Twin Post: D-Day and Ray Bradbury

Two things have really converged today that make being a blogger a bit interesting.  The first is that on June 5, Ray Bradbury passed away.  The other thing is that today, June 6, is the anniversary of the D-Day invasion of Normandy during the Second World War.  Both topics are likely being blogged about all over the internet, but I thought it would be remiss of me to not say at least something.  I've avoided doing this before because everybody is doing it, but this time I figured I'd hop on the bandwagon.

Ray Bradbury
The passing of this giant of science-fiction is honestly quite sad, especially since he was prescient enough to foresee the cultural decline of American society into kitsch and the waning of literary awareness.  I read Fahrenheit 451 back in high school and it struck me how much Bradbury predicted how cultural and moral relativism would generate a malaise of meaninglessness and censorship of literary works (much of which comes out in the "Coda" of the book).  I was reminded of this when I discovered that new editions of Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn were being published with heavy editing in order to make the work less "offensive."

I've read only a few of his short stories, but I especially remember "All Summer in a Day," dealing with school bullying on a colonized Venus (before we knew about the pressure-cooker atmosphere) because she's the only student to have ever seen the sunlight (since Venus is shrouded in clouds and constant rain).  This makes her "different" and the other children reveal the base, cruel, evil selfishness of human nature--only to discover deep shame and guilt for their actions at the end.  Sadly, what's done is done and they can never undo their behavior.  It's a great story about human nature and was quite moving for me to read as a child who suffered from bullying and ostracism.  Although I was far more angry and missed the real point of the story--that you cannot undo evil--and focused more on the poor girl who ends up being tortured by her peers.

Bradbury is one of those writers who has proven that science-fiction can, indeed, be literature.  He was most prolific during the height of science-fiction writing, during the middle of the 20th century.  That was when the likes of Bradbury, Clarke, and Asimov rubbed shoulders with Heinlein, Sturgeon, Hubbard, and Ellison and others.  They wrote in a world before Star Wars radically altered our perceptions of science-fiction (for good or for ill).

D-Day
On June 5, 1944, as we all should know from school, the Allied invasion of Europe began with paratroop drops and an amphibious landing in Normandy, France.  This was the turning-point in the war against Nazi Germany.  Although Hitler had been steadily losing ground in North Africa and Italy, it wasn't until the French front was opened that the Nazi war machine really began to fall apart.

We've all seen the opening shots of Saving Private Ryan.  Hopefully, we also watched the chronicle of Easy Company in the HBO miniseries Band of Brothers.  Some of us fancy ourselves to have survived the horrors of the war through playing Call of Duty 2 or Medal of Honor: Frontline.  The experience of war can be horrific and harrowing.  Many of our grandparents and great-grandparents (has it been so long?) are still haunted by the memories of those days, when they stormed the beaches, killed and died.

The Normandy landings would see at least 12,000 Allied soldiers dead.  By the conclusion of Operation Overlord, the Allies would have suffered over 225,000 dead and wounded, while the German casualties approach 450,000 by some estimates.  The immense human suffering and destruction of lives brought about by World War II should not be easily forgotten--nor should the lives and deaths of the men who fought against Nazi Germany.

Since I had the pleasure of reading Anthony Beevor's Stalingrad, I have wanted to read some of his other books.  Considering how excellent Stalingrad was, I figured I'd plug his D-Day book, especially since I intend to get around to it within the next year or so.


Interesting note:  I find it interesting that nearly 160,000 men stormed the beaches at Normandy in June of 1944, while (considering my last post) almost the same number of men marched ashore at Busan in May of 1592 to begin the samurai invasion of Korea.

History Book: THE IMJIN WAR by Samuel Hawley

In 1592, the Year of the Water Dragon (임진), a force of nearly 160,000 men landed in Busan harbor, swiftly overran the citadel, and proceeded to march north through the Korean peninsula intending to carve a bloody path of carnage to Beijing.  They had been dispatched by the 太閤 (Taiko), 豊臣 秀吉 (Toyotomi Hideyoshi), who had united Japan under his personal charisma and generalship, to conquer 明朝 (Ming China) and if 조선국 (Choson Korea) stood in their way, then they would be destroyed.  The next seven years would see Ming China nearly bankrupted, Choson Korea ravaged with war and its attendant plagues and droughts, and Japan bleeding manpower and capital into the Taiko's impossible vanity project.  The result would be a legacy of ruined relations between China and Korea on the one hand and Japan on the other.  Japan would benefit from importing advanced pottery and other industrial techniques from Korea, but the human cost was incredibly high.  Choson Korea would come to understand the incredible power of firearms in warfare, but the cost for them was even higher--for decades their economy, which was mostly based on agriculture, would be a shambles and the Choson dynasty would never again reach the cultural heights that their ancestors had enjoyed.

The Koreans had no idea what they were in for.  The Japanese had just ended a century-and-a-half of internal struggle between rival 大名 (daimyo) as the 足利幕府 (Ashikaga Shogunate) proved to be impotent after the 応仁の乱 (Onin War, 1467-77).  When firearms were introduced halfway through this Period of Warring States, 戦国時代 (Sengoku Jidai), they revolutionized how the Japanese fought wars.  Massed units of peasant-conscripts armed with muskets could devastate a samurai cavalry charge.  The Japanese became very experienced in military affairs, logistics, siege engineering, and the use of hand-held firearms.  When they landed in Korea, the disorganized, poorly-trained (and often poorly led) Korean forces were completely massacred.

The Japanese, however, proved to have over-extended themselves.  When military mastermind--and possibly the greatest admiral in human history, greater even than Britain's famed Nelson--이순신 (Yi Sun-shin) led a series of campaigns against the Japanese navy, he successfully cut the supply-lines from Japan.  Food became scarce in a war-torn Korea, and starvation became a real problem.  When the Ming forces intervened against the Japanese, it became apparent that conquest of Korea, let alone Ming China, was well beyond Toyotomi Hideyoshi's reach.  In retaliation, the aging tyrant ordered his forces in Japan conduct a devastating sequence of punitive expeditions throughout southern Korea before retreating home.

Samuel Hawley's narrative of the conflict, entitled The Imjin War: Japan's Sixteenth Century Invasion of Korea and Attempt to Conquer China, is a tale of tragedy and human suffering brought about by one aloof and tyrannical man of great hubris.  He endeavors to examine the seven years of warfare in Korea between the Choson dynasty, Ming Chinese, and Japanese samurai from a variety of standpoints.  In doing so, he delves into Chinese, Japanese, and Korean accounts of the war, as well as personal correspondence and political documents in an attempt to engage the events on the personal level.  What unravels is a multifaceted chronicle of human experience.  The conduct of the war and the accounts of battles are coupled with excerpts from edicts, letters, and descriptions of the backroom politics, intrigue, and byzantine treachery that plagued both international negotiations and the bureaucratic maze of the Choson royal administration.

It's important to compare Hawley's work with Stephen Turnbull's publications on the war, the 2002 Samurai Invasion: Japan's Korean War 1592-1598, by Cassell Military histories and 2008's The Samurai Invasions of Korea, 1592-1598, by Osprey.  Turnbull is far more focused on the military maneuvers and less with the politics or the human dimensions of the conflict.  These elements are not given the same attention to detail as Hawley's massive narrative.  Turnbull's research is mostly drawn from Japanese sources, occasionally from Korean sources, and rarely (if ever) from Chinese.  In comparison, Hawley's work is far more scholarly, with extensive endnotes and a large bibliography.  Where Turnbull shines is in the detailed maps and illustrations throughout his books.  Hawley's work sports a number of black-and-white plates that are extremely well-chosen, but lack the luster of the full-color illustrations in Turnbull's publications.  I found myself constantly thumbing through Turnbull's many Osprey publications to help visualize the Choson, Ming, and Japanese forces.  Imagining the Korean landscape was easy--I spent three years teaching English in Korea--however, since many of the fortifications have been destroyed by time, war, and urban development Turnbull's maps of sieges and his Japanese Castles in Korea: 1592-1598 for Osprey Publishing were invaluable companions to Hawley's scholarship.

Hawley supplies his own interpretation of the various political and military developments that emerge through the course of the Imjin War.  He discusses the importance of Yi Sun-Shin's excellent admiralship against the Japanese navy, it's impact on the war and how it strained the Japanese supply-lines through into and throughout the peninsula.  He also notes the influence of guerrilla and warrior-monk units against the Japanese and the complex politics and personal agendas of Chinese generals and bureaucrats.  Surveys of Japan, China, and Korea before and after the war are provided to give context and background to the events.  Most impressively, Hawley frankly discusses the difficulties involved in discussing East Asian history, where historical fact can (and often is) manipulated and subverted by politics and yellow journalism.

Unfortunately, his book is very light on deep historical analysis and insight and is, according to Kenneth Swope, riddled with errors both major and minor.  I don't know enough about these events in detail to be able to judge the depth and breadth of the errors in his narrative.  Hawley's bibliography, while more comprehensive than Turnbull's, relies a bit too much on translations and doesn't delve deeply enough into original and untranslated sources.  Translations are often problematic and Hawley's book is susceptible to error creep from over-reliance on these.  Hawley appears to have a thorough grasp of Korean language sources and research, but lacks in the Japanese and Chinese languages.  He doesn't approach the immense depth of, say, Anthony Beevor's explorations of major Second World War battles.  However, Hawley's book is much more approachable for the lay-person and a very thorough introduction to this fascinating conflict than some of the more scholarly and obscure analyses that might surface in an academic library.

Overall, Samuel Hawley's account of the Imjin War will probably remain the definitive volume for a long time.  It's a deep shame that more Western historians do not research and publish more narratives and examinations of East Asian history with such attention to detail and thoroughness of scholarship.  It is also a deep shame that Hawley's Imjin War received such a limited publication run.  I was fortunate enough to purchase it for ₩45,000 (approximately $38) at Youngkwang Books in Busan.  Amazon has it used for around $150 in the States.  My copy, a second edition, was printed and bound by Samwha Publishing in South Korea.  It's not readily available overseas, unfortunately.  Nevertheless, it is absolutely indispensable for the student of Korean history, feudal Japanese studies, or those researching the decline of the Ming Dynasty.

NOTE:  I'm very keenly interested in reading a copy of Kenneth Swope's A Dragon's Head and a Serpent's Tail: Ming China and the First Great East Asian War, 1592-1598, just to be able to compare it's scholarship with Hawley and Turnbull.  Swope reviewed Hawley's book a bit unfavorably on Amazon's website.  I don't know if his review is justified, seeing as there is precious little in the way of actual scholarship in the West regarding the Imjin War.  Since Swope's book could be considered competition, his review must be viewed with a jaundiced eye.

HIST 315: Ancient Greece -- Required Texts

When designing a course that is set to cover everything from the Bronze Age all the way to the conquest by Rome, you have to decide what you can fit into a fifteen-week semester with about three hours of class-time each week.  This is not easy.

The most difficult decisions are not what to include, but what to omit.  This also crosses over into readings that the course requires.  Since it is a 300-level class, I've had a lot to consider.  I want to expose the students to some of the more prominent historians of the ancient world.  This would include guys like Donald Kagan, N.G.L. Hammond, G.E.M. de Ste. Croix, Peter Green, Victor Davis Hanson, and Moses I. Finley, to name just a small few.  I also want to give them readings from the time period, which would include guys like Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon, Plato, Aristotle, Hesiod, Homer, Aristophanes... and the list goes on.  The students should be exposed not only to texts by those that lived during the time but also to theory, discussion, interpretation, and analysis by modern historians.

Though choices have to be made.

As a primary text for my course, I've settled on Chester G. Starr's A History of the Ancient World.  It's a pretty thorough survey of human history up to the fall of Rome in the West.  I was going to assign N.G.L. Hammond's superb A History of Greece to 322 B.C. but that book didn't cover the Hellenistic Era.  I will, instead, try to integrate some of the things Hammond has to say into my lectures and perhaps a few print-outs for my course packet.

I want to have at least two or three other modern, supplementary texts that will help illustrate scholarship, research, analysis, and interpretations of Greek history and society.  To that end, I wanted to include A. Andrewes' The Greek Tyrants but it seems to have gone out-of-print (and the "new" prices at amazon can't be justified by the brevity of the book).  Therefore, I'm only going to assign the students W.G.G. Forrest's A History of Sparta, 950-192 B.C. and N.G.L. Hammond's The Genius of Alexander the Great.

So much for modern texts.  When it comes to Ancient Greeks, I'm definitely going to require the students purchase Lattimore's translation of The Iliad.  Playwrights are also an important inclusion, so I'm assigning some Aristophanes (preferably The Wasps and Lysistrata) but I don't want to give them bowdlerized Penguin editions, so I'm searching for more accurate translations that have all the plays I want the students to read contained in one volume.  As for Plato, I'm certain I can find a decent volume that contains The Apology, Crito, Euthyphro, and maybe a couple other dialogues.  As for tragedy, I've pretty much settled on Oedipus at Colonnus since it illustrates a lot about the polis.  Although Plutarch was writing much later and was a conservative/reactionary whose moralizing severely slants his biographies, I'm considering the inexpensive Penguin collections of his Lives, such as The Rise and Fall of Athens: Nine Greek Lives and On Sparta. 

The course packet will contain selections of readings, excerpts of poetry, plays, Plato's dialogues, some Aristotle, some Herodotus and Thucydides (especially the Melian Dialogue) and a couple of chapters from some modern scholarly works.  Perhaps I'll discuss more of that later.

The Monastery Megadungeon

A few days ago, A Paladin in Citadel posted a fantastic idea for a megadungeon entrance that really, really got my wheels turning. It's the abandoned monastery. The first thing that came to my mind was Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose. Mystery, betrayal, and treachery. Religion. Politics. Heresy and witch-hunting. All in one fabulous location.

So, I've decided in my spare time to start working out this megadungeon. But my first question is: where to set it? I can put it in either a fantasy version of Earth, kind of like Ars Magica's Mythic Europe, or create my own setting from scratch. And that's the difficulty.

See, a Mythic Europe setting comes almost ready-made. A little bit of Wikipedia research and I'll be able to come up with a medieval fiefdom, a simple map, and an imaginary monastery (perhaps on an island). The religion is already fleshed out and workable--Catholic Christianity, complete with different monastic orders, and perhaps a knightly order or two. Jewish characters and even Islamic characters are possibilities (depending on location). Wizards would likely be members of the Order of Hermes Trismegistus or perhaps pre-Kabbalistic mystics.

The difficulty would be with the demihuman races. I'd have to handle them carefully in order to really disrupt the feeling of a medieval European setting. By-and-large they'd belong to the Realm of Faerie, a sort of parallel universe that lies alongside or on top of ours. The Dwarves would likely be the most familiar to humans, who would have trucked with them for precious metals, iron, and gems, as well as perhaps even learned smithwork from them. The Gnomes and Halflings could easily be hidden forest peoples that the humans rarely encounter (if ever). But the Elves would be the most difficult to work in, because they could really ruin the tone of the setting entirely. I'd consider making Elves a sort of cross between the Sidhe from White Wolf's Changeling: the Dreaming, the Sithi from Tad Williams' Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn, and the Noldor/Sindar/Silvan elves from Tolkien's works. They're innately magical, and the superstitious human peasantry fears and misunderstands them. I'd probably divide the Faerie races into Seelie and Unseelie branches, with creatures like goblins and bugbears related to the Unseelie branch.

This doesn't really require a lot of mechanical adaptation. Actually, what it would require is roleplaying adaptation--the players and the DM (me) would have to approach the different races from a much different angle than they're accustomed to.

If I were to create my own setting, those things wouldn't matter. However, I'd be obliged to create everything from scratch, including the magical orders, religious institutions, political factions, etc. It wouldn't necessarily clash with any sense of "right" or "wrong" with a setting drawn from real history. However, there are a great many elements that I'd want to draw whole-cloth from our world and plunk them down unchanged in the fantasy setting, such as the Hermetics, Rosicrucians, Church and Papal politics, and other outside elements that can complicate and enliven the campaign outside of the megadungeon.

Regardless, A Paladin in Citadel has given me a lot to think on, and for that, I'm kind of grateful. I've been looking for something to run when I get back to the U.S., and this has really sparked my interest. I have to decide if I want to run this old school (S&W, Labyrinth Lord, BECMI) or something more recent (likely 3.5 with tweaks).

History Book -- CARNAGE AND CULTURE by Victor Davis Hanson

I'm a big fan of Victor Davis Hanson as many of you are aware. Well, apparently, though it was a dominant force in the world of military history for about ten years, his theories seem to have drawn a great deal of poignant criticism from some key military historians, particularly John A. Lynn, author of Battle: A History of Combat and Culture, although he has been supported by the esteemed John Keegan, author of The Face of Battle.

One of the errors that most readers and analysts seem to make is to assume that Hanson is arguing for the "universal soldier." He is, in fact, not, in my opinion. What he is doing is, from a classical perspective, analyzing trends in the way Westerners fight (particularly against non-Westerners) and draws a number of conclusions from this. His basic thesis is that there are a number of factors that have been embedded in Western culture ever since the Graeco-Roman era. These provide a solid bedrock of cultural heritage which we unconsciously draw upon when we wage war. These factors are political freedom, capitalism, individualism, democracy, scientific inquiry, rationalism, and open debate.

I would agree.

First, let me assess Hanson's primary text on this subject, Carnage and Culture. It is this book that draws the lion's share of criticism, perhaps justly so. Hanson begins with the concepts of freedom, decisive battle, and the concept of the citizen-soldier, and cites a number of sample battles, Salamis, Gaugamela, and Cannae as examples. Then he moves on to landed warriors, rationalism, and scientific inquiry and capitalism, at Poitiers, Tenochtitlan, and Lepanto, respectively. He finishes with discipline, individualism, and open debate at Rourke's Drift, Midway, and the Tet Offensive. Each battle showcases one of these traits, and is used as a vehicle to illustrate how (often) that trait intermingles with the others in order to create a cultural mindset within the fighters and the army itself.

This tactic of showcasing certain battles is very strong in some areas, and weak in others. Gaugamela is a great example of decisive battle, but it doesn't demonstrate how that is a common concern of Western commanders and cultures. An entire book could be written solely on the trait of decisive battle, and still have solid counter-attacks that the concept was born in the modern era that produced von Clausewitz. Similarly, the chapter on Poitiers is especially weak in demonstrating how landed infantry are superior, as well as how they are a constant throughout Western warfare. Actually, in my opinion, landed infantry, much like decisive battle, aren't so much constants, but ideals, and indeed, I would have chosen several battles from the Hundred Years' War (a Western vs. Western conflict) over any other engagement as a prime example of what landed yeoman infantry are capable of on the battlefield (despite the fact that they were mostly archers and not shock infantry).

This is actually Hanson's greatest weakness--he doesn't seem to realize that he's discussing ideals. He admits that Western armies don't always fight in a "Western style," and in this he is correct. What he needs to clarify is that these ideals are embedded into Western culture as part of our Graeco-Roman heritage.

This idea of a cultural heritage from Greece and Rome is very much a part of the classical historian's mindset, and would seem extremely foreign to the new researcher of cultural history or cultural studies, who, in a quite postmodern or Foucaultian manner, would prefer to see history as a series of disconnected epistemes/discursive formations bereft of continuity. To the classical historian, this is an absurd concept, because we see influences of the Bronze Age directly impacting the thought-processes of later Archaic, Classical, and Hellenistic Greeks through myth, story, and heroic epic--these periods were not disconnected, and not even the break of the Dark Ages of Greece could wipe out cultural memory.

According to Chester G. Starr, former adviser to my former adviser (Steven Sidebotham), in his Origins of Greek Civilization, Western civilization is unique because of it's Greek heritage of secular thought and rationalism--ideas that evolved during the Archaic and into the Classical periods, and are not found elsewhere. This is a common thread throughout the studies of ancient Mediterranean cultures, and seeing that Hanson is a classicist, it is unsurprising that he would have adopted just this sort of concept.

The strongest chapters in the book are the first (Salamis), and the fifth through eighth (Tenochtitlan, Lepanto, Rourke's Drift, and Midway respectively), and especially the eighth (Midway). I'm familiar with some of Hanson's sources, especially the firsthand work by Fuchida Mitsuo, entitled Midway: The Battle that Doomed Japan, which, from a Japanese perspective, clearly makes Hanson's point about individual initiative for him. Initiative is also observed throughout most of the other battles cited--as I've said, Hanson wants to emphasize the continuity aspect of these cultural characteristics.

The final chapter on the Tet Offensive (open debate) compares the stasis of Athens during the early Peloponnesian War to America during the late 1960s and the Vietnam War. While the comparison is apt, and does a lot to prove his point about internal dissent, he turns it into an indictment of the American media system and journalistic sensationalism that essentially lost America the war (although Westmoreland's foolish strategies and reluctance to take the war to North Vietnam were mentioned). This chapter could have been stronger if Hanson's own political agenda (one I albeit agree with, however) could have been put aside so that the author could focus more on how political dissent strengthens Western fighting capacity. This chapter actually seems at odds with itself, describing how open dialogue can be crippling (admittedly, he cites these cases as extreme), whereas in previous chapters he likened open dialogue to individualism and described how it increased the effectiveness of fighting forces at previous battles. Rather than citing it as a trait, I'd label open debate as a consequence of individualism and freedom within Western culture.

Hanson's other weakness is in portraying Western culture as monolithic, despite his own admonitions that it is, by far, not. In my opinion, he over-plays his hand throughout the book, leading to responses like Lynn's Battle. Lynn isn't going to tackle this from a classical perspective, that much is certain from his book's preface. I agree with Hanson that there are a number of Graeco-Roman cultural traits that have been passed down through Western civilization--traits which have, at times, been suppressed or superseded by the demands of the moment or the time period. I would argue that often these traits are mere ideals, not often or always realized, or perhaps realized only in parts of the Western world from time-to-time. However, the undeniable truth (in my opinion) is that these traits continually do surface, and typify Western civilization. They are a part of us, whether we like it or not.

The reason they surface is, I think, due to something my friend, Kevin, has said:

Hanson is highlighting the way Westerners think. Reducing it, or bending it, to something larger or smaller, completely misses his point. And thus throws his implicit warnings for the land of the free, right out the window.

I would honestly have to agree with him. It is a lot about how we think, but how we think is shaped by our culture. Nevertheless, not all of us think like this, and not all of the time, either. Personally, after living in Korea for 2 1/2 years, I can certainly say that individualism, open dialogue/disagreement, rationalism, concepts of civic militarism, and egalitarian freedom are quite alien to non-Westerners. Yes, South Korea is supposedly a democracy, and there is supposed to be discontent with the current Korean president, but these ideas do not and cannot translate to the individual in everyday life--which is Hanson's key point. Many of these battles were won because of the individual decisions to buck the system or to innovate. These are certainly not unique to Westerners solely, but the ease with which we perform these actions is part-and-parcel with our culture and with our success.

이순신 (Lee Sun-shin), Korea's greatest national hero, in many ways embodies these ideas of individual initiative, rationalism, and civic militarism. And while he died a hero, he was despised, hated, and the Confucian mandarins in the Choson court constantly tried to grind him down and make him stay in his place. He was even thrown into prison. Here in the East, this sort of thinking is anomaly and anathema to the native culture. For us, it is our greatest strength.

History Book -- BATTLE: A HISTORY OF COMBAT AND CULTURE by John Lynn

This book has got too much going on in it for me to just dive head-first into a review of it without sitting back and trying to organize it in some fashion--hence the headings. So, I'll begin with the purpose of the book, Lynn's model, and round it out with some of the interesting claims that he makes regarding a variety of hot topics throughout his work.

The Premise
John Lynn set out with this book to refute the idea of the "universal soldier" (with direct reference to the Buffy Sainte-Marie song). In addition, his research brought him into conflict with a number of other premises and theories regarding military history, especially Victor Davis Hanson's idea of a Western Way of War, as espoused in his Carnage and Culture (my thoughts on that work are here).

Hanson's argument is that a number of characteristics are consistent in Western military culture throughout history, from the Greeks to the modern age. These include technological superiority through free-market capitalism, individualism, enfranchisement in society, discipline, a desire for decisive shock combat, rationalism, open debate, and democratic ideals. As I stated in my commentary on Carnage and Culture, I think Hanson overplayed his hand. Well, Lynn zeroes in on this, specifically, and presents an attempt at refuting Hanson throughout this book.

The Model
Thoroughly outlined in his Appendix, Lynn describes a model for analyzing military culture at any point in time and space. He essentially divides culture into a relationship between the discourse of war (the ideals, rhetoric, and concept of what a culture envisions as war and how to conduct it) and the reality of war (the actual waging of a war). These two aspects of military culture are in a constant dialogue with one-another, and each has an impact on the other.

For example, Lynn discusses the medieval period as a great example of the discourse on war being different from the reality. The discourse on war envisions a romantic, chivalric form of armed contest between knights. The reality is the raiding of civilian targets to force the enemy out of his castles and into the field--behavior brought about by the difficulties in logistics and payment of the armies. When the two forms of warfare come into dialogue with one-another, the reality of war is found to be so repugnant that a "perfected" form of war is created--the tournament.

Similarly, the Napoleonic discourse on war clashed with the reality of war at the opening of the 20th century. Decisive, frontal assaults were useless in the face of trench warfare and machine-guns. As Bloch predicted, wars turned into great sieges. Maneuver had to be introduced into warfare, which eschews decisive frontal shock and attrition in favor of penetrating a weak point, bypassing strong points, and tearing apart the enemy from the inside.

The Strengths
Lynn tackles a number of Hanson's poorly held assumptions, such as the idea that the "Western Way of War" has been constant. This needed to be directly confronted, and Lynn does a good job at meeting it head-on. He certainly points out a great many instances where specific characteristics that Hanson attributes to Western warfare were absent, such as among the chivalric nobility during the medieval period, the Enlightenment armies of the 17th century, and the rigid model of Greek warfare.

Lynn also takes to task a number of other vital issues in military historiography, most notably the controversial analyses of racism in the conduct of the Second World War in the Pacific. This chapter is probably Lynn's best and most vital, since it is a case study of two vastly different cultures with irreconcilable discourses on warfare engaged in a merciless struggle. Lynn annihilates a number of charges regarding racism in the American decision to drop the atomic bomb, and addresses the controversies regarding the casualty projections for Operation Downfall.

Most important, however, is Lynn's application of his theoretical model to the conduct of the U.S. military in Afghanistan and Iraq, and his insistence that our discourse on warfare be altered to adjust to the realities of combat against terrorism in those countries. His advice is vital--Lynn sees our rejection of terrorism as a form of warfare to be a weakness in our ability to effectively combat it. This plays into the American failure in Vietnam a great deal. Hanson chalks up our loss in Vietnam to the media and discontent at home, citing battlefield victories, the swift recovery of our losses during the Tet Offensive, and massive numbers of Viet Cong and NVA casualties to our ability to adapt to guerrilla warfare, as evidence of our ability to have won that war. Lynn doesn't directly tackle Vietnam, although he clearly sees our inability to adapt our discourse on war to the reality of the Vietnamese people's situation as a major factor in the American defeat. In my opinion, the truth lies somewhere in the middle.

The Weaknesses
Lynn's weakness, however, is that Hanson's thesis actually manages to hold true, regardless of the discourse of war. The reality of war usually favors the side with the greatest number of Hanson's "Western Warfare" characteristics. For example, Lynn fails to take into account the actual reality of the Battle of Crécy, which was won by a shield-wall of dismounted knights and the yeoman farmers of rural England wielding longbows--i.e. the enfranchised members of different strata in English society won the battle against the "noble, aristocratic, chivalric cavalry charges" by the "flower of French chivalry. This would repeat itself at the Battle of Poitiers and the Battle of Agincourt.

Lynn's examination of the Second World War also avoids Hanson's thesis when dealing with the reasons the Japanese discourse on war was less effective than the American discourse on war. While the chapter is a fantastic refutation of a number of arguments regarding the dropping of the atomic bomb and the impact of racism on American conduct in battle, it fails to address the strengths that Hanson ascribes to American military forces in comparison to the weaknesses of the Japanese in the American battlefield victories.

Lynn's treatment of the sepoy in British India actually misses Hanson's point entirely. The sepoy married his own culture's ideals of the kshatriya warrior-caste to more "Western" methods of discipline, shock infantry, high technology, enfranchisement, etc. Lynn has no explanation for why the British sepoy overcame similar units raised and equipped in the European style with similar technology and trained by European advisers, but commanded by native Indian regimes. Although I am not an expert, I would venture to guess that Hanson's argument for a Western Way of War holds more water than Lynn would like to believe, and it is the infusion of a Western military methodology into a native Indian ethos which adapted the kshatriya to Western war that enabled the East India Company to conquer the continent with the sepoy.

Most personally aggravating was Lynn's cursory examination of ancient Greek warfare. The Greeks practiced a limited form of warfare that was guided by principles of duty and honor laid out in The Iliad and The Odyssey, yes. But it was also a hedgehog meant to defend the yeoman farmer against barbarians and mounted nobles during the Greek Dark Ages, an anarchic period that followed the Mycenaean feudal era and preceded the rise of the polis. The warfare was limited because the stakes were limited, as was the technology. When the technology advanced and the stakes were higher, the discourse was by-and-large abandoned in favor of reality. The Athenians did not behave according to the Greek discourse very often during the Peloponnesian War, as is evidenced by their defeat of Spartan forces at Sphacteria.

To this end, Lynn doesn't seem to recognize that nations will fight wars at a level of intensity based on what is at risk. The Greek city-states were absolutely cut-throat and ignored rules whenever their entire polis was in jeopardy, for example. An examination of Geoffrey Blainey's The Causes of War may have benefited Lynn; it is quite possible that the decision to go to war not only effects the conduct of the war and the discourse of the war, but the reasons for fighting may even explain why wars can be limited in their scope and conduct. Compared to World War II, the Korean War was not fought realistically by either side. The war aims were not total victory, but themselves limited as a reflection of the nuclear threat. Thus, if the stakes between two Greek city-states are not survival, but a strip of farmland, limiting the scale of the conflict and the methods of combat is perfectly acceptable and reflects the reality of the situation at hand. Lynn doesn't tackle the issue of limitations-on-warfare-due-to-war-aims. The aims of a war have a great deal to do with the discourse, conduct, and reality of that war.

My Conclusions: Lynn vs. Hanson
The point I'm trying to make here is, simply, that Hanson's concept of a universal Western discourse on war illuminates a number of vital points regarding how, exactly, armies can effectively win wars--Hanson's Western Way of War seems to play more to the reality of war than to the discourse on war. In short, the army that is most adapted to the reality of war is the most likely to be victorious. And, if we adopt Hanson's characteristics as the most effective forms of discourse when compared to reality, Western militaries are more likely to adapt their discourses on warfare to the reality of the situation.

Consider--the Enlightenment armies of the 17th century were largely disenfranchised peasants who had no individual initiative and were not permitted to question their officers. Compare this to the sudden reformation of the French Army during the Revolution, and their astounding victories against old Enlightenment-style armies of the passing era. Why did the Revolutionary armies win? Because they exemplified a number of Hanson's lauded Western characteristics; they were comprised of newly-enfranchised citizens, officers trusted their subordinates, and individuals took initiative when they saw opportunities to advance their forces to victory. The reality is that enfranchised "peasant armies," if disciplined and motivated, will fight better than similarly equipped and disciplined conscripts and disenfranchised dirty infantrymen that are despised by their own officers.

Hanson is correct in his analysis from a specific perspective--the most effective armies in history have been the ones that display the traits he describes. It also just so happens that those traits crop up most often in Western militaries. The truth is, many of these traits were laid down for us by the ancient Greeks and Romans, and although Lynn is correct--time, technology, and space alter military discourse--I think Hanson's claim that these are a part of our overall Western heritage is 100% correct as well, for the simple fact that Hanson's traits constantly resurface in the most effective militaries. Hanson simply overplayed his hand by implying that these traits are axiomatically omnipresent throughout Western militaries across space, time, and technology. Lynn rightly attacks this idea of a military continuum--there is a vast amount of cultural disconnection between the Graeco-Roman discourses on warfare (which themselves evolved and shifted due to changing socio-political and economic situations) and the discourses of the medieval period (which were more a product of the ancient Germanic warrior-codes and bardic saga with a strong infusion of Christianity).

Lynn's discourse-reality model is a vital contribution to the field of military history. In my opinion, it fails to unseat Hanson's concept of Western military strength, but it does pinpoint a great many flaws in Hanson's argument that must be addressed and accounted for. What honestly needs to occur is for Hanson to go back to the drawing board and revise his own theory in light of Lynn's scholarship. I'm not advocating for a Hegelian dialectic, here, however, I do believe that Hanson's theories need to be taken on socratically, in order to purge them of error. Hanson's theory holds a lot of water, and Lynn doesn't refute it entirely successfully. What Battle does, however, is demand a revision of Hanson's theory that is much more solid and reflective of reality.

Book Response -- THE GRAND CHESSBOARD by Zbigniew Brzezinski

Zbigniew Brzezinski came to the United States from Communist Poland and served on the Carter Administration as National Security Advisor. He's well-known for his dislike of Russia, but has done a great deal of work for the United States foreign relations and diplomacy.

I was turned on to his book, The Grand Chessboard by a series of quotes from the book on The Truth & Lies of 9/11. While I like a lot of what that video says, and am impressed by the amount of research Mike Ruppert has done to connect the dots between the banking oligarchy and the U.S. government, I must admit that Truth & Lies takes Brzezinksi's book 100% out-of-context and presents it as if it were a blueprint for world conquest.

In reality, it is nothing of the sort.

The Grand Chessboard: American Primacy and Its Geostrategic Imperatives by Zbigniew Brzezinski

The opening chapters had me convinced that this entire book was going to be about power-plays. Brzezinski lays out the Eurasian continent as the geopolitical axis of the world--the most important piece of real-estate on the planet. Central Asia is one of the pivotal zones of control in the Eurasian super-continent. It possesses a great deal of material wealth beneath its surface, and control and exploitation of that wealth will shape the economic and political future of the entire planet.

"Two basic steps are thus required: first, to identify the geostrategically dynamic Eurasian states that have the power to cause a potentially important shift in the international distribution of power and to decipher the central external goals of their respective political elites and the likely consequences of their seeking to attain them;... second, to formulate specific U.S. policies to offset, co-opt, and/or control the above...

"...To put it in a terminology that harkens back to the more brutal age of ancient empires, the three grand imperatives of imperial geostrategy are to prevent collusion and maintain security dependence among the vassals, to keep tributaries pliant and protected, and to keep the barbarians from coming together." --pp.40

This reminded me of that pivotal scene in W where Dick Cheney outlines his plans for American Empire.

As I continued to read Chessboard, however, I began to realize that the "Cheney Doctrine" was actually not what Brzezinski is advocating. Indeed, the war in Iraq (although not necessarily Afghanistan) are actually antithetical to what Brzezinski sets forth in his book.

Brzezinski describes America as the first, last, and only global superpower in human history. This does not mean, as some have implied, that America is destined to rule the globe for all time. Rather, he believes that America's empire is destined to recede, but his geostrategic outline is designed to replace the American hegemony with a framework for global international cooperation between nations.

This became apparent in the third chapter of the book, where Brzezinski describes the "democratic bridgehead" of the European Union into Eurasia. When Brzezinski talks of American power and bases for it, he's not necessarily talking about military power, but also political power. The EU is a bridgehead into Eurasia for American power, but Brzezinski doesn't want us to treat it as a vassal state. He sees it as imperative for the US to promote solidity and a sense of integration between the European states. The presence of the European Union is vital to our interests because we need a partner that is our equal in world affairs. Thus, he advises the United States promote unity in between EU member states and adjust its policies in order to foster feelings of cooperation and partnership.

This is all well-and-good, but Brzezinski's book begins to really open up when he discusses Russia and Central Asia. Here, there is far too much to lose. America's policies can encourage Russia to abandon its imperial past of dominance in Central Asia, or it can alienate Russia from the West and cause it to seek a Central Asian hegemony again. This is the key point--Brzezinski does indeed fear Russian imperial aspirations, and he backs those fears up with a lot of information. He wants Russia to follow the other European states and gradually integrate itself into a larger community, while simultaneously breaking itself into a more loose federation that is more flexible in dealing with its neighbors.

This is because Central Asian states, where all the wealth is to be found, are not too fond of Russia, and any advances that Russia makes to try to regain hegemony over them only alienate them and drive them to states that they perceive as Russia's rivals. This, in effect, creates rivalries where otherwise there'd be none. In other words, because many former Soviet Republics are gravitating toward the United States and other powers for protection, this generates friction between those countries and Russia. What Brzezinski advocates is a promotion of pluralism in Central Asia.

Similarly, Brzezinski believes that we should encourage Japan and Korea to reconcile their differences, Japan to become a more international player (as opposed to a regional one), and to try to settle our differences with China and foster strong ties of friendship and cooperation. It is imperative that China not become a rival, but instead an ally.

These ideas are incredibly important, but Brzezinski fails in one enormous aspect--he does not outline exactly how the United States should pursue any of these goals. Indeed, some of them, such as encouraging a Japan-Korea reconciliation, seem outright absurd to me after living for two years in Korea and seeing the grassroots hatred and resentment toward Japan. In addition, Brzezinski completely dodges the issue of Israel's role in Middle Eastern instability, forming an enormous gap in his advice regarding reconciliation with countries such as Iran.

Brzezinski is heavily informed by theories of geopolitics that are at least a century old, but still highly applicable today, such as Halford J. Mackinder's regard of Central Asia as the geopolitical "Heartland" and "Pivot Point" in his 1904 paper to the Royal Geographical Society. Samuel P. Huntington's theories pop up from time-to-time, but Brzezinski seems much more influenced by Mackinder and Alfred Thayer Mahan.

The book outlines a number of goals that are designed to foster a better, more peaceful, stable, and integrated world. Brzezinski doesn't want the United States to play states off of one-another. He wants the United States to foster stability and peace.

Part of me fears that Brzezinski's ideas might be well beyond our means. Indeed, he tackles our own internal divisions and our lack of motivation as a people, and blames it on our infatuation with escapism and entertainment. And I am inclined to agree with him--the American people have no more desire to greatness. Brzezinski rightly draws parallels between the American empire's culture of decadence and that of Rome. He also notes that the American empire cannot last forever, and as other states grow in economic vitality, technological prowess, and military capacity, our sphere of hegemony will gradually diminish. Brzezinski urges that the United States make the best use of what time is left to try to leave a legacy of peacemaking by fostering stability and creating ties between nations that will foster a sense of global community and cooperation. Unfortunately, he leaves us in the dark in regard to the specifics of just how we are to accomplish these tasks.

The truth is, we cannot really accomplish any of the goals that Brzezinski sets out for us. His work is sublimely idealistic. The reality of American economic terrorism in South America, support of malevolent dictatorships that permitted American big business to exploit local populaces in an almost neocolonial fashion, and our recent wars to secure strategic dependencies in oil- and resource-rich parts of the world, we've squandered our good name.

But this is all surface. Is there anything to the criticisms that this book is, as Johannes Koeppl once called it, a "blueprint for dictatorship" in the United States and Europe?

“It is also a fact that America is too democratic at home to be autocratic abroad. This limits the use of America's power, especially its capacity for military intimidation. Never before has a populist democracy attained international supremacy. But the pursuit of power is not a goal that commands popular passion, except in conditions of a sudden threat or challenge to the public's sense of domestic well-being. The economic self-denial (that is, defense spending) and the human sacrifice (casualties, even among professional soldiers) required in the effort are uncongenial to democratic instincts. Democracy is inimical to imperial mobilization." --pp. 35

Well, the book doesn't appear critical of the United States' inability to sustain an empire. Brzezinski's detractors could compare this quote to the opening paragraph to the speech of the Athenian demagogue Cleon regarding the fate of Mytilene: "I have often before now been convinced that a democracy is incapable of empire... ." (Thucydides 3.37.1) Here Cleon harangues the Athenians for their weakness and sentimentality. In contrast, Brzezinski recognizes the limitations of democracy, and therefore seeks to establish a geopolitical outlook for American leadership with the hopes that world stability can be achieved without straining the American psyche in needless imperial adventurism.

But there is a very constant Machiavellian streak throughout the entire book that still can't help but chill the reader.

"Moreover, as America becomes an increasingly multi-cultural society, it may find it more difficult to fashion a consensus on foreign policy issues, except in the circumstance of a truly massive and widely perceived direct external threat." --pp. 211

Is this passage advice? Is Brzezinski actually advocating the creation of a monolithic enemy against whom to stir the American populace and fuel the desire and willingness to imperial war? If you aren't at least wondering about 9/11, then you either have a faith in the current state of American democracy that I find childlike, or an ignorance of realpolitik that I find childish.

Πλάτων and Πολιτεία

About a year ago, I reread Πολιτεία by Πλάτων (The Republic by Plato), and I have mulled over some thoughts and ideas that I want to discuss in regards to that epic work. It is a dialogue between Σωκράτης (Socrates) and several of his companions (some of whom are critics, others who are disciples or friends) regarding the happiest of men. This leads them to the idea that being just is being happy, which further leads them into the discussion of "what is justice" which then descends into the hypothetical creation of the "most just polity." All this is to demonstrate a) what justice is, and b) why the most just man is happiest (especially in comparison to several other archetypes). The centerpiece of the book is a thought-experiment: the creation of the hypothetical πόλις (polis), Kallipolis (i.e. "beautiful city"), which is an attempt to harmonize the individual with the city, a city which will produce the best, highest type of individual. Plato, in order to illustrate what is the happiest man, must illustrate that man who embodies ἀρετή (arete) of mind, body, spirit, and patriotism, must create an environment that will produce such an individual. That environment, Kallipolis, is the embodiment of ἀρετή for the πόλις.

When reading the book, one can see where Socrates ends and Plato begins. It's demonstrably obvious. Socrates was a man who asked questions in order to reduce things to base principles. In other words, he would ask questions until some sort of self-evident truth was revealed, or else invalidating discrepencies made any attempts at axiomatic statements pointless. However, Socrates behaves strongly out-of-character throughout this work, but most notably after the beginning of Book II, when the hypothetical "just city" is being conceptualized. This is Plato speaking through Socrates in axiomatic statements. Only Book I really feels like an actual Socratic dialogue, because it is the only one in which Socrates is really engaged in a debate, and it is the only one in which he asks questions.

The opening line, "I went down to the Piraeus," mirrors a descent into Hades made by Odysseus, a descent that would be made by many heroes and warriors throughout mythic and legendary literature. But Plato's descent is much more mundane, and concerned not with glory, wealth, immortality or the rescue of a deceased loved-one, but rather with the intellectual and the philosophical. And indeed, throughout this work, we are confronted with a great deal of dark delving into the inherent contradictions within the human spirit that make such discussions as the nature of justice and the idea of the happiest man futile. An ascent is made, halfway through the book, into the idea of the Forms and universals, before descending into the afterlife again, in a discussion in Book X.

An astute reader will pay attention to the characters and their names, and how Socrates treats them. Polemarchus, whose name means "warlord" or "general," is concerned with honor and duty. Glaucon, whose name invokes terms such as "shining" or "glittery" is concerned with gain and glory, whereas his brother, Adeimantus, is obsessed with wealth and material gain. Cephalus, the host and master of the house to which Socrates has been compelled to visit, is aged and representative of Athenian tradition. It is not surprising that Socrates ousts him from the conversation almost immediately, and Cephalus excuses himself, permitting the discussion group to operate beyond the boundaries of tradition and convention and to explore the outlandish, hypothetical, and outright weird.

The discussion in Book I is sparked by a question regarding the nature of justice (since they agree that the happiest man is a just man). Socrates' interlocutors make statements, to which Socrates responds with questions. These questions force his companions to refine their ideas, rethink them, and inevitably abandon them. Socrates' questioning leads them to inescapable conclusions that their ideas are self-contradictory, hypocritical, or illogical. In the end, no satisfactory definition of justice can be enunciated. So, instead of examining something from a microcosmic perspective (i.e. the just man), Socrates decides to examine justice from the perspective of a just πόλις.


As goes the ideal, or just, state, so will go the ideal man. This is a theme that recurs later in the book, where Socrates compares different governments with their analogous individuals, psychoanalyzing both the individual and, by extension, the government to which he is coupled.

Thus begins the erection of an imaginary πόλις, from the very ground up. The genesis of this state was the certainty of a sort of pre-Marxian idea of class-struggle between haves and have-nots which generates misery, strife, injustice, and corruption within men. The antidote to this class struggle is to create a society in which class is sort of a moot point, and society is organized as an αριστοκρατία (aristocracy) in the purest, most original sense, meaning "rule of the best" (analogous to the modern idea of a "meritocracy" perhaps). Plato seeks to eliminate all factionalism and conflict from his πόλις, and argues that the only way to do so is to produce the best sort of ruler that will be ultimately just. These best are obviously philosopher-kings, but before you can object to having the likes of Friedrich Nietzsche enthroned above you in all his hateful contrarian, Hobbesian splendor, Socrates and his fellows axiomatically (meaning Plato and his fellows) state that only certain types of thinkers are philosophers. How convenient!

So, what, exactly, is a philosopher? Well, obviously a just person, one that is raised and conditioned in an ideal environment that cultivates not only his justice, but also his temperance, bravery, and wisdom. The philosopher is the lover of wisdom (the very definition of philosophy in Greek, φιλοσοφία, is "love of wisdom"). The πόλις is compared to a ship and the philosopher-king as its captain (the origin of the "ship-of-state" metaphor). But perhaps most importantly, a philosopher who would be king must understand the existence of the Forms, and thus the allegory of the cave is born (more on this later).

And here Socrates begins to speak axiomatically (as Plato's mouthpiece, I would argue). He states that justice, in and of itself, is not a virtue that is native to a person but rather the result of a well-ordered soul. In almost Daoist fashion, Socrates believes that people should follow their natural inclinations, and thus, for Kallipolis, divides people into soldiers, producers, and rulers. If their souls are well-ordered, people will naturally gravitate toward whatever lifestyle best suits them. If the city is well-ordered, all people will be raised as per their natural inclination. To raise people as per their natural inclination, strict measures of control need to be in place to prevent the corruption of individuals. Socrates emphasizes the four cardinal virtues, and implies that in the just society, all people will naturally come to embody these principles. In other words, the just society is one that will properly raise and educate such individuals, surrounding them only by influences deemed good and just, and by forbidding all others. Jean-Jacques Rousseau declared that Plato's Republic was the greatest educational manual ever written--the instruction and upbringing of the citizen of Kallipolis is at the very heart of the creation of a just society, and is the prime cause of all other aspects of the hypothetical πόλις's society and culture.

To preserve this society, as well as to preserve the meritocratic system of promotion and assignation of office, they create a repressive society in which many sorts of poetry, theater, and other art forms are banned from the πόλις, the reason for which is their tendency to corrupt with "untrue ideas" and "imitation." Here Plato grossly misunderstands (and misrepresents) the purpose of art, as well as its effect on the human psyche. He labels Homer as an imitator, because though Homer wrote about heroes, kings, wars, and governance, he himself did none of those things, thus invalidating himself. Plato states that Homer knew nothing of the realities of those subjects of his poems, and so, his value as a poet stands on tenuous ground. This is nonsense. Literature, poetry, and art do not exist to report truths of a tangible sort, and Plato of all men should know better after writing Books VI and VII (containing the idea of Agathon, the allegory of the cave, and theory of forms).

Nevertheless, Plato advocates the fabrication of an entire tradition, mythical cycle, and literary/poetical legacy in order to educate and serve as propaganda. Theology and mythology would have to be edited. Plato argues that the stories of the gods' misbehavior must be censored and bowdlerized in order to turn them into examples for the behavior of just citizens. The cultural heritage of the entire Greek people is called into question, and Plato deems a great deal of it unworthy and destructive.

Plato's programme for selection of philosopher-kings is predicated entirely upon their education, and a careful weeding-out of those who do not satisfy the prerequisite perceptions and skills. And here we return to exactly what the philosopher is. Plato uses the Allegory of the Cave to illustrate the philosopher as the person who breaks free of the illusion and emerges into the sunlight.

This allegory Plato uses to illustrate how the average person is, like the prisoners, exposed only to a sort of "shadow reality," whereas the philosopher, through enlightenment and contemplation, approaches the capacity to perceive the Forms. Thus, knowledge of the Forms is a prerequisite to the possession of political power. The Forms represent abstract ideals for concrete realities that the everyday person can perceive. To Plato, however, these concrete realities are pale reflections of the abstract (and more "real") Forms. These Forms are the only things that can provide us with genuine knowledge, and not just guesses, theories, or supposition. Perhaps Plato requires this ability to perceive and understand the Forms for his philosopher-kings because the ruler must be able to perceive the Good and the Just, and attempt to turn his πόλις toward these Forms.

In the end, however, Plato's city is, at its heart, nihilistic. Justice becomes a non-entity. There is no injustice to which one can compare it, so as a virtue, justice is nullified. It ceases to be a characteristic altogether in its people. Adeimantus' objection to the city is that happiness does not exist, and Glaucon argues that the city has no glory or honor. The question as to whether this city is just is leveled against how natural it is, and then the discussion shifts to whether the city is even possible in the first place.

At least Plato understands that this πόλις cannot last forever. Indeed, what he describes would be absolutely impossible unless the philosopher-kings ruled with an iron fist. Plato dislikes democracy; although it is well-known that Socrates loved it, Plato uses his teacher's mouth to deride the institution. He sees liberty as giving license, a sort of blank check on behavior, leading to all sorts of vice and moral/social decay. He sees the factionalism and political conflict within democratic governments as antithetical to the sort of harmony that could produce a just man.

But to create the sort of "just society" Plato advocates would result in a puritanically repressive regime. History since Plato has been replete with those sort of societies that oppressed and repressed their populations in order to "preserve" things like "justice," "morality," and "truth." Although I agree with Plato a great deal on those three social virtues, I do not agree with his methods of creating the just society.

Plato's polity is about as realistically executable as communism or Confucianism--which is to say, it is impossible. Even on the city-state level, a population of about, say, 30,000 individuals, I'd venture to guess that it would be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to pull off without purging and exile by a bloody revolution. And, as we know from God Emperor of Dune, in the words of Leto II, "All revolutions carry within themselves the seeds of their own destruction."

There are, however, good things to be found within Plato's Republic. A love of justice, and the concept of the Good, the ideal Form of good and the ultimate form of knowledge. These are things that I share with Plato. Plato argues for the equality of men and women alike in his πόλις, and believes that no position should be denied them because of their gender. However, he fails to reckon with basic human nature on a number of levels, one of them being the need for love (sexual and familial). There is equality between the sexes, but intercourse is generally for the purpose of procreation in Kallipolis, partners are assigned, and any offspring are removed from their parents and raised by the state.

But perhaps Plato's polity is a satire, and we are all just too foolish to understand the contradiction between the ideal of the just society and the impossibility to imagine one without descending into a proto-fascist regime that nullifies the very meaning of justice. Perhaps that contradiction was Plato's entire point--the entire book is an expression of the futility in creating a just regime. Thus, we inevitably come full-circle--we are incapable of divining what is a just society, even when attempting to create the ideal πόλις. Ironically, this inability to perceive the Form of justice and the Form of the just πόλις, indicates how short we fall from Plato's ideal philosopher--the Form of the philosopher if you will.

The biggest disagreement I have with Plato's Kallipolis is simply this:

• If a people must be made to be just and good, then they do not deserve the benefits of peace and prosperity, justice and truth, that they would possess, if they cannot achieve it through democratic means.

In other words, if a democracy decays and falls into injustice, corruption, and loses its virtue, it is the fault of the people (as well as the leaders), and therefore deserves to suffer. Plato's rule by philosopher-kings would create a just society, but by his own admission (see Book X especially), it cannot change the nature of humans from being what they are. It is little more than a band-aid. And the very justice of the society is its tragic flaw--it is unjust because it has removed the liberty of choice, and the ability to select the option of being just. Depressingly, since there can be no truly just state, perhaps it must follow that there can be no truly just man. This brings into question the very existence of the Forms and perhaps the universals can only exist as amorphous, ill-defined shapes within the shadowy recesses of our minds.

History Book -- STALINGRAD, by Anthony Beevor

I've been putting off this response to 1999's Stalingrad--The Fateful Siege: 1942-1943 for weeks. To analyze and assess a work on the level of Anthony Beevor's accomplishment is a pretty daunting task. Beevor hasn't just written an narrative of the Battle of Stalingrad, but thickened it with analysis, insight, and interpretation. But that's not all. The narrative itself is brilliantly written and painstakingly researched.

As a historian, Beevor's writing of narrative history is simplistic and straightforward in comparison to the interpretation-heavy, analysis-laden studies that often emerged throughout the 20th century. This is not a weakness, as it frees him to focus on crafting a thorough and complete overview of the battle. Beevor concerns himself with more than simply the war-room discussions at the Wolfsschanze or Kremlin, but also the plight of the soldier in the trenches, manning the tanks and anti-aircraft guns, and the surgeons suturing wounds and amputating limbs. It's a heavy book--approximately 512-pages in trade-paperback form. But it is incredibly absorbing, tragic, and illuminating.

Immediately, Beevor's task is daunting. To research through German and Soviet records, documents, soldiers' letters, officers' memoirs, newspapers, and recorded radio broadcasts must have taken an incredible amount of work. However, this monumental undertaking bore fruit as this thick volume strives to shape as complete a picture as possible of the conditions and nature of the combat that characterized Stalingrad. It's complemented with several easy-to-read maps that list nearly every major location mentioned in the book, and several plates of photographs. These pictures were obviously very carefully selected for variety of topic as well as comprehensiveness. Throughout the book, Beevor peppers his narrative with case-studies drawn from his exhaustive records. He also introduces current historiographical discussion and analysis. The author soft-pads his own conclusions regarding the various causes for specific mishaps and errors, subtly embedding it in the form of character-analysis of many of the key generals and leaders involved in the strategic decision-making.

Beevor begins his narrative with the last days of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact and the beginning of Operation Barbarossa. The immense gains achieved by the Nazi forces against the Soviet Union and their relentless drive across the flat plains of western Russia intensifies the plummeting feeling that the reader achieves by the book's conclusion. He then describes the brutal Russian winter and minor reverses the Germans experience before launching into a description of Operation Blue. Hitler's grand design was to push for the oil-rich fields in the Caucasus. The city of Stalingrad, en route, was to be captured by General Paulus' Sixth Army and held to anchor the German flank.

Instead, Hitler became obsessed with Stalingrad, seeing it as symbolic of the struggle of Germany against the Soviets and fascism against communism. Since he personified the Nazi regime, and Stalin (to Hitler) personified the facelessness of Bolshevism and the Soviet government, Hitler was intent on capturing "the city of Stalin." It was here that the Soviet mantra "not one step backward" was brutally enforced as commissars summarily executed any retreating Soviet soldiers. Soviet general Vasily Chuikov was given the command to hold the city and not give up the western bank of the Volga. Thus, amidst the ruins of a bombed-out city, the German Sixth Army became locked in a furious Rattenkrieg ("Rat War").

The tide turned, however, as winter approached and Soviet general Georgy Zhukov executed a brilliant campaign that turned Stalingrad into a disastrous trap for Paulus' Sixth Army. Operation Uranus resulted in the encirclement of the Sixth Army, cutting it off from support and supply, followed shortly by Operation Little Saturn, which foiled a German attempt to reconnect with the Sixth Army and thrust the main German forces backward, further isolating the Sixth Army. Finally, after sitting through weeks of freezing cold, malnutrition, and disease, the Sixth Army was brutally crushed.

Beevor then describes the conditions of German internment in Soviet P.O.W. camps, and how brutal treatment and neglect combined to kill the lion's share of German prisoners. This is juxtaposed against the comparatively civil treatment the Soviets extended to officers and generals. The interrelations of the German generals in captivity is a fascinating study in how tragic loss and disastrous reversals of fortune can impact the psyches of individuals.


Beevor's Stalingrad is ultimately a tale of utmost human tragedy. Although he doesn't say it directly, all of the evidence and character analysis lays the blame for the destruction of the Sixth Army and the resulting reversal of fortune for the German war machine in Russia upon Hitler and the neutered Wehrmacht high command. Poor decision-making, spineless sychophantism, backroom politicking, and hubris combined to allow Hitler and the German high command back at the Wolfsschanze to underestimate the strength of the Soviet military machine and their ability to effectively counter-attack. In the end, Hitler abandoned the Sixth Army to starvation, exposure to the elements, and the "tender mercies" of an enraged Red Army.

It's difficult not to feel pity for both the Soviet soldiers and civilians suffering throughout the German advance. Likewise, however, once the Sixth Army is cut off, it is also difficult to remain callous to the starvation and suffering experienced by the German soldiers (see left for a German P.O.W. escorted by a Soviet soldier with a PPSh-41). Throughout the final segment of the book, Beevor describes the variety of reactions the individual soldiers have toward their own suffering and that of their comrades. The reader's emotional reaction should be confusing and difficult to categorize. On the one hand, the Soviet leadership and the brutal tyranny of Stalin are difficult with which to sympathize. However, the individual Soviet soldier was often brave and self-sacrificing for his comrades. Many women took part in the battle against the Germans, initially shocking and dismaying them. Indeed, reading about German doctors who fought to care for patients regardless of the circumstances, also made them much more real and pitiable.

As I mentioned above, the tale of Stalingrad is a tale of human tragedy. The book abruptly ends with the fates of the city and the captured generals after the war, and the division of Germany. The overall tone is inescapably bitter. Hundreds of thousands of human beings were cut down by bullets, bombs, the cold, disease, and hunger for a ruined city that mattered mostly because of its name.