Intelligence in States
International law is based upon this principle: that the various nations ought to do, in peace, the most good to each other, and, in war, the least harm possible, without detriment to their genuine interests.
(Montesquieu, L’Esprit des Lois)
This chapter follows Montesquieu in suggesting the desirability and sociological importance of restraint and civility in the most vicious arena of all: war between states. But the citation is not mine. Rather, it stands as the legend to Raymond Aron’s great Peace and War, and it is to his thought in the arena of interstate behavior that this chapter is devoted. It may be useful to say immediately that Aron strikes me as the very model of a responsible intellectual (especially given the contentions of chapter 7), a social philosopher of intellectual power and prudence who served his society with great courage and considerable style. A few comments about this are in order before describing and praising his remarkable contribution.
In retrospect, his achievement as a political columnist, who habitually wrote an opinion piece once a week for more than forty years, is quite extraordinary—and deeply revealing of his desire to educate a generation of the French elite by drawing them away from the blocked politics of the 1930s toward the great years of national reconstruction that followed the Second World War. Just as important was the way in which he changed French intellectual life by criticizing both thinkers of the Right, especially in the war years when writing for de Gaulle’s La France Libre, and of the Left for most of his career, the latter stand requiring exceptional bravery.1 So it makes sense to start by capturing something of the flavor of the great French social scientist. Then it is necessary to recall exactly what he said about the sociology of states. Of course, he wrote a great deal, with some of his interventions—for example, those on the force de frappe—now being rather dated. But his central contentions were designed to be timeless. Of course, concern throughout is directed to asking whether the changed circumstances of our time have upheld those central contentions. Is Aron’s work still useful? Does it even suggest new avenues of inquiry?
I met Aron on several occasions in the last years of his life. On the occasion that I interviewed him, it became rapidly apparent that he hated being asked personal questions. Hence, the conversation changed its tempo and moved to analysis of questions of political economy at the forefront of public attention at the time. I had become convinced of the importance of social contracts, that is, of the purportedly beneficial effects of corporatist arrangements between state, capitalists, and workers in ensuring sufficient social peace to allow the economy to work effectively. The lack of such arrangements surely had something to do with the relative decline of Britain compared to its European neighbors. Aron understood this position, but began to probe. If one adopted this view and turned it into policy, what would be the consequences? Was it possible to have national corporatist policies in a world that was changing? Was corporatism a unitary affair in any case? Might I not be mixing up cooperative bargaining institutions with Keynesian policies—with the two not always going hand in hand? Might not corporatism lead to stalemate and stagnation in the longer run? Had it not perhaps worked well at a particular period, and in particular countries? The questions came thick and fast, but in a wholly courteous manner, prepared to accept that my position might be correct. But, of course, I had not thought through half of the questions that Aron raised. It was as if I was playing chess with someone who could see four or five moves further ahead in the game afoot. I left feeling rather foolish. Rereading Aron makes one aware, more than ever, both of his extraordinary intelligence and of his determination to comment only on the basis of genuine knowledge. He, too, had felt himself a fool on his return from Nazi Germany when, after unleashing a moral critique, he had been asked by Joseph Paganon, an undersecretary for foreign affairs, what course of action he recommended—and he had no reply. Spasms of self-admiring moral critique were self-indulgent pieces of political romanticism that were to be avoided at all costs. That experience led him to become a consequentialist, a follower of Max Weber in insisting that criticism was only responsible when one had a rigorous and practicable policy alternative to offer.2
We will see that the single most important element of his work on international relations was its insistence on the need for genuine thought. A very striking example can be given immediately. One of the most interesting commentaries on Aron’s work in recent years has been that of Pierre Birnbaum in a remarkable book assessing the impact of a Jewish background on a series of social scientists.3 Aron’s astonishing bravery is clearly demonstrated in his decision to take a stand against the implicit anti-Semitism of de Gaulle’s comments about Israel at the end of the Six-Day War, not least because this put in question, at least in the eyes of others, his own carefully described self-identity—as a Frenchman with a Jewish background. Of greater relevance here, though, is the astonishing clarity of his views toward Israel itself at this time. The first column that he wrote for Figaro after the end of the war, on July 12, 1967, suggested that the absolute nature of the victory meant that “Israel has not defeated the Arab States; by a lightning operation it has won a military success which will not be decisive politically.”4 His stand at this point is wholly in accord with the sentiment expressed by Montesquieu at the beginning of this chapter. It also reflects his analysis of the end of the Second World War, which strikingly criticized the policy of unconditional surrender for increasing resistance to the Allies and allowing for greater Soviet expansion than was necessary.5
A second general comment about Aron, and one with particular relevance to his work on international relations, concerns the range and coherence of his social thought as a whole. On the one hand, all his work rests on a developed philosophical anthropology. It may be that his philosophical background, based as it was on an early encounter with Husserl, German neo-Kantians, and, above all, with Max Weber, was not the strongest part of his work. But he undeniably gained something from it; namely, the view that action was rational and that the job of the interpreter was to reconstruct as much as possible of the mental world of the actor. On the other hand, his intellectual stature in political economy and in the affairs of states allowed the insights of one field to challenge received theories in the other. There was no reason to believe that industrial society would bring peace.6 Much more important than such Comtian illusions were Aron’s varied works on imperialism, very often written with Marxist contentions at the back of his mind. Aron realized very quickly indeed that the core of capitalism very largely did not need the rest of the world, albeit our markets are often essential for less developed countries if they wish to prosper. Imperialism has marked all of human history: all that was really different in the nineteenth century is that the justification for such vaulting power had to be made in economistic terms.7 Aron once noted in an aside that acquaintance with large industrialists had been, so to speak, a disappointment in geopolitical terms: most great businessmen had no ideas in this realm, which was not surprising, as their concentration was on making money within rules to which they adapted. Probably one of his most decisive interventions in French political life is not known to English-speaking readers. France was deeply—and variously—split over its empire. The military was obsessed with its retention, as it felt Spain’s loss of empire had led it into poverty. If the Right supported retention, the Left critiqued it very largely for moral reasons—objecting in forceful terms to the brutalities involved. Aron very likely shared these latter views, but his intervention had an entirely different character, wholly representative of its author.8 If Algeria was to be considered an integral part of France, as those who wished to retain empire demanded, then certain consequences followed. The crucial one was simple: very large sums of money would have to be spent to raise the standard of living in North Africa so that it reached a level comparable with that in the metropole. In other words, empires had only been possible under low-intensity rule: anything more direct would mean that they would be so expensive as to lower the standard of living of those in Paris.
Finally, attention should be given to the claim made by one of Aron’s closest associates to the effect that Aron’s most substantial achievement was to produce a philosophy of history for our time, a guide orienting us to the constraints and options available to us.9 It is easy to see what is meant. The Century of Total War is a superlative example, as it describes the disasters that came to the European multipolar sphere, hitherto the center of human progress, once high technology was applied to state competition: it created total war that escaped, at least for a period, all forms of rational political control.10 With hindsight surely few would disagree with the claim made in Le Grande Schisme, that there was something like a binary choice to be made between the Soviet and American spheres, and that basic liberalism dictated plumping for the latter.11 Such an early and stark definition of the position of the West was exceptionally brave, while the permanent stress on Soviet hegemony as a form of imperialism made Aron much loved by the liberal opposition in the erstwhile socialist bloc. The Great Debate remains one of the most sophisticated discussions on the logic of nuclear exchanges, at once interpreting American theory for Europeans while pointing out flaws in that logic apparent to Europeans.12 It is perhaps still more important to mention The Imperial Republic, a pathbreaking example of international political economy concerned with military power and economic strength, and more particularly with the seigniorage that was extracted as the result of primacy—a theme, one might add, that shows how very far Aron was from being a thinker of the Right, albeit he was often falsely classified as such.13 One can easily add to the list: a continual line of thought noted that European unity was likely to be rather shallow, not least given the early failure of Europe to see to its own defense; the subtlety of Aron’s argumentation about NATO’s defenses; and the general account of the personal, class, and international relations of our time.14 The fact that so many of Aron’s books are replete with careful analyses of the political situations of the times in which he lived seems to me entirely honorable, a remarkable example of the political responsibility of an intellectual able and determined to improve the lot of his society. Some might like to add to this the suggestion that we are unlikely to discover many sociological laws, which makes analytic history—that is, history written with sociological categories to the fore—quite often all that can be achieved. But the key point is that in the end Aron did discover and emphasize central features of the world of states—to which we can now turn.
We must begin with what Aron insists upon as a starting point. He regards himself as a descendant of Thucydides, Machiavelli, and Hobbes (all of whom are cited on many occasions) in insisting that the international arena is wholly different from the national. Hobbes is right: while anarchy is prevented inside a country by the presence of a leviathan, the international realm sees countries arming themselves against each other in order to protect their own security. At best, the international realm is, to use a Kantian expression to which we will return, that of an “asocial society.” Such a view undermines the pretensions of a certain version of sociology—present among the later Durkheimians who had taught Aron—that imagines that the historical record can be explained wholly with reference to social variables. Aron insists that this is not so. The First World War was occasioned by normal interstate rivalries: no social development made it necessary, albeit an increase in industrial power certainly affected its duration. Moreover, if war can result merely from the calculations and miscalculations of statesmen, just as important is the fact that social developments can quite often result from geopolitical events. The logic of class structure was not able to explain the different class relations of East and West Germany during the Cold War (best described, as Aron properly insisted, as “la paix belliqueuse”): what mattered was that, as Stalin suggested would happen, the victor on each side imposed its own social system. All of this is to say that Aron owes a huge debt to basic realism. This is scarcely surprising. One place where one can see it early on is in his reaction to the Nazi-Soviet Pact.15 He describes himself as stunned by the news, but only for a moment; he was able almost instantly to see the logic involved and aware that states might find very different ways of protecting themselves. Another much more general theme in his work is mild skepticism toward the view that state competition might come to an end through the spread of international law. It is important to note that he had nothing against this as an ideal. But his charge against those holding this view was simple: namely, that all too often they replaced analysis with hope. Just as important, the desire to escape war through law might well increase conflict:
The morality of law is the antithesis of the morality of struggle, because the law is valid for all, without consideration of persons, whereas the promises made by states or by gangsters are essentially linked to persons. But since international law is conservative, since states have never fully accepted its obligations, since, further, no tribunal, judging in equity, recommends the necessary changes, the states that invoke the morality of law often pass for hypocrites rather than heroes. A rare event in itself, respect for the law is too readily explained by national interest. If acted upon more frequently, this same respect would multiply wars and make them inexpiable.16
The idealist forgets that order depends on the calculation of forces, the neglect of which is deemed to be irresponsible. One must calculate consequences, and means, within the structure of relations within which we live and move.
One can complement this last paragraph with one concerned with political science, and more particularly with the current condition of international relations theory. For it is an astonishing fact that realism has become something of a dirty word within that discipline, curiously displaced by the ending of the United States–Soviet rivalry. An outsider must see this as a form of madness. Realism is far from perfect, as some of the rest of this book will demonstrate. Nonetheless, it remains the case that the structure of the world polity has, to put it mildly, interstate rivalry at its core. A core realist maxim such as “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” continues to explain a very great deal, perhaps most obviously in Russian behavior under Putin in recent years. But Aron’s contribution to the theory of international relations goes well beyond what can usefully be termed “simple” realism. The central claim here is that he offered us a sophisticated version of that basic approach, at once more complex and more meritorious. Two elements are involved: first, the pure logic of realism, and then, necessarily deriving from it, the sociological elements that Aron brought into realism, not to deny or to replace the basic insights of that theory but rather to improve it by better explaining both the escalation to extremes and the periods of diminished conflict that mark the historical record. Both elements combine to form not just a descriptive system but quite as much a prescriptive view as to how we should conduct ourselves. What is at issue is civility and prudence.
Simple realism can be defined as the view that states act at all times and under every regime, whatever their political character, so as to advance their national interests. Aron rejects this view. It is empty because it is tautological: whatever a state does can be defined after the event in these terms. The situation is very similar to that of a critic of utilitarianism who suggested that self-laceration was painful, only to receive the reply from Bentham himself that the actions involved must have been pleasurable to the person involved. The difficulty here is that a notion so flexible cannot offer us any guidance to the future. And just as important in Aron’s case were his personal experiences, both of international affairs and of the intellectual developments of the interwar years. History felt as if it was speeding up, with events crowding each other out in a bewildering fashion. The conclusion that Aron drew from this was very straightforward: the aims of states might vary, with leaders sometimes choosing glory, at other times acting to realize an idea or simply enjoying the exercise of power.
Security, power, glory, idea are essentially heterogeneous objectives which can be reduced to a single term only by distorting the human meaning of diplomatic-strategic action. If the rivalry of states is comparable to a game, what is “at stake” cannot be designated by a single concept, valid for all civilizations at all periods. Diplomacy is a game in which the players sometimes risk losing their lives, sometimes prefer victory itself to the advantages that would result from it.17
It is at this point that his philosophical anthropology becomes relevant. To understand human life, it was just as necessary for a statesman as for a sociologist to reconstruct the rationality of the social actors with whom one was involved. A particularly striking example of the disasters that could follow when this maxim was ignored was provided in Aron’s view by American behavior in Vietnam.18 The American international relations profession had become excessively abstract, reductive in the worst sense by ignoring the complexities of reality in its insistence on a simplifying realism concerned only with levels of power. That profession had failed to realize that the stake involved was utterly different for the two sides—crucial for the North Vietnamese and of far less significance for the United States. This is a striking example of Aron’s independence of mind, in this case that of a thinker who was both anticommunist and grateful for the actions of the United States in postwar Europe, but who was prepared nonetheless to produce one of the most stinging critiques of American policy ever written.
Aron’s great book on Clausewitz, appropriately entitled Penser la guerre, Clausewitz, developed these thoughts still further.19 Two arguments of the first volume of the book devoted to Clausewitz’s system of thought deserve noting here. First, Aron makes much of Clausewitz’s critique of various thinkers of his own time, especially that of Heinrich Dietrich von Bülow, which suggested that strategic thought could be turned into a science. The most crucial reason why this could never happen was that the field of strategy is necessarily open. One must guess at the other side’s calculations and be aware that they are trying to guess your own. In these circumstances all that strategic training could offer was the art of thinking—of awareness of historic examples in combination with realization that entirely new moves were possible at any moment in time. Second, and still more important, were the implications that Aron drew from his superb analysis of the textual changes in On War. Clausewitz had experienced the brilliance of Napoleon firsthand, and clearly regarded him when he first started to write his book as nothing less than the god of war. Accordingly, his very first definition of war had much in common with, or was a version of, simple realism: it stressed the nature of the duel, and went on to say that this necessarily led to an escalation to extremes as each side followed a logic, deemed inevitable, that led only to the attempt to establish total victory over one’s opponent. Aron demonstrates effectively that it was only at the very end of his life that Clausewitz was able to offer a fully comprehensive, trinitarian definition of war—and to insist that the book as a whole needed to be read in the light of this definition.
War, considered in its concrete totality, is composed of a strange trinity: the original violence of its element, the hatred and hostility that must be considered as a blind natural tendency; the play of probabilities and chance which make it a free activity of the soul; and the subordinate nature of a political instrument by which it belongs purely to the understanding. The first of these terms is related to the people; the second, to the military commander (Feldherr); and the third, to the government.20
This complete definition of war led Clausewitz to change his mind. Napoleon was a great military leader, but he did not understand the purpose of war. His attempt to win everything eventually bred a countervailing alliance in which all his gains were lost. Clausewitz came to appreciate in contrast the greater understanding of Frederick the Great, who gained territory and men through a more cautious policy, switching sides as needed to gain diplomatic strength and never threatening all his neighbors at one time. This is an example of the proper logic of realism: calculating the purposes of war carefully and controlling them so that any gains made can be permanent. In the second volume of Penser la guerre, Clausewitz, Aron makes exactly the same points in connection with Bismarck’s victories in 1870, albeit with a slight exception. Bismarck was well aware that too great a victory, the annexation of too much territory, would turn France into an implacable enemy, and accordingly sought to end the war quickly. But popular pressure in Germany made this impossible, which suggests that the conduct of foreign policy, once the people are aroused, can be extremely difficult for statesmen. At this point it is very important to pause for a moment so as to avoid misunderstanding. The proper logic of realism should not be interpreted as a call for passivity, for limitation at all times. On the contrary, early, preemptive action can make most sense on occasions, not least in limiting deaths that might otherwise follow. What really matters is thought, working through the consequences of military action. Aron offended many in his lifetime by trying to work through the consequences of nuclear war on the grounds that this might do more to control the situation than simply hoping for the best.
This is also a good moment to pause and suggest that Aron’s thought remains supremely relevant in contemporary circumstances. Let us consider the most recent American intervention in Iraq. We now know enough to see that the urge for war is best interpreted in terms of Aron’s insistence on varied motivation. There is little sign, at least given the evidence before us so far, that war was contemplated for economic reasons, as so many believe. Rather, there seems to have been a personal desire of the younger Bush to complete the work of his father. More important though was a generalized sense of unlimited power joined with the political romanticism of a set of intellectuals who were convinced that they could bring democracy to the Middle East. The most important thing to bear in mind is simply that hubris joined to an idea prevented sufficient consequentialist thought. This was most obviously so in terms of the lack of planning to deal with the situation that would result from victory—or, more precisely, the lack of a well-developed “Plan B” should the expectations, anyway naive, of being welcomed immediately by all groups with open arms prove to be incorrect. But the lack of thought was much more general and much more dangerous. The United States has not attacked a country that possesses nuclear weapons, and very probably will never do so. Hence, the real drive for Iran to have such weapons is simply the desire to avoid the fate that befell its neighbor. This is not for a moment to say that a war to topple Saddam Hussein was necessarily wrong. A war with large-scale diplomatic backing, seen by the world as less arbitrary, might have succeeded better, both in itself and in not threatening Iran to the same extent. However, the general point is clear: American strategists were the most simple of realists and failed to act intelligently.
Perhaps the most familiar criticism of realism is that it reifies the state. The international system is sometimes seen in terms of a billiard table, with each state like a ball that is necessarily involved in a logic of collision and reaction. Realism exemplifies much of social science. This is true, for example, of the concept of the state quite generally, which is habitually defined as an institution capable of monopolizing the means of violence within a particular territory. The point to be made against this is that “stateness” is an aspiration as much as a reality. This most certainly applies to the means of violence in many contemporary states that are recognized as such by the international community. But it applies quite as much to other social forces that escape the caging that gives states their power. For instance, increasing economic interchange has made it harder for states to control economic processes. One could, in fact, go somewhat further and say that it is only in the rarest of circumstances that states have achieved their desire: that of being complete power containers. Differently put, states normally have to learn to live within the larger societies of economic and military competition. Aron’s work in international relations gains much of its sophistication from realizing this very basic point. It allows him to make the two forceful sociological contributions that are at the heart of Peace and War.
The first of these surely derives from his historical experience. There is an enormous difference between states that live within a relatively homogeneous world and the heterogeneity that results from the presence of states seeking to overturn the rules of an established international order. Homogeneity can usefully be seen in Kantian terms, as an asocial or semisocialized world. Understanding between states is likely to be high when elements of an international society are present. The conduct of foreign policy in the eighteenth century was surely helped by the fact that diplomacy was habitually conducted in a single language by members of the same aristocratic and dynastic order. Equally, the fact that Bismarck and Lord Salisbury used the same maps aided understanding. In the postwar period, the United States took great care to socialize the elites of countries under its purview, while the fear of mutual nuclear catastrophe soon produced something of a common elite culture between the Soviet Union and the United States—the “enemy partners,” as Aron liked to describe them. The contrast to all this is obvious. The ideological explosions of the Wars of Religion, the French Revolutionary Wars, and the revolutionary forces of Nazism and (the early years of) Bolshevism went hand in hand with an escalation to extremes. One obvious reason for this was simply the desire of a revolutionary force to mold the world in its own image. Just as important was the inability of traditional regimes to understand revolutionary forces, which thereby drove those forces to extremes, in a game of mirrors that pushed conflict to extremes. Importantly, lack of understanding often continued even when revolutionary forces had lost their bite. It took a long time, for example, to realize that the Soviet Union lost its revolutionary zeal rather quickly after 1917, with its behavior thereafter being explicable in standard realist terms.
Second, Aron made the most of the need to make states intelligent. This can be particularly clearly seen in the last chapter of the second volume of Penser la guerre, Clausewitz, which considered various means designed to bring peace. Aron had little time for the Maoist view that the extension of class struggle would bring peace, for he felt it all too likely that socialist states would arm against each other. But he was well aware that states were not necessarily good at calculating. For one thing, they might lack capacity, as was the case in the early period of the recent American intervention in Iraq, when only a handful of people spoke the languages necessary to establish any understanding of popular feelings. For another, statesmen needed to be trained to exercise judgment so as to become aware of the iterative nature of the relations between states so that the limited norms of international society could, in the absence of revolutionary forces, be cemented and perhaps even spread.
At best, rational states can work within a homogeneous world. But whenever two elements are present, one wishes to know which one has the most importance. The intelligence of the state matters most for Aron, for it is indispensable both in homogeneous and heterogeneous international orders. The state alone has the capacity to provide us with a way of life, and Aron’s loyalty to this principle, established in his earliest years, marks all his thought.21
Regrettably, Aron’s work on international relations has not, I think, had a direct influence on most sociologists. Thus, it is ironic to see that his central insights are being rediscovered by a new generation, driven to his conclusions through powerful empirical work. The most striking example is the work of Michael Mann, the leading comparative historical sociologist of this generation. International politics has always been at the center of Mann’s work, most strikingly in his account of one of Aron’s own favorite topics—that of the origins of the First World War.22 What is noticeable about Mann’s account is that it stresses the two sociological factors just identified and pays particular attention to the lack of rationality on the part of the German state in terms of its regime structure—roughly speaking, in terms of that state being a court more than an agency that allowed the setting of priorities. A rather similar argument about the origins of the First World War has been offered by Jack Snyder in an impressive book that seeks to generalize about the relationship between types of state and the incidence of war and peace.23 Snyder suggests that control of the state is likely to be high, with priority setting thereby possible when either a traditional elite or a single party is in control: in contrast, a semimobilized state with an authoritarian elite that feels threatened by nascent forces of democracy is likely to “bandwagon,” to offer something to every group in a way that undermines rational calculation.
This suggests a final thought. Aron was fond of saying that he had managed to hold on to hope even though his illusions had been dispelled. His theory of international relations offers us a better way. But that it remains realist, always aware of novelty and of human folly, can be seen by noting just one counterexample to Snyder’s fine book. Hitler was in control of his state yet ravaged Europe in the middle of the last century. One can have total control over one’s state yet still bring destruction to one’s society.24
1 T. Judt, Past Imperfect: French Intellectuals, 1944–56 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992).
2 R. Aron, Mémoires: 50 ans de reflexion politique (Paris: Julliard, 1983), 59.
3 P. Birnbaum, Geography of Hope, chapter 4.
4 R. Aron, De Gaulle, Israel and the Jews (London: Praeger, 1969), 63.
5 R. Aron, Peace and War: A Theory of International Relations (New York: Doubleday, 1966), 27–29.
6 R. Aron, La société industrielle et la guerre (Paris: Plon, 1958).
7 R. Aron, Imperialism and Colonialism (Leeds: Leeds University Press, 1959).
8 R. Aron, La tragédie Algérienne (Paris: Plon, 1958).
9 P. Hassner, “Raymond Aron and the History of the 20th Century,” International Studies Quarterly 29 (1985).
10 R. Aron, The Century of Total War (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1954).
11 R. Aron, Le Grand Schisme (Paris: Gallimard, 1948).
12 R. Aron, The Great Debate: Theories of Nuclear Strategy (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1964).
13 R. Aron, The Imperial Republic (London: Weidenfeld, 1974).
14 I have in mind these texts: Plaidoyer pour l’Europe décadente (Paris: Lafonte, 1977); “De l’impérialisme américain à la hégémonisme soviétique,” Commentaire 2 (1979); La Querelle de la CED (Paris: A. Colin, 1956; coedited with D. Lerner); Progress and Disillusion (London: Pall Mall Press, 1969).
15 Aron, Mémoires, 161.
16 Aron, Peace and War, 609.
17 Ibid., 91.
18 R. Aron, “The Evolution of Modern Strategic Thought: Problems of Modern Strategy,” Adelphi Papers 9 (1969).
19 R. Aron, Penser la guerre, 2 vols. (Paris: Gallimard, 1976). A useful commentary on the text is B. Cooper, “Aron’s Clausewitz,” in Political Reason in the Age of Ideology: Essays in Honor of Raymond Aron, ed. D. J. Mahoney and B. P. Frost (New York: Transaction, 2007).
20 R. Aron, “Reason, Passion and Power in the Thought of Clausewitz,” Social Research 39 (1972): 607–8; emphasis in the original.
21 R. Aron, “De l’objection de conscience,” Revue de Metaphysique et de Morale 41 (1934).
22 M. Mann, The Sources of Social Power, vol. 2, The Rise of Classes and Nation-States, 1760–1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), chapter 21.
23 J. Snyder, Myths of Empire: Domestic Politics and International Ambitions (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1993).
24 J. A. Hall, International Orders (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996).