Dreaming History

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"All
men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty
recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity:
but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act
their dream with open eyes, to make it possible" (T.E.
Lawrence, Seven
Pillars of Wisdom
).

"Our
children will sing great songs about us years from now." This
daydream belongs to Michael Ledeen, the same fantasist who foresees
that "we're going to be obliged to fight a regional war whether
we want to or not" with respect to the Middle East. Dreaming
on, he adds that "it may turn out to be a war to remake the
world."

One
doubts that Michael of Mesopotamia will be the subject of a motion
picture years hence. Maybe a country song, but not a movie. Unlike
Lawrence
of Arabia
, Mr. Ledeen does his dreaming from behind a desk.
Not the stuff of film epics, far less Homeric epics: "Sing,
Muse, of the wrath of Rumsfeld"?

Lawrence's
"immortal" epic is not a best seller, despite its relevance
to recent events: the paperback edition is ranked 1,859th
by Amazon US; the two British editions are ranked even lower, with
the Penguin version at 8,090th and the budget edition
at 2917th. He is handily outsold by the derring-do of
fictional adventurers Harry Potter and Tom Clancy's John Clark,
the ex-Navy SEAL described in an Amazon review as "embodying
the more paranoid sensibilities of the late u201890s" who believes
"violent, deadly force to be the best deterrent for terrorism."

Lawrence
of Arabia subtitled his book "A Triumph." A scholar, Lawrence
almost certainly intended to call up the image of the Roman triumphs,
though with what degree of irony we will never know. The "triumph"
of liberation the Arabs thought they'd won was illusory, as the
British would soon teach them. Lawrence described his initial entry
into conquered Damascus thus: "Quite quietly we drove up the
long street to the Government buildings on the banks of the Barada.
The way was packed with people lined solid on the side-walks, in
the road, at the windows and on the balconies or house-tops. Many
were crying, a few cheered faintly, some bolder ones cried out our
names; but mostly they looked and looked, joy shining in their eyes.
A movement like a long sigh from gate to heart of the city, marked
our course."

Shortly
thereafter, the march resumed: "When we came in there had been
some miles of people greeting us: now there were thousands for every
hundred then. Every man, woman and child in this city of a quarter-million
souls seemed in the streets, waiting only the spark of our appearance
to ignite their spirits. Damascus went wild with joy. The men tossed
off their tarbushes to cheer, the women tore off their veils. Householders
threw flowers, hangings, carpets, into the road before us; their
wives leaned, screaming with laughter, through the lattices and
splashed us with bath-dippers of scent."

Latter-day
dreams of an Iraqi populace welcoming their Anglo-American liberators
with flowers in their hair and hands failed to materialize in the
manner foreseen. There was screaming, to be sure, but not with laughter.

It
must be recalled that Lawrence was with an Arab army, albeit
one led in part by an Englishman in Arab dress, a dreamer whose
dreams would soon enough turn to nightmares that would haunt him
for the rest of his days. The formal, Roman-style "triumph"
of the British "liberators" was planned for the following
day, because Lawrence (according to his own account) "could
not guarantee administrative services until the following day."
But it all began to go bad for Lawrence when the Australian (still
a British colony back in 1918) General Chauvel indicated he had
no intention of saluting the Arab flag as they passed the town hall:
"I wanted to make faces at his folly: but… [a]s a compromise,
I suggested we leave out the Town Hall, and invent another route,
passing… by the Post Office. I meant this as farce, since my patience
had broken down." The general made a concession: "In place
of an u2018entry' he would make a u2018march through': it meant that instead
of going in the middle he would go at the head, or instead of the
head, the middle. I forgot, or did not well hear, which: for I should
not have cared if he had crawled under or flown over his troops,
or split himself to march both sides."

Thus
do dreams of glory, of high drama, give way to farce and end in
the dusty recesses of the mind where one wakes to learn that all
was vanity.

The
British Empire – that upon which the sun never set – has
largely turned to dust since the days of T.E. Lawrence. This, history
shows, has been the destiny of all empires, all visions of "remaking
the world." Any dreamer of history – indeed, any student
of history – might benefit from a backward glance at The
Decline of the West
(1918), the best known work of Oswald
Spengler (1880–1936), a dreamer of history on a grand scale.

Spengler,
like Lawrence, was an eccentric, but unlike Lawrence, not a man
of action. Oswald Spengler was one of what is now a completely vanished
breed: a private scholar with private means. Spengler worked alone,
outside of the academic community. He had been formally educated
in mathematics, but was otherwise an autodidact, something of a
polymath and a dilettante. And in his nearly monastic isolation,
he developed a highly original and sweeping view of history as a
process of evolution, of the rises and subsequent falls of Cultures,
Civilizations and Empires.

Spengler's
work was not so much pessimistic with respect to the West per se,
as the translated title of his major work (Der Untergang des
Abendlandes in the original German) might suggest. The thesis
of the work was simply that all civilizations/cultures arise,
flourish and decline in a cyclical pattern, not just that of the
West, which he described as "the only Culture in our time …
actually in the phase of fulfillment – the West European-American."
And, too, Spengler points out that for the student of history: "It
makes a great difference whether anyone lives under the constant
impression that his life is an element in a far wider life-course
that goes on for hundreds or thousands of years, or conceives of
himself as something rounded off and self-contained. For the latter
type of consciousness there is certainly no world-history, no world-as-history."
He later adds what is that sets him apart from the "optimist"
camp around whose fire Ledeen and friends imagine their progeny
singing paeans to their wisdom: "It is a quite indefensible
method of presenting world-history to begin by giving rein to one's
own religious, political or social convictions…" with the intention
of bringing it "exactly to one's own standpoint."

Spengler
attempted to evaluate history in a "scientific" manner,
but was wise enough to recognize that "Truths are truths only
in relation to a particular mankind. Thus, my own philosophy is
able to express and reflect only the Western (as distinct
from the Classical, Indian or other) soul, and that soul only
in its present civilized phase by which its conception of the
world, its practical range and its sphere of effect are specified."
The use of the word "soul" with respect to a collective
is certainly open to question, but what is not is that no "science"
exists that can quantify the often irrational longings of the individual
and perhaps by extension "collective soul" of a particular
group of humans in a particular place at a particular time. Lawrence's
account of the Arabs at whose side he fought would certainly lend
credence to such an idea.

As
might be expected, Spengler has been attacked (along with Samuel
Huntington, author of The
Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order
(1996),
a work that received much attention following the tragic events
of 11 September 2001) as belonging to "the sad school of Western
oracular literature," in an NRO 8 October 2001 article, "Vanquishing
Spengler's Ghost," by Michael Knox Beran. Apparently "oracular"
history is acceptable only when it is of the "happy" school,
that which foresees the inevitable "triumph of the West"
dreamt of by oracles such as Michael Ledeen, a position congruent
with the very sort of magical thinking Beran pretends to decry.

Spengler did not, as Beran claims, see "only obstacles to the
continued vitality of Western Kultur;" rather what he
"saw" was a process (which he believed inevitable)
by which "Culture" ( the "soul" of a people)
evolved into a "Civilization" (the "intellect"
of a people) which he conceived to be "the inevitable destiny
of the Culture," its "fulfillment and finale," the
stage that leads to the conclusion: imperialism.

"The
expansive tendency is a doom, something daemonic and immense…”.
Far from being the "defeatist" described by Beran, Spengler
accepted – indeed advocated – this fulfillment: "He who
does not understand that this outcome is obligatory and insusceptible
of modification, that our choice is between willing this
and willing nothing at all, between cleaving to this destiny
or despairing of the future and of life itself; he who cannot feel
that there is a grandeur also in the realizations of powerful intelligences,
in the energy and discipline of metal-hard natures, in battles fought
with the coldest and most abstract means; he who is obsessed with
the idealism of a provincial and would pursue the ways of life of
past ages – must forgo all desire to comprehend history, to live through
history or to make history." Hell: it sounds like a New Republic
editorial!

Indeed,
it seems strange to find a neo-conservative so critical of Spengler
when much of what he wrote is in line with the latter-day messianic
mission deemed to be America's: "Life if it would be great,
is hard; it lets choose only between victory and ruin, not
between war and peace, and to the victory belong the sacrifices
of victory;" "The alternatives now are to stand fast or
go under – there is no middle course;" "The courage of a
troop depends upon its confidence in the leadership, and confidence
means involuntary abstention from criticism;" "We of today
find ourselves in a period of boundless confidence in the omnipotence
of reason. Great general ideas of freedom, justice, humanity, progress,
are sacrosanct…"

One
wonders why it was that Beran chose to use the German word "Kultur"
instead of Anglicizing it. It serves no purpose; at least no narrative
purpose. Perhaps the reader is intended to associate the spelling
with… what, exactly? Was the use of the German spelling some sort
of snide slur? "Old Europe"? Or perhaps Nazisim, of which
Spengler has been falsely accused? Reading Spengler – carefully
reading him – might lead the reader to understand what sort of thinking
it was that leads to Nazism or a present-day equivalent; best from
the point of view of the powers-that-be-and-would-be that those
who "live so cowed under the bombardment of [ruling class propaganda]
that hardly anyone can attain to the inward detachment that is required
for a clear view of the monstrous drama" don't learn of any
work of history that might awaken them. Spengler, after all, had
the audacity to suggest that Anglo-American ruling class interests
"have created through the press a force-field of world-wide
intellectual and financial tensions in which every individual unconsciously
takes up the place allotted to him, so that he must think, will
and act as a ruling personality somewhere or other in the distance
thinks fit." Perhaps, too, Beran regards as "pessimistic"
Spengler's cynical observation that "as for the modern press,
the sentimentalist may beam with contentment when it is constitutionally
"free" – but the realist merely asks at whose disposal it
is."

This
is not to say that Spengler was correct in his fatalistic and rather
convoluted analysis and evaluation of "civilizations";
it merely indicates – to me, at least – that it is unwise to assume
he must be incorrect merely because in Beran's
opinion Spengler (like Huntington) is "unacceptably pessimistic"
[emphasis added] because Beran believes their work "contains
a stink of defeatism." History itself is not a contest:
it is among other things the study of contests. History is
the means by which we attempt to evaluate all that goes into contests;
it is not merely a record of their outcomes. And it is always wisest
to evaluate evolving events from as many standpoints as possible,
particularly if a "contest" is perceived. This is not
"defeatism;" it is simple common sense.

I
reject the Spenglerian vision of inevitable historical process simply
because I am an unregenerate believer in free will. Spengler closes
his magnum opus with a quote from Seneca: "Ducunt Fata volentm,
nolentem trahunt"; "Destiny guides the willing, drags
the unwilling," loosely translated. Spengler posits an inevitable
coming of "the Caesarism that… approaches with quiet, firm
step." And what is it that the "Caesar-men" do? "They
seize the management of the world." If there is defeatism to
be found in Spengler, it is in this abdication of free will to destiny,
to a collective impulse toward societal suicide characterized by
a surrender of spiritual values and by dreams of statist glory.
I cannot – or perhaps better said, will not – accept that this
process cannot be halted by men and women of good will and firm
belief, however much current events might lead one to conclude otherwise.
But I believe myself sufficiently objective to confess that Spengler's
"pessimism" may yet prove correct, however "unacceptable"
it may be to Michael Knox Beran and to me, though our reasons as
to why we find it unacceptable are likely quite different.

By
way of a Spenglerian sidebar, I believe worthy of comment a recent
(23 March) op-ed piece in The New York Times, "In Praise
of Failed Diplomacy," by Niall Ferguson, a history professor
at NYU's Stern School of Business. The piece praises another historical
dreamer, "the mercurial George Canning", a British foreign
secretary of the early Nineteenth Century. "In language that
would surely warm Donald Rumsfeld's heart," Ferguson opines,
the mercurial Canning stated that he would not take into account
"the wishes of any other government, or the interests of any
other people, except in so far as those wishes, those feelings and
those interests may, or might, concur with the just interests
of England" [emphasis added]. Mr. Ferguson goes on to praise
the fact that Canning was unafraid to "take unilateral military
action" with respect to British intervention in a dynastic
dispute between Spain and Portugal: "To Canning's critics,
this was – you guessed it – a colossal diplomatic failure. But did it
matter? Scarcely. These assertions of British power signalled a
profound shift in the balance of power in Europe away from reactionary
Vienna toward liberal London."

It
is this unabashed adoration of imperialism disguised as "liberalism"
that should be viewed with a very wary eye. Spengler offers observations
on liberalism that will give any pro-market individual pause: "Politics
and trade in developed form – the art of achieving material success
over an opponent by means of intellectual superiority – are both a
replacement of war by other means." Spengler, it must be pointed
out, was contemptuous of market activity, believing that "The
genuine prince and statesman wants to rule, and the genuine merchant
wants only to be wealthy, and here the acquisitive economy divides
to pursue aim and means separately." Spengler was an admirer
of the inevitability of Caesarism as statecraft.

Spengler
cites the Rumsfeld-heart-warming Canning as superbly expressive
of the sort of "liberalism" London had during Canning's
term of office. When the South American colonies of Spain revolted
at the beginning of the Nineteenth Century, Canning declared with
telling Cesarean contradiction: "South America free! And if
possible English!" Spengler commented on the quote by stating
with admiration that "The expansion idea has never been expressed
in greater purity than this."

Though
Mr. Ferguson concedes that "even a hyperpower needs diplomacy,"
it is unlikely that he believes this to be anything but a measure
of expediency, given his praise of Canning's "minimal regard
for the other great powers." Power, and only power, is the
goal of diplomacy, trade or war, if one is to take Canning as one's
guide. Yet Canning's dreams of everlasting British glory ended as
did the dandelions described in Shakespeare's magnificent metaphor:
"Golden lads and girls all must, as chimney sweepers, come
to dust."

Dreaming
history.

T.E.
Lawrence closed his account with these words: "There remained
historical ambition, insubstantial as a motive by itself. I had
dreamed… of hustling into form, while I lived, the new Asia which
time was inexorably bringing upon us. Mecca was to lead to Damascus;
Damascus to Anatolia, and afterwards to Baghdad; and then there
was Yemen. Fantasies, these will seem, to such as are able to call
my beginning an ordinary effort."

Beware
dreamers of history and the roads they wish to lead us down; it
would not do to prove Spengler's dream correct that for all peoples,
sooner or later, all roads lead to Rome. And to dust.

April
23, 2003

Timothy J. Cullen (send
him mail
), a former equities trader, lives in Seville,
Spain.


     

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