The new books by Christopher Fettweis and Henry Nau are among the more engaging and, in their own ways, provocative works on American foreign policy that I have encountered in quite some time. And though it might not appear that they have much in common, their intellectual paths cross in interesting and perhaps unexpected ways, particularly on the question of what constitutes a “conservative” foreign policy.

Nau’s Conservative Internationalism is an effective mixture of intellectual/diplomatic history and policy advocacy revolving around what he sees as a distinct yet overlooked foreign policy tradition that does not fit easily into the common categories of nationalism, realism, and liberal internationalism. Using Ronald Reagan as its exemplar, Nau identifies a “conservative internationalist” tradition stretching back to Thomas Jefferson that is informed by American (i.e., liberal) values and idealism in its commitment to spread freedom and democracy in the world through a prudent combination of force and negotiation, a combination Nau characterizes as “armed diplomacy.” The use of American power to bend the arc of history, to borrow a contemporary cliché, toward liberty differentiates conservative internationalism from the amoral geopolitics of realism, while the reliance on force in diplomacy and suspicion of supranational institutions differentiates it from liberal internationalism. In identifying this conservative internationalist tradition, the author is quite successful, offering a fairly compelling case, particularly with respect to Reagan and Harry Truman, that there is a distinct tradition combining values, force, diplomacy, and nationalism in a manner not captured in the common trichotomy of foreign policy traditions (how well Thomas Jefferson and James Polk support Nau’s analysis is a matter I leave to others who actually know something about their foreign policies).

There is, however, an elephant in the room casting a very large shadow over Nau’s discussion of conservative internationalism—neoconservatism. The issue is that at first glance, Nau’s conservative internationalism sounds an awful lot like neoconservatism in its broad outlines. The goal of promoting freedom and democracy, the emphasis on military power, and a determination to preserve national sovereignty is an intellectual foundation that virtually defines contemporary neoconservatism. There is little here with which Charles Krauthammer, Robert Kagan, or William Kritstol would disagree. Neoconservatives also went to great lengths to portray themselves as the legitimate heirs of Ronald Reagan, whom Nau holds up as the quintessential conservative internationalist, which suggests some affinity between the two. So while the author complains that liberals and realists have sought “to conflate conservative internationalism with neoconservatism” (p. 34) in order to discredit it, he fails to mention that they are in good company: The neoconservatives have sought to equate the two as well. But Nau will have none of this. He is adamant that the conflaters are all wrong: Conservative internationalism is not synonymous with neoconservatism.

What are the differences? There seem to be two. The first relates to the willingness to use military force. Nau explains that for conservative internationalists, “the purpose of armed diplomacy . . . is not to defeat adversaries in some conventional military showdown, as some neoconservatives may envision” (p. 6). Instead, military power underpins a policy of pressure and diplomacy to defeat opponents without resorting to force, just as Reagan brought down the Soviet empire peacefully. The second major difference is the level of ambition in pursuing a democracy/freedom agenda. Conservative internationalism is “prudent in picking its targets to expand freedom. . . . [I]t perceives the incremental opportunities to push back primarily on the periphery or borders of existing free societies” because “the pursuit of freedom everywhere at once is not only unrealistic; it is radical, not conservative” (p. 54). So neoconservatives differ from conservative internationalists in their eagerness to use military force and lack of priorities in implementing a freedom agenda. Consequently, neoconservatives are actually radicals, whereas conservative internationalists are, well, conservatives.

Nau’s points are certainly well taken. Nonetheless, it is easy to see why many will be unimpressed by what can easily be dismissed as extremely subtle and minor differences far outweighed by the underlying similarities. These differences seem like fairly frail reeds on which to rest a distinction between a “conservative” and “radical” foreign policy. But even if Nau’s analysis is accepted, this raises another question: What exactly is neoconservatism? If it is not synonymous with conservative internationalism, does this imply that it is a tradition in its own right? If so, the number of traditions is likely to multiply well beyond the four proposed by Nau based on similarly fine nuances. If it is not a distinct tradition, where does it belong? There can be little doubt that it is a better fit with conservative internationalism than any of the alternatives. But such a categorization would undermine the effort to clearly disassociate conservative internationalism from neoconservatism (and, thus, the policy failures that taint it). My hunch is that Nau would have to concede that neoconservatism is a variant of conservative internationalism, a form of Reaganism, if one on steroids or some other drug. If so, one has to wonder whether it is really possible to sustain the sharp and clear distinction between one as “conservative” and the other as “radical.”

Fettweis, on the other hand, can hardly be accused of avoiding the neoconservative elephant. Indeed, it is Exhibit A in his indictment of American foreign policy, embodying every strategic “pathology,” albeit it in particularly virulent form, that has led the United States astray, most recently, of course, in Iraq. An essentially realist critique of American foreign policy couched in terms of a quasi social-psychological explanation, The Pathologies of Power tries to solve the puzzle of why Americans, or at least their foreign policy elites, are so unwilling to accept the good news that “the United States is the safest country in the history of the world” and act accordingly (p. 25). What accounts for the apparent determination to feel unsafe, to find grave, existential threats even if it requires magnifying the most trivial of challenges out of all proportion? Why does the safest great power in history behave as if it is in perpetual danger?

Fettweis finds the answer in a series of “pathologies” that have “worked together to bring about disaster after disaster in U.S. foreign policy” (p. 22). He defines a pathology as a belief resting on an “incorrect and irrational foundation” (p. 33) that results in harmful or counterproductive behavior (p. 19). As the book’s subtitle indicates, the author highlights four critical pathologies: a persistent exaggeration of threats (fear), obsessive concern with credibility (honor), relentless competitiveness (glory), and exaggerated confidence in the ability of the United States to change other nations (hubris). Although none of these pathologies is unique to the United States, Fettweis makes a very strong case that both individually and collectively they are unusually potent in the American strategic psyche. This inevitably leads to the question of why the United States is so exceptionally pathological.

The author makes a valiant attempt to specify the “pathogenesis,” or origins, of the misguided beliefs he blames for the U.S. foreign policy woes, considering the possible individual, societal, and international sources of each pathology. Understandably, he focuses on those aspects of American society, culture, and history that differentiate it from other states. The comparatively high level of U.S. religiosity, for example, is cited as one source of excessive fear because “it has helped to forge a Manichean world view . . . the belief that in most cases there is wrong and right, black and white, evil and good.” This, in turn, “encourages the belief that the world is full of enemies who need to be destroyed in the name of God” (pp. 64–65). As interesting and suggestive as most of this analysis is, it remains, by Fettweis’s own admission, highly speculative, plausible but by no means compelling. But whatever the source of U.S. foreign policy pathologies, the most important thing for Fettweis is that we recognize them for what they are—unfounded and irrational beliefs that have led to disaster in the recent past and will almost certainly do so again if they are not exposed and abandoned.

What might American foreign policy look like if purged of these pathologies? It would surely not resemble either the neoconservativism that Nau rejects or the conservative internationalism he endorses. Without a missionary hubris or significant threats to draw the United States outward, Fettweis recommends a “retrained grand strategy [that] would cut back on commitments and military spending, defining threats, interests and obligations far more narrowly and logically” (pp. 250–51). “Strategic restraint,” he argues, “is a logical and rational grand strategy for the strongest state in a world where threats to its basic security are not terribly dire.” This is the sort of minimalist realist vision that leads Fettweis to preempt the inevitable criticism and explain why he is not an isolationist.

This leaves us with two very different visions of American foreign policy. In comparing Fettweis’s minimalist policy of restraint to Nau’s conservative internationalism, one cannot help but be struck by the difference in strategic temperament. In Nau’s conservative internationalism, we have an ambitious project that shares with liberal internationalism a belief that the United States “has a mission to change the world by spreading freedom” (p. 11). The two versions of internationalism, liberal and conservative, differ primarily in their means, not ends. Nau goes so far as to talk about creating a “conservative nirvana” (p. 2), a particularly curious, if not oxymoronic, concept. He is certainly correct that conservative internationalism is “conservative” if the benchmark is the excess of Robert Kagan and William Kristol. Almost anything would look conservative set against that. It is, perhaps, only with respect to neoconservatism that such a vision could be considered conservative. Compared to the strategic restraint of Fettweis, however, conservative internationalism appears downright sweeping, expansive and, dare we say, radical in its aspirations. This is where we get to question what constitutes a genuinely conservative foreign policy. Although he certainly does not claim, and might even reject, the label, one has to wonder whether Fettweis is the real conservative in this pairing.