Sunday, 5 July 2026

The Rise of International Lawlessness

 

1.From Baghdad to Caracas

I have heard it said a number of times that when the USA attacked Venezuela on 3rd January 2026 and abducted its internationally recognised head of state and government, Nicolas Maduro, the world changed, bringing to an end the international rules based order which had been put in place after the end of the second world war. If so, this sea change in international relations had been signalled well in advance by several other American ‘regime change’ operations, which strongly suggests that the ultimate cause of this rise in international lawlessness lies in something far more fundamental than the rogue actions of America’s current president.

In fact, the historical journey which has brought us to this point began shortly after the fall of the Soviet Union in 1991, which, somewhat counterintuitively, led to the rise of what is generally known in US politics as ‘neoconservatism’, the origins of which are to be found in a policy paper written in 1992 by Paul Wolfowitz, then Under Secretary of Defence for Policy, and his deputy, Scooter Libby, who argued that, far from marking the end of history, as was suggested by American political scientist Francis Fukuyama that same year, the collapse of the Soviet Union marked the beginning of a new monopolar era in which the USA needed to actively defend its status as the world’s sole superpower, not only by ensuring that Russia was never allowed to rise to this status again, but by taking pre-emptive military action against any country or regime which challenged or resisted its global hegemony.

As this policy clearly contravenes Article 2 Clause 4 of the United Nations Charter, which states that ‘all Members shall refrain in their international relations from the threat or use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of any state’, most if not all of the regime change operations which the USA has actually carried out since then have therefore been disguised as lawful interventions intended to actually defend the rule of law and, in many cases, are still not recognised for what they truly were even today. As Professor John Mearsheimer has pointed out, however, they have all more or less followed the same four step process, which, once one has recognised the pattern, make them unmistakable.

During the first phase of the operation, the regime is simply subjected to sustained economic pressure, usually in the form of sanctions imposed on it for some real or claimed infringement of the international rules based order. This then exposes the population to severe economic hardship, which results in protests and even riots which the regime is then obliged to suppress. This, in itself, can then be used in a propaganda campaign designed to make the regime seem so brutal and repressive that it needs to be removed for this reason alone. If this doesn’t work, however, the propaganda campaign can then by intensified by claiming that the threat which the regime poses to its own citizens extends to its neighbours, usually because it is developing some kind of weapon of mass destruction (WMD), to which politicians throughout the West can then respond by demanding that the USA intervene militarily.

The most conspicuous example of this kind of treatment occurred, of course, in the case of Iraq, which was initially placed under international sanctions at the end of the first Gulf War in 1991 as a punishment for its invasion of Kuwait the previous year. With severe restrictions placed on its exports of oil, this meant that it was also severely limited with respect to what it could import, which meant that nearly everything was in short supply, including medicines. This led to profound unrest, especially among the majority Shia population, which, between 1991 and 1999, launched a number of failed uprisings, to which the Ba’athist regime of Sunni president Saddam Hussein responded with brutal efficiency.

Throughout the 1990s, however, even this could not persuade either President George Bush Snr. or President Clinton to intervene further, partly, one suspects, because both knew that any such intervention would lead to decades of costly occupation, but also because, at that stage, neoconservatism had not yet become the prevailing political philosophy in Washington and because both administrations still retained a vestige of respect for the UN Charter. It was therefore left to President George W. Bush and his thoroughly neo-con administration to ‘finish the job’ his father had begun by claiming that Saddam Hussein was amassing WMD, including both nuclear and chemical weapons: a claim which, while it did not satisfy the UN, whose own weapons inspectors had found no trace of WMD, was enough to justify a US led invasion of Iraq in the eyes of the international community.

Since then we have seen the same pattern played out in both Libya and Syria, whose leaders were said to be murdering sections of their own population, in one case using chemical weapons. Now, in the most recent case, the process was brought to a similar conclusion in Venezuela, on which sanctions had first been imposed in 2005, ostensibly for human rights abuses, corruption and the anti-democratic actions of the Hugo Chavez administration. Along with the corruption itself, which led to widespread technical incompetence within the state owned oil company, PDVSA, and a devastating period of financial mismanagement, these sanctions famously produced years of hyperinflation and near economic collapse, which led to the usual protests and riots to which the Venezuelan government responded in the customary way. Even this, however, was not enough to persuade either the UN or US public opinion that military intervention was required, especially as it was generally thought that Venezuela would either tear itself apart or regress into some kind of pre-industrial state all on its own.

That neither of these things happened is largely due to the Chinese, who have not only been Venezuela’s largest customer in recent years, buying up to 70% of its annual oil production, but have also made significant investments in its oil infrastructure, bringing technical proficiency back to its oil industry. Indeed, it is for this reason that Donald Trump very probably decided to take action: not to secure Venezuela’s oil for the USA, or even to deprive China of it – for even after China’s substantial investment, Venezuela’s annual oil production was still only just 19% of what it was in 2005 – but to roll back China’s influence in the region.

The problem Trump had, of course, was that, while China’s presence in Latin America may pose a clear and present danger to both the economy and security of the USA, under international law, this hardly justifies attacking Venezuela’s capital and abducting its president. As in the case of Iraq, Libya and Syria therefore, some other reason for taking military action had to be devised. And given that Latin America is the biggest source of illegal drugs in the western hemisphere, which kill around 75,000 Americans every year, the obvious answer was to accuse Venezuela of being a major source of these drugs and its president of actually being the head of a drug cartel.

Of course, it may be argued that these accusations were in fact true. And I am sure that there are plenty of people who actually believe this. But given that the US Drug Enforcement Administration’s 2025 threat assessment hardly even mentions Venezuela, while devoting dozens of pages to Mexico and the Sinaloa cartel, this is somewhat less than credible. What’s more, no drugs were ever found on the boats that were supposed to be shipping them from Venezuela to Florida. For instead of intercepting, boarding and searching these boats, which is what the US Coastguard would have done if they had been allowed to reach US territorial waters, the US Navy rather conveniently blew them up, which is, itself, an illegal act under international maritime law. More to the point, the parallels between Iraq, Libya, Syria and now Venezuela are so obvious that it is clear that this was just another regime change operation for which drug trafficking was merely the most convenient pretext.

The question this raises, however, is why we think that the attack on Caracas on 3rd January 2026 has somehow changed the world, bringing the international rules based order to an end. What made it so different? The answer, however, is fairly straightforward. For while, during the build up to the second gulf war, George W. Bush did everything he could to get the UN to officially sanction the invasion of Iraq, and while Barak Obama took similar steps before taking action in both Libya and Syria, during the build up to the US attack on Venezuela, Donald Trump sought no such UN sanction.

Admittedly, George W. Bush ultimately failed to obtain UN approval for his action and therefore had to resort to forming a ‘coalition of the willing’ to mount his invasion, but he didn’t just dismiss international law as irrelevant in the way Donald Trump did.

Again, of course, it may be asked why this makes a difference. To answer this question, however, one first has to understand the circumstances under which the UN Charter was created in April 1945, at a conference in San Francisco to which 850 official delegates were invited, along with 3,500 advisers and more than 2,000 journalists from around the world. Even more important than the size of the event, however, was the mood. For having just defeated Nazi Germany in what was the biggest, most terrible war in history, everyone believed that what they were building was a new and better world in which good would finally prevail over evil, not just because that was what every right-thinking person wanted but because it was believed that history, itself, was a process of betterment, flowing inexorably towards a brighter future.

In a mood of such optimistic idealism, it is hardly surprising, therefore, that while the participants at the conference concentrated on defining what that better world would look like, no one really paid much attention to what should happen to member states who did not comply with the rules that were being formulated. Nor did they specify any procedures or mechanisms that would help ensure members’ compliance.

No one suggested, for instance, that the offices of the UN should include something like an Arbitration Council, where professional diplomats from neutral countries would try to resolve conflicts between members by seeking compromise solutions. Nor did anyone propose that the Security Council should refuse to sanction military action by any member state until all other avenues of conflict resolution had been exhausted. They just seem to have assumed that those who signed the Charter, presumably in good faith, would continue to abide by it in similar fashion.

In fact, the term ‘good faith’ is littered throughout the document, very probably because the delegates also knew that the UN, itself, did not have the power to enforce its rules and had to rely, therefore, on good faith from all its members to make it work. Yes, the Charter was drafted as an international treaty, which meant that, once it had been ratified by a member state’s legislature, it had the force of domestic law. If a future government of that member state decided to no longer abide by it, however, there was nothing much that the UN could really do about it.

What is truly amazing, therefore, is the fact that, for a long time, it more or less worked. The tensions of the Cold War meant that the Security Council often descended into a mere forum for diplomatic warfare; but when it did manage to agree on a resolution, most national governments abided by it. More to the point, most national governments regarded the UN, itself, as a legitimate and essential institution in maintaining an ordered and peaceful world. The problem was that it could only provide this function as long as everyone believed in it. As soon as they stopped believing in it, or as soon as one very powerful member state stopped believing in it, it became an empty shell. And this is what Donald Trump caused to happen. By dismissing international law and not even paying lip service to the UN before attacking Venezuela, he destroyed the illusion that international law existed beyond the good faith with which everyone had previously abided by it and without which it simply ceased to exist.

2.Propaganda & Censorship

Of course, it could be argued that, by making us see the world as it really is rather than how we would like it to be, all Donald Trump really did was tell the truth. The problem with this argument, however, is that he didn’t tell the truth; he concocted a story about Nicholas Maduro being a drug trafficker. And why did he do this? Because ‘neo-conservatism’ is simply another name for ‘imperialism’ and because all imperialism is always about the powerful imposing their will on the powerless, which is always morally questionable and which always, therefore, has to be justified, if not in a court of law – if such law exists – then in the court of public opinion.

What’s more, there are only three ways in which this justification has ever been historically attempted, all of which involve us either lying to ourselves or to the rest of the world. The first way is to tell ourselves that our imperialism is benign and that we are actually a force for good in the world. The Romans, for instance, told themselves that they were civilising the barbarians, while we British told ourselves that we were bringing the benefits of civilisation to the backward and uneducated. The problem with this form of justification, however – and the reason it now cannot be used – is that it is not only patronising and paternalistic but very probably racist and is now seen as such.

The second way, therefore, is to be a bit more honest and openly state that we are superior, if not physically then intellectually, culturally and morally, and that it is morally right, therefore, that we should rule over those who are inferior, in that this is the natural order of things. The problem with this, however, is that the last time this justification was tried was in Nazi Germany and it didn’t go down very well with the rest of the world, especially the Slavic peoples of the east who were to be made Germany’s slaves.

The currently preferred form of justification, therefore, is not to claim anything about our own superiority or beneficent effect upon the world, but to focus attention on the evil ways of those we wish to remove so as to impose our will on the leaderless masses that will be left. Muammar Gaddafi, Saddam Hussein and Bashar al-Assad were all thus evil dictators who murdered their own people and had to be removed for the good of the world at large. There are, however, two problems with this approach. The first is that pointing the finger at someone bad does not necessarily make us feel good about ourselves, whereas praising ourselves for all the good we are doing most assuredly does. When Britain had an empire, for instance, we were proud to be British, not because of how powerful we were, but because of how much good we brought to world. Indeed, we not only taught this to our children at school but basked in our uprightness and decency, which, in turn, actually made us behave better.

The second problem is that painting someone as purely evil is just too black and white. No one is that one-dimensional. I’m sure even Hitler had his good side, which means that when trying to convince the public that someone has to be removed, one cannot allow people to look too closely into that person’s actions, personality or character. In portraying Bashar al-Assad as an evil dictator who used chemical weapons on his own people, for instance, it would not have been a good idea to publicise the fact that he is a British educated ophthalmologist, who was described at university as being rather geeky. That doesn’t mean that he is not evil, of course, but anyone who has ever heard him speak is likely to be somewhat sceptical.

What this means, therefore, is that when demonising someone one wants to remove, it is not enough to constantly repeat the same lies and propaganda in the mainstream media, it is also necessary to prevent any widespread dissemination of the truth through other channels, either by bullying, bribing or otherwise coercing the owners and managers of those channels or by censoring their contributors.

One contributor who is all too painfully aware of this kind of pressure is Col. Jacques Baud, a former Swiss Army intelligence officer with an unparalleled record in international peacekeeping. This began in 1995, when he was appointed by the United Nations High Commission for Refugees as head of security for Rwandan refugee camps in Zaire, his principal task being that of preventing ethnic cleansing. He was then asked to set up a project to deal with anti-personnel mines in the region, which subsequently led to him being sent to the Mine Action Service of the United Nations Department of Peacekeeping Operations in New York.

Because of his knowledge of Africa, the UN then asked him to direct the first multidisciplinary civilian-military intelligence centre of the United Nations Mission in Sudan, on the basis of which he was then recalled to New York as Head of Policy and Doctrine in the Department of Peacekeeping Operations (DPKO). In 2011, he was consequently recruited by the African Union to head up its Research Department in Nairobi, before finally being appointed as Chief of Small Arms, Light Weapons and Mine Control in the Political Affairs and Security Policy Division at NATO headquarters in Brussels.

Since retiring, he has largely devoted himself to writing articles on military matters and geopolitics, including a number of articles on Syria in which he argued that the West’s determination to remove President Assad was not only unjust but foolish, in that, without the Ba’ath party to hold the country’s ethnically and religiously diverse population together, Syria was bound to become as ungovernable and chaotic as Libya after the toppling of Colonel Gaddafi. If this greatly displeased his former bosses in the West’s defence establishment, however, in November 2022 he committed what is probably the most unforgivable sin possible for someone with his background. What did he do? He published a book entitled ‘Putin, Master of the Game?’ which told the real story behind the Russo-Ukrainian war.

For those who do not know what the real story behind the Russo-Ukrainian war is, you can find my own version of it in ‘Ending the War in Ukraine’, which is far too long to repeat in any detail here, but has one aspect which is ironically relevant in the current context. For in its dealings with Ukraine, it could be argued that Russia’s behaviour was far closer to the spirit of the UN Charter than Donald Trump’s behaviour with respect to Venezuela. I say this because, along with France and Germany, Russia was a guarantor of the Minsk 2 Agreement, signed in February 2015, which, contrary to what is generally believed, was not an agreement between Russia and Ukraine, but an agreement between Ukraine, on the one hand, and the breakaway provinces of Luhansk and Donetsk, on the other. What is really important, however, is the fact that it was immediately endorsed by the UN Security Council under Resolution 2202, which called for the agreement’s immediate implementation.

This meant that, under international law, Russia, as a guarantor of the agreement, was obliged to do everything within its power to ensure that it was implemented. There was, however, one very large obstacle to it doing this, in that the first actions to be carried out under the agreement had to be carried out by Ukraine. I say this because, apart from an immediate ceasefire, with which both sides had to comply, what the Minsk 2 Agreement primarily stipulated was that Luhansk and Donetsk would return to Ukraine on condition that Ukraine amended its constitution so as to safeguard the rights of minorities, including the majority Russian-speaking populations of Luhansk and Donetsk, which had declared independence from Ukraine in 2014 due to the fact that the government of Petro Poroshenko, which the Americans had installed in Kiev earlier that year, had banned the use of Russian in government departments, the media and schools throughout the country, thereby prohibiting the people of Luhansk and Donetsk from educating their children in their own language.

Had the western public been made aware of this background, in fact, it is to be greatly doubted whether they would have regarded the demands of the people of Luhansk and Donetsk as unreasonable. As it was, the western media portrayed the breakaway provinces and their Russian sponsors as actually being at fault, with the result that no pressure was ever put on Ukraine to amend its constitution in the way Minsk 2 had stipulated. According to Angela Merkel and Francois Hollande, in fact, the respective German and French co-signatories to the agreement, the Ukrainians never had any intention of complying with Minsk 2 and had only signed it in order to buy time to build up their military so as to take back Luhansk and Donetsk by force, driving or wiping out the majority Russian population in the process.

Indeed, the Ukrainians signalled their intention in this regard almost from the very beginning. For not only did they not abide by the ceasefire, but over the next seven years, they bombed and shelled towns and cities in the Donbas on an almost daily basis, killing more than 14,000 civilians and injuring many more. Yes, the Luhansk and Donetsk militias fired back in what rapidly turned into a civil war conducted by artillery; but all the Ukrainians had to do to put an end to the fighting was desist from further exchanges and implement Minsk 2, which they never did

Meanwhile the Russians continually attempted to resolve the impasse diplomatically at the UN. In this, however, they were continually thwarted by three permanent members of the Security Council – the USA, the UK and France – who knew that, in order to enforce Minsk 2 and stop the killing, the Russians would eventually have to intervene militarily, which the West could then spin as a breach of the UN Charter, thereby justifying the imposition of further sanctions, the sole purpose of which was to break the Russian Federation economically in what was effectively, therefore, the first phase of another regime change operation.

Having been constantly fed the lie that the Russian invasion of Ukraine was unprovoked, most people in the West, of course, are totally unaware of any of this. They simply believe what they have been told: that the invasion was solely motivated by the territorial ambitions of a tyrannical dictator, who would not stop at Ukraine but would go on until he conquered all the lands previously controlled by the Soviet Union. In order to maintain this lie, however, it is not enough that it constantly be repeated, anyone who disputes it, especially anyone with a record as distinguished as that of Jacques Baud, has to be silenced.

In December 2025, as a consequence, his name was duly included on a list of 63 individuals who were to be sanctioned by the EU for spreading Russian disinformation. Without warning, his bank accounts were frozen and he was forbidden from travelling within the EU, which, given the fact that he lives in Brussels, meant that he could not return to his native Switzerland where he might have been able to circumvent the sanctions. In effect, he was stuck in Belgium without any money and dependent upon the charity of friends to provide him with cash and pay his bills. Worse still, he had no way of mounting any kind of legal appeal to get the sanctions lifted. For there is no court in Europe with the power to overturn punitive EU sanctions of this kind. In fact, he is, at the time of writing, quite literally an outlaw: someone who is beyond the protection of the law.

That this can happen is, in my view, even more shocking than that a president of the USA should order an unsanctioned attack on the capital of another sovereign state and abduct its president. I say this because, to most people in the West, the rule of law is not just that for which we fought the second world war but the reason why we gathered in San Francisco in April 1945 to ensure that we would never return to a lawless world, governed only by the dictum that ‘might is right’ again. To now find that we have done so, both in the international sphere and at home, is therefore the most regressive development imaginable. What is even more alarming, however, is the discovery that the two spheres – the international and domestic – are inextricably linked. For if those in power want to act in ways which contravene international law but don’t want this to be known or understood, they have to effectively shut the mouths of anyone who might spill the beans, which means that lawlessness abroad ultimately and inevitably leads to totalitarianism at home.

This, however, is not the end of the evils which abandoning international law and lying to ourselves about it can bring down on our heads. For if we lie to ourselves long enough and forbid others to bring up the truth, even in private, eventually we can come to believe our own propaganda and make some very bad decisions as a consequence.

3.Self-Deception & Miscalculation

One of the best examples of this concerns Iran, about which we have been lying to ourselves ever since the Islamic revolution in 1979. The two principal lies we tell ourselves are that Iran is a theocracy run by radical Islamist extremists, who use the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) to rule the country by terror in much the same way as the Shah’s secret police SAVAK did prior to 1979, and that its people are therefore an oppressed, downtrodden mass who yearn for freedom and western style democracy. In this way, we thus justify having imposed sanctions on these people for the last 47 years while continually plotting ‘regime change’ against their government.

This, however, is a totally false image of the country. For the fact is that, apart from the judiciary, all three tiers or branches of the Iranian government are elected, including the Supreme Leader. True, the Supreme Leader is elected for life but, when he dies, his successor is chosen by an electoral college called the Assembly of Experts, which has 80 members, who are themselves elected for 8 year terms by the popular vote. Admittedly, the members of the Assembly of Experts are vetted by something called the Guardian Council, the twelve members of which – six clerics and six lawyers – are appointed respectively by the Supreme Leader and the Chief Justice, which rather dilutes the purity of the democratic process. The actual process of vetting candidates for the Assembly of Experts, however, is not unlike the Senate Confirmation Hearings held to scrutinise presidential appointments in the USA.

What is even more important is the fact that, while the Supreme Leader sets the tone and direction of his government, he is neither the Head of Government nor the Head of State and does not usually involve himself in the day to day running of the country. That role falls to the president, who is elected every four years by a simple majority of the popular vote and whose powers are clearly delimited by the constitution. While he nominates the members of his cabinet, for instance, their appointment must be ratified by both the Supreme Leader and the Iranian Parliament, which has 290 directly elected members from 368 counties, making it highly representative of the country as a whole. As the government’s legislative branch, the Parliament’s primary task, of course, is to scrutinise and approve whatever legislative programme the executive branch puts before it, but it cannot institute legislation of its own. In this way, its role is restricted to providing a further check and balance on executive power. In fact, the whole Iranian constitution has been carefully designed so as to prevent any one man gaining the absolute power once wielded by the Shah, making it a wonder to many observers that anything ever gets done at all. It does, however, make Iran one of the most democratic countries in the Middle East if not the entire world.

It also makes Iran one of the least susceptible countries to American style regime change, especially when attempted through decapitation strikes. For the system is essentially self-repairing. If the Supreme Leader is killed, for instance, as happened on 28th February this year, the already elected Assembly of Experts is immediately called into session to elect his successor. If the President is killed, then the Vice-president takes over until new presidential elections can be organised. And something similar is the case with respect to the Speaker of the Parliament, whose role is more like that of the Speaker of the House of Representatives in the USA than that of the Speaker of the House of Commons in the UK and who has two deputies to help him manage parliamentary business and liaise with the executive branch over its legislative programme, the more senior of whom would take over in the event of the Speaker’s death.

The most important thing to take away from all this, however, is not just that the Iranian government is not susceptible to regime change in the way the US government usually likes to perform it but that it is not actually a ‘regime’ at all in the pejorative sense in which this term is usually used to indicate a government’s lack of legitimate foundation. Iran, to the contrary, is a highly developed constitutional republic with a robust government apparatus which more or less runs itself.

What this also means is that the Iranian people are not disposed towards popular uprisings, or have not been so since 1979, when they cast out the Shah. For why would one go to all the trouble of removing a government by force when one can simply vote it out of office at the next round of elections?

Of course, it will be argued that what this actually demonstrates is that my analysis is flawed. For in January this year, it does appear that there was an attempted insurrection by a wide section of the Iranian population. This interpretation of the protests that started in December 2025, however, completely ignores what caused them. For they were precipitated by a sudden 40% fall in the value of the Iranian rial, which almost doubled the cost of Iran’s foreign imports and caused a massive spike in the cost of living. Assuming that this was the result of some mismanagement of the economy by the government, people quite naturally, therefore, took to the streets to complain. What they didn’t realise was that the fall in the value of the currency had been externally instigated by US Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent, who actually boasted on TV that he had caused the currency collapse by gradually buying large quantities of it during the second half of 2025 and then selling it all at once.

What it is also important to note about the original, spontaneous protests is that they were initially entirely peaceful and that the police merely marshalled the crowds without intervening in any way. It was only in early January that the protests started to become violent, when crowds were infiltrated by people who were also externally organised.

We know this because, in mid January, the government shut down the internet and all mobile phone services, which meant that the activities of the rioters could only be coordinated using Starlink terminals, which the police were able to locate using their distinctive satellite signals. As a result, the police were able to arrest many of the culprits and, on 16th January, the riots abruptly stopped.

Of course, it will be argued that this does not excuse the police firing on and killing between thirty and forty thousand of their own people. According to the Iranian authorities, however – who may of course have been lying but who actually released the names and social security numbers of those who had been killed so that journalists could corroborate their tally – the actual number of those who died was 3,170, most of whom were killed by the rioters, who not only fire-bombed government buildings but attacked and set fire to innocent bystanders. Indeed, it was only at this point that the police finally intervened, going into the crowds with batons and shields in order to disperse them, only to be shot at from roof tops by snipers, who killed more than a hundred police officers.

Another group that was subjected to this kind of sniper fire were the fire fighters and paramedics who attended the riots to put out fires and aid the wounded, providing further evidence that the riots were externally organised. For at that time, we in the West still believed that the Iranians were an oppressed population held down by a dictatorial but fragile regime, and that if the people were sufficiently enraged by the atrocities which foreign agents were systematically attributing to the police, they would rise up, remove their leaders and embrace western civilisation and values.

In fact, it is fairly clear that on 28th February 2026, Donald Trump still believed this. For he clearly thought that by assassinating Ayatollah Ali Khamenei and a few generals, the government would simply collapse and that the people would take to the streets to welcome their American saviours with open arms. When this didn’t happen, therefore, he had no idea what to do other than to go on bombing and killing people in the hope that what was left of Iran’s leadership would eventually surrender. When this didn’t happen and when, moreover, the Iranians proceeded to destroy thirteen out the sixteen US military bases in the region, along with large parts of Israel and critical facilities throughout the Arab gulf states, he was then faced with the stark choice of mounting a ground invasion or suing for peace.

4.A Turning Point in History

Not, of course, that he really had a choice. I say this because Iran covers an area of around 1,650,000 square kilometres – about the size of western Europe – and is as mountainous as Afghanistan, making it very unsuited to conventional military tactics. It has a population of 93 million and an army which, including reservists and the IRGC, is about a million strong. Most military analysts therefore estimate that to conquer and occupy it would require an army of at least 2 million men, which the USA doesn’t have and would not be able to concentrate in enough suitable staging areas even if it did, making a ground and/or amphibious invasion out of the question.

Nor would continuing the air campaign have done much good. Iran’s ballistic missile and drone sites are all underground, beneath hundreds of metres of solid rock, as are its air defence systems, nuclear sites and much of its industrial capacity. One could therefore bomb it for years and hardly make a dent in its operational infrastructure. What’s more, US munitions stockpiles are running critically low, which means that the Americans could not have maintained even this campaign for very much longer, rendering any continuation of the air war not just futile but an actual threat to US security.

The most critical issue, however, was opening the Strait of Hormuz. For had it remained closed for very much longer, the world may well have suffered the worst economic disaster in history for which history would have almost certainly held Donald Trump responsible.

That’s not to say, of course, that even having signed the now infamous Memorandum of Understanding (MoU), thereby setting in train what many people hope is a path towards peace, Donald Trump was yet out of the woods. For he still had three main problems to solve, none of which has yet been fully put to bed. The first was convincing the American public that the MoU, which is largely based on the fourteen point peace plan which the Iranians first put forward at the beginning of May, is not a total capitulation to their demands – which it is.

The way in which the Trump administration seems to have decided to circumvent this problem, however, is by simply prolonging peace negotiations for as long as possible and, in all probability, never actually turning the MoU into into international treaty, which would have to be ratified by Senate and read into US law. The advantage of this approach is that by keeping any future agreement in the rather nebulous state of a work in progress, the administration is able to claim whatever it wants to claim about it while simply rejecting any negative criticisms. In fact, it started doing this from the very beginning, claiming, for instance, that the Iranians had agreed to allow IAEA inspectors to inspect their nuclear sites and to only use the Iranian assets being released by US banks to purchase US agricultural products and pharmaceuticals, both of which the Iranians deny. As long as the Strait of Hormuz remains open and the Trump administration continues to report solid progress in the talks, however, nobody will take Iranian denials seriously and, eventually, people will simply forget that the agreement is largely to their advantage.

The second problem, of course, is the Strait of Hormuz, which, for very good reasons, the Iranians are intent on controlling but which a lot of other people are equally intent on keeping out of their hands, ostensibly for reasons which seem reasonable and well-intentioned but are actually both spurious and disingenuous. The most commonly voiced of these is the claim that the strait is an international waterway which must be kept free for all to use without restriction. Not only does this overlook the fact that there is a large section of the strait which is entirely within the territorial waters of either Iran or Oman, however, but it also ignores the rather inconvenient precedent set by Turkey, which, under the Montreux Convention of 1936, was granted the right to levy a service charge on ships passing through the Bosphorus and Dardanelles, which currently stands at $5.83 per ton, which is very similar to the amount which Iran and Oman have proposed charging.

The real reason so many people are opposed to allowing Iran to have control of the strait, therefore, is almost certainly political. For not only would it place an enormous amount of power in Iran’s hands but it would also constitute an acceptance of Iran as part of the international community, from which it has been excluded since 1979: something which some people are even willing to continue the war to prevent.

On Thursday 25th June, for instance, the UK maritime security agency, UKMTO, which is assisting the UN evacuate ships trapped inside the Persian Gulf since February, instructed a Singapore registered freighter called the ‘Ever Lovely’ to depart the gulf using the strait’s southern sea lane along the coast of Oman, which is in direct contravention of the rules set out by Iran under Article 5 of the MoU that ships leaving the gulf should use the northern sea lane, along the coast of Iran, leaving the southern sea lane free for ships entering the gulf, thus preventing collisions. When, having been told to turn around, the ‘Ever Lovely’ refused to do so, the Iranians then attempted to enforce their rule by firing on it, causing some minor damage, to which the Americans responded by attacking radar stations and missiles launch sites on the Iranian coast, briefly setting off the war again.

Nor is this the only such breach of the ceasefire that is likely to occur over the next few weeks and months. For as long as third-party organisations such as UKMTO are involved in clearing the backlog, there will be some who will do everything they can to sabotage the strait’s orderly functioning and blame it on the Iranians. The good news is that, in addition to Oman, other members of the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC), principally Qatar, are now actively involved in planning how the strait will operate in future, which means that, once the backlog has been cleared and a toll or service charge agreed, there is every chance that Iran, Oman and the rest of GCC will keep the strait operating as efficiently as possible so as to maximise their own revenues.

The biggest problem that remains to be solved, however, is Israel, which is unlikely to end its military offensive in Lebanon as stipulated under Article 1 of the MoU, not least because its invasion of southern Lebanon remains extremely popular with Israeli voters. Indeed, it is highly likely that were Prime Minister Netanyahu to withdraw Israeli troops from those areas of the country they currently occupy, he would be ousted from power and forced to stand trial on the corruption charges he already faces. Even if wanted to, therefore, the chances of him actually doing so are very slight.

This therefore raises three crucial questions. Given that the Israelis did not actually sign the MoU and that the Americans would find it difficult to enforce their compliance, the first is whether continued attacks on Lebanon by Israel would actually constitute a breach of the agreement and whether the Iranians would therefore be justified in re-closing the Strait of Hormuz and resuming their attacks on Israel. The second is whether Donald Trump would be either willing or able to talk the Iranians out of taking either of these courses of action by promising them not to aid Israel in any further attacks on Iran, which, in fact, the Israelis could not actually undertake without US support. I say this because while, in order for Israeli fighter jets to attack Iran, they need to be refuelled, both on their outward flight and on their way home, the Israeli air force doesn’t actually have any in-flight refuelling tankers of its own and therefore has to rely on the Americans. By simply denying the Israelis the use of this service, therefore, the US President could effectively prevent them from attacking Iran. The third and most important question, therefore, is whether the Israel lobby and neo-cons in Washington would actually allow him to do this.

Of course, there is also a fourth question, which concerns why, if the Israelis continue attacking Lebanon, the Iranians should forgo attacking Israel. For unless Iran did, indeed, forgo attacking Israel, Donald Trump would find it much more difficult to resist pressure at home to aid Israel in its war against Iran. By forgoing attacks on Israel, however, the Iranians could extract a very heavy price from Donald Trump for so obliging him, including his tacit agreement to allow them to charge a toll on ships going through the Strait of Hormuz. What’s more, agreeing not to attack Israel directly would not prevent the Iranians from helping their Shia brothers in Hezbollah in their attacks, by supplying them with weapons, just as not actively helping the Israelis attack Iran would not prevent Donald Trump supplying Israel with weapons, which the Israel lobby and neo-cons in Washington would surly demand.

That is not to say, of course, that Donald Trump will actually be able to navigate his way through this diplomatic minefield in the way I am here suggesting. My point, however, is rather that the obstacles to peace are not, in fact, insurmountable. The real question, therefore, is whether, if Donald Trump does manage to extricate himself from the mess into which he has got himself, he and the rest of the political class in Washington will actually learn any of the lessons this disaster. Will they abandon their neoconservative philosophy and quest world domination and start treating their neighbours with respect and fairness? The answer, however, is probably not. For that would entail admitting to themselves that, for the last thirty years, they have been acting like gangsters, using military power to bully the world into compliance with their demands, while justifying this behaviour by characterising anyone who resisted their hegemony as evil tyrants and dictators who had to be destroyed. Worse still, they would also have to admit to censoring and vilifying those among their own population who dared to question this narrative and so brainwashing everyone into believing it by constant repetition in the media that they were even brainwashed by it themselves, leading them to so misunderstand the real world that they made serious miscalculations in all their foreign policy decisions, most notably in Iran.

So bitter would such a pill be to swallow, in fact, that I doubt whether anyone would have the moral strength to do so, especially anyone who has become as used to thinking of themselves as morally superior as the US political elite. The chances are, therefore, that they will actually double down on their neo-con philosophy and attempt to reassert themselves by embarking on yet another foolish and very probably illegal adventure, very possibly in Cuba, which, being only a few miles off the US coast, they will no doubt consider a much easier nut to crack. The trouble is that, while the Americans may not have learnt anything from their misadventure in Iran, the rest of the world most certainly has, with the result that no country will ever again fear US military power in the way they once did. A shift has occurred, not just in the world’s perception of America, but in the world’s centre of gravity, moving the balance of power away from the collective west and towards the collective east in a way which I believe will lead future historians to see America’s war against Iran as one of the most critical turning points in history.

Monday, 8 June 2026

The Odyssey: Political Versus Cultural Correctness

 

The Need For Verisimilitude in Historical Depictions

In recent weeks, there have been several heated exchanges between famous actors and other high-profile celebrities over the casting of black actress Lupita Nyong’o as Helen of Troy in Christopher Nolan’s new film adaptation of ‘The Odyssey’. The argument on one side, at least on the surface, would appear to be that the inhabitants of the Aegean during the 13th century BC, when the Trojan war is most likely to have taken place, were not of African origin, as Ms Nyong’o clearly is. We know this because both archaeologists and geneticists tell us that although, after the last ice age, the hunter-gatherers who then inhabited the Mediterranean’s northern coastal regions were gradually displaced by agrarian peoples from Anatolia – who probably had a somewhat Middle Eastern appearance – they, in turn, were then displaced by Slavic pastoralists from the Ukrainian and Russian steppe, who, by the 13th century BC, more or less dominated all of central and southern Europe, leaving only North Western Europe, principally Britain and France, in the hands of their original, now identifiably Celtic inhabitants.

Admittedly, the Anatolian side of the Aegean was then repeatedly invaded by people from further east, most notably the Hittites who founded the city of Wilusa, better known by its Greek name of Ilium, which we now believe to have been Troy. Native Trojans, therefore, were probably darker skinned than their Achaean counterparts, as the inhabitants of Greece were then called. But Helen of Troy was actually the Queen of Sparta, in Greece, and was very possibly even blond, as many Slavs are. Yes, the people of the Aegean were prolific traders and could have bought black slaves from North Africa, but the King of Sparta is hardly likely to have married one. Historically, therefore, a black Helen of Troy is just not right.

The argument on the other side, however, is that all of this is simply irrelevant, in that we are not talking about real historical people but actors in a cinematic rendition of a story which also contains gods and goddesses and which, in itself, therefore, is not entirely factual. More to the point, we regularly accept performances of Shakespeare’s plays in modern dress, with Venetian gentlemen played by black actors, an historical anomaly we regularly overlook.

The problem with this argument, however, is that our acceptance of non-realistically performed Shakespeare plays is part of our history. After all, in Shakespeare’s time, the female characters were played by boys and soldiers died of mortal wounds without spilling a single drop of blood. We learned to accept these things because, as sophisticated theatre goers, we learned to suspend our disbelief, not to the point at which we rush up on stage to stop Othello killing Desdemona, as it is said that one rather unsophisticated theatre goer once did, but at least until we reach the point at which something begins to seem so off or wrong to us that it actually spoils our enjoyment of the play.

Sir Laurence Olivier understood this when he ‘blacked up’ to play Othello in his now infamous film version of the Shakespeare’s famous tragedy. I say ‘infamous’ because today, of course, a white man blacking up to play a black man would be considered one of the greatest sins anyone could commit. In 1965, however, Olivier knew that if a white European appeared in a film portraying a man constantly referred to as ‘the Moor’, it would so lack verisimilitude that the audience would simply walk out. And this is very similar to how many people react today when presented with a black actress playing Helen of Troy.

Nor is this the worst example of the kind of artistic misjudgement producers can make when they pay insufficient consideration to the cultural sensibilities of their audience. A few years ago, for instance, I watched the first ten minutes of the first episode of a television series called ‘Bridgerton’, an historical drama set in Regency London which was produced, one suspects, to capitalise on the popularity of film and television adaptations of the novels of Jane Austen. Unlike Jane Austen, however, who wrote all her novels during this period, the writers of ‘Bridgerton’ seem to have been almost totally unaware of the historical background and social structure of the world they were depicting, with the result that they made the astoundingly egregious error of introducing a black duke into their cast of characters, clearly not realising that, outside of the monarchy, the position and title of ‘Duke’ is the highest in the British aristocracy and that, apart from the decedents of a small band of Norman henchmen who ‘came over with the Conqueror’ – of which there are very few left – there are only two types of duke: royal dukes, who are usually the younger brothers of current or future kings, and dukes who have been awarded the title for some conspicuous service to their country, usually of a military nature, the two most famous examples being the Dukes of Marlborough and Wellington. Unless we have had a black king or queen who produced more than one black son, therefore, or a black general who won some famous victory against the French – either of which possibility I think I would have known about – there cannot have been a black duke in Regency London.

Of course, there will be those who will argue that what this actually reveals is a very significant difference between ‘Bridgerton’ and ‘The Odyssey’. For the reason why we find the existence of a black duke in Regency London so jarring is because it is so completely at odds with well known historical facts. In contrast, we know almost nothing about the history of the Trojan war, except that it almost certainly did not come about as a result of the younger son of the King of Wilusa stealing the wife of the King of Sparta. As in the case of even some of Shakespeare’s historically based plays, therefore, both ‘The Iliad’ and ‘The Odyssey’ are almost entirely fictional, which is hardly surprising given the fact that they are generally believed to have been written by a blind poet called Homer in the 8th century BC, five hundred years after the Trojan war actually took place.

Even this legendary origin, however, is a fiction. For while a man called Homer may have had something to do with the evolution of the two poems, he certainly wasn’t their author… for the very good reason that they didn’t actually have one.

2  Mythology and Identity

I say this because Homer’s two epic poems almost certainly evolved as part of an oral tradition, which probably began quite simply with the telling of stories over a camp fire but eventually developed into an elaborate and really quite sophisticated form of theatre, in which an early version of the Greek Chorus would have recited the poems while actors very probably mimed the scenes being described.

We cannot know this for certain, of course, because the development of the two poems was no more documented than the poems themselves. There is highly compelling evidence, however, not just that the poems were originally passed on by word of mouth, but that this dramatised oral tradition was what ultimately led to the classical Greek theatre of 6th century BC, in which dialogue was put into the mouths of the actors while the Chorus, instead of telling the story, mostly only commented on it, pointing out the follies of mankind and lamenting their tragic consequences.

One of the biggest clues that the poems were originally recited from memory, rather than read from a script or book, is the fact they were composed in dactylic hexameters, which have six bars to the line, each of which consists of one long and two short beats. Each six bar line can also be divided into two half lines of three bars each, one half line of which is often a ‘filler’. In both ‘The Iliad’ and ‘The Odyssey’, for instance, one regularly comes across often repeated phrases such as ‘the rosy fingers of dawn’: a fairly obvious filler.

More to the point, a regular meter and rhythm is a very powerful aid to memory, especially when set to music. Everyone, for instance, will have suffered the rather annoying experience of having a song go round and round in their head all day without being able to get rid of it. Some of us may even have wondered why this happens. Why were we given this very peculiar ability or curse? For there must be a reason why we have been burdened by something so irritating. The answer, however, is fairly simple. For at some time in our history, this type of mnemonic aid must have had some evolutionary value, the most plausible hypothesis being that those people who could pass on their history and values through stories which they learned and preserved in the form of poems or songs, would have been far more united by a common identity than those who lacked this ability and would therefore have had a much better chance of surviving.

Even today, in fact, a common cultural identity is still very probably a necessary condition for a cohesive and stable society. And it is for this reason that the casting of Lupita Nyong’o as Helen of Troy has caused so much controversy. For ‘The Iliad’ and ‘The Odyssey’ were not just two of the cornerstones of Greek culture, reminding young Greek men who they were and inspiring them to live up to the values of their heroic ancestors, they are also two of the cornerstones of a wider European culture. Everyone born in Europe knows who Achilles, Odysseus and Helen of Troy were and still are, their characters having been immortalised by their iconic cultural status. Everyone of my generation was taught ‘The Iliad’ and ‘The Odyssey’ at school, where it was simply accepted that the two poems constituted the foundation of all European literature. They thus form part of our common European identity, as does da Vinci’s Mona Lisa and Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. And it is for this reason, not its historical inaccuracy, that seeing Helen of Troy, a European cultural icon, being played by a non-European actress is so jarring.

3  The Eradication of European Identity in Three Easy Steps

It is also why those who support the casting of Lupita Nyong’o in this role are so scathing of those who oppose it. For they know that this opposition is not pursued out of mere historical pedantry but is in defense of a European cultural identity which they see as essentially white and racist and which they therefore believe must be eradicated. While casting a black actress as Helen of Troy may seem a rather trivial matter, therefore, it is actually a fairly significant battle in a much larger cultural war, in which those who disapprove of the world our ancestors created have been relentlessly chipping away at Europe’s cultural identity for almost as long as I can remember.

Nor is the reasoning behind this crusade hard to follow. For it starts with the fact that, for most of the last six hundred years, Europeans have been going out into the world and conquering large parts of it. The Portuguese, Spanish, Dutch, French and British all built extensive trading empires which, through their superior military technology, they gradually turned into colonial empires, in which the native populations were not only generally regarded as inferior but commonly mistreated, thereby making us guilty of two interconnected moral offences which both reinforce and amplify each other. For not only did the sense of our superiority lead us to look down on those we ruled, but the power we consequently wielded over them both confirmed us in this sense of superiority and seemed to justify our treatment of those we often regarded as somehow less than fully human.

Was this behaviour something of which we should now be proud? Of course not. But to regard it as something for which we must now not only make amends but forfeit the cultural identity which put us in such a morally hazardous position is not only a masterpiece of self-indulgence but a massive over-estimation of our own importance, not least because it is not just Europeans who, at some point in their history, have behaved in this way; it is simply human nature. For any ethnic group which, through natural advantage or lucky accident, comes to gain dominion over others will naturally regard itself as superior and thus deserving of its position. Indeed, having dominion over others is, in itself, seen as proof of one’s superiority, which, once established, at least in one’s own mind, quite naturally leads one to dismiss those one governs as inferior and treat them accordingly. One may not actually abuse them or treat them cruelly, but our very disregard of those we see as beneath us may, itself, be seen as a lack of moral sensibility and thus as at least mildly reprehensible.

The question, therefore, is why, if we are all equally susceptible to this same moral failing, we Europeans should hold ourselves to a higher moral standard that the Han Chinese, the Ottoman Turks or any of the other builders of great empires, whom we can be fairly sure were just as bad. The answer, however, is again fairly simple. For given that such self-recrimination can have little or no evolutionary value, it must have had it origins in the very culture we have so come to despise: in something, indeed, which makes that culture very different to that of the Han Chinese or the Ottoman Turks. And the answer to what this might be, of course, is Christianity.

Of course, it will be argued that Christianity is currently on the wane in Europe and can thus have little influence on modern thinking. Christian concepts, however, such sin and a consequent need to do penance, are deeply engrained in European culture and can be clearly seen in the three main stages or aspects of our response to our guilty imperial past.

The first of these is the need to confess our sin and admit our guilt. This we do by rewriting our history such that everything we once believed to be heroic, noble and glorious, we now see as self-serving, mendacious and tawdry. Even the great feats of engineering upon which the British Empire was built are now seen as works of avarice and greed which despoiled the earth and enslaved the working class. At the same time, all historical monuments and cultural icons which extol our former glory have to be destroyed. In particular, the statues of 18th century merchants and Victorian industrialists who contributed to the building of our great cities, have to be torn down, while even the singing of ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ and ‘Rule Britannia’ during the Last Night of the Proms are now condemned.

Once the outward signs and expressions of our old European cultural identity have thus been expunged, the second phase of our atonement then consists of our internalisation of a new set of values and a new identity: one based not on that which divides us, such as our ethnicity or cultural background, but on that which unites us: our common humanity. After all, we are all the children of God and are thus all equal and fundamentally the same. The problem with this laudable and essentially Christian perspective upon the world, however, is that, except for the fact that we all have two arms and two legs, there is very little all human beings have in common that unites us. Merely being human is just too abstract when, in reality, what more commonly binds people together is not only something more tangible but often rather trivial, like coming from the same town, growing up eating the same school dinners, using the same rather odd colloquialisms and knowing the same joys and heartbreaks of supporting a local football team that never wins anything.

It’s why a common British identity, which Tony Blair tried to promote in the early 2000s, never really caught on, not least because we not only define ourselves by what unites us but also by what differentiates us from everyone else. The Scots, for instance, are not just defined by haggis, Iron Bru and deep fried Mars bars but by not being the hated English. Yes, it’s negative and divisive, but it is also part of what it actually is to be human, which means that trying to suppress a local, regional or national identity in favour of something more universal not only denies us our humanity but can actually leave us with no real identity at all, as is already happening to those of us who are currently undergoing the third phase of expurgating our sins: that of doing penance, which, throughout Europe, has entailed opening our doors to all those we once subjugated and to whom we must now make amends by sharing what little is left of our ill-gotten gains, principally by providing them with homes, free healthcare and schools for their children while they gradually replace us. For with declining birth rates among native Europeans and unrestricted immigration from elsewhere, that is what is now happening, making it highly likely that, by the end of this century, the population of Europe will no longer be predominantly European.

4  Rooted and Unrooted Narratives

Of course, it will be said that this is no more than we deserve. As a moral judgment upon an entire culture and civilisation, however, this is not only rather harsh but is not actually rooted in any kind of truth, whether it be historical or cultural. For while the conceptual framework upon which this judgment is based may be essentially Christian, it is a very attenuated or vestigial form of Christianity, lacking the two core beliefs which make most traditional forms of Christianity both redemptive and life affirming. For historically, most Christian Churches did not tell us that we were sinners and irrevocably damned; they taught that, although we may be fallible and imperfect, by following Christ’s teachings as best we could and having faith in God’s love, we would be able to find our way through the moral maze that is any human life and that, ultimately, we would be forgiven for the inevitable wrong turns we occasionally made along the way.

While some European colonialists may have treated those they governed with contempt and cruelty, therefore, and while most would have certainly looked down on them from a position of assumed superiority, most European rulers would have approached their native populations in the way their Christian upbringings had taught them they should, with the result that the most common way in which their assumed superiority manifested itself was in a form of paternalism, which may have been mildly patronising but was not born of any ill will.

Yes, they also thought it their duty to convert their charges to Christianity, which many people today regard as a form of cultural colonialism. But not only did they not do this in order to rob those they ruled of their own culture, they believed that what they were giving them was something of great value, for which many converts were, indeed, grateful. For the way in which traditional Christian communities were taught to live their lives and behave towards others has many benefits, the most valuable of which is that loving and caring for others actually helps us love ourselves, creating a benign circle in which this positive attitude, both towards ourselves and others, constantly reinforces itself. In contrast, loathing the society, culture and civilisation of which one is a part, as this new vestigial form of Christianity has taught us to do, not only makes us loathe ourselves but all those in whom we see ourselves reflected, creating a vicious circle in which those thus trapped must eventually tear themselves apart.

More to the point, this entirely negative view of ourselves teaches us no lessons on how we should actually live our lives, as both the Bible and Homer’s epic poems clearly do. ‘The Iliad’, for instance, is largely focused on three men, one of whom, King Agamemnon, nearly loses a war because, jealous of Achilles’ prowess as a warrior and feeling himself the lesser man, he attempts to assert his authority by publicly disrespecting a man upon whom he actually depends. Achilles, in turn, then loses his best friend by sitting in his tent for ten years, resentfully brooding over his injured pride. It is Odysseus, in contrast, who actually wins the war because he understands political reality and knows that it is sometimes better to fight one’s battles with guile and ingenuity than by going head to head with one’s opponent in an all out confrontation: lessons from which we can all learn because they reveal to us important truths about human nature. The narrative we are spun about European culture and civilisation being a racist and evil blight upon the world, in contrast, teaches us absolutely nothing, not only because, like ‘The Iliad’, it is not actually rooted in historical truth, which is always far more complicated and nuanced than we think, but because it is not rooted in anything true about ourselves.

Sunday, 11 January 2026

The Insidious Nihilism of Kurt Vonnegut’s ‘Slaughter House Five’

1.    A Personal Memoir?

A little while ago I mentioned that I have a lot of books: so many, in fact, that I have run out of places to put them and decided, therefore, that, for the most part, I would stop buying new ones and would start rereading books from what is, effectively, my own library.

One of the first books I chose for this journey through the bookshelves of my past was ‘Notes from Underground’ by Fyodor Dostoyevsky: a quite extraordinary book in which Dostoyevsky creates a Christian allegory through which to conduct a debate on the subject of free will and materialistic determinism, which I don’t think I really understood during the winter of 1974/75 when I first read it, but which so impressed me on second reading that I decided to write an essay on it, which you can find here.

Since then, I have reread a number of very good books which I am pleased to have revisited, including ‘Earthly Powers’ by Anthony Burgess, which I regard as one of the best first-person semi-autobiographical historical novels I have ever read. None of them, however, has inspired me quite enough to want to share my thoughts about them with the readers of this blog… until now! My reason for trying my hand at literary criticism once again, however, is not because ‘Slaughter House Five’ by Kurt Vonnegut is in the same class as ‘Notes from Underground’ but because, while being equally as extraordinary, it is probably one of the most insidious books ever written. It draws us in with its quirkiness; it ensnares us in its non-chronological labyrinthine structure; it lulls into a false sense of security with its understated gentleness; but, most of all, it captivates us with its sheer cleverness: an attribute that is most clearly made manifest by the fact that, on the surface at least, it would appear to combine a personal memoir of the second world war with a work of science fiction, which most people would generally assume to be impossible.

After all, a personal memoir is supposed to be factually based. The author’s memory may be unreliable at times with the result that he or she may get some of the facts wrong. But that is not by design. A work of science fiction, on the other hand, is actually intended to present us with a largely imaginary world.

Nor is the dissonance this creates entirely dissipated by the fact that, on first reading, the book would appear to be divided into two parts: a main part, which is written in the third person and is about the strange life of Vonnegut’s central character, Billy Pilgrim, and what appears to be an introduction or preface, which is written in the first person and is about Vonnegut’s struggles to actually write the book. This impression is significantly undermined at the end of this apparent introduction, however, when Vonnegut makes two rather odd statements. Firstly, he tells us that after numerous unsatisfactory drafts, all of which he threw away, he finally finished the book, which is something we already know. After all, it is the book we are actually reading. It would have been far more helpful, therefore, if he had told us what the impediments to him finishing it had been and how he had overcome them. But this he doesn’t do. Then he tells us that the first line of the book is ‘Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time’, which seems even more odd, not only because there doesn’t seem to be any reason why he would tell us this but because ‘Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time’ is actually the first line of the second chapter of ‘Slaughter House Five’ as it is actually printed. This is because the first section of the book is not labelled as an introduction; it is labelled ‘Chapter One’ or, rather, just ‘One’, in that Vonnegut does not use the word ‘chapter’ in his chapter headings.

Of course, it could be argued that Vonnegut’s intention in telling us what the first line of the novel is is to make it clear that the first numbered section is, indeed, an introduction and not part of the actual novel. But then why didn’t he just label it ‘Introduction’? Unless, of course, that’s not what it is: a possibility which, I have to admit, I didn’t even consider when I first read the book in the summer of 1974. Like most people, I simply took what seemed to be an introduction at face value. Having read it a second time, however, I now realise that, when it comes ‘Slaughter House Five’, nothing should ever be taken at face value: a realisation which, when it hit me, actually led me to look up Vonnegut’s biographical details on the internet to check whether he was even in the army during World War II. And, sure enough, he was part of a reconnaissance unit which was captured by the Germans in the Ardennes Forest during the Battle of the Bulge, after which he was duly shipped off to Dresden, where, along with other American PoWs, he was quartered in a disused abattoir designated Schlachthof Fünf  Slaughter House Five in the deep subterranean meat locker beneath which he and his fellow PoWs took shelter during the fire-bombing of Dresden in February 1945: an act of pointless destruction by the allies which, again on the surface, would seem to be the main focus of the book.

Just because what Vonnegut tells us about his time as a PoW generally accords with the known facts about his life, however, does not mean that everything he tells us in his ‘introduction’ is equally factually based. At one point in what he describes as his struggles to recount his experiences in Dresden, for instance, he tells us that he telephoned an old army buddy, Bernard O’Hare, who was also a PoW in Dresden, in order to get his opinion on how the book should be structured. In particular, he tells us that he asked Bernard what he thought about making the execution of a certain Edgar Derby the climax of the book, the implication being that Edgar Derby is not just a character in Vonnegut’s novel but someone both Vonnegut and O’Hare knew in real life and whose absurd execution for salvaging a miraculously preserved china teapot from the rubble of a bombed-out building they both witnessed.

The problem with this very natural interpretation of what Vonnegut tells us, however, is that, whatever else he may have been, Edgar Derby is a character in the novel we are reading and a rather important one at that. Being a high school teacher in civilian life, he is older than the rest of the PoWs housed in Schlachthof Fünf and adopts a somewhat paternalistic attitude towards them, especially the hapless Billy Pilgrim, whom he befriends. Billy Pilgrim, on the other hand, is as hapless as he is precisely because he has become unstuck in time, a rather fantastical notion which only makes sense in a work of science fiction, which rather implies that his existence is entirely fictional.

Not, of course, that mixing fictional and real life characters in a novel is entirely without precedent. Vonnegut also tells us, however, that the Edgar Derby in his novel is a devoted husband and father who spends a lot of his time writing imaginary letters to his wife in his head, a very specific detail about Derby’s inner life about which Vonnegut could not have known if, as PoWs together in Dresden, he had merely observed him from the outside. Of course, it is not unknown for writers to embellish characters they have taken from real life with additional habits and traits foreign to the person on whom they are based. But if Edgar Derby had indeed been a real person, what would his wife have thought about Vonnegut using her husband in this way, especially as he does not even change his name, something upon which Vonnegut’s publishers would surely have insisted.

If the character of Edgar Derby is as fictional as that of Billy Pilgrim, however, what this also means is that the telephone conversation between Vonnegut and O’Hare in which they discuss Edgar Derby’s execution is also fictional, as the character Bernard O’Hare, himself, may well be. In fact, as soon as one teases out one thread from this interwoven fabric, the whole thing begins to unravel, raising the question, therefore, as to what purpose this supposed introduction to the novel is actually intended to serve: a question which, had we ever raised it which most of us did not Vonnegut clearly wanted us to answer by focusing on a key passage towards the end of the introduction in which he describes taking his young daughter and one of her friends on a road trip to visit Bernard O’Hare and his family in Pennsylvania, the primary purpose of which is to allow Vonnegut to continue trawling O’Hare’s memories of Dresden.

Assuming that the character of Bernard O’Hare is a fiction, however, so too must this whole episode be, along with the character of Kurt Vonnegut within it, as becomes patently obvious as the episode unfolds. For no one could be as naïve and insensitive as Vonnegut presents himself as being while, at the same time, so astutely describing the rather strange behaviour of O’Hare’s wife, Mary, who makes her displeasure at Vonnegut’s visit felt as soon as he and his little party enter her home. After ushering the two men into the kitchen, where they have to sit at the kitchen table rather than in the comfortable leather armchairs in O’Hare’s study, she more or less orders her own children to take Vonnegut’s two girls upstairs to play and watch television, making it clear that she doesn’t want any of them listening to Vonnegut and her husband talking about the war.

Not that there is much chance of that, as O’Hare insists from the outset that he doesn’t remember very much, when what he really means, of course, is that there is not much he wants remember. As a result, the two men quickly lapse into an awkward silence while they listen to Mary stomping around in the adjoining living room, clearly very unhappy.

Nor does Vonnegut have to wait very long to find out what’s he’s done to make her so mad at him. For he is fairly sure that it is he who is the cause of her wrath, not Bernard. And he’s right. As her anger reaches a crescendo, she storms back into the kitchen to vent her fury at Vonnegut, not just because he has come there to dig up memories her husband would rather remain buried but because of something more primal. ‘You were just babies’, she says, ‘when you went to war. Like those upstairs’, to which Vonnegut has to admit that she probably has a point, both he and O’Hare being just boys, fresh out of school, when they enlisted. ‘But you are not going to write it that way, are you!’ she goes on. ‘You’ll pretend you were men and you’ll be played in the movies by Frank Sinatra and John Wayne or some of those other glamorous, war-loving old men. And war will look just wonderful, so we’ll have a lot more of them. And they’ll be fought by babies like the babies upstairs.’

The fictional Vonnegut, of course, is both stunned and slightly cowed by this, not because he was planing to write the kind of book Mary has accused him of planning to write but because, up until this point, we are supposed to believe that he didn’t know what kind of book he was going to write at all and that it is Mary’s outburst that lifts the scales from his eyes. This, however, is quite clearly a fiction. For when ‘Slaughter House Five’ was published in 1969, at the height of the Vietnam war,  Vonnegut had already had twenty-five years to forge his opinions on war and certainly didn’t need a blast of Mary O’Hare’s anger to help him make up his mind on the subject. It just makes for a better story. It only works, however, if the revelation Vonnegut is depicted as having in Mary O’Hare’s kitchen is then made clear. The only idea which Vonnegut and O’Hare subsequently discuss, however, is that of The Children’s Crusade of 1212, in which children from Germany and France were manipulated into travelling to Italy, from where they were supposed to be shipped to the Holy Land to convert the Muslims to Christianity, but were actually shipped to Tunis to be sold as slaves.

As such, this clearly resonates with Mary O’Hare’s angry statements about old men glorifying war and sending babies to their deaths. The only problem is that, despite Vonnegut choosing ‘The Children’s Crusade’ as the subtitle of his book, there is absolutely nothing in the main text of the novel that relates to it in any way.

In fact, trying to find any connection between the strange life of Billy Pilgrim and any of the subjects  Vonnegut writes about in the introduction is actually very difficult. One possibility, of course, is that one could view Billy Pilgrim’s becoming unstuck in time as a metaphor for the ways in which wars change those who fight in them. Indeed, we get a strong hint of this earlier in the introduction when Vonnegut tells us that his first job after leaving the army was as a reporter in Chicago, where he covered a story about a lift operator who was crushed to death by his own lift. When he gets back to the office, the stenographer to whom he dictated the story over the telephone consequently asks him how he managed to stay so calm in the face of something so horrific. ‘It must have been a terrible sight’, she says, to which he replies that he saw far worse things during the war.

One of the worse things he tells us he saw in Dresden was a group of school girls who had been boiled alive in a water tower. During the fire-bombing, they had climbed up into the tower to escape the fire storm below and had got into the water because they thought it would both save them from being burned and keep them cool. It didn’t.

Later on, in the main body of the novel, he then describes how, when the American PoWs came up from the meat locker beneath Schlachthof Fünf the following day, the sky was still black with smoke, the sun a little pink dot trying to poke its way through. The whole city, which had once been one of the architectural jewels of Europe, he describes as looking like an eerie moonscape, with hardly a single building still standing. Even more shocking is the fact that 135,000 people were killed in Dresden in just that one night, nearly twice as many as were killed by the atom bomb dropped on Hiroshima. For the PoWs, however, the worst was yet to come. For with so many people dead, they were naturally put to work digging out bodies from under the rubble, most of them in cellars where they had gone to shelter while their houses burned down above them, but which became super-heated by the fire storm, killing those entombed within them. Within days, as a consequence, the miasma floating above Dresden became so putrid from the decomposing corpses that many of the PoWs became seriously ill from retching, with the result that the Germans had to bring in soldiers with flame throwers to finish incinerating the bodies where they lay.

After such experiences, it is hardly surprising, therefore, that many soldiers returned home profoundly changed by what they had been through and were consequently unable to reassimilate into ordinary life, which they now found themselves observing from the outside: detached, remote… a bit like Billy Pilgrim. The only problem with this interpretation of Billy’s symptoms, however, is that his almost constant state of disorientation and confusion didn’t start during the war; he is described as having always been like this. What’s more, his condition makes him more or less immune to the kind of psychological trauma other soldiers suffered, not only bringing into question whether Vonnegut’s book could really be about the effects of wars on those who live through them, but raising the question as to whether it is actually about war at all.

After all, the only reason we have for believing that this is a book about war and more specifically about the fire-bombing of Dresden is that, throughout the introduction, Vonnegut constantly tells us that it is. If we look at the main body of the novel, however, events in Dresden only occupy a couple of chapters towards the end. If we accept that the introduction is as much a work of fiction as the novel as whole, moreover, it begins to look as if the purported subject of the book might also be a fiction and that the purpose of the introduction is therefore to serve as a source of misdirection of the kind magicians use on stage to draw our attention away from what they are actually doing. The question, therefore, is what Vonnegut is actually doing or, more specifically, what ‘Slaughter House Five’ is really about.

2.    The Tralfamadorians

Another reason for doubting whether Billy Pilgrim’s coming unstuck in time is a metaphor for some kind of war-induced PTSD is that, when he returns home from the war, he resumes his training to be optometrist as if nothing had happened to interrupt it. In 1948, he admittedly suffers a brief and unexplained mental breakdown, but even if this doesn’t prevent him from completing his studies finishing third in his class and marrying the daughter of the owner of the optometry school, who duly sets him up in business as an optometrist, at which is he is very successful. Over the next twenty years, as a result, he and his wife are able to enjoy the kind of comfortable American middle class lifestyle depicted in Hollywood films of the 1950s and 60’s. They have two children a boy and a girl a nice home and a new Cadillac every other year. In fact, Billy Pilgrim couldn’t have been more ordinary if he’d tried.

It is not until 1967 that three things happen which completely change his life. Firstly, he is one of only two survivors of a plane crash over Vermont, which leaves him with serious head injuries requiring major brain surgery. Secondly, his wife dies of carbon monoxide poisoning as a result of a traffic accident which she, herself, causes while rushing to the hospital to be at Billy’s bedside. Then, to cap it all, he is abducted by aliens from the planet Tralfamadore.

Of course, there will be some who may suspect that his belief that he was abducted by aliens might have something to do with the brain damage he suffered as a result of the plane crash, especially as no one else knows anything about his abduction. This, however, he explains as being due to the fact that the Tralfamadorians are able to travel in time as well as space, with the result that, even though he spends several months on Tralfamadore, being studied in a kind of zoo for captured alien species, when the Tralfamadorians finally return him to earth, they do so at a point in time that is only a few seconds after he was abducted.

Not, of course, that the question as to whether Billy Pilgrim ‘really’ was abducted by aliens or whether he developed this delusion as a result of brain damage is one that gains very much traction in a book in which just about everything is subject to multiple interpretations. What is far more important is the effect that what Billy believes to have been his abduction by aliens has on his life, partly as a result of the abduction itself and partly as a result of what the Tralfamadorians teach him. For they are not only able to travel in time but actually experience time in a way that differs significantly from the way in which human beings experience it. For instead of experiencing it lineally, as a series of moments, each one following the one before in a sequence which extends infinitely into both the past and the future, they see it all at once. What’s more, they can move about in it, selecting which moment they want to inhabit.

This therefore makes them effectively immortal, not because they live for ever they don’t but because having visited the last moment of their lives, which they can do an infinite number of times, they can simply go back to some other moment in their lives. Because they experience all time as present time, what’s more, they not only know when their own lives come to an end, they even know when and how the universe, itself, comes to an end. In fact, they actually cause it when a Tralfamadorian test pilot, testing a new rocket fuel, presses a button to start the engine of his space craft and causes the universe to blink out of existence.

Billy, of course, asks them why, if they know this, they don’t stop the test pilot from pressing the button, which the Tralfamadorians find very amusing. In fact, they find it so amusing that they flock to the zoo at precisely that moment to hear him ask the question again. The answer, however, as they try to get him to understand, is because the test pilot always presses the button, has always done so and will always do so. The moment is simply structured in that way. To the Tralfamadorians, however, this is not a problem because they can simply avoid inhabiting moments in which bad things happen and inhabit, instead, moments in which good things happen, like listening to Billy ask hilarious questions.

After long and careful consideration, to Billy, this seems like a very enlightened and intelligent approach to life. He, however, has a problem which the Tralfamadorians don’t have. For although travelling through time to reach Tralfamadore also seems to have given him the ability to travel in time, unlike the Tralfamadorians, he is not able to control it or choose which moments in his life he visits. One moment, he’ll be walking through a door in 1958; the next, he’ll be back in the Ardennes Forest in 1944. This keeps him in a constant state of anxiety, which he describes as like being an actor with permanent stage fright, never knowing which part of his life he is going to have to play next. This also explains why, throughout his life, he has always appeared to others as somewhat shocked and confused, looking around him in a daze as if wondering where he is. It also explains why he has always been extremely passive, a mere observer of the world rather someone who is engaged in it, and why he has always attracted bullies, people who see his passivity and lack of agency as weaknesses of which they can make fun.

Nor does it help that, unlike the Tralfamadorians, most of the moments in his life he randomly revisits are precisely those he would prefer to avoid: like the time his father tried to teach him how to swim by throwing him into the deep end of a swimming pool; or the time he was being beaten up in the Ardennes Forest by a bully called Roland Weary, who might have beaten him to death if the Germans hadn’t intervened and taken them both prisoner; or, of course, the moment he and his fellow American PoWs emerge from the meat locker beneath Schlachthof Fünf to find the once architecturally beautiful city of Dresden reduced to a moonscape under a blackened sky.

What this also suggests is that, even before his abduction by the Tralfamadorians in 1967, when his ability to travel in time is initially acquired, he has actually been time travelling all his life, a strange form of temporal paradox which is further confirmed by the fact that he knows in advance when the Tralfamadorians are going to abduct him and actually goes out into his garden to greet them. Like them, he also knows when and where he is going to die and does nothing to prevent it. Indeed, he actually walks into it. For he is assassinated in a convention centre in Chicago in 1976, having gone there to give a well-publicised lecture on the Tralfamadorians and time travel, which alerts a Chicago gangster called Paul Lazzaro to his forthcoming presence in Chicago, enabling Lazzaro to hire a hitman to shoot Billy for an offence Lazzaro wrongly believes Billy committed in 1944.

At this point, of course, you may be wondering what Billy is doing in 1976 giving public lectures on time travel and the Tralfamadorians, something which his daughter, Barbara, believes is another symptom of his brain damage. Having experienced his own death multiple times, however, and each time having jumped to some other point in his life, Billy decides that he wants to teach all his fellow human beings what the Tralfamadorians taught him: that death is not something to be feared, that it is just one moment in a life one eternally continues to inhabit.

In this, of course, he is wrong. For even if his abduction by aliens and his travels in time are real, and not symptoms of the injuries to his brain he suffered in the plane crash, he acquired his ability to travel in time by being abducted by the Tralfamadorians, which means that other human beings, who are not abducted by the Tralfamadorians, may not have the same ability and may not jump to another point in their lives when they die. To Billy’s followers, however, this is not something they choose to consider. They rather choose to believe that, when they die, they will jump to another point in their lives because this is what they want to believe.

That is to say that what Billy actually creates is, in effect, a new religion, one in which those who believe in him are promised eternal life. And if that sounds familiar, it should. For just like Dostoyevsky’s ‘Notes from Underground’, ‘Slaughter House Five’ can also be read as a Christian allegory, in which the Christ figure, Billy Pilgrim, suffers all the horrors and pains, traumas and torments of all human life, but transcends them through his fatalistic acceptance that that is just what life is. Like the Tralfamadorians, he understands the futility of asking ‘Why?’ when what exists cannot be explained and must simply, therefore, be endured. At one point, he even tells his followers when and where is going to be killed, to which they respond by shouting ‘No’. But then he tells them that if they cannot accept this, then they have not understood a single word he has been telling them.

3.    Heaven or Hell?

The problem with Billy’s new religion, of course, is that while it may liberate its followers from the fear of death, it has moral consequences which Vonnegut does not even address. For if one really believes that one is condemned to go on reliving one’s life for all eternity, one has to be very careful what kind of life one makes for oneself, especially if, like Billy, one cannot control which parts of one’s life one jumps to after one dies. The problem is that this doesn’t necessarily mean that those who subscribe to this belief will devote themselves to living rich and fulfilling lives or even lives of continual pleasure. For while they may desire to create a heaven on earth for themselves, which they can then enjoy throughout eternity, given the kind of terrible things that can happen to people in this world, they may be far more driven by the fear that they may accidently create an eternity in hell for themselves: a fear which could make them so risk averse that they may not be able to do anything at all.

In this regard, I am reminded of another novel in which ‘time’ is a major theme, ‘The White Hotel’ by D. M. Thomas, which, as far as I can remember not now having a copy of the book to which I can refer is about a young Jewish opera singer who is referred to Sigmund Freud for analysis because she is suffering from chronic psychosomatic pains in her left breast and ovary. In line with his standard methodology, Freud duly attempts to identify some trauma in her past that would explain these pains, but fails to do so, at least to her satisfaction. For the one thing Freud does not consider, of course, is that the trauma may not lie in her past but in her future.

In 1941, however, she is captured by the Germans and taken to a place just outside Kiev called Babi Yar, where, along with thousands of other prisoners, she is made to strip naked and line up on the edge of a ravine, where she and the other prisoners are then machine-gunned, a mode of execution which results in one bullet passing through her left breast and another through her left ovary. The way D. M. Thomas describes it, it is one of the most horrific scenes in all literature, made all the more so by the fact that, although she topples into the ravine with all the other victims, she is not dead, only wounded, and is actually killed by the hundreds of naked bodies which subsequently fall in on top of her, crushing the life out of her and burying her alive.

Given D. M. Thomas’ particular vision of how time sometimes operates, with the future sometimes affecting the past, she is not, of course, condemned to relive this experience over and over again for all eternity; she is merely haunted by it throughout her life. Imagine how terrified one would be,  however, if one actually believed in Billy Pilgrim’s new religion and feared that something like this might be one’s own fate. One can imagine that some people might even take their own lives to avoid it.

Of all the negative consequences that could possibly flow from believing in Billy Pilgrim’s new religion, however, this one is relatively mild compared to what could be brought about by the possible existence of a group of people who not only believe in Billy’s religion but so hate another group of people that they are willing to make the lives of this group hell so that they will, indeed, have to relive them for all eternity. They even build concentration camps where they work and starve these people to death over as long a period as possible, so as to prolong their suffering, and inflict on them every form of cruelty imaginable.

The good news is that, despite the existence of a real historical parallel, this is probably one of the least likely consequences of believing in Billy’s new religion to actually occur. In fact, it is far more likely that a widespread adoption to this belief would actually reduce the amount of cruelty in the world. I say this because the hate-filled vindictiveness which drives the imaginary concentration camp guards in the above scenario differs significantly from the values and beliefs which determined the behaviour of real concentration camp guards in places like Auschwitz, most of whom were not sadistic killers who inflicted suffering on people for the sake of it, but merely did what they were told because they largely accepted the propaganda they had been constantly fed that these people were sub-human vermin who had to be eradicated for the good of society. It does not excuse them, of course, but, for the most part, they did not believe that they were evil or that what they were doing was evil. Indeed, it is this that makes the Holocaust so dreadful: that it was ordinary men and women, like you and me, who largely carried it out.

This, however, could not be said in the case of anyone who deliberately inflicted suffering on others because they believed that this suffering would be repeated throughout eternity. For anyone who did this would surely have to know that what they were doing was both evil and irrational. For they would also have to know that the hell they were creating would not just be for their victims but for themselves as well. For they, too, would be trapped in it forever, endlessly repeating the same acts of cruelty for all eternity, thereby turning themselves into what most Christians would describe as being quite literally devils: something which no sane person would surely ever choose to be,  not least because there can be no forgiveness or absolution for those who commit atrocities which have no prospect of ever coming to an end.

More to the point, a devil is not what most of us want to be. Most of us like to consider ourselves at least halfway decent human beings, a characteristic of being human which thus highlights the real flaw in Billy’s new religion. For while the Tralfamadorian belief that all time is present time means that nothing can be changed, most of us want to believe that we can not only choose the way we act but the kind of person we are.

In this regard, ‘Slaughter House Five’ can thus be seen as a vehicle for the same debate between free will and materialistic determinism we find in ‘Notes from Underground’. The only difference is that Vonnegut and Dostoyevsky are on opposite sides. For while, at the end of ‘Notes from Underground’, its unnamed narrator sacrifices his own interests in order to avoid inflicting himself on another human being, thereby exercising free will, Vonnegut would argue that, like the Tralfamadorian test pilot who presses the button that ends the universe, both of these events are entirely determined and thus involve neither freedom nor choice.

In fact, Vonnegut’s determinism or the determinism that results from the Tralfamadorian view of time – lies at the heart of any interpretation or assessment we make of ‘Slaughter House Five’. For what Vonnegut does not seem to have understood is that it actually results in a contradiction within his overall message. I say this because what makes the Tralfamadorian view of time so liberating, of course, is the fact that, if nothing can be changed, then nothing we do really matters, from which can be derived the central nihilist precept that nothing matters at all except the knowledge that nothing matters. This is because it is this knowledge, that nothing matters, that sets us free from such values and social structures as those which have led men to fight and die in wars since the beginning of time. After all, if nothing matters, then there is nothing worth fighting and dying for. The problem is that our liberation from traditional roles and values further implies that we have the freedom and ability to act outside and contrary to these roles and values. That is to say that it implies that we can choose to live in a different way. Indeed, it is this vision that made Vonnegut a hero on university campuses all across America throughout the 1960s and 70s. Not only does this contradict the entire deterministic world view from which this whole line of reasoning flows, however which means that there has got to be something wrong with it somewhere but its adoption raises questions with which we are still struggling today. For if our new freedom from traditional roles and values allows us to now choose how we live our lives and, hence, who we are, the question this poses, of course, is ‘How do we want to live our lives and who do we actually want to be?’

4.    Meaning & Identity

Indeed, it is this question, which, today, is usually posed in terms of meaning and identity, that is the primary legacy handed down to us by the 1960s, not because, at some point in the 1970s, we all started reading Kurt Vonnegut, but because, in 1960, the US Food & Drug Administration (FDA) approved the release of a safe and reliable oral contraceptive, which, as many predicted, led to an inevitable decline in traditional marriage and a weakening of the once very distinctive roles of husband and wife that men and women traditionally played. This, in turn, then led both men and women to question more profoundly their purpose in life, a very destabilising process which has almost certainly affected men more deeply than women.

I say this because when a man was the husband of his wife and the father of his children, he not only knew who he was, but this very identity bestowed on him various responsibilities. It was his duty, for instance, to provide for his family, to put food on the table and keep a roof over their heads, duties which gave him a very clear purpose life and imbued it with meaning. By no longer inhabiting these roles or, at least, not to the same extent both men and women have therefore had to define both their identity and their purpose in life in other ways.

One of the most obvious of these, of course, is through their careers which have become more and more important, especially to women, as family roles have declined. Indeed, it is probable that most of us now define ourselves far less in terms of our place within a family and more in terms of our position within the working world. The problem with this, however, is that most people simply do not have careers that are important enough to carry the full burden of life’s meaning. Many of us pretend that we do, of course, and our employers pander to our need to be of significance by giving us fancy titles; but most of us know that the world wouldn’t come to an end if we didn’t turn up for work tomorrow.

To compensate for this, of course, many people simply throw themselves into their social lives, not least because being a member of a particular social group confers on one a certain group identity. The problem with this, however, is that most social groups are either based on shared activities and interests, or come about merely as a result of people being at the same school together or drinking in the same pub. Even if people didn’t just drift away to go to university, for instance, or to take up a new job, social groups are therefore essentially ephemeral and, as we get older, tend to become little more than nostalgic relics of a distant past.

The few close friendships most of us have do, of course, last longer and are thus more meaningful. The problem here, however, is that what usually makes a friendship meaningful is the role friends play in supporting us in other areas of our lives, especially our careers and marital relations. Without problems to discuss and other people to moan about, friendships therefore tend to become more like routines or habits, providing us with someone with whom we can go out and have a drink rather than sit at home watching TV.

That’s not to say, of course, that this is a bad thing. Friends certainly make our lives a little less empty. But they don’t provide us with the purpose in life our families use to, making it hardly surprising, therefore, that, as marriage and the family have declined, more and more people have sought to make their lives meaningful by taking up a social or political cause, which, because such causes usually involve some sort of group activity, also provides the participants with an additional group identity.

The problem with basing even a part of one’s identity and purpose in life on a social or political cause, however, is that it tends to have three very unfortunate consequences, both for the individual concerned and for society as a whole. Because choosing a cause to which to devote oneself is also a choice of one’s identity, and because one wants to think of oneself as a good and righteous person, the first of these unfortunate consequences is that the choice of a cause is essentially a moral one, which means that anyone who opposes one’s advocacy of that cause either doesn’t know what they are doing, and is therefore stupid, or knows full well what they are doing and is therefore immoral. This, however, is extremely divisive. For if one believes that another’s opposition to one’s cause is due to either their stupidity or their immorality, it is very difficult to tell them that, while one disagrees with their views, one respects their right to their own opinion. Not being able to agree to disagree consequently makes it very difficult to part on amicable terms.

The second unfortunate consequence results from the fact that, if one’s belief in a particular cause is central to one’s identity, then anything that threatens to undermine that belief is effectively an existential threat to oneself. This therefore makes rational discussion of the belief very difficult if not impossible. For whatever factual evidence or rational argument another puts forward in opposition to one’s belief, in order to protect oneself, one has to resist it at all cost, most commonly through aggressive denial.

In 1989, for instance, James Hansen, then Director of NASA GISS, told Congress that, due to global warming, Artic summer sea ice would be a thing of the past by the end of the century. Apart from normal annual fluctuations, however, the amount of Arctic summer sea ice has remained more or less constant for the last thirty-seven years. It is very doubtful, however, that any climate change activist would accept this as evidence that their beliefs about carbon dioxide and global warming are wrong. They will far more probably dismiss the undiminished presence of Arctic summer sea ice as disinformation and accuse anyone who repeats it of either being stupid, for believing such lies, or a climate change denier and hence immoral.

The third unfortunate consequence of basing one’s identity on a political or social cause then consists in the fact that, unlike roles assigned to us by society, roles or identities we choose for ourselves require constant validation. If I am a father, for instance, I may continually question how adequately I perform this role, but I will not question the validity of the role itself, not because the role of being a father is the inevitable consequence of a biological fact, as may be thought, but because normative social rules often carry as much weight as biological imperatives.

I say this because, up until around 11,000 years ago, most human societies were matriarchal, which meant that fathers were not recognised as such and played no role in bringing up their children. Unlike the role of a child’s mother, therefore, which has a fairly obvious biological basis, the relatively recent role of the father would appear to be largely a social construct, which requires constant social reinforcement, usually in the form of intense public censure of any man who shirks his paternal responsibilities, in order to be maintained. In accepting those responsibilities, therefore, traditionally, men didn’t need society to validate their choice because society didn’t really give them one.

Of course, it will be argued that this just shows how tyrannical traditional roles and values were and how much we have gained by freeing ourselves from them. It may be doubted, however, just how much more tyrannical traditional roles and values were than the values and behaviour demanded by many of today’s activist groups, which can be highly censorious of anyone who deviates from current orthodoxy and absolutely scathing of anyone who actually leaves the fold. This is further compounded by the fact that causes we choose for ourselves tend to be less grounded in everyday life than responsibilities which are thrust upon us, like looking after small children, where keeping them safe and contented is demonstrable evidence that we are doing something right. Choosing what kind of food we should eat to save the planet, in contrast, is always going to be subject to shifting opinion, with which individual members of a group can easily fall out of step, thereby bringing even more censure on themselves.

What makes this even more pernicious, however, is the fact that if one’s identity is dependent on membership of a cause-based group, one may well feel that one has no choice but to conform to the group’s current orthodoxy, not because one is truly convinced by it, but because refusing to conform may well mean being cancelled and therefore stripped of one’s identity. The result is that members of the group come to think and believe what they are told to think and believe in a way that is entirely without substance. They will deny this, of course. They will scream and shout and vehemently affirm that they really do believe what they say they believe, but this, of course, is because to do otherwise would pose an existential threat to who they believe themselves to be.

Not, of course, that Kurt Vonnegut can be blamed for any of this. He wasn’t to know that our abandonment of traditional roles and values in the 1960s would lead to today’s nihilistic nightmare. But Dostoyevsky knew. Writing a hundred years earlier, he knew that the materialist determinism of the 19th century would not only lead nihilism but to the collectivist ideologies of the 20th century, which ultimately led to the gulags and the concentration camps and the fire-bombing to Dresden in February 1945. So, instead  of writing ‘Slaughter House Five’, perhaps Vonnegut’s time would have been better spent reading ‘Notes from Underground’.