One of the most remarkable books to have been written in the last hundred years, in my view, is not a great work of fiction or political philosophy, but an autobiography.
At the end of the Second World War, a large portion of the world lay in social and physical ruin. It was the second time in less than 50 years. It was apparent to many people that to break this cycle, a bold vision was needed.
Richard Ebeling, an American Professor of Economics, wrote in 2020: “Unless something was done to calm the international scene, the cycle of nationalistic confrontation and conflict would raise its dangerous head all over again. More wars, more economic barriers against international collaboration and material betterment, more antagonisms among and between peoples due to the atavistic ideas of race, linguistic or cultural identity imposed through government coercion and command.”
It was in the aftermath of this period that Dean Acheson described his career as undersecretary and then the 51st Secretary of State (1949-53) for the United States in his Pulitzer Prize-winning book “Present at the Creation,” published in 1969.
During his tenure he witnessed, and in many cases played a prominent role in bringing into existence, an astonishing number of developments which created the relative stability for society, science and culture which many countries have enjoyed for nearly a century.
Before we brashly consign this international vision to history or erode its foundations, we should think hard and ask ourselves whether the alternatives will bring us a better world.
A family of democratic nations
Following the Second World War, in the space of just a few years, the United Nations was inaugurated, NATO emerged from a small band of allies into a coordinated alliance, and at Bretton Woods, the International Monetary Fund, the World Bank, and a host of other mechanisms intended to shore up international commercial arrangements bubbled forth.
These post-war leaders saw it not so much as their birthright, but their obligation, to construct a better world order.
An attempt to bring France and Germany together in steel and coal manufacturing under a single board, which, it was hoped, would prevent those two nations from ever going to war again, would eventually mutate into the European Economic Community and then the EU.
A much-overused word these days, “transformative,” was solidly applicable to these few years.
Despite the modern tendency to label some of these institutions as “globalist” and to accuse them of having all sorts of conspiratorial undertones, one must read Acheson’s account to understand that the motive was precisely to avoid centralized totalitarian-like institutions.
These were to be organizations designed to foster individual liberty, the free market, international trade, democratic deliberation, and a rules-based system of international order; to create a comity of nations cleansed of disastrous conflict and autocratic government.
Responsibility and possibility
Acheson’s generation had an enormous sense of responsibility. The frailty of freedom and the ease with which it could be destroyed and subjugated, leading to incalculable suffering and death, was fresh in the mind.
These post-war leaders saw it not so much as their birthright, but their obligation, to construct a better world order.
Above all, Acheson’s account is suffused with a recognition of the vast sacrifices that had been endured and that must be met with the appropriate courage and conviction to build new international alliances. The United States accepted this burden and grasped the historically important job that lay ahead.
With the world in disarray, it would have been understandable and forgiven if confusion and listless dizziness had defined the mood, but instead a rare opportunity existed to chart a different course, and he, and the democratic world, set upon this with gusto.
There is not a hint of imperialism in his writing or some scheming Western plan to dominate the world. The economic collapse of Europe and the dissolution of European empires in Asia offered a chance to encourage nations to take the road to a classical liberal conception of humanity in which the individual would achieve primacy over the state, and new, fruitful economies could be constructed.
Acheson knew that America should aspire to build a position as a thoughtful nation that respects its own place in the world.
Soaked in blood and the corpses of many millions, the last thing on the mind was concocting new political and economic leviathans to dominate the globe. People had had enough of this. There is an exceptional aspect, one might even say purity, in Acheson’s efforts and those of America at large, in attempting to fix the world of autocracy once and for all.
I wouldn’t be so naïve as to say that Americans could not see the benefit to their own country in taking this leadership role, but nonetheless, his ambitions were fundamentally beneficent and charged by the perception of a large and noble cause.
Living up to the legacy
Putting aside the worldwide situation that actuated these individuals, Acheson’s book leaves one in no doubt about their quality as individuals.
His writing has substance. This wasn’t one of those modern autobiographies that politicians pen because they feel a need to publish a book. He had something to write about. The true test of this fact is that even today, you can learn a tremendous amount about the world from his tract; it has wisdom.
The single most enduring impression is that Acheson was of a generation that respected the institutions of free states, which have taken centuries to create. They lay shattered after the Second World War, but regard for them and a desire to rebuild them remained.
That deep sense of duty to carry out this task and to see to it that other nations were enjoined to play a role in building a world community that would transcend its past errors has a quiet confidence and steely, but not hyperbolic, rhetoric.
The stakes were colossal; this was a consequential project. The sense of that weight on his and his peers’ shoulders is palpable, but it is mirrored by a wry and heartfelt humor in the bleakness of what had been experienced.
They were not humorless, but they had decorum, and they sensed their place in history.
It would be too easy to consign Acheson and others of his time to a different era, to ascribe his attitudes to a time long gone. However, the outlook is timeless. Acheson knew that America should aspire to build a position as a thoughtful nation that respects its own place in the world, acts with equanimity and purpose, and in turn, can be respected by others.
Today, we are not surrounded by the sheer scale of destruction caused by the Second World War, but we approach the possibility of it, and in Ukraine, it is real. The world requires people of Acheson’s seriousness, insight and perspicacity.
The year 2026, the beginning of the second quarter of the twenty-first century, is as good a time as any to commit to the spirit of those inspiring and worthy goals. It is our responsibility to revere, to defend, and to build on the optimism and institutions that were handed to us by those who were present at the creation.
Charles Cockell is Professor of Astrobiology at the University of Edinburgh.
The views expressed in this opinion article are the author’s and not necessarily those of Kyiv Post.