the administrative dilemmas de-
scribed earlier, he is usually in a poor position to
transcend them. The charismatic leader, on the other
hand, needs a perpetual revolution to maintain his posi-
tion. Neither the expert nor the charismatic leader
operates in an environment which puts a premium on long-
range conceptions or on generosity or on subordinating
the leader's ego to purposes which transcend his own
career.

"Leadership groups are formed by at least three factors: their experiences during their rise to eminence; the structure in which they must operate; the values of their society." ("Domestic Structure and Foreign Policy, pp. 513-514.)

Two contrasting models of leadership could be constructed: the statesman versus the prophet. It is a "tragic and necessarily inconclusive contest:"

"For the claims of the prophet are a counsel of perfection, and perfection implies uniformity. Utopias are not achieved except by a process of levelling and dislocation which must erode all patterns of obligation. These are the two great symbols of the attacks on the legitimate order: the Conqueror and the Prophet, the quest for universality and for eternity, for the peace of impotence and the peace of bliss.

"But the statesman must remain forever suspicious of these efforts, not because he enjoys the pettiness of manipulation, but because he must be prepared for the worst contingency. To be dependent on the continued goodwill of another sovereign state is demoralizing, because it is a confession of impotence, an invitation to the irresponsibility induced by the conviction that events cannot be affected by one's will. And to rely entirely on the moral purity of an individual is to abandon the possibility of restraint, because moral claims involve a quest for absolutes, a denial of nuance, a rejection of history. This in its fundamental sense is the issue between the conqueror or the prophet on the one side and the statesman on the other; between the identification of conception and possibility and the insistence on the contingency of the individual will; between the effort to escape time and the need to survive in it. It is a tragic and necessarily inconclusive contest. For the statesman will treat the prophet as a political manifestation, and the prophet will

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judge the statesman by transcendental standards. The
prophet, however pure his motives, pays the penalty for
the 'false' prophets who have preceded him, and it is
the latter for which statesmanship attempts to provide.
And the statesman is confronted with what must always
upset his calculations; that it is not balance which
inspires men but universality, not security but immor-
tality." (A World Restored, pp. 316-317.)

The dilemma of statesman versus prophet asserts itself
in the contrast between stability and vision, between gradual-
ism and exalted purpose, between negotiation and dedication
to universal principles:

"The statesman manipulates reality; his first goal is
survival; he feels responsible not only for the best but
also for the worst conceivable outcome. His view of
human nature is wary; he is conscious of many great hopes
which have failed, of many good intentions that could not
be realized, of selfishness and ambition and violence.
He is, therefore, inclined to erect hedges against the
possibility that even the most brilliant idea might prove
abortive and that the most eloquent formulation might
hide ulterior motives. He will try to avoid certain
experiments, not because he would object to the results
if they succeeded, but because he would feel himself
responsible for the consequences if they failed. He is
suspicious of those who personalize foreign policy, for
history teaches him the fragility of structures dependent
on individuals. To the statesman, gradualism is the
essence of stability; he represents an era of average
performance, of gradual change and slow construction.

"By contrast, the prophet is less concerned with manipu-
lating than with creating reality. What is possible
interests him less than what is 'right'. He offers his
vision as the test and his good faith as a guarantee. He
believes in total solutions; he is less absorbed in
methodology than in purpose. He believes in the perfect-
ibility of man. His approach is timeless and not dependent
on circumstances. He objects to gradualism as an unnec-
essary concession to circumstance. He will risk every-
thing because his vision is the primary significant reality
to him. Paradoxically, his more optimistic view of human
nature makes him more intolerant than the statesman. If
truth is both knowable and attainable, only immorality or
stupidity can keep man from realizing it. The prophet
represents an era of exaltation, of great upheavals, of
vast accomplishments, but also of enormous disasters.

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"The encounter between the political and the prophetic approach to policy is always somewhat inconclusive and frustrating. The test of the statesman is the permanence of the international structure under stress. The test of the prophet is inherent in his vision. The statesman will seek to reduce the prophet's intuition to precise measures; he judges ideas on their utility and not on their 'truth.' To the prophet this approach is almost sacrilegious because it represents the triumph of expediency over universal principles. To the statesman negotiation is the mechanism of stability because it presupposes that maintenance of the existing order is more important than any dispute within it. To the prophet negotiations can have only symbolic value--as a means of converting or demoralizing the opponent; truth, by definition, cannot be compromised.

"Both approaches have prevailed at different periods in history." ("Domestic Structure and Foreign Policy," pp. 526-527.)

The essence of policymaking -- the quality of leadership distilled from both these models -- is the effort to impose purpose on events. It requires the moral conviction to pursue worthy goals amid ambiguity and conjecture:

"The tragic element in foreign policy is the impossibility of escaping conjecture; after the 'objective' analysis of fact there remains a residue of uncertainty about the meaning of events or the opportunities they offer. A statesman can often escape his dilemmas by lowering his sights; he always has the option to ignore the adversary's capabilities by attributing peaceful intentions to him. Many of the difficulties of the non-Soviet world have been the result of an attempt to use the element of uncertainty as an excuse for inaction. But in foreign policy certainty is conferred at least as much by philosophy as by fact. It derives from the imposition of purpose on events." (Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy, p. 251.)

The leader must act on the basis of unprovable intuition and a vision of the future:

"The dilemma of any statesman is that he can never be certain about the probable course of events. In reaching a decision, he must inevitably act on the basis of an intuition that is inherently unprovable. If he insists on certainty, he runs the danger of becoming a prisoner of events. His resolution must reside not in 'facts' as commonly conceived but in his vision of the future." ("Reflections on Cuba," Nov. 22, 1962, p. 24.)

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In a crisis, such as the Cuban missile crisis in
October 1962, the key to success is a clear conception of
our own purposes. The choice is not between being "tough"
or "soft" against an adversary but whether or not we know
what we stand for:

"Rather than debate abstract words like 'tough' and 'soft,'
we now have an opportunity to clarify the substance of the
programs to which any such words must refer. Those who
press for immediate resumption of negotiations do not
generate a program; the reserve is true. In the absence
of a clear purpose, negotiating tactics predominate over
substance. This leads to the exaltation of 'negotiability, '
which is often merely a way of trying to discover the
minimum terms the Soviets will settle for . . .

***

"... We now have the opportunity to define what we stand
for rather than go through a shopping list of Soviet
demands in an effort to determine which of them may be
tolerable." ("Reflections on Cuba," Nov. 22, 1962, pp.
23-24.)

The influence we have in the world, for example with the
new nations, is very much a function of the purposefulness of
our policy. Moderation is a virtue only in those who are
thought to have a choice:

"Moderation, generosity, self-restraint are all desirable qualities in our relations with the new nations. But if we seem forever on the defensive, frantically striving to stave off disaster, we will have great difficulty convincing others that our measures were motivated by these qualities. Generosity and moderation and self-restraint are meaningful, after all, only if it is believed that another choice is available. As long as our measures seem to be the consequence of our fears, our policy will seem to be the result of panic rather than of sober thought. Our constant defensiveness and our erratic behavior may merely convince the new nations that we are doomed regardless of what they may think of the individual measures. Even more important than a change in policy, then, is a change in attitude. We will finally be judged not so much by the cleverness of our arguments as by the purposefulness and conviction, indeed the majesty, of our conduct." (Necessity for Choice, p. 351.)

Similarly, military strategy in the modern age is not
primarily a technical problem but a challenge to political under-