Idealism, Realism and U.S. Foreign Policy

By George Friedman

Iran says it has enriched uranium. Hosni
Mubarak is claiming that Shia in Sunni states are traitors to their
countries. The French are in political and economic gridlock. With all these
urgent things going on, it seems to us that it is time to talk of something
important, something that has driven and divided American politics for
centuries and will continue to do so: the argument between those who have
been called idealists and those who have been labeled realists in U.S.
foreign policy.

When the United States was in its infancy, France
experienced a revolution that was in many ways similar to the American
Revolution. Some Americans wanted to support the French revolutionaries,
arguing that the United States had to pursue its moral ideals and stand by
its moral partner. Others pointed out that the American economy was heavily
dependent on Britain, the major market for American goods. Moreover, the
young country relied on its ability to send exports to Europe, and the
waters were controlled by Britain. Whatever moral inclinations the Americans
might have had toward France, prudence required that they not take on
Britain. The idealists tried to frame their arguments strategically and the
realists tried to create a moral cast for their argument, but the problem,
in the end, was simple: America's survival depended on not alienating a
country that was everything the colonists had fought against.

This
argument has constantly torn apart American thinking about foreign policy.
Consider this example from the more recent past: In World War II, the United
States was allied with the Soviet Union, which was ruled by a genocidal
maniac, Josef Stalin. At the time that the United States allied with Stalin,
Adolf Hitler was only beginning to climb into Stalin's class of killer. There
were those who argued that the alliance with Stalin was a betrayal of every
principle Americans stood for. Others, like Franklin Roosevelt, recognized
that unless the United States allied with Stalin, Hitler likely would win
the war. Those who opposed an alliance with Stalin based on moral ideals
certainly had an excellent point -- but those who argued that, apart from an
alliance with the devil, the Republic might not survive, also had an
excellent point.

Consider a final example. In 1972, the United States
appeared to be a declining power. It was losing the war in Vietnam, and its
position globally appeared to be deteriorating. The Soviet Union had split
from China years before, and their confrontation along their frontier had,
on occasion, been bloody. War was possible. Richard Nixon created an entente
with the Chinese that was designed to encircle the Soviet Union. In
retrospect, the strategy worked. However, in establishing relations with
Mao's China, the United States once again aligned itself with a murderous
regime. The alternative was an unstoppable Soviet regime.

In each of
these cases, the United States confronted this dilemma. On one side was the
argument that unless the United States stood for its moral ideals, it would
survive but lose its soul. Siding with Britain, Stalin or Mao might have
been prudent, but it was a shallow prudence that would eliminate the raison
d'etre for the American regime. On the other side was the argument that
there could be no moral regime unless there was a regime. The United States
did not have the strength to resist, on its own, Britain, Nazi Germany or
the Soviet Union. Without such questionable allies, the moral project would
be impossible because the United States either would not survive, or would
survive as a spent force.

It is important to note that these
arguments cut across political and even ideological grounds. In 1972, people
on the left celebrated Nixon's alliance with Mao, and it was the right wing
that raised moral doubts. Of course, many on the right supported Nixon and
some on the left, not taken by the romance of Maoism, were appalled at the
alignment. Similarly, it was the left in World War II that wanted an
alliance with the Soviets, and Winston Churchill -- far from a leftist --
stood with them. In other words, the debate has never been an ideologically
coherent argument. It has been all over the place.

The current
incarnation of this argument concerns the U.S.-jihadist war, and the
ideological complexity shows itself quickly.

There are two flavors
of idealists here. First, there are those who argue that in waging its war
against the jihadists, the United States should never do anything that would
violate basic principles of human rights -- and that it should avoid
alliances with states that are themselves oppressive. So, for example, some
argue that working closely with Saudi Arabia, a kingdom they regard as
antithetical to American moral standards, is unacceptable.

There are
also those who argue that the primary reason for going to war in the Middle
East is to create democracies there. There are two sorts of idealists here.
There are the neoconservatives -- some of whom sincerely believe the
prodemocracy argument, and others who have adopted it as a justification for
military campaigns they supported for other reasons. But alongside the
neoconservatives, there are liberals who argue that the protection of "human
rights" -- often used interchangeably with "democracy" -- should be the
primary justification for any war. Recall liberal support for the Kosovo war
as an example.

On the other side of the rhetorical divide are those
who make two arguments. The first is that -- as in the historical cases
involving Britain, the Soviet Union and China -- the practical reality is
that the United States must always work with allies when fighting in the
Eastern Hemisphere, and that those allies frequently will be morally
repugnant to Americans. In other words, whatever you may think of the
Saudis' view of women, an alliance with Saudi Arabia has been indispensable
for fighting the war against al Qaeda, regardless of whether the later Iraq
campaign was justified. In other words, the argument for alliance in the
past remains valid today.

This is extended to the argument that the
United States should have as its goal the creation of democracy in the
Middle East. The counterargument goes like this: Democracy in the Middle
East may be, in some moral sense, a good idea, but American power -- though
enormous -- is not infinite. The jihadists in Iraq and elsewhere have not
been crushed, and the United States needs regional allies. The Americans,
the logic goes, cannot simultaneously seek alliance and try to overthrow
regimes.

The idealist argument -- that a country that pursues only
its physical and economic security will lose its moral foundation -- is not
a frivolous argument. At a certain point, the pursuit of security requires
the pursuit of power, and the pursuit of power is corrupting. At the same
time, pursuing justice without a sufficiently large sword will get you
whipped. And staying out of the fight does not mean that the fight won't
come to you. The American moral project can be lost in two ways: through
opportunistic corruption or through annihilation.

Politicians do not
have the luxury of contemplating the paradox of being. They must make
decisions, and inaction is very much a decision. George Washington decided
that safety trumped political principle and broadly steered clear of the
French revolutionary regime. Franklin Roosevelt saw the path to preserving
democracy through alliance with Stalin. Nixon swallowed political principle
by flying to Beijing. In retrospect, it is very difficult to see how any of
them could have chosen differently. A doctrine emerges in looking at these
three examples: the pursuit of political principles is possible only when
one is willing to look at the long term; the near term requires ruthless and
unsentimental compromise.

Had the idealist demand that the United
States never work with oppressive nations been honored, Hitler well might
have won World War II. The pursuit of democracy that forces the United
States beyond its military and political resources ultimately will weaken
democracy. Moral demands that are not rooted in political and military
reality achieve the opposite of the desired end. But the realist position
also has its weakness. Sometimes being ruthless becomes an end in itself.
Sometimes the defense of the national interest becomes a justification for
defending one's own interest.

These are not simple matters but, as
noted, politicians do not have time to contemplate them for very long. Their
natural inclination is to act, and the action they gravitate toward is the
pursuit of power. It is interesting to note that the president most often
associated with the pursuit of human rights, Abraham Lincoln, was -- in the
course of its pursuit -- a ruthless violator of those rights. No one
violated constitutional protections more systematically than Lincoln, and no
one was more dedicated to those protections. The paradox, however, is simply
solved: The path from Point A to Point B is almost never a straight line.
Anyone who heads in a straight line will fail. This is a lesson that is
equally applicable to the neoconservatives and Amnesty
International.

This discussion becomes important now because the
United States is pirouetting between factions in the Islamic world. The
United States won World War II by pragmatically taking advantage of the
totalitarian states and allying with Stalin. The United States won the Cold
War by taking advantage of a split between Communist states and allying with
China. And viewed from a high level, the United States is in the process of
trying to win the jihadist war by taking advantage of the split between
Sunnis and Shia and allying with Iran.

There are excellent moral
arguments in favor of fighting a war to bring democracy to Iraq. There are
excellent moral arguments for never having gotten involved in Iraq in the
first place. There are excellent moral arguments for not having gotten into
Desert Storm -- against having based troops in Saudi Arabia and getting al
Qaeda furious at the United States in the first place. From all directions,
the world is filled with outstanding moral arguments, and they have their
place.

But first there is the reality that exists now. The United
States has too many enemies and too few forces through which to impose its
will. As in World War II and the Cold War, splitting the enemy is a
practical imperative that precedes all moral imperatives. In this case, that
means playing off the various factions within the Muslim world and making the
best deal possible with one power or another. In any deal, the United States
will wind up allied with someone that the Americans disapprove of, much as
their future ally will disapprove of them.

The United States may
well wind up making a deal with Iran over Iraq. Alternatively, a Sunni
coalition led by Saudi Arabia might give Washington the opportunity to
negotiate with the Baathist guerrillas in the Sunni Triangle. Whichever path
is followed, it will be condemned by both left and right for dozens of
excellent moral reasons.

Bush has been pursuing the path of
pragmatism, however clumsily or adroitly, for months now. He will make a
deal with someone because going it alone is not an option. The current
situation in Iraq cannot be sustained, and all presidents ultimately respond
to reality. Bush might have to eat some words about democracy and the United
States' commitment thereto, but if Roosevelt could speak of the Four
Freedoms while working with Josef Stalin, all things are possible.

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