A modest conversation about great powers, private truths and the unfortunate independence of reality
An evening reflection over a glass of something stronger
There is a certain privilege enjoyed by the leaders of great powers. They are permitted to see what they wish to see.
Ordinary citizens are generally expected to adjust their opinions to the facts. Leaders, particularly those commanding considerable military and economic resources, appear to enjoy a more flexible arrangement. The facts may be invited to a meeting, provided they understand that the agenda has already been settled.
Reading a report about Volodymyr Zelenskyy’s remarks on Vladimir Putin, I found myself wondering whether this privilege might occasionally be useful to the rest of us.
Zelenskyy, as quoted by Politico, insisted that he and Putin could not be compared: one was the aggressor, the other the victim of aggression. He appealed to Donald Trump to make his position on the matter unmistakably clear.
A president of the United States may recognise the circumstances of an invasion perfectly well and still decide that the diplomatic usefulness of the invader deserves more attention than the moral distinction between the parties. This need not indicate a failure of perception. It may simply mean that perception, in the White House, is required to serve a larger purpose.
The difficulty begins when the larger purpose becomes more important than the world it is supposed to manage.
I remarked that the privilege of great-power leaders lies in seeing what they wish to see — and that, if they happen not to be too far from the truth, so much the better for the world.
My artificial interlocutor immediately began explaining the relationship between truth, political interests and reality. It was an earnest performance, rather like inviting a philosopher to a pub and discovering that he has brought his lecture notes.
Eventually, however, we made progress.
I suggested that the final phrase should read:
If their version of events happens to coincide with reality, so much the better for reality.
The distinction seemed worth preserving. “So much the better for everyone” would imply that a leader’s accidental agreement with reality necessarily benefits humanity. History offers no such guarantee. A ruler may understand the situation correctly and still act in a manner that makes life considerably worse for everyone concerned.
But “so much the better for reality” places the emphasis elsewhere. It suggests, with suitable impertinence, that reality might occasionally benefit from the cooperation of those who imagine themselves to be in charge of it. The word happens is essential. Without it, the sentence might be mistaken for an endorsement of political realism. With it, the sentence acquires a small but useful sting: the possibility that the world’s most powerful men may occasionally arrive at a correct understanding of events by accident.
At this point, I recalled an inscription I had once encountered on the inside of a partly open filing-cabinet door at a police station. I had gone there in search of justice, having arrived, as it happened, at the wrong end of the administrative universe.
On a sheet of A4 paper, someone had written:
“Truth is like an arse. Everyone has their own.”
The author of this observation had not troubled himself with epistemology, diplomatic protocol or the finer distinctions between subjective interpretation and objective fact. He had apparently decided that the matter could be settled in one sentence, provided one was not overly concerned with elegance.
There was something admirable about the economy of it.
I had gone looking for justice and found a theory of truth attached to a filing cabinet. Whether the theory explained the institution, or merely the person who had written it, remains an open question.
My artificial interlocutor was suitably amused. We agreed, more or less, that there was little point in starting another argument about truth when reality was still available for inspection.
And so we reached our conclusion.
The leaders of great powers may construct their own versions of the world. They may persuade their governments, their allies and sometimes even their adversaries to behave as though those versions were correct. They may also discover that a useful fiction is sometimes more convenient than an inconvenient fact.
But reality has a peculiar disadvantage: it does not require a majority vote, a presidential signature or a communiqué from a summit meeting.
It simply continues.
And if, by some happy accident, the leaders of the world happen to see it as it is, we may congratulate them on their achievement.
Reality, meanwhile, will have to decide whether to thank them.
TL, with the assistance of ChatGPT AI and Copilot AI
