The Econmist - USA (2021-11-06)

76 Books & arts The Economist November 6th 2021

He writes sympathetically of the swash­

buckling  commander  Georgios  Karaiska­

kis,  who,  after  some  impressive  victories,

was slain in battle in 1827. As the author de­

scribes  him,  Karaiskakis  came  from  a

world of near­anarchy and opportunism in

northern  Greece  but  grasped  that  panhel­

lenic  interests  must  prevail  over  personal

squabbles  (a  leap  some  bigwigs  failed  to

make).  If  such  laudatory  views  were  ex­

pressed in a Greek textbook, they might be

dismissed  as  patriotic  hype.  But  coming

from Mr Mazower, an eminent historian of

the Balkans, they command respect. 

And  they  capture  an  important  truth,

which  applies  to  many  nationalist  upris­

ings.  Yesterday’s  unrealistic  goal  can  be­

come  today’s  imperative,  given  the  rapid

shifts  of  sentiment  that  bloodshed  and

suffering engender. Common agony can be

an  effective  glue,  as  many  would­be  re­

pressors of rebellion, including the British

in post­1916 Ireland, realised too late. 

I dream, you fantasise

Bulgarians, Poles, Romanians, Hungarians

and  Balts  subsequently  claimed  and

gained  their  independence.  A  rich  variety

of  local  circumstances  coloured  these

nationalist  movements,  but  several  were

inspired  by  the  Greek  example.  All  such

projects  are  based  in  part  on  romantic

fantasy, of which the Utopian dreams har­

boured  by  Greece’s  leaders  and  their

foreign supporters were a peculiarly com­

pelling  specimen:  they  strove  to  recreate

one of history’s most glorious epochs, that

of classical Hellas. 

For  Greece’s  external  well­wishers  and

some Athenian patriots, that meant resur­

recting  Periclean  Athens;  others  in  the

Greek  ruling  class  dreamed  of  forging  a

neo­Byzantine empire based in Constanti­

nople.  Some  entertained  both  visions  at

once.  These  dreams  underpin  some  bril­

liant  modern  Greek  poetry  but  they  are  a

poor guide for practical statecraft.

Well  into  independence,  Greece  was  a

strange mixture of modern and premodern

statehood.  It  incorporated  an  ambitious

polyglot  elite,  enjoying  fortunes  made  in

Alexandria or Odessa, and a rural reality in

which  violent  strongmen  defied  central

power.  Yet  the  Greek  state  did  eventually

become a more or less coherent polity, al­

beit  with  failings—such  as  a  tendency  to

overspend  and  overreach—that  can  be

traced to the delusions of grandeur which

plagued the enterprise from the start. 

That  bears  out  Mr  Mazower’s  portrayal

of the insurgency as a truly transformative

revolution. Many readers will see parallels

with modern times more broadly. After all,

in the past 30 years there has been a resur­

gence—and  then  a  crash—of  gung­ho

liberal internationalism, which often ech­

oed  the  pro­Greek  sentiments  voiced  in

Western capitals in the 1820s.

Both then and more recently there was

a  burst  of  confidence  in  the  possibility  of

instigating  reform  and  modernisation  in

remote, rugged lands through a mix of lo­

cal  fighting  spirit  and  strategic  interven­

tion  from  afar.  Think  of  the  natobom­

bardment that helped detach Kosovo from

Yugoslavia in 1999, or the excitement felt in

November  2001  when  rough­hewn  Tajik

warriors  and  precision­guided  missiles

combined  to  overthrow  the  Taliban  with

seemingly  miraculous  ease.  Or  recall  the

certainty felt in 2011, among politicians in

London  and  Paris,  that  high­tech  support

for  tenacious  Libyan  rebels  would  estab­

lish a stable new order in Tripoli. 

At  the  same  time,  the  exasperation  of

starry­eyed philhellenes (even Byron) over

the  foibles  of  their  Greek  allies  may  seem

familiar  to  any  Western  bureaucrat  who

struggled topropupthenato­protected

orderinAfghanistan.Themiserablecol­

lapseofthatorderseemedtovindicatethe

scepticswhoinsistthatnation­buildingin

wild places is impossible, and an ill­

adviseduseofmilitaryforce.

MrMazower’sargumentisacounter­

weighttothatpessimism,albeita nuanced

one.Inthestoryhetells,nativepluckand

endurancereallycancombinewithstrate­

gicinterventiontocreatenewpoliticaland

socialrealities.Theprovisoisthatthein­

terventionmustgowiththegrainoflocal

powerbrokersandthetraditionstheyper­

sonify.Thatvitalridermayexplainwhy,in

itsownterms,natosucceededinKosovo

andfailedinAfghanistan.n

Womenandphilosophy

The moral of

the story

“T

herehasneverbeena womanwho

could  do  philosophy  as  she  can.”  So

said Philippa Foot of her friend, Elizabeth

Anscombe,  in  a  recommendation  to  the

head of an Oxford college in 1957. Letters of

reference can exaggerate. If Anscombe had

a  precursor,  would  anyone  have  known?

Before  the  20th  century,  it  was  nearly  im­

possible for a philosophically gifted wom­

an to gain recognition, unless she was roy­

al or at least a duchess. How that situation

began to change, at least in Britain, is part

of the story told in this fine group biogra­

phy of four women, who became friends at

Oxford during the second word war.

Its other two subjects are Iris Murdoch

andMaryMidgley, who,like  Anscombe,

had  been  well­educated,  middle­class

girls. As Benjamin Lipscomb, an American

philosopher,  explains,  Foot  was  much

posher. Her grandfather, Grover Cleveland,

was twice America’s president. Her earlier

education  was  overseen  by  nannies  and

consisted mainly of riding and parties.

Murdoch  (pictured),  the  most  famous

of  the  quartet,  is  best­known  for  her  nov­

els.  But  she  was  also  a  philosophy  don  at

Oxford  for  15  years,  having  decided  to  be­

come  one  after  hearing  Jean­Paul  Sartre

lecture. Anscombe was the most eccentric.

Monocled,  cigar­smoking  and  renowned

for  removing  her  trousers  when  a  restau­

rant  informed  her  that  women  could  not

wear  them,  she  was  mistaken  for  a  clean­

ing  lady  when  she  arrived  to  take  up  the

Cambridge chair of philosophy once occu­

pied by her friend, Ludwig Wittgenstein.

Much  of  Midgley’s  philosophical  work

was  not  written  for  academics.  Her  first

book  appeared  when  she  was  almost  60

and was followed by 15 more, many taking

aim at what she saw as oversimplifications

by biologists, psychologists and other sci­

entists.  She  had  a  spat  with  Richard  Daw­

kins over whether it is helpful to call genes

“selfish”.  Midgley  paused  her  career  for

over  a  decade  to  care  for  three  children.

Anscombe,  a  devout  Catholic,  brought  up

seven  without  blinking;  the  secret  was  to

realise that “dirt doesn’t matter”.

What did matter to all four women was

ethics.  They  were  dissatisfied  with  the

state  of  moral  philosophy,  especially  as

practised at Oxford. It was both too dry, be­

cause it focused on the language of morals

rather  than  on  ethical  dilemmas,  and

mostly wrong, because it did not even get

the  linguistic  questions  right.  Foot

chipped  away  at  the  idea  that  descriptive

and  evaluative  language  could  be  neatly

separated: calling an action “rude”, for ex­

ample,  both  describes  it  and  rebukes  it.

The Women Are Up to Something.

By Benjamin Lipscomb. Oxford University

Press; 326 pages; $27.95 and £20

Murdoch’s piercing irises