Advertisement

The online magazine for independent conservatives, edited by Taki Theodoracopulos

Advertisement

Advertisement

Nixon’s Prudence

It is no accident, as the Marxists like to say, that historically Christian cultures have felt serious pressure to universalize their most cherished moral credos.  In fact, the most ambitious attempts to secularize the golden rule have enjoyed the greatest level of success in traditionally Protestant nations like the United States.  What Paul Gottfried aptly critiques as Kant’s universal morality of reason (which ultimately inspired Hegel’s articulation of a universal “History”) has resonated most strongly with liberal democracies rooted in a biblical framework.  While it is highly dubious that the early Christian church had ambitious plans to recreate the world on a political scale, as a quick glance at the 13th chapter of Romans will show, it is also undeniable that moderns like Hegel, Marx, and Kojève depended to a large extent on the morality of agape as the necessary theological precursor to the formation of a universal democratic regime at the “End of History.” Despite St. Augustine’s famous warnings about the conflation of the City of God with the City of Man, this prudent theology has not deterred Christians like Woodrow Wilson from seeking a New Jerusalem for all of humanity in this earthly vale of tears.

Given the historic record of these radical and often violent attempts at universalism, would it be prudent to abandon the idea of universal moral credos altogether?  It is one thing to impose these credos on nations by force; it is quite another task to ignore them in toto.  It is interesting that the most “realistic” of presidents, Richard Nixon, opposed the forcible imposition of morality on the rest of the world, but stopped short of disconnecting a universal morality from politics altogether. 

In 1973, President Richard Nixon, who entered politics as a young Cold Warrior dedicated to the universalizability of American values, urged his countrymen to repudiate attempts to immanentize the global eschaton.  As the Vietnam War was winding down, Nixon in his 2nd inaugural address counseled Americans to abandon coercive attempts to universalize their values:

The time has passed when America will make every other nation’s conflict our own, or make every other nation’s future our responsibility, or presume to tell the people of other nations how to manage their own affairs.

Nixon’s prudence here, which obviously stemmed from the failure of the Vietnamese intervention, should not be confused with a call for America to abandon the world altogether.  The president was too much the realist to support such an endeavour.  As he declared in the same address:

Let us build a structure of peace in the world in which the weak are as safe as the strong—in which each respects the right of the other to live by a different system—in which those who would influence others will do so by the strength of their ideas, and not by the force of their arms. 

It is tempting to spy a contradiction between these two ideas.  How can one stand up for the weak while refusing to tell other nations (particularly those which persecute the weak) how to conduct their affairs?  There is certainly a tension here, but not an impossible one for a prudent statesman to navigate.  One had to be realistic about the limits of power, especially after the Vietnam debacle, but that did not necessarily mean the embrace of amoralism.  The ideal and the real are equally important in foreign policy.  Virtù must be wedded to fortuna.

Nixon was echoing not only the realism of Washington, Jefferson, or Kennan on the desirability of a foreign policy opposed to costly interventions; he was also reflecting the “Christian realism” which the theologian Reinhold Niebuhr identified as a humble and prudent understanding of the limits of power.  It did not bother Nixon that “profound differences between systems of government” would always exist:  it was not the proper role of America to impose democracy on the world, or insist that all nations embrace democratic universalism. 

That said, America would still stand with the “weak,” and seek to “influence others” through the strength of her ideas (presumably those dedicated to liberty, the rule of law, etc.).  Nixon, at least in principle, was rejecting the false choice between interventionism and isolationism.  The propagandistic employment of one’s ideals was a prudent role to take, and a far cry from a policy of facing down tyrannies over every conflict around the globe. 

It is now fashionable among neoconservatives to ridicule Nixon’s realism, or to identify his policy of détente with appeasement of tyrannies, which ultimately encouraged Soviet expansionism in the late 1970s.  Current anxieties over a resurgent China no doubt further diminish Nixon’s achievement in opening up the Middle Kingdom to trade and diplomacy in the early 1970s as well.  Apparently, Nixon’s brand of realism should be abandoned altogether, as impractical and immoral. 

Like it or not, however, the greatest critics of this realism have been forced to be a tad realistic once they hold office.  Even the most universally minded presidencies have been notoriously selective about their opposition to tyranny.  The Reagan administration, to which today’s neocons look with reverence, did not let its suspicion of détente or support of global democracy-building get in the way of working with pro-US tyrannies in Latin America, Asia, or Africa on the basis of “constructive engagement.” Even President Bush, who declared in 2005 that the US would put an end to tyranny on the planet, shows no signs of putting serious pressure on the Saudis to embrace Millian liberalism. 

Neoconservatives like Max Boot have been famously critical of Bush’s attempts to dialogue with North Korea, as if this weakness is a replay of Nixon’s détente, since any form of dialogue involving tyrants is an act of appeasement.  Dialogue, however, does not necessarily mean the surrender of one’s ideals.  Once again, America should put moral pressure on other nations if that serves the interests of peace and security in the world.  Pressuring pro-US regimes in the Middle East to become more democratic, by contrast, would likely lead to the rise of radical Islamist parties taking over the reins of power.  As Nixon implicitly understood, attempts to encourage democracy are sound if these do not lead to the triumph of the strong over the weak.

Neoconservatives pride themselves on being prudent realists, despite the fact that they treat every crisis as 1938 all over again.  (So far America has not offered herself as an “honest broker” in the current conflict between Georgia and Russia.) Yet their views are at once unrealistic and imprudent.  They have much to learn from Richard Nixon. 

• Print Article
• Email Article
• Email the Editor