21st Century Candidates for Ambrose Bierce’s Devil’s Dictionary

Summary: an evolving list

Ambrose Bierce, 1842 -1914

Ambrose Bierce defined politics in his Devil’s Dictionary as “A strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles. The conduct of public affairs for private advantage”.

As Trump, Netanyahu and Putin continue to use this as their platonic ideal, here are a few more commonly used terms to better understand this brand of politics in the 21st Century.

Absence – The hardest thing to hide.

Accountability — A principle once thought central to democracy, now regarded as the bad manners of social inferiors.

Austerity — A political philosophy that insists that the poor must pay for the yachts on which the rich snort their cocaine from the bum cracks of supermodels … which the poor must also pay for.

Betrayal — The dispatch of Caesar by his own signature methods.

Caste — Real discrimination based on imaginary distinctions.

Children — Small humans, cynically manufactured by the enemy in an attempt to taint wholly justifiable collateral damage.

Mikaeil Mirdoraghi on his way to be killed

Climate change — A process that doesn’t exist by which plutocrats manufacture migrants.

Coincidence — Why money, power and the privilege to indulge in any vice remain in the same families for generations.

Collateral damage — The price paid by others so that Caesar can be Caesar.

Colonialism — A system that profoundly shaped the history and geography of the modern world but whose continuing influence is, apparently, not worth talking about.

Complex situation — The choice between doing the right thing and upsetting a rich sex trafficker.

Conscience — Why you can’t keep your fucking gob shut.

Consolation — The knowledge that nits become lice.

Conspiracy — No … nothing to see here … move along.

Context — The reason a “tragic mistake” was all the enemy’s fault. Not to be confused with history, which can lead to a complex situation.

Cooking — How grumpy humans show kindness.

Craic — From the outside, a moment of apparent forgetting; from the inside, the recharging of the pen.

Decency — An elusive quality discovered in Caesar only after the knives have safely done their work.

Democracy — An ancient Athenian idea that important questions of war and peace should be decided by privileged men; two and a half millennia of refinement have preserved this essential character.

Doubt — The most dependable motivation for doing better.

Economic realism — A touching belief in the stories told by plutocrats.

Empathy — An existential threat to plutocrats arising from the dastardly impulses of fellow feeling and compassion.

Enemies — People who may not share your values but recognise your worth.

Exceptionalism — The conviction that accountability and responsibility are admirable principles, provided they don’t apply to us.

Forgetting — What plutocrats and genocidaires depend on most.

Free speech — A universal right, provided it doesn’t upset plutocrats or certain genocidaires.

Friends — The ones that tell you to get back up.

Genocidaires — Human beings who act on the proposition that not all human beings are human beings.

Genocide — Perhaps not a Western invention, but certainly a Western tradition; a realpolitik solution to geopolitical complexities arising from colonialism.

Geography — A branch of moral philosophy that explains why inhabitants of one part of the earth are entitled to more than inhabitants of another.

Geopolitics – A way to blame geography whenever realpolitik is really troubling your conscience.

Great power — Living the Nietzschean dream, far above the morality of loser human beings.

Great power ally — We’re special!

“Hardest week of my life” — For multi-millionaires, a couple of days in which their privilege is threatened.

Heroes — Not necessarily saints.

History — An explanation of the present best avoided lest it threaten the privileges to which one has become accustomed.

Home — To some, a place of warmth in which to raise children and nurture adult love; to others, real estate of variable geopolitical value.

Human moment — A politician’s self-pity.

Human rights — Rights universally acknowledged until someone inconvenient claims them.

Human trafficking — The squalid and evil trade in human beings as if livestock … unless it is found necessary to cut costs in international supply chains or to supply billionaires’ sex parties with children.

Hypocrisy — The art of applying opposite principles with identical conviction.

Impunity — A reasonable privilege accorded to the exceptional.

Inconceivable — A word frequently applied to stuff that’s right bleeding there.

Independent investigation  — A process for discovering that a “tragic mistake” was unavoidable.

Kindness — A tendency to be on the lookout to remove thorns from lions’ paws.

Lessons learned — The process by which wisdom is obtained if you cannot afford impunity.

Literally — If you ever use this word to mean “figuratively”, you are actively contributing to the downfall of human civilisation.

Love — For plutocrats, something that property deserves but humans don’t. For everyone else, it’s reason enough.

Lovers – People you empower to hurt you.

Migrants — Eternally plausible scapegoats for austerity.

Moderation — Appropriate deference to the feelings of plutocrats.

Moral cowardice — Losers being squeamish about genocide and the other essentials of realpolitik.

Pen — Can be a keyboard, so long as you use it like a sword.

Plutocrats – the best humans … even though they don’t really like other humans.

Political realism — An absolute conviction that plutocrats and genocidaires have a point of view worthy of respect.

Pragmatism – An unshakeable basis upon which inconvenient moral principles must founder.

Privilege — Entitlements bestowed by wealth and history, therefore considerably more important than those rights ordinary humans keep bleating on about.

Racism — The colour grading of human beings by idiots, even when no colour is apparent.

Racists— Idiots sufficiently selective in their empathy to serve as useful ones for plutocrats

Realpolitik — A posh name for complicity in atrocities

Responsibility — An elusive quality, once thought central to professionalism, now applied only to those without sufficient privilege.

Rule of Law — An antiquated idea, dating back to Aristotle and Sophocles’ play about that loser Oedipus, that even the privileged should be accountable.

Self-defence — Violence committed by ourselves.

Silence — The promised price of the yacht in trickle-down economics.

Smugness — The quiet satisfaction of knowing your power guarantees impunity.

Special relationship — How vassals describe their vassalage.

Spouse / Partner — The one that puts up with your dirty underwear and still lifts you up.

Stupidity — Telling truths that the smug find unsettling.

Terrorism — Violence committed by the enemy.

Tough choices — Caesar’s difficulty in deciding which of the vulnerable to smite first.

Tragic mistake — Violence committed by ourselves against civilians after we got caught.

Trickle-down economics — A fairy tale told by plutocrats in which you too can one day own a yacht.

Untouchability — The art of declaring other human beings filthy so they can clean up after you, thereby exposing the state of your own soul.

Villains — Often think themselves saints.

Vulnerability — Not just an opportunity to exploit losers, but also the way humans make other humans fall in love with them when they are not rich.

War — A magical term that transforms our perpetrators of atrocities into the real victims here.

War criminal — A genocidaire without geopolitical value.

Wealth — The safest substitute for wisdom and expertise in policy discussions.

Wisdom — The consolation losers derive from losing; rendered obsolete by wealth.

Worst — Never the absolute you might hope it to be.

Goodbye to All That, by Robert Graves;  The Great War, by Peter Hart; Catastrophe: Europe goes to war 1914, by Max Hastings;  and The Peacemakers, by Margaret Macmillan

Summary: Diverse, highly readable perspectives on the First World War

Like many of my generation, my introduction to the First World War was at school, studying the sublime poetry of Wilfred Owen. Owen’s writings along with others such as Siegfried Sassoon and Robert Graves, did much to promote the “lions led by donkeys” view of that war. 

This is a perspective on the war that Peter Hart takes considerable exception to. A key theme of his fine narrative history of that war, similar to Hew Strachan, is that the allied generals have been unfairly maligned, made scapegoats by civilian leaders who bore more responsibility for the carnage.

The generals of the Western Front were, he argues, by and large, diligent soldiers, trying to learn the best way to fight an industrial war. This is something that their prior experiences, helping their colonial empires steal other people’s countries and butchering anyone who objected, had not properly prepared them for. 

Better than Strachan, Hart illustrates well the impact of the generals’ decisions on the front line troops of all armies. He quotes extensively from the letters and diaries of the combatants to give a truer sense of their experiences, including of the vicious fighting. This makes it hard to sympathise with Hart’s  broader argument that the generals were doing their best. 

The industrialised trench warfare of the First World War was not quite unprecedented: the Union’s final campaign against Richmond under Grant previewed the sort of warfare that would come to define the Western Front. Grant had realised that an attritional campaign would bleed the South to such an extent that even if he lost every battle the Union would win the war. 

With no extant tactics to breach the fortified lines in a way that would have meaningful strategic impact on the course of the war, the opposing sides settled into a similar war of attrition. This led to regular battles that hoped to inflict such a butcher’s bill on the other side as to make it difficult for them to continue.

Other pressures, not least that of coalition warfare, also demanded action, irrespective of how inadvisable. That is how the British came to attack fortified German positions on the Somme in 1916 – to provide some “relief” to the French under German attack at Verdun. On the first day of the Battle of the Somme the British Army suffered 57,470 casualties, including 19,240 deaths. That still does not seem to me a reasonable price for generals learning on-the-job or offering moral support to an ally. 

By way of contrast, during the Second World War Matthew Ridgeway, an American Airborne general risked his entire career by refusing to lead his troops on what he believed would be a suicidal assault on Rome. This would have entailed dropping his lightly armed forces in the midst of two German heavy divisions.

I suspect most of the allied troops on the frontline of the First World War, such as Owen, Sassoon and Graves, would have happily swapped their “diligent” generals for a few with a fraction of Ridgeway’s moral courage. 

Graves was almost killed in a later stage of the Somme battle. It is striking that in Goodbye to All That, his engaging account of his wartime experiences, he never describes killing anyone, though he hints that he did. The closest he comes is describing a sniping opportunity to kill a bathing German. Graves writes that he could not bring himself to press the trigger on the naked man, so he assigned the task to a subordinate instead.

Graves clearly carried the war with him for decades after. The guilt and trauma of it infuses his account of the Greek Myths, for example.

Given the horror of the war, it is understandable that we all should look for who to blame. This is among the tasks that Max Hastings undertakes in his typically gripping account of the outbreak of the war. Hastings is at pains to point out that Germany more than any other nation was the one that could have put a stop to the descent into cataclysm. Hence in Hastings’ view this is the country that should bear most of the blame. Hart has a similar perspective, noting that Germany believed that as war was inevitable the sooner it began the better it suited them. 

In this Hastings and Hart offer somewhat different perspectives to Christopher Clark’s exceptional book on the same subject, The Sleepwalkers. This lays considerably more of the blame on Serbia, Britain and France’s ally. Margaret Macmillan, whose book, The War that Ended Peace, also explored the dangerous, dizzying array of alliances and egos that shepherded Europe to war. Both these accounts suggest there is plenty more blame to go around all combatant nations. 

With The Peacemakers Macmillan explores the end of the war, specifically the Paris Peace conference that led to the Versailles Settlement. This established much of the contemporary political shape of Europe. Alongside the “Great Power” politics of the Conference, Macmillen’s book is also the story of how the peoples of, in particular, central and eastern Europe shook off the rule of the Great Powers whose blundering had dragged them into catastrophic war. 

But the Versailles settlement also sowed the seeds of future war in Europe, by assigning all the guilt for the war to Germany. This ignored the role of, in particular, Serbia in starting things. It also ignored the fact that the Germany that came to Paris was a different country to the one at the start of the war. Not fundamentally different, of course: as German history since 1919 has shown it a country that has never quite lost its relish for atrocity. But by 1919 it had been through a democratic revolution that was economically crippled by the demand for reparations from the victorious powers. This created the political conditions for the Nazis to emerge. 

In granting to Britain the Palestine mandate the Versailles Settlement also paved the way for a new settler-colonial entity there, and for the Zionist genocide of the indigenous people that, with shameless US, German and British support, continues to this day. 

The First World War remains an example of, as William Faulkner once wrote, the past not even being past. Its dark legacy is a bloody one in the present for millions of defenceless human beings.

So, perhaps Wilfred Owen remains still the most vital voice on the First World War, understanding from that one war the pity of all war, and encouraging a level of empathy for the victims of war that no discussions of causality, strategy or blame ever can.