Jonathan Tepperman: Why the Bushies Love Big-Picture Intellectuals (And the Problem with That)
[Jonathan Tepperman is the deputy managing editor of Foreign Affairs.]
The library of books on American foreign policy, which has swollen rapidly since Americans rediscovered the world four years ago, can be split into two basic types. First are the Big Ideas books: eye-catching volumes with a single, sexy, overarching theme, often one that promises to revolutionize the world. Then, on the back shelves, are the more nuanced guidebooks, sober, sometimes tedious tomes that scout the territory with carefully detailed road maps.
So far the Bush administration has shown a marked preference for the first type. Last year the president sang the praises of "The Case for Democracy," by Natan Sharansky, the former Russian refusenik turned hawkish Israeli politician. And Vice President Dick Cheney positively gushed over Victor Davis Hanson's "Autumn of War," telling assistants that it encapsulated his tough-guy philosophy.
These tastes may seem surprising for a White House often criticized for anti-intellectualism. In fact, this administration has a soft spot for Big Ideas, especially those that split the world into airtight categories like us versus them. Books like Sharansky's and Hanson's reflect this worldview perfectly. They are attractively clear, with simple, unified theories. Indeed, Sharansky's blunt division of the planet into "the world of freedom and the world of fear" sounds very much like the president's own.
The big-idea genre is vast - other recent books include the work of the British historian Niall Ferguson, and even some left-wing critics like Chalmers Johnson (whom Bush is less likely to read). Predictably, their messages vary. Sharansky touts democracy as a good thing everywhere and all the time. Hanson advocates the unapologetic and aggressive practice of old-fashioned Periclean values. Ferguson lauds the benefits of liberal empire (whether British or American). What they have in common is their attempt to supply a single answer to the world's many problems. No wonder this style resonates with Bush's own.
These books also tend to be written in morally indignant language, with a tone of blustery outrage that may have felt especially appropriate after 9/11. Hanson, a respected classics scholar turned cranky pundit, poses as a sort of Attic farmer-philosopher who implores us wimpy moderns to see the world as the ancients did, in tragic and heroic terms. Hopped up on Homeric glory, he advises us to fight the war on terror "as we did in the past - hard, long, without guilt, apology or respite until our enemies are no more." Sharansky is similarly stark, insisting on "moral clarity" in all things, with no excuses.
Of course, it's much easier to state universal rules when you can ignore or gloss over exceptions. And Hanson, Sharansky and the rest provide little guidance for drawing their bright lines onto messy reality. They refuse to get bogged down in the mechanics of actual governance....
Read entire article at NYT Book Review
The library of books on American foreign policy, which has swollen rapidly since Americans rediscovered the world four years ago, can be split into two basic types. First are the Big Ideas books: eye-catching volumes with a single, sexy, overarching theme, often one that promises to revolutionize the world. Then, on the back shelves, are the more nuanced guidebooks, sober, sometimes tedious tomes that scout the territory with carefully detailed road maps.
So far the Bush administration has shown a marked preference for the first type. Last year the president sang the praises of "The Case for Democracy," by Natan Sharansky, the former Russian refusenik turned hawkish Israeli politician. And Vice President Dick Cheney positively gushed over Victor Davis Hanson's "Autumn of War," telling assistants that it encapsulated his tough-guy philosophy.
These tastes may seem surprising for a White House often criticized for anti-intellectualism. In fact, this administration has a soft spot for Big Ideas, especially those that split the world into airtight categories like us versus them. Books like Sharansky's and Hanson's reflect this worldview perfectly. They are attractively clear, with simple, unified theories. Indeed, Sharansky's blunt division of the planet into "the world of freedom and the world of fear" sounds very much like the president's own.
The big-idea genre is vast - other recent books include the work of the British historian Niall Ferguson, and even some left-wing critics like Chalmers Johnson (whom Bush is less likely to read). Predictably, their messages vary. Sharansky touts democracy as a good thing everywhere and all the time. Hanson advocates the unapologetic and aggressive practice of old-fashioned Periclean values. Ferguson lauds the benefits of liberal empire (whether British or American). What they have in common is their attempt to supply a single answer to the world's many problems. No wonder this style resonates with Bush's own.
These books also tend to be written in morally indignant language, with a tone of blustery outrage that may have felt especially appropriate after 9/11. Hanson, a respected classics scholar turned cranky pundit, poses as a sort of Attic farmer-philosopher who implores us wimpy moderns to see the world as the ancients did, in tragic and heroic terms. Hopped up on Homeric glory, he advises us to fight the war on terror "as we did in the past - hard, long, without guilt, apology or respite until our enemies are no more." Sharansky is similarly stark, insisting on "moral clarity" in all things, with no excuses.
Of course, it's much easier to state universal rules when you can ignore or gloss over exceptions. And Hanson, Sharansky and the rest provide little guidance for drawing their bright lines onto messy reality. They refuse to get bogged down in the mechanics of actual governance....