For Disraeli, both a cynic and a romantic, foreign policy was about naked national interests or it was nothing; for Gladstone, the arch-moralist, foreign policy was a humanitarian crusade or it was nothing. Sound familiar? Today's foreign policy community is often divided along similar lines.
Both Disraeli's and Gladstone's friends and enemies fed on each other, with the most personal of attacks common fare. One faction hated the Turks, the other the Russians. Disraeli's frustration was legion, for he knew that the Bulgarian atrocities were providing an opportunity for the Russians to invade the Balkans under the guise of a humanitarian gesture, but in truth for a geopolitical motive -- which is exactly what the Russians did the following year, igniting a war with complex implications for the whole Near East.
The conclusion of the Russo-Turkish War, among other things, led to a Russian-dominated Greater Bulgaria, which Great Britain could not abide: thus the principal reason for Bismarck calling the Congress of Berlin. The results of the Congress were mixed, but still positive enough for Disraeli. By revising the borders and sovereignty of the erstwhile Greater Bulgaria along with some other concessions, he bought more breathing room for the Turks, whose empire would limp along for another 40 years until the end of the cataclysm of World War I.
But was propping up Turkey really necessary to safeguard India? And didn't the anti-Russian attitude that Bulgaria adopted within a decade in any case disprove Disraeli's analysis? These are the questions his biographer Blake asks. But there is a larger, more important question. The fact that Disraeli felt British foreign policy had to override the reality of the atrocities and continue with its pro-Turkish theme is understandable. The foreign policy of any great power is often tragic because interests of state periodically clash with interests of a higher, universal morality. But the fact that Disraeli was not bothered by it is less understandable. By apparently seeing the atrocities primarily as an inopportune nuisance, he did not see his resulting decisions as tragic at all. That was a personal failing. Because states, especially great powers, battle for influence in a geographic setting, foreign policy is amoral, official pronouncements made to the media notwithstanding. That will never change. But the finest statesmen are aware of their own moral failings, nevertheless. And it makes them better statesmen for it.
The tension herein between morality and amorality is explored in Princeton Professor Gary J. Bass' "Freedom Battle: The Origins of Humanitarian Intervention" (2008). Bass' argument is that humanitarianism has a long pedigree in modern history, and thus it is safe to say that the kinds of titanic philosophical battles fought between Disraeli and Gladstone will continue far into the future. The Middle East still has not found a satisfactory answer to the demise of the Ottoman Empire. And when humanitarian concerns contradict the legitimate interests of state, there are few easy answers. The Eastern Question remains with us still, a critical reference point for discussions of humanitarianism and geopolitics.
