Nor is this only a matter of theory. We have seen all of these possibilities with our own eyes in the experience of those contemporary states that most closely paralleled the multi-national ideal: Russia and Yugoslavia—states that have attempted to maintain themselves as multi-national entities, in the process oscillating, as one might expect, among the poles of feudal despotism, revolutionary empire, and chaos. In particular, it is important to take note of the strenuous efforts made over recent years to liberalize the Russian regime, while at the same time holding the multi-national state together. But of course, the results have been such as to inspire little confidence, resembling nothing so much as the futile efforts to liberalize and at the same time hold together the dying multi-national state of Austria-Hungary. Indeed, if there is to be any hope for the creation of a moderate and stable Russia, it seems obvious that this hope exists only in its reconstitution as a national state.

Among advocates of an order of multi-national states, there are a few who seem uneasy over the lack of historical precedents that might hint at the feasibility of their utopia. When pressed, they often turn to the United States, which they assert to represent the ideal of an undifferentiated humanity, while at the same time having forgone the taste for foreign conquest. And indeed, the American example is of the utmost importance, precisely because there has never in history been a state in such a position of power that has not used this power for expansion. How is it, we must ask, that the United States has been the most powerful state on earth for at least half a century, and yet not a single voice has been raised among its citizens during this time calling for the annexation of Canada? I am certain that some will attribute this to the liberality or humanity of Americans, but this is no answer; there are many Americans who are neither liberal nor humanitarian, and yet none of them are interested in such a course.

There is only one reasonable answer to this question, and this is that America’s disinterest in expansion results from the fact that it is a classic national state. Far from having an undifferentiated view of humanity, or from embracing a multi-national identity held together only by loyalty to a common flag and citizenship, Americans have from the time of their founding understood their nation to be sharply and intrinsically differentiated from all other nations, not least the European nations with which they have the greatest cultural affinities. This fact evidences itself not only in terms of America’s external relations, which are premised on a rigorous application of the principle of the sovereignty of nations, but also in its internal constitution and policies, which, outside of the most extreme intellectual circles, show not even a slight willingness to adopt a multi-cultural (not to mention multi-national) identity. On the contrary, American willingness to accept significant differences in culture ended during the Civil War, which was fought to eradicate the “peculiar institution” of slavery and the culture and economy based on it; attempts by the Mormon church to establish a territory on American soil that would tolerate the peculiar marital institutions of that religion were likewise stamped out by the state with utmost vigor. Indeed, the large numbers of immigrants that have come to America’s shores since have been assimilated into its unique national culture almost without a trace, and there is as yet no reason to believe the challenge posed by the present waves of immigrants—in whose name a few radicals have entertained the idea of establishing Spanish-speaking educational institutions—will end any differently. It is therefore not the supposed diversity or tolerance of the United States, but rather its extraordinary cultural homogeneity, which has been the cornerstone of its national unity and the foundation of its free institutions.

The achievement of a world in which the leading political power is not an imperial state is an unprecedented achievement in history, and one that has had unprecedented consequences for the liberty of nations everywhere. This is the achievement of the national state, an institution that reflects the accumulated wisdom of Western civilization regarding the kind of political order conducive to the freedom and well-being of men. Much as the ideal of national liberty may have fallen out of favor, the nature of men, which led to the development of this ideal and permitted its success in its contest with empire and anarchy, remains unchanged. And as those who now advocate discarding this hard-won institution in favor of the new multi-national state seem to have devoted little thought to the qualities of our nature that allowed this institution to flourish, one suspects that their capacity to replace it with something better is next to nonexistent. In the effort to create the multi-national state, they may perhaps—after experiencing hardship on a scale we can scarcely imagine—succeed in creating out of an existing welter of nations, a single, culturally undifferentiated nation such as the United States. Or they may find themselves forced to relearn what their forefathers had already discovered at great expense, and return to an order of national states not so dissimilar from the one they have set such store in abandoning. Or, finally, they may succeed in uprooting the principle of national sovereignty, in so doing returning mankind to an older order of empire or anarchy, with all this implies. But in any case, one suspects that they must sooner or later be confronted by the limits imposed on the political order by our nature. Such a confrontation always leaves one much wiser, even if diminished in other ways.

 

 

I do not believe it is possible to advance too many defensible claims concerning absolute and universal principle. Even the most rigorously binding moral norms cease to function at the limits of the range of possible experiences; even the most useful and worthy political principles become worthless and even evil when interpreted as being applicable to all possible circumstances. The proscription against taking innocent life, for example, is a principle of morality and justice as great as any known to man. And yet innocent lives are taken in every war, by men and governments whose commitment to this principle is often beyond question. Such bloodshed is accepted as part of war even by civilized and humane nations, because it is understood that moral principle can only have force where it is possible for it to be applied in practice. A state that is unwilling to participate in a war whose consequences will include the shedding of innocent blood is a state that must capitulate at the first sign of war; and such a state clearly cannot protect its own population against terror and bloodshed. In other words, the principle negates itself in the extreme case, and the attempt to apply it in such a case leads to the opposite of its intended purpose. For this reason, we must say that the principle is limited; and that there are areas in which it cannot be applied, and therefore has no force. The fact that the proscription of bloodshed is and must be limited in this manner does not in any way weaken the absolutely binding character of this moral principle where it can be applied. But it does mean that such principles cannot be absolutely applicable across the entire range of possible circumstances.

I believe this much is obvious. Less obvious is the relationship between the applicability of principle and the power of the state. In a certain sense, the concept of the universal applicability of principle tacitly relies on the availability of infinite resources or infinite power. One can only consider the application of principle where there is sufficient power to apply it in practice, and as one approaches the extreme case, the power that must be made available in order to realize the principle grows dramatically. Thus while the state is and must be committed to bringing a murderer to justice “no matter what it takes,” in practice the actions of the state are limited by the availability of resources. The apprehension of a given killer is necessarily a function of the forces available to press the pursuit: The forces necessary to bring to justice a man who murders his wife in a rage are far smaller than those necessary to lay hands on an experienced professional killer; and these are, in turn, inadequate to the task of extracting such a killer from the protection of a crime family or drug cartel with a small army at its disposal. In the extreme case, it is an entire state that affords the killer refuge, whether by negligence or design, and nothing short of invasion by the full force of a nation’s military will bring the killer to justice. In each case, the cost of justice escalates. In the extreme case, the cost of justice is full-scale war. Perhaps one can imagine an infinite power that could routinely brook such obstacles in the pursuit of absolute application of the principle of justice without significant injury to itself. But any lesser power cannot pursue justice “no matter what” without overextending its capacities and doing itself harm. And once this harm is sufficiently great, the very capacity of the state to enforce justice is impaired, and the pursuit of the principle is found to negate the principle. One then reaches the limits of the principle’s applicability, and these limits are found to depend in part on the scale of the power at hand.