Electrifying The Titanic: The Shipwreck of Industrial Civilization by William Ophuls (2021)

2021 coda to Apologies to the Grandchildren

This booklet (50 pages) is vintage William Ophuls. Brief, pungent, to the point. In fact, it’s probably best seen as a coda to Apologies to the Grandchildren: Reflections on Our Ecological Predicament, Its Deeper Causes, and Its Political Consequences (2018). I recommend reading Apologies first, but then I’d recommend reading his entire body of work. So, start where you will, but start. 

In Electrifying the Titanic, Ophuls breaks no new ground. His theme throughout his books, especially those published in this century (beginning with Plato’s Revenge) share a common theme: our industrial civilization is destined for a reckoning, and the reckoning will not see the survival of industrial civilization. The causes are many, including some causes suffered by civilizations in the past. Our civilization is outrunning its resources, including the resources needed to address its “waste.” Of course, it’s become obvious to all but those most determined to remain obtuse that we no longer are looking at the reality of climate change as a reality ahead of us; we are in the midst of it. And to allow the human project to survive, we will need to see a complete change in our ecological, economic, social, and political systems. Entire worldviews need to change. 

Sounds too much like Chicken Little’s warning that the sky is falling? I wish that I could believe that, but I fear—yes, fear—that Ophuls is on to something. We seem destined to keep our heads in the sand as long as possible to extend the status quo that's melting (literally) before our eyes. We have leaders who acknowledge the problem, but who are unable to move the procrastinators, gamblers, and Pollyannas. We need to slam on the brakes before we collide head-on with reality. Of course, if this seems too harsh, too “alarmist,” then don’t read Ophuls. Ophuls writes with the voice of an Old Testament prophet or (as he apparently is), a Buddhist master who brooks no excuses.  I believe that Ophuls is a Buddhist meditation teacher as well as a leading thinker in the field of ecology, civilization, and politics. His book on Buddhist meditation is aptly titled Buddha Takes No Prisoners. So if you’re looking for solace and encouragement, go elsewhere. On the other hand, if you’re willing to hear a prophetic voice, listen up! 

Again, this isn’t the place to start reading Ophuls, but still, he covers some basics. In short, we can’t continue to consume at the rate that we have been. Much of our efforts will now have to go into preserving what we have, not expanding our capabilities. A replacement bridge, for instance, adds to GNP but it doesn't expand our capabilities. Much of what we do to keep our economic machine humming along involves piling complexity onto complexity in an effort to solve, or more often, simply to postpone resolving our problems. At some point—forced by circumstances—we’ll have to reduce and simplify. Unfortunately, our path of development has kicked the lower (simpler) rungs of the ladder out from beneath us, which will cause a sudden fall and preclude a climb down. When all is said and done, Ophuls believes that we humans will once again become primarily an agricultural species. (In an earlier work, borrowing, I believe, from William Irwin Thompson, Ophuls hopes for something like “Bali with electronics.”)

But is a dignified retreat or realignment of our civilization possible? Ophuls isn’t optimistic. He notes that the American constitutional system doesn’t fit well in our contemporary world. Indeed, he describes the U.S. constitutional regime as “antiquated.” Also, the civil society upon which Tocqueville saw American democracy based has declined precipitously. We lack an “authoritative standard of virtue.” And addition to the disorder of our current political regime, we have “thermodynamic debts” as a result of “degradation, decay, and disorder." All of these factors bode a “time of troubles” ahead. 

Recognizing that our political regime is likely to fail the current challenges, the best advice that Ophuls has to offer is the practice of Machiavelli’s virtu; that is, strength of heart and mind in the face of daunting fate. We will live again in the world of Thucydides, in which the strong will prey upon the weak. We will need Machiavelli’s ethics—a willingness to use evil in the pursuit of a higher good—even more in the future than we have in the past. 

Is the analysis of Ophuls correct? Over the course of his books that I’ve read, I find his case convincing. I’d love for him to be proven wrong; but I fear he’s being proven right. If I could wave a wand and awaken the world to our plight; make the human race utterly sensible; and make politics truly functional for the greater good, I would happily do so. But I can’t do this; no billionaire can do this (and even those hoping to do so). All we can do is muddle through, hoping that we act before our situation deteriorates too much further, as indeed it is deteriorating—despite improvements—by the minute. Truly, Ophuls is a prophet crying in the wilderness hoping to turn the people from their folly, their idolatry. But prophecy is neither fortune-telling nor mere forecasting. It's a call to create the future via an appreciation of the consequences of our choices. 

We’d all be wise to weigh the words of this prophet. 

The Road to Unfreedom: Russia, Europe, America by Timothy Snyder

In his latest work, Timothy Snyder sets a high bar for himself: he compares his project to that of Thucydides in The Peloponnesian Wars. Snyder justifies the comparison by noting that Thucydides, like him, was writing about the events of his lifetime.

Can history be so contemporary? We think of the Peloponnesian Wars as ancient history . . . . Yet their historian Thucydides was describing events that he experienced. He included discussions of the past insofar as this was necessary to clarify the stakes in the present. This work humbly follows that approach. (12)

Snyder also explains his invocation of Thucydides on two additional grounds. First, with Thucydides, "History as a discipline began as a confrontation with war propaganda." Snyder continues,  "Thucydides was careful to make a distinction between leaders' accounts of their actions and the real reasons for their decisions." (10). In the remainder of the book, Snyder endeavors to lift the curtain that seeks to conceal the wizards who are busy pulling levers (or in more contemporary terms, programming content) to beguile the gullible. Second, Thucydides identified "oligarchy" as "rule by the few," and that term has since found its way into contemporary English via the Russian experience of the 1990s. (I, however, prefer the more old-fashioned American term, "plutocrats," but I concede the point.)

So does Snyder justify his audacious comparison in this book? Yes. I don't know that it will go down into history with the same staying power of Thucydides' classic work, but it certainly meets a similar need in our time.

Snyder provides a crucial scheme to give shape to his tale. He distinguishes three varieties of politics: the politics of inevitability, the politics of eternity, and their mutual alternative, which he doesn't label until the end of the book, but that I'll label the politics of action. (He doesn't explicitly reference the political thought of Hannah Arendt (although he does quote her), but I perceive that his political thinking is very much influenced by Arendt, so I propose the label the "politics of action" in her honor. N.B. In the next to last paragraph of the book he uses the term "the politics of responsibility," I believe the two terms interchangeable from this perspective.)

What Snyder labels as "the politics of inevitability" arises from the idea that "the future is just more of the present, that the laws of progress are known, that there are no alternatives, and therefore nothing really to be done." (7). He notes that Soviet Communism held these traits before it morphed into the politics of eternity, but he's most concerned that this type of politics marked American and European thinking at the end of the Cold War, at "the end of history." (Snyder, unlike many other writers on this topic, does not stop to slam Francis Fukuyama at this point, which I find refreshing, given that I believe Fukuyama has been at least in some measure unfairly maligned on this topic. Blog post.)

But when the inevitable doesn't arrive as promised, the politics of inevitability will collapse and "like a ghost from a corpse" (15) the politics of eternity will arise. In contrast to the good times promised by the politics of inevitability, the politics of eternity "places one nation at the center of a cyclical story of victimhood. Time is no longer a line into the future, but a circle that endlessly returns the same threats from the past. . . . Progress gives way to doom." (8). Yet despite their competing accounts of the schema of events, these two modes of politics share specific defining characteristics.

Inevitability and eternity translated facts into narratives. Those ways by inevitability see every fact as a blip that does not alter the overall story of progress; those who shift to eternity classify every new event as just one more instance of a timeless threat. Each masquerades as history; each does away with history. Inevitability politicians teach that the specifics of the past are irrelevant, since anything that happens is just grist for the mill of progress. Eternity politicians leap from one moment to another, over decades or centuries, to build a myth of innocence and danger. . They imagine cycles of threat in the past, creating an imagined pattern that they realize in the present by producing artificial crises and daily drama. (8-9). 

Each of these two visions has its own style of propaganda and creating a "political fiction" (9). It is at this point (and undoubtedly others) that the politics of action pushes back. As Snyder notes:

[W]hatever impression propaganda makes at the time, it is not history's final verdict. There is a difference between memory, the impressions we are given; and history, the connections that we work to make--if we wish. (9)

One final point about the distinction between Snyder's two models of misleading politics. Each, he claims, has "no ideas." This true in some sense, but it misses the point that these competing visions are both marked by one big idea (inevitability or eternity) that spin off the rest of (what passes for) for thought in these two regimes. Snyder spends most of a chapter on Ivan Ilyin, an early 20th-century fascist Russian "thinker" whom Putin and his court adopted to provide a model for the politics of eternity (and whose remains were brought back to Russia for re-internment more than 60 years after his death, with great ceremony). It seems that the politics of eternity does have "ideas," but that it does not entertain any novel ideas that are grounded in historical reality. (Again, we're reminded of Arendt, who emphasized plurality and "beginning" in her work.).

Beginning, before it becomes a historical event, is the supreme capacity of man; politically, it is identical with man's freedom.

--Hannah Arendt (1951) (p.111) 

Snyder chronicles the descent of the Soviet Union into the politics of eternity, the chaos after the fall of Communist rule, the early Putin years, and then Putin's gradual adoption of the politics of eternity. I found Putin's metamorphosis most interesting: in his first years of rule, he didn't promote the politics of eternity nor excessive hostility toward the West. Snyder suggests (and I have no reason to disagree) that Putin's takedown of the oligarchs as a political threat and resulted in access to their wealth that he took advantage of and that converted his regime into a full-blown kleptocracy (rule by thieves, in essence). In such a scheme, Putin and Russia could not compete with the West, and therefore, drawing upon a long-standing Russian inferiority complex (my term, not Snyder's), he turned to the politics of eternity. Putin and the politics of eternity practice what Snyder labels as "strategic relativism;" in short, if you can't reach up to your rival's level, then pull them down to yours. And this became Putin's operating principle viz. Europe and the U.S.

Snyder also untangles the confusion about the invasion of Ukraine by Russia and all the surrounding issues. As a seasoned historian of Eastern Europe (and knowledgeable in several of those languages), he watched events unfold in real time. He provides a coherent account of events as well as explaining how those events fit his rubric of the politics of eternity. Snyder realizes how vital the project of getting the facts straight is. As he notes, "To end factuality is to begin eternity" (160) and "The ink of political fiction is blood."  For just a moment, ponder the meaning of that quote in light of the character--or lack thereof--of the current American president.

The final section of the book deals with America. As Putin moved Russia moved more deeply into the politics of eternity, his government began to take what they term "active measures" to weaken and confound the United States. There best weapon? "Donald Trump, successful businessman," a fiction that Snyder describes as "the payload of a cyberweapon." I will not repeat the details here, but suffice it to say that if I'd read this a few years ago, I would have thought someone was trying to update "The Manchurian Candidate" (again, but don't bother with that one). So now when I read the paper, even earlier today, I'm not surprised. Snyder is as honest, forthright, and meticulous as the House Intelligence [sic] Committee was duplicitous in its claim that the Russians didn't favor Trump. (Thank you, Senator Burr, for some refreshing honesty and candor.) Of course, we Americans must take responsibility for the policies and developments that allowed so many Americans to be exploited by this Russian adversary (not the nation, the regime). We set ourselves up; they played us.

As Snyder's prologue was a call to question and understand, his epilogue is a call to action, the politics of action (or "responsibility," as he describes it below).

To experience its destruction is to see a world for the first time. Inheritors of an order we did not build, we are now witnesses to a decline we did not foresee.  

To see our moment is to step away from the stories supplied for our stupefaction, myths of inevitability and eternity, progress and doom. Life is elsewhere. Inevitability and eternity are not history but ideas within history, ways of experiencing our time that accelerates its trends while slowing our thoughts. To see, we must set aside the dark glass, and see as we are seen, ideas for what they are, history as what we make. 

. . . .

If we see history as it is, we see our places in it, what we might change, and how we might do better. We halt our thoughtless journey from inevitability to eternity; ad exit the road to unfreedom. We being a politics of responsibility.  

To take part in its creation is to see a world for a second time. Students of the virtues that history reveals, we become the makers of a renewal that no one can foresee. 

This is a brilliant history, meditation, and call to action. I heartily recommend it.  

Grand Strategies: Literature, Statecraft, and World Order, by Charles Hill

This book has quite a title, and amazingly, it lives up the grandness of its title. Hill, a former Foreign Service officer, now teaches a course at Yale with John Lewis Gaddis and Paul Kennedy entitled "Grand Strategy". Based on this book, and the biography of Hill that I'm currently reading, that would be one heck of a course.

Simply put, this book tours the world, in time and place, and considers regimes, society, and international relations through the lens of great literature. In the Prologue he considers Cao Zueqin's The Dream of the Red Chamber, Dante's Comedia, and Conrad's The Rescue. From there, Hill takes us through the Classics (Homer, Thucydides, and on to Virgil, among others), and then into medieval, Renaissance, early modern, and Enlightenment authors. Nearer to our own time, he discusses Rushdie, Liu E, Ma Jian, and others. A truly amazing tour. (I throw in the Chinese authors of the benefit of 1HP, as I have only heard of them here.) Each of these works of literature, philosophy, and history reflects and molds the order of the society in which it was written. Hill makes the case for considering these works by relating a tale about Chairman Mao, who kept a copy of The Dream of the Red Chamber (among many other literary works) and claims to have read it five times. As Hill notes, this doesn't make Mao a humanitarian (far from it!), but it shows that he was a student. Hill also worked with long-time American diplomat Paul Nitze, and he reports that Nitze would be found reading Shakespeare on long flights across the Atlantic, where he traveled to negotiate arms control agreements with the Soviets.

Hill discusses these numerous texts, explicating their perspectives on society and statecraft. The scope and depth of his erudition is impressive. However, I'd say that this book isn't just for those interested in international relations. Indeed, I'd argue that relations between nations isn't so different than relations between individuals. (No agency problem—or is there?) In any event, even if you took this book as a reading list, you'd have years of great literature to read.

I'll write more about Hill after I've finished his biography, but if he's representative of the caliber of the men and women of the USFS, the we have some very capable persons there. A highly recommended book for anyone interested in literature or international relations.