Of Opiates and of Liberty: Thoughts on Dreamland by Sam Quinones

Recently I finished a book about the opioid crisis in the US: Dreamland by Sam Quinones. I found it pretty much unputdownable, and while it’s certainly essential reading for anyone interested in its subject matter, I also found that it provoked thoughts on larger matters, on which I have blogged recently. I’m going to try to give a brief account of those thoughts here.

First, an overview of the book. The problems with opiates started back in the 80’s, when a movement in medicine set out to turn back what was thought an irrational prejudice against prescribing painkillers. Before this, doctors had been taught that patients could easily become addicted to these drugs, and were accordingly quite reluctant to give them out. In the course of the 90’s, however, this reluctance was overcome, thanks not only to the genuine desire of many doctors to help people in pain, but also to a certain laziness in reading the research (more on this below) and funding from drug companies. The result was that doctors came to believe that the addiction risk was not so great as had previously been thought, and began to prescribe opiates on a considerable scale. Unfortunately, the pills actually were quite addictive. Worse yet, they turned out to be an ideal gateway to heroin – OxyContin, the prescription drug with the biggest role in this story, “contained a large whack of a drug virtually identical to heroin.”

Soon, thanks both to honest doctors and to those who ran “pill mills,” dolling out pain medication for a fee to anyone who asked for it, parts of America were awash in prescription pills, and thus in people addicted to painkillers (Quinones tells of how pain pills were so plentiful in Portsmouth Ohio that they actually became a currency with which anything could be bought). Enter the Mexicans. Families from a single town in Mexico called Xalisco began to develop novel heroin-delivery networks across America that brought small amounts of the drug virtually to customers’ doors in the manner of a pizza-delivery service. Eschewing violence, these new dealers avoided major cities where markets in illegal drugs were already controlled by gangs (they also avoided black people, for their prejudices had caused them to believe black people violent). Instead, they set out to develop new markets across the country in places where heroin had scarcely been seen, paying particular attention to those already caught up in the opioid crisis.

The result was an epidemic of addiction in places that had never seen such a thing, one that hit not only poor people in cities, but also rich – and largely white – people in rural settings. Quinones has many sad stories to tell, of the children of lawyers or police officers getting hooked and dying, of college students who can’t kick the habit, of people stealing from their children or even from their dying parents to maintain their addiction. But the epidemic is not only remarkable in claiming victims from such a wide variety of backgrounds, but also in its sheer scale: “the number of Ohioans dead from drug overdoses between 2003 and 2008 was 50 percent higher than the number of U.S. soldiers who died in the entire Iraq War. Three times as many people died of prescription pill overdoses between 1999 and 2008 as died in the eight peak years of the crack cocaine epidemic.”

This, then, is the shape of the story Quinones has to tell. There is a lot to think about here, but I found myself returning to one thought in particular: its connection with Patrick Deneen’s book, Why Liberalism Failed, which I wrote about a last month. In that post, I discussed the peculiar conception of freedom that defines what Deneen calls ‘liberalism,’ and this included (and implied) a notion of mastery in modern science, a mastery of the natural world. In that post, I reflected a bit on how this striving for mastery played itself out in environmental concerns (inter alia), but the very same concern with mastery seems to me to lie at the heart of the opioid crisis.

For consider: the decision in medical circles to start taking a different approach to opiates is clearly a decisive moment in the whole story. (At one point, we here of a doctor who suddenly found himself confronted by “what was unthinkable a few years before: rural, white heroin junkies. ‘I’ve yet to find one who didn’t start with OxyContin,’ he said. ‘They wouldn’t be selling this quantity of heroin on the street right now if they hadn’t made these decisions in the boardroom.’”) But what was the motive force behind that decision? It might seem tempting to just hang the whole thing on the greed of drug companies – and that greed certainly is part of the story – but Quinones avoids such a simple and easy path, and tells a deeper story, one going back decades:

“World War I had … demonstrated to doctors the merciful painkilling benefits the morphine molecule provided. Fresh, too, in their memory were heroin’s first decades, which showed just as clearly that addiction too often bedeviled those who used opiates. Try as they might—with strategies as varied as farm work, group therapy, or prison—rehabilitation specialists never graduated much more than 10 percent of their addicts to true opiate freedom. The rest relapsed, slaves, it appeared, to the morphine molecule. This seemed a shame to scientists and physicians. Was mankind really doomed to not have it all? Couldn’t it have heaven without hell? Couldn’t the best scientists find a way of extracting the painkilling attributes from the molecule while discarding its miserable addictiveness?”

That is, the dream is of being able simply to escape pain, with no side-effects. This dream is a form of the striving after mastery I discussed in my post on Deneen, the aim of simply liberating ourselves from our natural limits. The story of the opioid crisis is a story of how the pursuit of this goal without sufficient attention to its risks leads to a new sort of hell: as Quinones says, “In heroin addicts, I had seen the debasement that comes from the loss of free will and enslavement to what amounts to an idea: permanent pleasure, numbness, and the avoidance of pain.” This idea is not at all new, for one repeatedly encounters talk of enslavement to pleasure (or the appetites) in ancient philosophy. What is new is that in a premodern context, such talk can often seem counterintuitive, and usually needs some explanation or thought before it seems an appropriate way to speak; modern science, however, has produced drugs that make it immediately obvious that it is correct to speak of ‘enslavement.’ On this basis, Quinones makes a more general point about human nature: “man’s decay has always begun as soon as he has it all, and is free of friction, pain and the deprivation that temper his behaviour.” This would not be news to the ancients, and it is part of the problem that Deneen sees in certain ideas that have helped drive the West in the last 500 years or so.

Think about what Quinones says about “man’s decay” for a moment, in the context of pain. What is being said is that we need pain. Certainly this is true in a superficial sense – e.g., pain tells us when something is going wrong with our body, and without that we might easily die of internal injuries or by failing to learn to avoid excessive risks, etc. But there is a deeper point here: Quinones speaks of man’s decay and debasement: human dignity disappears as people become enslaved to the escape from pain. That is, the need for pain is not simply instrumental. Our nature as creatures with a certain dignity does not seem to endure a total release from pain. To the extent that we’re capable of liberating ourselves from pain, we seem to become reduced to that attempt at liberation. In describing the search for a non-addictive painkiller, Quinones repeatedly speaks of the “Holy Grail,” a deeply appropriate term in that it suggests a quest for something beyond what is possible for humans.

Of course, the striving after the Holy Grail, the attempt to push beyond what is possible, is remarkable not only for the harm that it directly produces, but also for the humbler, less dangerous pursuit it discourages: Quinones explains how a multidisciplinary, holistic approach to pain, one that would not have produced an opiate crisis, was pushed aside and abandoned for decades because people thought these pills were a straightforward fix.

In the context of all this, I found myself seeing a wisdom in the old “just say no” slogan: not many of us are likely to be stronger than heroin – anyone who uses it a few times is likely to find himself unable to stop, enslaved to it [ed. I’m told it takes more like a month]. However, there is one way that anyone can attain a sort of mastery over heroin, simply by realising that here is something stronger than one’s will, and that one should therefore avoid it. Heroin has no power over such a person: real mastery, real freedom, involves recognising one’s limits and acting within them.

Quinones’ account includes a simply magnificent example of a sort of motivated reasoning (or at least motivated intellectual sloth), which I mention here because it seems to be driven by the striving towards mastery I described above. Those who led the movement to make prescribing painkillers more permissible beginning in the 80’s didn’t have as much evidence as they thought they did. One particularly influential piece of work was known as ‘Porter & Jick,’ which was cited and re-cited in papers and presentations until it seems to have attained a sort of legendary status, in which it bore considerable weight as an argument against the addictive potential of opiates. “Medical professionals,” Quinones tells us, “assumed everyone else had read it,” and it was referred to as “an extensive study” or “a landmark report.” In fact, it was a single paragraph letter to a medical journal, published in 1980; it seems that scarcely anyone had actually bothered to read it. One can imagine that if it had said something unpopular, something that people didn’t want to believe, many would have found time to read it, and read it critically. But of course, everyone wanted to believe that the Holy Grail had been found, that a simple liberation from pain was at hand with no side-effects to worry about – and so Porter and Jick remained unread even as its authority grew.

From the opiate crisis, then, we have another perspective from which to contemplate a truth introduced in my post on Deneen: the striving for a mastery of nature can be a very dangerous matter indeed. There is a need for a moment of acceptance, or perhaps of resignation, a recognition that we are not entirely in control. I’m reading Steven Pinker’s Enlightenment Now at the moment (a review will follow in some weeks/months as time permits), and one of my main problems with the book is that it seems to lack precisely this moment of acceptance.

And finally, since my last post was about the great English essayist, Theodore Dalrymple, here’s a short piece of his from a few days ago on the opioid crisis.

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University Censorship, 16th Century Edition

In recent years I’ve found that I have ever greater cause to reflect on just how much our political culture has changed in the last decade or two. Things I read about years ago in history books – things that I assumed would stay in history books – are now to be found in the news. Here I want to present one example of this phenomenon, from one of my favourite books, Iberia by James Michener (a must-read for anyone interested in or travelling to Spain). The story he tells in the paragraphs below begins with a description of a place you can still visit at the University of Salamanca…

“…a stone-arched classroom left pretty much as it must have been on that day in December, 1578, when Fray Luis de Leon returned after an absence of some years. The rude benches without backs remain the same and the small windows in the outer walls. The lectern with its canopy is the same as the one at which the professor stood that eventful day. The room was crowded, not only because Fray Luis was the most famous of the Salamanca lecturers, a wise, gentle elderly man of sweet understanding and compassion, but because he had accomplished something that few men of his day could parallel.

In 1572, at the height of a brilliant career as Spain’s leading theologian and humanist, he was attacked by jealous persons in the university, who whispered to the Inquisition, ‘We all know that Fray Luis is half Jewish, so he’s suspect to begin with. But he has now translated King Solomon’s Song of Songs into the vernacular. He invites even the most ordinary man in Salamanca to read it. And that is heresy.’ Especially serious was the additional charge that often, after studying the original Hebrew version of the Bible, he would question the accuracy of the Latin. Fray Luis was apprehended and for several months was under interrogation, after which he was thrown into jail at Valladolid, where he heard only silence. At the end of a year he pleaded to be told what the charges against him were and who his accusers, but he heard nothing. His trial was intermittent and clandestine; all he knew was that he had committed some serious crime bordering on heresy, but its definition he never knew. Finally, after nearly five years of this, he was set free and, what was the more miraculous, allowed to return to his post in Salamanca…

This was the morning of his reappearance, and notable persons came to the university to hear his reaction to his long persecution. As he made his way from his rooms, his gown slightly askew in his usual careless manner, the university plaza was crowded with silent students. Fray Luis walked with his eyes straight forward, not daring to acknowledge the furtive glances of approbation which greeted him. As he entered the cloisters and elbowed his way through the crowd he came at last to the room in which he had taught for so many years, and when he saw its familiar outlines, with his friends perched on the narrow benches, and when he knew that among them must be those whose rumors had caused his imprisonment and who would surrender him again to the Inquisition within a few years (he was to die in disgrace at Madrigal de las Altas Torres), he must have wanted to lash out against the injustice he had suffered and would continue to suffer as a Jew and a humanist. Instead he stepped to the rostrum, took his place behind the lectern, grasped the lapels of his robe, and smiled at the crowd with the compassion that marked all he did, and said in a low, clear voice, ‘As we were saying yesterday…’ And he resumed his lecture at the precise point of its interruption five years before.”

I first read this passage in the 90’s, when it seemed to describe a past that had gone forever. In time I was able to visit the room at the University of Salamanca that Michener describes, and I thought of the story of Fray Luis with the same sense of peering into a long-disappeared world that I had felt looking at the forum in Rome or the cave paintings at Les Eyzies de Tayac. But twenty years later, the case of Fray Luis seems immediately relevant in a way I would not once have believed possible. Who today could possibly say that similar things cannot happen now? Who today could deny that they already do?

Journalism or Left-Wing Activism? The Globe and the Peterson Affair

Back in November, Professor Jordan Peterson took part in a debate on free speech at the University of Toronto. The Globe and Mail’s Simona Chiose reported on the event. Here are the first words of her article: “The claims made by University of Toronto psychology professor Jordan Peterson on the impact of anti-discrimination legislation are scientifically and legally wrong.”

Here’s a question: whose side do you think Chiose (and the Globe) are on? That is, is the article for or against the position taken by Dr. Peterson? Do you think that that opening sentence represents a sincere attempt to avoid bias while writing a report on a controversial event, or does it rather push the reader in the direction of a particular point of view? (If you click on the link, you’ll see that the sentence actually ends with a subordinate clause: “… a debate at the Toronto university heard on Saturday.” This does mitigate the effect of the whole, but the effect is there nonetheless.)

I was annoyed at the time by the article, and I’ve just had reason to think of it again, for last week the same Ms. Chiose wrote another article on Dr. Peterson, this one much longer and more biased than that earlier one (quotations below are from this article unless otherwise noted). This longer piece omits relevant facts and emphasises marginal material so as to create a distorted picture, one that effectively maligns Dr. Peterson’s character. In what follows, I’m going to go through several examples of this tendency (though not all), to show just how far the article falls short of fair and unbiased reporting. Has Ms. Chiose – and with her, the Globe – abandoned reporting and instead plunged headlong into activism? After considering the points I make below, I hope readers will be able to decide for themselves.

The main force of Chiose’s article comes from the connection it attempts to make between Dr. Peterson and certain internet trolls (this includes the ‘KEK’ primer at the end), so let us start with that. These trolls, we are told, say vicious and (perhaps) threatening things about his critics. Chiose tells us that “the existence of this parallel, online space is hardly mentioned in free speech debates or arises only in lateral mentions of concerns about ‘safety on campus.’” What she never makes explicit is why this parallel space should be mentioned in free speech debates. No doubt it is true that there are too many trolls online posting childish, vicious and (possibly) even threatening things; no doubt there is often “misogynist and dehumanizing invective” online. This is awful, but why should it have any bearing on the question of free speech or safety on campus? No evidence has been offered that the trolls in question are on the UofT campus. Neither the UofT, nor the government of Ontario, nor the government of Canada – and certainly not Dr. Peterson – can control what people in “Shanghai and Berlin, St. Petersburg and Pune… and San Francisco” write online. Why on earth should the rantings of some loser in his parents’ basement in, say, Colorado, affect what people may and may not say on a university campus in Toronto? Yes, online trolls can be vile, and it would be nice to be able to treat the problem they present, but they seem to me a red herring when considering freedom of speech on campus. Indeed, I they seem to me entirely irrelevant in relation to the matter at the heart of the Peterson affair, namely, these new pronouns, and whether the government or any other institution has the right to force people to use them.

There is one respect, however, in which Ms. Chiose’s focus on internet trolls is not a red herring at all, but drives a point home with some force, and that is the realm of insinuation, of guilt by association. Obviously Dr. Peterson cannot control people typing away in distant cities around the globe, but look at how rotten (or crazy) those people are, those people who support Dr. Peterson – doesn’t that make him look like a rotten person as well? If this thought can, strictly speaking, have no bearing on the matter of pronouns and free speech, still it can have considerable rhetorical force. Empty rhetoric can be effective – in this case, it might encourage those who shout Dr. Peterson down (see below), or those who want a reason to avoid having to confront the force of his arguments, to think that they’re doing the right thing.

It is not only by means of the connection to online trolls, however, that Chiose’s piece paints its picture of Dr. Peterson. As an introduction to her other methods, let us consider some words from Dr. Peterson. At a recent talk at Harvard (video here, the relevant bit is from 6:04) he discusses the behaviour of the UofT’s administration: “the university said that they had received many letters accusing me of making the University of Toronto an unsafe space… they failed to note at the same time that they had received hundreds – perhaps thousands – of letters, as well as a 10,000 signature petition, supporting my stance.” He considers this a falsification by omission.

Chiose’s article suffers from a similar failing. In general, the claims of the UofT administration, as well as accusations against Dr. Peterson, are treated as reliable. Facts that might throw a different, and more positive light upon Dr. Peterson or his cause, repeatedly go unmentioned. For example, we do not hear of the letters of support that he claims to have received from trans-people, who, he says, express their frustration at the fact that a group of activists claim (wrongly) to represent them, and have in fact made their lives more difficult (see here from about 12:43). Is Dr. Peterson making all this up? I don’t know; Chiose might have made an attempt to verify his claims. Instead, the reader is simply left unaware of the possibility of another side to this story.

Consider this sentence as well: “after his application for a federal research grant was turned down this year, Rebel Media… started a crowdfunding effort on its own site on the professor’s behalf.” It would have been worth mentioning at this point that Dr. Peterson claims that his research has been continually highly ranked, and successfully funded, for more than two decades – until this particular grant proposal. If true, it is remarkable that he suddenly failed to get funding the moment he declared himself against the forced use of certain pronouns. This seems to me very relevant indeed to the question of free speech on campus, unlike the internet trolls on whom Chiose lavishes so much attention. Most importantly, we once again see that facts that might have put Dr. Peterson’s cause in a more sympathetic light have been left out.

Consider also the following: “‘no one wanted him to be fired or put in jail…,’ said Cassandra Williams, who was the equity officer for the University of Toronto Students Union throughout the crisis.” Of course, if you have heard Dr. Peterson himself talk about this (see here from about 6:45), you get a different impression: before you fire a professor, there have to be warning letters. He received one, then another. His response was to go for maximum publicity, and he has since been all over YouTube, talking with Gad Saad, with Dave Rubin, with Joe Rogan (among many others), getting millions of hits, and becoming something of an internet celebrity in the process. Having followed this strategy, Peterson was not fired. A teacher in BC, who wanted to remain anonymous, was not so lucky, and was fired. Dr. Peterson was apparently contacted by this anonymous teacher, and advised him, in vain, to follow the publicity route as a means of protection. Did publicity save Dr. Peterson’s job? I don’t know. Maybe Ms. Williams, quoted above, is being entirely accurate. I note only that there was another side to this, and that Ms. Chiose (again) hasn’t mentioned it.

I don’t intend to enumerate every failing in the article, but I will mention one final omission that is particularly serious. Have you seen the videos of Dr. Peterson getting shouted down at McMaster University? Watch this one from about 3:15) I don’t doubt that there are horrible internet trolls who have taken Dr. Peterson’s side, and behaved reprehensibly in the process (though I also don’t see that there’s much he can do about that – indeed, any issue involving intense disagreement these days is going to be accompanied by people saying vile things online). It is, however, grossly misleading to suggest that this is a problem on only one side of this debate. Indeed, such vile behaviour from so many of Dr. Peterson’s opponents might go some way to explain the reprehensible behaviour of some of his supporters.

Considered in the light of what happened at McMaster, it is simply extraordinary that the article’s subtitle talks of “the fight for ‘free speech,’” putting “free speech” in quotations marks as if this were somehow a dishonest pretense and not the actual substance of Dr. Peterson’s concern. How does that McMaster video not prove that free speech is genuinely at issue here? And, of course, all this takes place in the context of similar episodes elsewhere – go look up the cases of Charles Murray, of Heather Macdonald, or of Bret Weinstein!

It is not only errors of omission that give us a one-sided picture. Both of Chiose’s articles mentioned above contain a rather marvelous example of how language can be chosen so as to suggest that a certain side of a disagreement is at fault, without actually saying as much. In that article from November, we hear of “weeks of controversy on campus over Dr. Peterson’s refusal to use non-gender-specific pronouns when addressing students.” We might instead have heard of “an attempt by activists and the university administration to force the active use of certain words on other people,” but that phrasing would fail to place the onus for the whole business on Dr. Peterson: it is he, not the activists, who is to be seen as the cause of controversy here, even though he was reacting to them (and see the longer article, which I have been focusing on, for a similar choice of phrase in the first sentence). There are plenty of other examples of this sort of thing; try going through the article yourself and looking for them.

Clearly, these are controversial matters, productive of vehement passions, and for that reason, potentially dangerous. Ms. Chiose tells us of people on her side of the debate – and I think she has taken a side – who were willing to speak only on condition of anonymity, and this is no less true of people on the other side (such as me – this may shock you, but ‘Babbington’ is not my real name). In such a situation, surely we ought to aim at ratcheting down the tension, and to proceed as dispassionately as possible, so as to consider the case made by either side on its own merits. Ms. Chiose’s piece does something very different: it creates the impression that Dr. Peterson is a bad person. We are not provided with evidence or arguments that correct intellectual mistakes he has made; rather, we are given the impression that he has failed morally, as a person. If someone has failed intellectually, we reason with him; if he has failed morally, we might be inclined to proceed differently.

I think Simona Chiose should have the right to write opinion pieces on this and other matters, but they should be labelled as such. It is one thing to take a side explicitly and argue its case openly, but another altogether to produce a one-sided account of a controversy while writing what appears on the surface to be sand objective piece of reporting (this article is found online under “Home->News->National->Education”). I think the Globe and Mail dropped the ball here. As someone originally from the left (in Canada I have only ever voted for the NDP), I have to say this has made the notion of a “liberal media,” which reports selectively according to a preferred narrative, look rather more plausible than it previously had.

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And now for a few words about the larger controversy…

As I have watched this Peterson Affair unfold in recent months, I have repeatedly been impressed by his ability to make his case. For example, watch this video from about 7:30 to at least 19:00: Peterson is faced here with a questioner, who tries to push the other side of the argument, but the questioner is no match for him at all. On the matter of gender, see 24:46 to 28:55 of the same video. After watching him here, it should be obvious why he is not afraid to debate on this subject: he can present his position in a devastatingly effective, and utterly convincing, manner.

I have not been impressed by the arguments of the other side. I would like to see an answer to the points made in the video sections I have just referenced. Unfortunately, Dr. Peterson’s opponents seem to see any and all disagreement as a form of bigotry; overwhelmingly, when I see his opponents, they focus almost entirely on ad hominem attacks and scarcely at all – if at all – on meeting the substance of his arguments. (Which side of that divide do you think Simona Chiose’s article falls on?) Why don’t they just put the personal attacks to one side – heck, we can assume for the sake of argument that he’s an awful person – and refute the substantive points he has made? Why won’t they debate him? I believe this is because they know they cannot answer his arguments. (I am aware of only one debate that has taken place, and it was not impressive for the anti-Peterson side: I thought Christie Blatchford gave a good overview – and note how her piece is marked “COMMENT,” indicating it contains the personal views of its author.)

A final matter: why I am spending so much energy on this? Why, for that matter, are so many people giving him so much money? (as of this writing, he’s over $42k per month) Simona Chiose might like to think that we Peterson supporters are driven by dark motives, but I can offer another reason. Many of us are dismayed by the replacement of a culture of argument and open discussion with a culture of threats and intimidation, with the constant use of accusations of bigotry as a cudgel to silence dissent. Many of us think Dr. Peterson is correct in his warnings about the totalitarian – yes, totalitarian – nature of the way in which all of this is moving.

In a healthy society, universities are not merely repositories of knowledge and practical skills, but also have a civic function: they produce in their students an attitude of critical inquiry and the habit of frank and open debate on matters even of passionate controversy. As those disgraceful, idiot McMaster students so clearly showed, universities today are producing very different attitudes and habits. Newspapers, too, have a civic function fostering informed debate on contentious issues as part of an open society – or at least they once had such a function.

Dr. Peterson has said (I can’t find his exact words), there are, in the end, two ways of dealing with people: either you talk things out, or you use force. University administrations that fail to act against students who behave on campus in a thuggish manner, and the publications that effectively cheer them on, are effectively deciding that we are to have a more violent political culture in the future.

Where we once might have debated contentious matters in a frank and open manner, today it seems that a group of activists decides what the new orthodoxy is to be, and anyone who tries to argue otherwise is denounced and publicly shamed as a bigot. This needs to change, and that, in the end, is why Dr. Peterson is so important. It’s also why I think he deserves every penny he’s receiving. Certainly he has endured appalling abuse and pressure with exceptional grace and goodwill (far more than I would have mustered), but much more importantly, he has stepped in to defend, as best he can, the civic good that universities are now failing uphold as institutions, and that’s something worth far more than he has so far received. That, above all, is why he has received so much support.

 

UPDATE 26.01.2018

Oops, she did it again! Here’s the opening sentence of a piece written in November by Dr. Chiose on Dr. Peterson:

‘A plan by University of Toronto psychology professor Jordan Peterson to launch a website that would allow students to identify leftist faculty has “created a climate of fear and intimidation” and is a “threat to [professors] and to the academic mission of the University,” the school’s faculty association says.’ (Note also the headline: ‘Jordan Peterson creating climate of “fear and intimidation”: U of T’s faculty association’)

She used the very same device as in the piece I mentioned at the start of my post: once again, the reader is being nudged in the direction of a particular point of view, and – surprise! – once again, it’s one that paints Dr. Peterson in a particularly bad light.

The last six months have seen me become increasingly distraught with regard to the state of our media. Major media have an important role to play in public deliberation, and increasingly I feel they are failing. I shall write about this again in the weeks to come…

Did the EU Cause the Last 70 Years of European Peace?

Somehow I’ve gotten in the habit of listening to Sam Harris’ podcasts. He seems to have a gift for finding just the right words to express difficult thoughts, and he never fails to cover interesting topics, often joined by interesting people. So if I have to do some boring manual task – chopping vegetables or cleaning the living room – then Sam Harris it is.

One recent podcast had journalist James Kirchick as a guest, and the matter of the EU came up. Kirchick makes the case for the importance of the EU to European peace about as powerfully as one could (from about 51:55): “I talk to a lot of Europeans, and a lot of them who are Eurosceptics, who want to dissolve the EU. And I just ask them simply, ‘What’s your alternative? What period in European history was more prosperous or peaceful than the, basically, seventy years of European integration that you’ve had? Why would you want to risk that? Knowing what the alternative has been, why would you want to risk that by getting rid of this institution? And I agree, the EU has lots of problems… it’s too bureaucratic… I could go on and on. But to scrap it entirely, and to go off in this other direction when we know what’s happened historically, we know what’s happened… when all the European countries have pursued their national agendas at the expense of cooperation.”

This is, I think, a bad argument, but the basic idea behind it is treated by Europhiles as if it were a self-evident truth. I can remember roaming the streets of Brussels in 2015; I happened upon a music festival at which some EU dignitary soon gave a speech. “The EU gave you peace,” she declared. She did not try to argue or show how the EU produced peace; rather she felt able to take it as obvious.

I think there’s a need to push back against this, not only because it’s wrong, but also because the mistake can be dangerous. Certainly I’m willing to admit that the EU has made certain limited contributions to peace, but it has also undermined the basis of peace in Europe, and I’m inclined to think the latter effect is more significant than the former.

Before I say why, let me begin with a concession: the EU has made some contribution to peace. This past summer I was talking with a fellow from Portugal who told me that back in the days of Franco, the Portuguese had real fears of a Spanish invasion. That’s now over. Assuming this is true (I admit I hadn’t known this before), I think it’s reasonable to attribute some credit for this change to the European Union: by creating a focus for political activity over and above that national border, a situation was created in which local tensions could tend naturally to relax and disappear. Northern Ireland provides another example; there may well be other regional tensions that have been allowed to dissolve in a similar manner: the EU has, in certain local situations, been helpful.

But let’s not kid ourselves: in neither of the examples I’ve just given can anyone pretend that the EU has provided 70 years of peace. And neither the founders of the EU nor most of its present-day advocates were thinking of Ireland or the Iberian peninsula when they talked about peace. No, they were (and are) focused on The Big One: the Franco-German fault and the prevention of another general war. Here it should be obvious that the EU has been largely irrelevant.

There are many reasons we haven’t had another Franco-German conflict. For example, Germany has become an essentially pacifist country (I think this is no longer a good thing, but that’s another post). Of course it’s a good thing that the French and the Germans have turned to the path of reconciliation, and the EU was downstream from those efforts. But even if that had not happened, even if Germany had become an angry, hate-filled, militaristic country after 1945, and even if Germany had managed to put a new Hitler in command, still there would not have been another war: France had acquired nuclear weapons. I’ve explained elsewhere why I think Hitler was very far indeed from a military genius, but even Hitler would not have attacked a nuclear-armed France.

And of course, even absent that consideration, there is another reason that there was no third major war in Europe: after 1945, the world was suddenly a very different place, with very different concerns. Western European countries, above all the Germans, were focused on the east; on either side of the iron curtain, countries shared a common danger, and this inclined them towards a common peace with others on their side. Lessons learned from WWII meant that countries came together (in NATO) for common security. The atom bomb and the Americans were sufficient to keep the Russians from rolling the dice. After 1989, peace had become a habit, and anyway, the presence of overwhelming American power presented a significant deterrent.

Where, in all of this, did the EU play any role at all? If there had never been any move at all towards a European Union, at what point exactly, or in what respect, would its absence have been likely to bring about a major war? Looking at the actual situation since 1945, I can see reasons to give credit for seven decades of peace to the United States and to nuclear weapons. Certainly there were plenty of other factors that helped, but none were nearly so important as these two.

Let’s return to Kirchick’s questions: “What period in European history was more prosperous or peaceful than the, basically, seventy years of European integration that you’ve had? Why would you want to risk that?” Yes, we’ve had decades of gradual European integration, and these have coincided with seven decades of common peace, but it does not follow that the integration caused the peace. On the contrary, I think I’ve just outlined the major causes of that peace, and the EU isn’t one of them.

But I don’t think that people who give the EU credit for European peace have a specific scenario in mind. Rather, there’s a more general thesis at work: for the duration of its history as a plurality of countries, Europe has known constant wars; a different result requires a fundamental change; and a single European state would provide that by eliminating the plurality of interests that go along with a plurality of states. I suspect Kirchick is getting at something like this when he says “we know what’s happened… when all the European countries have pursued their national agendas at the expense of cooperation.”

But it is not the case that all wars are the result of conflicting national interests, nor that having one country produces peace, while having many leads to war. Canada and the US are two separate countries, not one, and they have been at peace for two centuries. In that time, the US, which is one country, not many, has had a civil war. So too has Switzerland, which is also one country, not many. So replacing many countries with a single country is very far from a guarantee of an end to war.

All this should suffice to show why I don’t think the EU deserves credit for seventy years of European peace. But in fact, I think the situation is rather worse than that: there are reasons to fear that the EU has made conflict more, rather than less, likely as we look to the future.

Above all, the fact is that bad thinking about the causes of war and peace is a very dangerous thing indeed. The thirties, in which the western democracies indulged in pacifist fantasies when they ought to have been focused on military power, give an example of the danger here. I find myself increasingly inclined to make a connection between the claim that the EU has caused peace and the general European indifference to NATO (an indifference manifested in the tiny number of EU members that reach the 2% of GDP obligation for military spending). That is, by repeating the mantra that the EU has been the cause of peace, one makes it easy to discount the importance of NATO (or, alternately, hard to see its importance). There is a widespread tendency towards a one-sided belief in the value of soft power here; to the extent that the US moves towards isolationism (we will have to see what President Trump does), that could leave Europe, particularly its eastern fringe, dangerously exposed, the very sort of situation that made WWII possible.

But there is a second, perhaps more important regard in which the EU has promoted the possibility of conflict: by the lack of wisdom in its actions and in its founding idea. The euro crisis and austerity has not been a cause of great love for Germany, particularly in Greece, and we haven’t seen the end of it yet. The attempt at forced migration quotas was similarly unfortunate, and could hardly have been better calculated to give fresh impetus to nationalist movements. Above all, the notion of a top-down replacement of national identities with a common European one was not wisdom. Yes, the last few major European wars were caused by excessive or extreme forms of nationalism, but it does not follow that the answer is to rush to the opposing extreme. Pride in local culture and achievements is an altogether natural thing, and identities built around this can be altogether benign. Attempts to impose an identity that ignores the natural attachments of most people greatly increase the risks of encountering the malignant forms of those attachments, in a backlash. The answer that the EU provides to question of peace in Europe is altogether too simple – indeed, it seems to me to refuse really to confront the problem. I do admit that simple solutions to complex problems may work in the short term.

This notion that there is at the very heart of the European project a source of danger, is one that the great English essayist, Theodore Dalrymple, has addressed on a number of occasions, often in a highly diverting manner. Consider, for example, the following: “The journalist … asked whether I thought that nationalism was dangerous. The question implied that the choice before Europe was between the European Union and fascism: that all that stood between us and the ascension to power of new Mussolinis, Francos, and Hitlers were the free lunches of senior Eurocrats. I replied that dangerous forms of nationalism existed, of course, but that in the present circumstances, supranationalism represented by far the greater danger. Not only was such supranationalism undemocratic, for it reflected no widespread demand or sentiment among the population; it also risked provoking the very kind of nationalism against which it was to stand as the bulwark. Further, the breakup of supranational polities in Europe tends to be messy, as history demonstrates.” (see also here)

I don’t mean to say that the EU has done no good in any regard, but surely it’s time to put this one to rest: the EU has not been the cause of peace in Europe in the last seventy years, nor has it been anything like one of the most important causes.

Active Participation

In the past week, as the US presidential election drew near, perhaps bringing catastrophe with it, I found myself thinking again and again of Sebastian Haffner’s book, Geschichte eines Deutschen. (The title means “Story of a German,” but the English translation is sold under the unfortunate title Defying Hitler, there evidently being an imperative to get the word ‘Hitler’ into a book title: Jesus saves, but Hitler sells). The book is a memoire of Haffner’s life growing up in WWI and Weimar Berlin, and then in the early years of the Nazi regime. Together with Haffner’s study of Hitler, it is the best thing I have ever read on Hitler and the Third Reich.

I read Haffner’s memoire more than a decade ago, but a number of particularly vivid passages have long stuck in my mind. Among these is a scene in which Haffner’s father finds himself obliged to express his support for the new Nazi government. I’m going to quote it at length, because it seems to me to touch on something relevant to our own times.

My father himself had retired long ago. He had no official powers any more and he could have done nothing to harm the Nazis, even if he had wanted to. It seemed as though he was out of the line of fire. But one day he too received an official letter. It contained a detailed questionnaire. ‘Under Clause X of the Law for the Re-establishment of the Civil Service, you are required to answer the following questions truthfully and in full… Under Clause Y, refusal to answer will entail loss of pension…’

There were a lot of questions. My father had to state which political parties, organisations and associations he had ever belonged to in his life, he had to list his services to the nation, explain this and excuse that and finally sign a printed declaration that he ‘stood behind the government of national uprising without reservations.’ In short, having served the state for forty-five years, he was required to humble himself again in order to continue to receive his well-earned pension.

My father stared silently at the questionnaire for a long time.

Next day I saw him seated at his desk, the form in front of him. He was staring past it.

‘Are you going to fill it in?’ I asked.

My father looked at the questionnaire, grimaced and said nothing for a long time. Then he asked, ‘Do you think I should?’

Silence.

‘I wonder what you and your mother would live on?’ he said at last.

‘I really don’t know,’ he repeated after a while. ‘I don’t even know,’ and he tried to smile, ‘how you will be able to go to Paris to write your thesis.’

There was an uneasy silence. Then my father pushed the questionnaire aside, but he did not put it away.

It lay on his desk for several days. Then one afternoon as I entered the room I saw my father filling it in, slowly and laboriously, like a child writing a school essay. Half an hour later he went out himself and took it to the letter box before he could change his mind. He showed no outward change in his manner and spoke no more excitedly than usual, but it had none the less been too much for him. With people who are used to restraint in word and gesture, some part of the body is invariably affected by severe mental stress. Some have heart attacks in such cases. My father’s weakness was his stomach. He had hardly sat down at his desk again when he jumped up and began to vomit convulsively. For two or three days he was unable to eat or keep down any food. It was the beginning of a hunger strike by his body, which killed him cruelly and painfully two years later.

Why, you ask, do I find myself thinking about this particular passage?

Item: a bakery run by Christians in Northern Ireland was taken to court for its refusal to produce a cake with the message, “Support Gay Marriage.” The court case recently came to an end, and the bakery lost: by refusing to make the cake, they committed a crime.

Item: a professor in Canada is being persecuted at present because of his objection to new pronouns (ze, zim, zer, and others) which are supposed to replace ‘he’ and ‘she.’ “I won’t mouth the words of ideologues,” he says, “because when you do that you become a puppet for their ideology.”

Needless to say, there has been an abundance of commentary on these two items, on either side, but I don’t think any of it has really gotten to the heart of the matter, and I think the Haffner passage I quoted does. In the case of both items, the demand is not that dissenters be required to tolerate others with different opinions, nor is it that they must refrain from criticising the dominant ideology. No, the demand is that people must be compelled to participate actively in support of an ideology they reject.

The question of whether we agree with each end in question is beside the point (me, I’d be happy to produce the gay-marriage-cake, but not to switch pronouns). The fact that these two items line up in the decisive respect with Haffner’s tale from the Third Reich is, I think, a window into a problem of our times. Progressive activists are not usually wicked people, and they act as they do out of a desire to bring about something good. Their myopic focus upon their own ends is to be expected of activists. What should concern us is rather the failure of society more generally to assert the right to dissent from what the majority believe. To the extent that we forget that right, we quickly find ourselves in some very poor company.