Power Politics

In the prologue to Decision at Sea, noted naval historian Professor Craig L. Symonds declares that “as is the case with all nations, the history and culture of the United States have been both defined by and reflected in its several wars. From the earliest days of the Republic, war delineated the stages of American transformation as the country evolved from a frontier society along the Atlantic seaboard to become first a continental power, then a world power, and eventually the greatest power in history. At each stage of this metamorphosis, America’s wars reflected the dominant national focus of its generation.” Thus Symonds establishes the theoretical framework around which he’ll analyze America’s historical transformations. Ultimately, his goal is to demonstrate how the major stages in American military history are accurately represented by five key naval battles.

Alas, the writer’s translation of this sweeping vision into reality is unfortunately inconsistent. In several respects he succeeds brilliantly. His prose is silky smooth and highly accessible, and his skill at narrating battle sequences is quite clearly superlative. One cannot help but be riveted by his gripping account of the intense combat action, and his expert portrayal of the human struggle at sea lends insight into the nature of leadership and command. Yet the author does a very mixed job of weaving this narrative into the overarching theme of historical transformation.

Symonds is a skilled historian, and it shows. The analysis he does provide is clear, sagacious, and very well written. His conclusions, though one may quibble with them, are well grounded and wisely stated. The problem is, indeed, not due to any deficiencies in his thinking; it is instead the lack of development that mars parts of this volume. Symonds includes perhaps four or five pages in each section directly discussing the grand historical implications of the battle he chronicles; more analysis is integrated into the discussion of each battle itself, although the exact amount is variable. For some, particularly the first two, there is precious little. In only two sections of the work (those on operation Praying Mantis and the Battle of Manila Bay) is there a substantial amount of penetrating analysis. For a book-length work, such an inconsistent and in some parts insubstantial level of analysis is unacceptably shallow. The author fails to dig deeply into and analyze fully the rich and dramatic trends exemplified by three of his cited battles, and so Decision at Sea is an ultimately disappointing book. A great work pulled down by an inconsistent and partially mediocre effort.

One part of the book, featuring Symonds in full form, stands out as deserving attention: the overall conclusion. Adopting the judicious disposition of the historian, the Professor carefully examines the future of American security policy in the 21st century. Reflecting on the transformative changes he has chronicled, the author scrutinizes today’s naval currents and their interrelationship with America’s foreign policy posture. Noting that “technology and resources are […] integral elements in national policy planning and execution,” Symonds proceeds to analyze the present epoch, in which “America’s military technology has become globally dominant.”

He begins the analysis with a succinct description of the Westphalian state system, established in 1648, that came to dominate world politics. The Westphalian system was organized around sovereign nation-states, each of which maintained hegemony over its own territory. The nation-state system is remarkably conducive to stability and balance, explaining its robustness, because it promotes centralized governance and standardized political rule-sets. Centralized governance, combined with the pressure of competition from other states, promotes good and effective governance. The standardized rule-sets facilitate international trade, commerce, and industry; harnessing the other properties of the system (such as competitive pressure and centralization), political rule-sets also encourage the development of rational governments that undertake rational policies. As Symonds writes, “it rationalized war to the extent that governments exercised control over national armies and employed them to compete with one another for territory, trade, or some other tangible advantage.” Security concerns and competitive pressures eventually led to a fluid equilibrium in which a balance of power locked the system into place; any time one power tried to gain global hegemony, a coalition of weaker powers aligned together to suppress the aggressor (note, for instance, the wars of Napoleon and the wars of Louis XIV).

Symonds continues by describing the collapse of the Soviet Union, which he believes constituted “a watershed moment not only in the history of the United States but in the history of the world.” Although that goes without question in any quarter, exactly how the dissolution of the USSR changed the history is world is a controversial academic question that has spawned an array of theories and research. To simplify matters slightly, two major schools of thought emerged on the issue. The first, famously embraced by President George H.W. Bush, argues that fall of the Soviet Union produced a “new world order.” The second view, drawing much support from international relations scholars, asserted that, while the collapse of the Soviet Union produced a transitory period of American dominance, the underlying international system remained pretty much the same. This is a vast simplification, of course, and advocates on both sides have put forth complex and nuanced theories embracing a more pragmatic center.

That said, Symonds falls solidly into the first camp. As he argues in the book, “if [the collapse of the Soviet Union] did not immediately supplant the nation-state system established at Westphalia nearly three and a half centuries earlier, it at least produced […] a ‘new world order.’”

In that new order, the United States emerged as the single dominant military power on the globe. Some Americans thought the time had come for the United States to shoulder the responsibility of world management, for it certainly had the military power to do so. The United States stood alone as the one great superpower on earth. The U.S. Navy, too, stood alone: unchallenged, and indeed unchallengeable, as master of the world’s oceans. By the end of the century, a single U.S. Navy carrier battle group and its embarked carried more potential firepower than the rest of the world’s navies combined. An article in the Washington Post in 2003 declared unequivocally that “all other nations have conceded the seas to the United States. . . .The naval arms race–a principal aspect of great power politics for centuries–is over.” [The article actually appeared in the New York Times, and the author’s formal citation inaccurately identifies the title, author, publisher, and date.] More than Rome at its height or Victorian Britain at its peak, the United States had emerged as a power of unprecedented supremacy. It had become arbiter mundi, the power of the world–an astonishing circumstance for a republic that a mere nine score years before had strained its resources to build two twenty-gun brigs on Lake Erie

While it cannot be denied that America is “the single dominant military power on the globe,” Symonds makes quite a few hyperbolical claims there that cannot be supported in reality; in fact, one could accuse him of hubris. The US does not, in fact, have sufficient military strength “to shoulder the responsibility of world management.” All of the major nuclear powers, for example, are essentially invulnerable to American attack. And, as Operation Iraqi Freedom has shown, while most non-nuclear states would offer little resistance to an American invasion, accomplishing large-scale occupations would quickly drain the American economy, industrial base, and labor force dry. The United States can, indeed, play a significant role in world affairs and the international order, but in no way could it ever hope to manage the world. The only geographical areas in which Washington has a legitimate claim to total dominance are the oceans, and even then that control is ephemeral at best in some areas of the world (particularly in Asia). The claim that “a single U.S. Navy carrier battle group and its embarked carried more potential firepower than the rest of the world’s navies combined” is laughably absurd. In terms of “potential firepower,” a single Russian SSBN (nuclear submarine), carrying dozens to hundreds of nuclear warheads, easily outclasses the firepower of a carrier battle group. In terms of effective strength, the hundreds of modern cruisers, destroyers, missile boats, submarines, and assault ships compromising the naval forces of the rest of the world clearly trump a single carrier group.

In reality, the situation is more complex. The United States indeed enjoys an unprecedented level of conventional military strength, especially in the naval arena. The utility of this military strength is greatly restrained, however, by three features of the modern world. The first is the prevalence of nuclear arms, which eliminates direct total war as an effective policy option against a great power. The second can be broadly summarized as the current state of global geography and human development. The sheer scale of the world’s population, the way human society is organized, and the impact of ideologies (such as nationalism) on popular sentiment have made military occupation of large swaths of the world impossible. Finally, the interconnected nature of the global economy means that military aggression against economically large states will induce a worldwide recession and dramatically impair the ability of the aggressor to finance its military campaign. In effect, no matter how powerful the United States is, it cannot entertain any chance of managing the world. The United States can and does act as the guarantor of the system of global capitalism and trade, but that’s the extent of its supernational power.

And yet, in the end, Symonds apparently recognizes that American power does have limits. Cautioning against militaristic hubris, the author wisely encourages Washington to follow the example of the Persian Gulf war, for a continual war on terror in the mold of the invasion of Iraq will only be counterproductive.

One clear lesson of history, however, is that no single nation has ever risen to dominance and stayed there. As George Kennan wrote in 1999, “Purely military power, even in its greatest dimensions of superiority, can produce only short term successes.” One reason is that unilateral global policing is enormously expensive. And another is that the wielding of great power inevitably breeds resentment.

In a story that has made waves among both the media and analysts, the Financial Times yesterday published remarks from Chinese General Zhu Chenghu stating that Beijing is ready and willing to deploy nuclear weaponry in a first-strike, should Washington attack Chinese territory or military assets [New York Times, DefenseNews.com]. Addressing foreign correspondents at a function in Hong Kong, Zhu said that “if the Americans draw their missiles and position-guided ammunition on to the target zone on China’s territory, I think we will have to respond with nuclear weapons.” According to the FT, “he added that China’s definition of its territory included warships and aircraft.” Zhu expounded on his point by arguing that “we . . . will prepare ourselves for the destruction of all of the cities east of Xian. Of course the Americans will have to be prepared that hundreds . . . of cities will be destroyed by the Chinese.” Focusing his talk around the subject of Taiwan, the General explained his reasoning, as the NY Times report records.

General Zhu said he believed that the Chinese government was under internal pressure to change its “no first use” policy and to make clear that it would employ the most powerful weapons at its disposal to defend its claim over Taiwan.

“War logic” dictates that a weaker power needs to use maximum efforts to defeat a stronger rival, he said, speaking in fluent English. “We have no capability to fight a conventional war against the United States,” General Zhu said. “We can’t win this kind of war.”

Zhu tempered his commentary, however, by stressing that this was merely his opinion, and that he was not representing the Chinese government in any capacity. He also made it clear that he did not anticipate the coming of war with the United States.

The report gathered significant attention, not the least of which came from Stratfor (a distinguished private geopolitical intelligence company or, as some would call it, a quasi-CIA). In its daily morning briefing, Stratfor sought to proffer an explanation for the General’s statement. To start with, the company identified the key issue complicating the matter: why Zhu, a significant military figure, would suddenly decide to make controversial public comments about an issue as sensitive as thermonuclear war, without any seeming provocation. Stratfor correctly identified this as the foundation from which all further analysis must proceed; unfortunately, the company proceeded in the wrong direction. Noting that the General has not been fired, Stratfor extrapolated to say that his message was purposefully put forth by the Chinese. This leap of faith, as it turns out, was Stratfor’s fatal error, because it forced the analysis to conclude that Zhu’s remarks represented a message being projected outward from the Chinese government.

The analysis quickly and rightly dismissed the thought that Zhu’s speech was a prelude to an invasion of Taiwan; basically, the argument goes, the General wanted to avoid American intervention in a shortly upcoming invasion by threatening thermonuclear holocaust in response. Though some observers have argued that China is preparing to launch an invasion of the island in 2008 (for reasons irrelevant to the issue at hand), it’s absolutely certain that China has no immediate plans for invasion. For one thing, China’s in the process of modernizing its military forces, and is entirely ill-prepared for a seaborne assault; should it try to invade Taiwan right now, its amphibious attack would be repulsed and its local forces would be wrecked. For another thing, there’s simply no compelling reason for an invasion at the present time. If China ever did invade Taiwan, it would only do so if the government were about to collapse, so as to exploit the ensuing wave of nationalism to cement its control over the mainland (as Argentine leaders, for example, attempted to do in their ill-fated 1982 invasion of the Falklands). That’s a non-issue at the moment, and so China has no compelling motive for an invasion, and every reason to avoid one.

With that line of thought demolished, Stratfor was forced to grasp for straws. The analyst came up with the idea that “the Chinese, in economic trouble, are playing the patriotism card at home and this interview, as it filters back to China, enhances the image of the regime as a global player. Having the ability to play nuclear hardball is no small achievement and, we would guess, would be seen as a matter of pride by some Chinese.” Yet even Stratfor is forced to call that argument “lame.” How the short remarks of one mid-ranking Chinese military leader are supposed to noticeably bolster domestic support for the government is a question that the writer does not answer. And for good reason, too, since they’re almost certainly not going to. Both domestic posturing and an invasion of Taiwan fail as reasonable explanations; the answer becomes more clear once the comments are framed not as emanating out from the Chinese government, however, but instead as being directed internally.

Last weekend, the Financial Times ran an interesting essay by scholar Mark Leonard that sought to dissect the various ideological currents running through Chinese politics. Leonard characterized the country as being at a crossroads, shaped by forces of change without and clashing worldviews within. He argued, quite persuasively, that the Chinese government cannot be seen as a monolithic bloc, but instead must be viewed as a complex and conflicted organization. In addition to individual rivalry over position and advancement, the party plays host to a number of discordant ideologies, each of which has powerful exponents and adherents. One of they key intellectual conflicts Leonard identified is over foreign policy, between the realist and liberal internationalist schools of thought. To put it broadly, Chinese realists emphasize power, containment, stability, and the national interest, while Chinese internationalists emphasize international institutions, consensus, goodwill, and ideology. Both groups have their supporters in the government, and both want to see their own ideas triumph in Chinese policymaking. As Leonard noted, the Chinese leadership has thus far sought to achieve a balance between both schools, promoting a pragmatic policy of centrism.

Between these two poles, the political leadership hedges, testing China’s new power but trying to reassure the rest of the world at the same time. It has put one of its ablest diplomats, Cui Tiankai, in charge of devising a strategy of Asian regionalism, and has backed up its commitment to multilateralism by authorising the former foreign minister, Qian Qichen, to serve on Kofi Annan’s High-Level Panel on UN reform. Yet, at the same time, in its private diplomacy the leadership undermines many of the panel’s recommendations. It has authorised double-digit increases in defence spending and an anti-secession law that threatens Taiwan with war; at the same time it has ratcheted up diplomacy, persuading Taiwan’s main opposition leader to make an official visit to China for the first time. It shows the same flexibility towards Japan by allowing nationalist flames to be fanned through internet petitions and text messages opposing Japan’s bid for a Security Council seat and then, when these things appeared to be worrying the rest of the region, it switched them off and resorted to diplomacy.

Leonard ends his essay rather ominously, observing that “as China’s power moves from the realm of the virtual to the actual, the leadership’s hedging strategy will be increasingly difficult to follow.” Although China will continue to aim for a mix of foreign policy strategies, it will indeed have to begin to lean in one direction or another. Both the internationalists and the realists want that direction to be theirs, and are exercising their respective influence within the government to promote their respective worldviews.

General Zhu, a self-described “hawk,” falls solidly into the realist camp. He wants to China to pursue an aggressive and militaristic foreign policy, and views the United States as a strategic nemesis. Considering that cooler heads in the Chinese government have already backed away from the statement, it becomes clear that Zhu’s message was indeed of his own genuine volition; he was not acting as an agent of the top leaders in Beijing. His purpose was not to communicate the wishes of China to the United States in any matter, but he instead intended to reflect his message back into Beijing’s halls of power. While it would be foolish to speculate on precisely what Zhu hoped to accomplish, it plainly involved something alone the lines of enhancing his prestige and promoting his world-view. To a lesser extent, his remarks may have been aimed at sabotaging ongoing Sino-American negotiations over trade and other issues, although this is a more doubtful explanation.

Again, the best explanation of Zhu’s speech is that, like some of his counterparts in Washington often do, the General sought to bolster his stature and advance his policy interests through the international press. In doing so, Zhu further illustrated the accuracy of Mr. Leonard’s paradigm, and American leaders would be well advised to keep that in mind. While some in Washington will reflexively seize upon Zhu’s remarks for political advantage, citing it as another dangerous example of Chinese belligerency, more responsible politicians ought to heed Leonard’s warning and see this for what it is: an individual hawk trying to further his own personal and policy aims.

Following her decision not to attend this year’s ASEAN convention, American Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice has come under intense criticism, according to the New York Times. As reporter Joel Brinkley notes, it is the first time in more than two decades that a US secretary of state has chosen not to be present for the annual convention; instead, Rice is planning to dispatch her deputy at State, Robert Zoellick.

Though some diplomats have suggested that Rice’s choice to skip the meeting portends more broadly of a shift in American strategic thinking from emphasizing Asia to emphasizing the Middle East, such a judgement is oversimplified at best. It is quite accurate to say that since the September 11th terrorist attacks, the short-term outlook in Washington has become dominated by the Middle East and Islamic extremism, but that’s a truism. The fact is, America’s chief diplomat attended the ASEAN convention in 2002, 2003, and 2004. With Iraq now (relatively) stable and the War on Terror evolving into a more traditional and less militaristic endeavor, attention on Asia has but increased. Far from being a snub at Asia, Rice’s move is instead motivated by more pragmatic reasoning.

As the Times briefly touches upon, it is the fact that Burma is scheduled to assume leadership of ASEAN for the next year that has caused Secretary Rice to skip the convention. Although it’s always dangerous to cite monocausality, it is (quite unusually) the most compelling explanation here. The Secretary has no intention of downplaying the importance of Asia, and has handled the matter with as much diplomatic tact as she can. Washington’s discontent with Burma’s ruling junta (which is repressive and unfriendly), on the other hand, has been translated into a consistent policy of “isolation, strict trade embargoes and frequent criticism of the detention of political prisoners.” While visiting Thailand in response to the outcry over her decision not to attend the ASEAN meeting, Rice, tellingly, obliquely criticized Bangkok’s policy of engagement with Burma; in doing so, the Secretary made it clear that the issue of Burma figured very prominently in her choice. The symbolic protest, Washington hopes, will put further pressure on the Burmese regime, and perhaps force the ASEAN nations to adopt harsher policies toward the country, not wanting to further irritate the US.

Nevertheless, this bit of diplomacy is impolitic and unwise. While it’s true that this may successfully pressure ASEAN member-states to take a harder line against the Burmese regime, such an outcome could very well have been achieved by softer means. As the Financial Times notes, “the Philippines, Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia are known to be unhappy about putting Asean leadership into the hands of a country that is under a trade embargo from the US and European Union, particularly when bilateral trade agreements with China and Japan have yet to be ratified.” There’s even talk that Rangoon may itself voluntarily withdraw from the leadership position it’s scheduled to accede to. With sentiment already leaning against Burma, Washington would’ve been better off using the subtle push of negotiations rather than the blunt strike of Rice’s absence. The more the United States acts the part of an arrogant superpower, the more Southeast Asian states will be pushed into the Chinese camp. As Asia has already become one of the two focal points of world power, it’s past time for the United States to recognize its own status as merely a great power. This incident is symbolic of the overbearing tact that America, grasping for coercive leverage where it should be exercising patient diplomacy, cannot hope to maintain abroad.

Like hitting in a nail with wrecking ball, Washington may very well succeed in this diplomatic gamble, but will lose more in collateral damage than it will gain in greater potency.

Following my discussion of Presidential Leadership, I think it’s only fitting that I now consider To the Best of My Ability, another book about the various presidents of the United States. Like Presidential Leadership, this work features a core set of essays, each one a different president. The essays in To the Best of My Ability, like those in Presidential Leadership, take stands and pass judgement; since each is written by a different scholar, there’s a healthy balance of ideological perspective, most of which falls within mainstream historical thought.

The first thing that catches one’s attention in To the Best of My Ability is the layout and design. The volume is richly bound with glossy thick paper and gorgeous images that make it as much fun to look at as it is to read. A full page portrait of the president is featured at the end of every essay; a few other full page portraits are inserted variously into the text, including a spectacular photograph of Woodrow Wilson at his desk.

Yet it is not the pictures that make this book great, but the essays contained within. Written by an elite group of historians, all are thought-provoking and interesting; in fact, my one complaint about the text is that it does not give enough space for the essays, instead including too many pictures on each page. Exquisitely well done, the essays present an objective look at the accomplishments and themes surrounding each presidency, and then go on to offer the author’s interpretation of events. I particularly liked the essays on the first Bush, Truman, and Eisenhower, mostly out of personal interest but also because of the quality of the writing and analysis.

One of the more interesting pieces is Morton Keller’s take on William McKinley. Keller describes McKinley’s presidency, generally held in high regard by historians, as being important primarily as “a transition from the politics of the Gilded Age to the politics of the Progressive Era.” The campaign of 1896, which ultimately resulted in a landslide for McKinley, was a particularly memorable showdown. The opposition candidate, William Jennings Bryant, seized upon agrarian discontent to capture the Democratic party. Deeply mistrustful of the industrial economy, Bryant ran as a hardline populist, famously lambasting the gold standard (and, implicitly, the modern economy) in his “Cross of Gold” address. He instead promoted a plan for the unlimited coinage a silver, a policy that would have sabotaged the US economy. Fortunately for America, the electorate saw through Bryant’s fiery rhetoric and overwhelmingly rejected him.

McKinley, whose time in office was characterized by “prosperity and empire,” governed as a pragmatist. Although “he oversaw the passage of a new protective tariff and moved cautiously toward a gold-backed currency” during the beginning of his term, it was the Spanish-American war of 1898 that came to define his presidency and herald in a newer and better slate of priorities for McKinley. As Keller points out, McKinley did not want to make war, “but the February 1898 sinking of the battleship Maine in Havana Harbor forced his hand.” The move proved a fantastic play, both politically and geostategically. In the latter sense, the invasion was the culmination of a foreign policy revolution decades in the coming. Growing imperialistic tendencies, the rapid rise of the navy as a dominant strategic institution, and Washington’s expanding world clout all contributed to the push for war, which was sealed by the intense yellow journalism of the day’s popular press.

Yet once McKinley made the decision to go to war, he put all of his weight behind it; the changes wrought by the war, though not as significant as those made by McKinley’s successor, Teddy Roosevelt, nevertheless portended well the currents about to overtake American politics. “The White House clerical staff ballooned from six to eighty people to keep up with the enormous increase in paperwork. McKinley’s private secretary, George B. Cortelyou, because the first (unofficial) presidential press secretary, the exigencies of the war having turned the White House into a primary source of news.” McKinley, now recognizing “the growing importance of foreign markets,” moved away from traditional protectionism. Ever the pragmatist, he declared that “isolation is no longer possible or desirable,” and began to embrace a more sophisticated and international understanding of trade and economic policy. One of his more important successes in that realm came as he embraced America’s new role (after capturing the Philippines) as an East Asian power and supported the Open Door Policy. Although his second term in office was deprived of him by an assassin’s bullet, President McKinley rightfully qualifies as one of the top-tier American presidents.

Although Mark Carnes’ discussion of William Howard Taft is very good, I would’ve liked to see him talk more about Taft’s policy of Dollar Diplomacy. As is, Carnes’ briefly touches upon it, stressing that it “encouraged the use of economic power to stability and control foreign governments, particularly in Asia and Latin America.” He quickly uses it to segue into the relationship between Taft and Teddy Roosevelt, however, unwilling to discuss its complexities. Dollar Diplomacy is actually a fascinating foreign policy strategy with applicability to the modern world. Like any other endeavor, it had its successes (in Latin America) and its failures (in East Asia). Yet using soft power and other indirect measures to effect strategic goals is often the optimal approach; while it’s not perfect for all situations, non-military power is effective, inexpensive, and flexible. Because military operations (such as the recent invasion of Iraq) can be counterproductive, ineffective, and highly taxing, policymakers should always keep in mind the advantages afforded by initiatives like Dollar Diplomacy.

Carnes’ similarly failed to discuss Philander C. Knox, Taft’s Secretary of State. Like many of the nation’s chief diplomatics, Knox had an accomplished and successful tenure. In addition to sponsoring the Dollar Diplomacy policy, Knox reorganized the State Department into a more efficient and modern bureaucracy. He also extended the merit system up to higher level positions. During his time in office he settled a number of international disputes, and promoted the wise policy of encouraging and safeguarding American foreign investment. Alas, though deserving of mention for his accomplishments, Carnes all too easily skips over mention of the Secretary and his deeds.

Keller’s piece on Warren G. Harding is fair if slightly critical, presenting a well-needed reality check to Jeremy Rabkin’s glowing endorsement of the former president in Presidential Leadership. Nevertheless, I have a few quibbles. Keller concludes that “while Harding certainly had substantial personal failings, his low repute can also be ultimately traced to his poor performance as president, specifically his failure to give post-World War I America the leadership it required.” Yet his performance as president, while not spectacular, was solid. In the sphere of foreign affairs, he backed the Washington Naval Conference of 1921-1922 that many hoped would bring an end to the arms race (although it did not, his attempt was commendable). On the domestic front, he established the Bureau of the Budget (now called the Office of Management and Budget) and the General Accounting Office (now known as the Government Accountability Office). The former enhanced the power of the president in terms of fiscal management, and both were helpful in curbing wasteful government spending. He also endorsed Treasury Secretary Andrew Mellon’s economic stimulus plan, focusing around tax reduction, which helped to kick-start the impressive growth of the 1920’s.

Keller, however, dismisses Harding’s accomplishments and instead says that his policies did not address the changing social and economic needs of Americans. This charge is dubious. His economic plan was historically sound, and did produce results. His social policies, while unimpressive, were far from terrible. Harding did not have a grand vision like Franklin Roosevelt, and didn’t try to improve the obviously flawed system of laissez-faire capitalism. But that doesn’t mean he should be considered one of America’s worst presidents. In fact, his policies weren’t perfect, but they worked, which should grant the man a better reputation than Keller gives him credit for.

In Presidential Leadership, an ideologically balanced group of scholars set out to rank past-and-present occupants of the White House. The academicians were also polled as to which presidents were the most over- and underrated. The results, although generally in accordance with previous surveys of presidential leadership, are nevertheless interesting; students of American history will find much to enjoy and criticize in this latest iteration of the academic parlor game.

That said, the ranking itself is the least interesting and instructive segment of the project. Though the book is focused around the concept, grading the presidents in this manner is as futile and unproductive as drawing water from a stone. Presidential success is a subjective, variable, and highly complex measure. It depends greatly on historical conditions and external circumstances, and there are no consistent metrics (of any substantial value) that one can use across all presidential terms. Furthermore, even supposing one could successfully rank the presidents, there is no use in the endeavor. It provides no great historical insight, serves no broader purpose, and sheds no light on the fascinating depth and complexity of the past.

It is instead the essays included both online and in the book that stand out. Most are tilted heavily toward the right, and the quality varies considerably from piece to piece. Nevertheless, while a few are unimpressive (Robert Bork’s attack on President Franklin Roosevelt and Robert Ferrell’s unpersuasive defense of Hebert Hoover come to mind, not to mention Paul Johnson’s vicious personal assault on Bill Clinton), the majority are thought-provoking and interesting. Agree or disagree, the conservative scholars featured in the book offer much to chew over.

The brief on James Monroe, penned by attorneys David Rivkin and Mark DeLaquil, presents a thoughtful analysis of the President’s foreign policy accomplishments. Aided by prominent American statesman John Quincy Adams, Monroe achieved a series of foreign policy successes (such as acquiring Florida from Spain) that culminated in the establishment of the Monroe Doctrine, a landmark policy that has become a bedrock foundation of American grand strategy. Messrs. Rivkin and DeLaquil rightly laud Monroe for promulgating the policy that now bears his name, and lavish considerable space on it.

The Monroe Doctrine, as they explain, was a bold pronouncement by the young republic that declared the Americas to be off-limits to European colonization and intervention. Moreover, the President announced that “any attempt to do so would be viewed as an act of aggression toward the United States.” The authors proffer several reasons for why the White House decided to carry out this audacious policy. They note that “following the Latin American revolutions of the early nineteenth century, the possibility of an alliance of European powers suppressing these revolutions or Russia implementing its colonial desires in Oregon was omnipresent.” Yet, more broadly, they place the Doctrine within the context of what they describe as “the two core tendencies in American foreign policy–idealism and realpolitik.”

From an idealistic perspective, Monroe’s statement manifested, in the best spirit of the American Revolution, the view that self-government was the norm and that people should be free to realize their destiny free from the undue involvement by outside powers. In this sense, even in arenas beyond the Western Hemisphere, the Monroe Doctrine can be considered the precursor of a uniquely American morality-driven foreign policy agenda.

On the realpolitik side, the Monroe Doctrine, by securing America’s strategic rear, has for almost two centuries served as the basis of an engaged and assertive forward projection of American political, economic, and military power into Asia and Europe. Viewed through this historical prism, America’s occasional bouts of isolationism are mere blips on the horizon.

I can’t disagree with their characterization of the geopolitical reasoning behind the doctrine; protecting the United States and ensuring its sphere of influence were more important in the minds of Adams and Monroe than power projection, however. The explanation of idealism is perhaps exaggerated, though. While it’s true that the new republic was imbued with a sense of optimism and idealism that colored the rhetoric and actions of its leaders, the White House was occupied by experienced statesmen of the European tradition. Geopolitics and the national interest were their main concern, and idealism played a secondary, although not unimportant, role.

Rivkin and DeLaquil immediately dismiss the theory that the Monroe Doctrine “constitute[d] a tocsin of American imperialism.” They write that “American interventions in Latin America, while frequent in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, never amounted to a coherent and determined colonization policy comparable to what the European powers were doing in Africa and Asia.” This view is not without merit. Monroe and Adams entertained no illusions about Washington’s power; to them, imperialism no doubt seemed as distant as the shores of China. Yet the policy paved the way for future American imperial endeavors. While Washington’s position toward Latin America was not at all comparable to that of the Europeans vis-a-vis Africa, it’s simply inaccurate not to consider it some form of imperialism. Like any great power, the United States sought regional hegemony and then used its position of strength to advance its regional interests. America, wisely enough, avoided colonialism, and instead took a more indirect role, but one that still constituted imperialism.

And, speaking of American imperialism and expansionism, I gained a newfound appreciation for the accomplishments of James Polk, as described by Douglas G. Brinkley.

Jeffrey Tulis’s essay on Andrew Johnson is generally solid, but I simply cannot agree with his controversial conclusion. For in discussing the impeachment and acquittal of President Johnson, Tulis argues that widespread acceptance of the “high crimes and misdemeanors” clause at face value has undermined American government.

We should at least entertain the possibility that the opposite is the case, that Johnson’s acquittal subverted our Constitution over the long run. Johnson’s legal literalism has deprived Congress of its core constitutional weapon in separation-of-powers disputes–the power to democratically punish an executive who disgraces his office or who abuses the Constitution by repeatedly undermining laws enacted by a deliberative democracy.

Mr. Tulis’s position is simply wrong. It was the politicization of the impeachment clause that threatened the integrity American governance, not the affirmation that the clause was legal and nonpolitical. To be sure, Johnson’s deeds were abhorrent and his performance as president was decidedly poor. Yet it is not the role of the Congress to remove a sitting president for doing a bad job. That is why the presidency is an elected post; voters will decide whether the president has done a disservice to the country through their votes in the next election. Impeachment is a drastic step that should not be pinned upon partisan ambitions, but instead on the solid basis of the law.

I especially enjoyed Professor John DiIulio’s defense of Chester A. Arthur. Arthur is a very much under-appreciated president, who in one term effected major change on American government. Of greatest import was his vigorous support of the Pendleton Act, the most monumental civil service reform act in United States history. The law forms the foundation of the modern professional civil service system, and all later reforms were built around the framework it established. It’s a model of good governance that leaders today would be wise to emulate. Moreover, Arthur was a driving force behind the revival of the US Navy. “He urged Congress to provide the funding necessary to transform the nation’s nineteenth-century wooden ship navy into a twentieth-century steel ship navy.” Although President Arthur was far from alone in his support for the navy, the transformation he championed secured America’s place in the pantheon of the great powers.

I also much admired Jeremy Rabkin’s defense of Warren Harden who, while not the greatest president by far, deserves to be elevated above his reputation as near last. Similarly, John McGinnis makes a strong case that Calvin Coolidge was indeed one of America’s upper-echelon presidents. The essays on Truman and Eisenhower are also very compelling.

Of course, since this is a post about “ranking the presidents,” I might as well take some type of stab at critiquing the list. So here I present the presidents who are, in my estimation, overrated and underrated by the survey.

Overrated:
1. Andrew Jackson (greatly)
2. Franklin Roosevelt (somewhat)
3. Martin Van Buren (somewhat)
4. Woodrow Wilson (slightly)
5. Lyndon Johnson (slightly)
6. Thomas Jefferson (slightly)

Underrated:
1. Calvin Coolidge (greatly)
2. Ulysses Grant (greatly)
3. Warren Harding (greatly)
4. George H.W. Bush (somewhat)
5. Chester Arthur (somewhat)
6. James Monroe (slightly)