The age-old debate behind the war in Ukraine
As Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelenskyy, listened in increasing dismay to President Donald Trump’s display of global whataboutism at the Oval Office on Feb. 28, it was clear he had not braced himself for the United States’ foreign policy shift from self-professed global watchdog over the values of democracy and liberalism to hard-line international pragmatism.
Zelenskyy’s appeals — the few he was allowed to voice — were to principles of fairness and justice backed up by ideals: The strong should not invade the weak at will. The innocent should not die. Allies should not be suddenly judged on the criterion of: “What’s in it for us?” And victims, of course, should not be held up as aggressors.
Who’s surprised? It’s an age-old debate. The political historian Thucydides anticipated the Trump-Zelenskyy conversation in detail in his “History of the Peloponnesian War,” in which the islanders of Melos make a case for their freedom to Athens, which wants from them only surrender and tribute. The Melians have shown no aggression, but the Athenians need to build their empire up against Sparta. The context may be different, but the issue faced by the ancient Melian delegation is the same as that faced by Zelenskyy: How do you compel a more powerful body to observe what you, the weaker state, call the laws of justice, or fairness, or loyalty?
Thucydides had his Melians try every argument a nation could. There is the argument from utility: It is more useful for you to treat us justly, lest others rebel against you. There is the argument from morality: The gods will punish you for these bad deeds. There is the golden rule: We have done nothing to you, so why do you turn on us? There is the argument from logic: The outcome of war is always uncertain, so why take this risk? There’s the mention of allies. There’s the argument Zelenskyy hinted at: Our enemy will come for you next.
For each argument, the Athenians had an answer. Others will fear us, not rebel against us. The gods are fickle. A show of strength is necessary. Where are your allies now, Melians? And your odds of winning are minuscule. Don’t be fools. Swallow your pride. Become a satellite state and pay tribute, or we will wipe you out. As Trump told Zelenskyy, “You don’t have the cards.”
The Melians, cards or no cards, refused to give in. When the Athenians inevitably took over the island, they executed all the men and enslaved the women, then resettled the island with 500 Athenians.
The U.S. is not at war with Ukraine, even if in allying ourselves with Russian President Vladimir Putin on this issue, we have become proxies for his worldview. Still, in both cases, we see the working of stark realpolitik pitted against a world that the West thought would last longer but is already starting to crumble — the world of mutually agreed-upon rules of behavior, of the post-World War II U.S., of the idealistic presence of the United Nations. The horrors of WWII were apparently enough to give us a 75-year boost in such beliefs. But that time is over, and we are back to the cruelties and injustices so visible in history — both ancient and modern.
Can realpolitik ever be a winner? The answer is yes. But only temporarily. Nations rise and fall. Classical Athens would be surprised to see where she stands these days in the world order. Her gift to the rest of us was not a pile of dead Melians, but the historian who showed us that justice is not a utility, but a luxury of civilized nations. It is costly to maintain. It brings no reward except itself. It can be warped. And yet some nations — like the Melians — will perish for the principle.
Will the Ukrainians? It remains to be seen.
Shadi Bartsch is a professor in humanities at the University of Chicago and former director of the Institute on the Formation of Knowledge.
