What is Globalism?

 I have come to understand globalism as a worldview that places political action within an international framework rather than treating the nation-state as the primary or ultimate unit of political organization. At its core, globalism assumes that many of the problems confronting humanity are not adequately addressed within national boundaries and that broader international structures can provide greater utility than the traditional pluralism of sovereign nation-states.

This does not mean, however, that globalism is a single, unified ideology.

Like most political frameworks, it exists along a spectrum. Its principal variations can be understood, in broad terms, as having a left- and right-oriented dimension, with differences emerging particularly around economics, markets, equality, and the appropriate scope of governmental and institutional authority.

Right-oriented globalism tends to emphasize international trade, economic integration, and the universality of market mechanisms. Its underlying assumption is that markets can function across national boundaries and that the freer movement of goods, capital, and services can generate prosperity while reducing some of the economic ills associated with national protectionism and isolation.

The intellectual roots of this form of globalism can be traced to classical liberalism and the eighteenth-century development of ideas concerning free trade and international commerce. But the contemporary manifestation is considerably more complicated. What began as an argument for economic liberty and the reduction of barriers between nations has, in my view, increasingly become intertwined with large multinational corporations and forms of corporate capitalism that are considerably removed from the classical liberal tradition from which the ideas originally emerged.

Left-oriented globalism has a different emphasis. Its central concern is inequality—economic, social, and political—and it tends to regard populations as fundamentally interconnected rather than as discrete national communities. Its intellectual antecedents can be found in various forms of international socialism, including Trotskyist thought, although, as with right-oriented globalism, it would be a mistake to assume that everyone on the political left is necessarily a globalist.

The two traditions therefore begin from different premises. The right tends to emphasize the liberating potential of markets; the left emphasizes the need to reduce inequality and restructure social relationships.

At this point in history, I would argue that right-oriented globalism has retained a certain economic advantage, largely because many of the traditional economic models associated with the far left have failed to produce the outcomes their advocates anticipated. Yet the left has exercised considerable influence in the social and cultural sphere.

What has emerged from this interaction is what I would call modern globalism.

The older left-right distinction has not disappeared. Rather, the two strands have increasingly interacted, producing a kind of political synthesis. Modern globalism incorporates elements of both traditions, and the relative weight given to market economics, social equality, regulation, national sovereignty, and individual liberty helps determine where a particular political movement falls along the contemporary left-right spectrum.

Very few established political parties adhere to either extreme in its pure form. Most are hybrids.

The institutional expression of this broader globalist orientation can be seen in organizations and structures such as the United Nations, the World Economic Forum, and multinational trade and political blocs including the European Union, ASEAN, and Mercosur. These institutions differ enormously in their purposes, powers, and political structures, and I would not place them all into precisely the same ideological category. What they share, however, is an orientation toward international cooperation and institutional structures that operate across traditional national boundaries.

The empirical argument for globalism is relatively straightforward.

Many of the world's most serious problems do not respect borders.

Climate change, pandemics, international financial instability, migration, terrorism, environmental degradation, and international conflict can all produce consequences that extend beyond the jurisdiction of any individual nation. From this perspective, problems of global scale require mechanisms capable of operating at a comparable scale.

The nation-state can therefore be viewed by globalists as an important historical institution but also as a limitation—a political boundary imposed upon problems that frequently transcend those boundaries.

The disagreement begins when we ask what constitutes the "global problem" and what should be done about it.

Here, the left-right distinction becomes important.

A right-oriented globalist may see protectionism, restrictions on capital, or barriers to international commerce as the principal obstacles requiring international solutions. A left-oriented globalist may instead identify inequality, climate change, discrimination, or concentrations of economic power as the defining global problems.

The underlying international framework may be similar, but the diagnosis differs.

I am also skeptical of the way globalist initiatives can sometimes be advanced through the language of crisis.

A crisis creates urgency.

It changes the political calculation by making previously unacceptable forms of intervention appear necessary. The argument becomes that extraordinary circumstances require extraordinary coordination and that only institutions capable of operating beyond national boundaries can adequately respond.

The COVID-19 pandemic provided a particularly powerful example of this dynamic. Other issues—environmental degradation, international warfare, financial instability, restrictions on the movement of capital, and climate change—can similarly be framed as crises that require international solutions.

There is a legitimate argument here. Some crises really are global in their consequences, and international coordination can clearly be valuable.

My concern arises when the existence of a crisis becomes sufficient justification for a particular political response.

The danger is that crisis can become not merely a problem to be solved but an opportunity for institutional transformation. Once a population accepts the premise that the existing system is incapable of dealing with an emergency, the political space for rapid and fundamental change expands considerably.

In that sense, crisis can become equivalent to opportunity.

This helps explain, in my view, why globalism has accumulated considerable momentum. Modern communications technology makes international coordination easier than at any previous point in human history. Capital, information, ideas, and culture can move across borders at extraordinary speed. International institutions can therefore present themselves as natural extensions of the technological and economic evolution of modern society.

Globalism can consequently acquire the appearance of historical inevitability.

But history rarely moves in a straight line.

Globalist aspirations have encountered significant resistance from nationalism, localism, cultural pluralism, and competing conceptions of political sovereignty. People remain attached to their nations, communities, languages, traditions, and particular histories. The persistence of these attachments has meant that globalism has not simply advanced through persuasion or institutional development. It has also encountered genuine political opposition.

This is where I become particularly concerned about the role of identity politics.

Diversity, in its most constructive sense, should mean the coexistence of different perspectives, backgrounds, experiences, and ideas. A genuinely pluralistic society should become stronger when it accommodates a broad range of viewpoints.

But diversity can also become political.

When racial, ethnic, class, gender, or other identities become the principal organizing categories of political life, diversity can evolve into identity politics. The individual is then increasingly understood through membership in a collective category, and those categories can be mobilized politically against one another.

The result can be the construction of an "other."

The other becomes the perceived obstacle to the interests of one's own identity group.

Coalitions of identity groups can then be assembled around a shared political objective. From my perspective, one consequence is that traditional institutions and values can be portrayed as inherently reactionary simply because they emerged from an earlier social order.

This creates an interesting paradox.

A movement that speaks constantly about diversity can become intellectually intolerant of viewpoints that fall outside its preferred political framework.

That does not mean that every diversity initiative is inherently ideological or that every advocate of identity politics is attempting to weaken traditional institutions. The reality is considerably more complicated. Diversity can promote genuine inclusion and broaden social participation. But when identity becomes the dominant political lens, it can also undermine the individualism that historically occupied an important place within the classical liberal tradition.

Nor is this phenomenon confined to the political left.

Identity politics have increasingly influenced the corporate world as well. Large corporations have adopted diversity-oriented frameworks, language, and initiatives that extend beyond traditional questions of economics and commerce. In doing so, they have incorporated elements of the social philosophy associated with the contemporary left into institutions that are otherwise strongly aligned with global capitalism.

This has created an unusual synthesis.

The economic interests of global capitalism can coexist with social and cultural ideas traditionally associated with the political left.

That convergence is, perhaps, one of the defining characteristics of modern globalism.

I suspect this influence will continue to grow. Right-oriented globalists have, in many cases, either internalized the language of diversity or declined to develop a sufficiently persuasive intellectual response to it. In doing so, some have inadvertently abandoned important elements of the classical liberal tradition.

Classical liberalism was never simply an economic doctrine.

It contained a broader conception of individual liberty, intellectual freedom, open debate, universal principles, and the protection of the individual from excessive collective power.

If those principles are reduced to little more than free markets and international trade, then something important has been lost.

This is ultimately where my concern about globalism lies.

I do not reject international cooperation. Nor do I believe that national borders should prevent nations from working together to address genuinely international problems. The modern world is too interconnected for isolation to be a realistic philosophy.

My concern is with the assumption that internationalization is inherently synonymous with progress, or that the nation-state is merely an obsolete barrier standing in the way of historical development.

National communities provide more than economic organization. They provide culture, memory, language, identity, institutional continuity, and a sense of political belonging. They can certainly become destructive when nationalism turns into chauvinism or exclusion. But eliminating national identity does not necessarily produce a more harmonious world.

The challenge, as I see it, is therefore not to choose simplistically between globalism and nationalism.

It is to determine where authority should reside, what problems genuinely require international solutions, what responsibilities belong to national and local institutions, and how individual liberty can be preserved within an increasingly interconnected world.

Globalism is powerful precisely because it addresses something real: the world has become deeply interconnected.

But interconnectedness does not automatically require uniformity.

International cooperation does not necessarily require the abandonment of national identity.

And solving global problems does not require us to abandon the principles of individual liberty, pluralism, and intellectual diversity that made the modern liberal tradition possible in the first place.

The future, in my view, will depend upon whether we can reconcile these competing forces rather than allowing one to completely subsume the others.

The world is becoming more interconnected.

The question is whether we can become more interconnected without becoming less free.

What Science can and cannot tell us?

One of the greatest misconceptions about science is that it definitively proves things.

It does not. This may seem like a surprising statement, particularly because science is often portrayed as the ultimate arbiter of truth. But science is fundamentally an inductive enterprise rather than a deductive one. It does not generally begin with premises from which immutable conclusions can be derived. Instead, it observes the world, gathers evidence, identifies patterns, develops explanations, and continually tests those explanations against what nature reveals.

What science provides, therefore, are increasingly powerful models of reality.

A scientific model becomes more credible as it successfully explains observations and survives attempts to disprove it. Its strength comes not from someone declaring it to be true, but from the accumulated weight of empirical evidence supporting it. Ultimately, it is the evidence that matters.

This distinction is important because scientific knowledge is sometimes presented as though it were a collection of permanent facts etched into stone. In reality, science is much more dynamic. Our understanding changes as new evidence emerges. A theory that once seemed comprehensive can be modified, refined, or ultimately replaced when observations reveal its limitations.

That is not a weakness of science. It is one of its greatest strengths.

Science has built into itself a mechanism for correcting its own mistakes.

The distinction becomes particularly interesting in theoretical physics, where our mathematical imagination can sometimes move considerably faster than our experimental capabilities. Physicists routinely explore ideas that cannot yet be directly tested because the technology required to perform the relevant experiments does not yet exist.

In such circumstances, theoretical physics necessarily runs ahead of empirical confirmation.

This does not mean that speculation is absent from science. Quite the opposite. Science depends upon informed speculation. Scientists construct hypotheses, explore mathematical possibilities, and develop models based upon what they already know. The speculation, however, is not supposed to be arbitrary. It is constrained by mathematics, logic, existing observations, and the requirement that the resulting framework make meaningful predictions about reality.

This is one of the reasons mathematical sophistication can confer considerable status upon a theoretical framework even before its empirical consequences have been demonstrated.

String theory provides an interesting example. It represents an extraordinarily ambitious attempt to construct a deeper mathematical description of fundamental reality. Its mathematical development has generated substantial intellectual interest and has produced important insights across theoretical physics and mathematics. Yet the central difficulty remains empirical: direct experimental confirmation has proved extraordinarily challenging.

That distinction matters.

A mathematically elegant theory is not automatically a scientifically established theory.

Elegance can inspire scientists. Mathematical consistency can make an idea worth pursuing. Its ability to connect previously disparate phenomena can make it intellectually compelling. But ultimately, science demands contact with nature.

A scientific proposition must, at least in principle, expose itself to the possibility of being wrong. This is the importance of falsifiability. If a theory is constructed in such a way that no conceivable observation could ever count against it, then it begins to move outside the conventional boundaries of empirical science.

This is where science differs fundamentally from many other intellectual endeavors.

Science does not promise certainty. It promises a disciplined method for reducing uncertainty.

A model may survive one experiment, then another, and another. It may successfully predict phenomena that had never previously been observed. Its explanatory power may become so overwhelming that we regard it as one of the best descriptions of reality available to us. Yet even then, science retains the possibility that some future observation will reveal a deeper or more comprehensive framework.

When that happens, science does not regard the discarded model as a personal failure on the part of the scientists who developed it. The model served its purpose. It brought us closer to understanding.

Newtonian mechanics provides a classic illustration. For centuries, Newton's framework provided an extraordinarily successful description of physical reality. It did not suddenly become "wrong" when Einstein developed relativity. Rather, we discovered that Newtonian mechanics occupies a particular domain of applicability. Under ordinary conditions, it remains extraordinarily useful. Relativity extends our understanding into regimes where Newtonian mechanics is insufficient.

This is how scientific knowledge often progresses—not by simply replacing falsehood with truth, but by developing increasingly comprehensive models that reveal the limitations of those that came before.

The same principle applies to theoretical ideas that have not yet achieved empirical confirmation. Their proponents may receive considerable recognition because the mathematics is compelling, the conceptual framework is powerful, or the potential implications are profound. But acclaim is not evidence.

Ultimately, nature gets the final vote.

A beautiful equation cannot compel the universe to behave according to our expectations. A respected physicist cannot transform an elegant conjecture into an empirical fact merely through intellectual authority. And a theory does not become true because it is aesthetically pleasing.

It must survive contact with reality.

That is perhaps the most important lesson of science: we do not get to decide what is true. Nature does.

Our role is to construct the best models we can, test them as rigorously as possible, remain willing to abandon them when the evidence demands it, and accept that the boundary between what we know and what we merely suspect is itself an important part of scientific knowledge.

Science, at its best, is therefore not a declaration of certainty.

It is an organized form of humility.

On OCD

I think I can safely say that I have been dogged by OCD for all of my life. Its exact time of birth remains uncertain, but my earliest memory of an OCD-related event most likely occurred when I was around five years old.

As a young child, I valued neatness. My room had to be organized according to a definite pattern that conveyed a sense of purpose: smaller books beside larger books, toys arranged with decorum, order prevailing over chaos, structure dominating randomness. Symmetry over imbalance. Things had to be a certain way, or else I was haunted by the dread of imperfection.

Once, I was forced to leave the house in a hurry, and my mom helped me pack up my toys. Unfortunately, she failed to return all of them to their proper places. I was haunted by the disruption to the natural order that such recklessness seemed to represent. For hours afterward, I ruminated on the consequences of such folly, wondering with desperation about the severity of the misdeed.

This was one of many such incidents that would linger in my mind, particularly when circumstances prevented me from physically correcting the error. Such was the perilous equilibrium upon which the world's fortune seemed to hang.

Later, my obsessions spread to cleanliness. Germs were everywhere, and I loathed the notion that I might become infected. Touching anything that appeared even remotely unclean became a harbinger of disease, and I constantly needed reassurance from my parents—my mom more than my dad—that I had not fallen under the influence of some diabolical pox.

I never did. Clearly, my immune system was tougher than I gave it credit for. At the time, however, this rarely mattered. For all intents and purposes, I was the equivalent of a "dead boy walking."

As I matured, my fear of the unclean was compounded by a need to wash and purify. I subjected my hands to endless episodes of vigorous scrubbing that invariably left them chafed and reddened. This was my remedy for coping with the infection that, at its most diabolical, seemed terrifyingly real.

Thankfully, my mom could see through what I was doing and coaxed me to stop through a well-judged mixture of gentle reprimand and necessary empathy. My OCD would subside briefly, choked back but waiting behind the door to pounce should the next opportunity present itself.

In a sense, OCD is a cunning beast. It seeks out the lowest level of your mental being and then strikes with brazen cruelty. Any doubt it can latch onto becomes fair game. Once an intrusive thought worms its way into your head and escapes that initial check, it remains there, clawing at whatever contentment you possess and magnifying its presence with every passing moment. It can consume you, and it will, because it is extraordinarily resilient.

The only respite, at least in those early days, was rest: a clearing of the mind and a retreat to some cerebral space that OCD could not penetrate. There was an urgent need to refocus, and I gradually learned how to do this while eagerly waiting for the return of some facsimile of peace of mind—a peace that, in the moment, could seem impossibly remote.

Who was Tamerlane?

 Tamerlane was born in 1336. His real name was Timur, although he became widely known in the West as Tamerlane, a name derived from Timur Leng, or “Timur the Lame.” He was not a Mongol, as is popularly believed, but a Turkic Muslim who rose to power in Central Asia and built one of the most formidable empires of the late medieval world. Before his death in 1405, his campaigns had carried his armies across a vast stretch of Asia, from Persia and India to the territories of the Golden Horde and the Ottoman Empire.

Although Tamerlane was not a Mongol, he deliberately borrowed many of the military methods associated with Genghis Khan. His armies were renowned for their discipline, mobility, deception, and, above all, their brutality. Terror was an important weapon in Tamerlane’s campaigns. Cities that resisted him could face mass executions and destruction, while those that surrendered might be spared if they accepted his authority.

Tamerlane’s power base emerged from the Chagatai Khanate, one of the successor states that had developed from the old Mongol Empire. After consolidating his authority in Central Asia, he embarked on a series of extraordinary conquests. By 1387, his forces had driven Persian opponents as far west as the Euphrates, establishing Tamerlane as one of the dominant powers of the region.

One of his most persistent rivals was Toktamish, the powerful ruler of the Golden Horde. The two men clashed repeatedly between 1382 and 1395. Their rivalry culminated in a series of devastating campaigns. At the Battle of the Kondurcha River in 1391, Toktamish came close to defeating Tamerlane, but Tamerlane's reserves helped turn the battle in his favor. Four years later, in 1395, Tamerlane delivered the decisive blow at the Battle of the Terek River. Toktamish was defeated, and his power was effectively broken, removing one of Tamerlane’s most dangerous rivals in the steppe regions.

Tamerlane’s ambitions extended far beyond Central Asia and Persia. In 1398, he invaded northern India and attacked Delhi. His forces captured and devastated the city, carrying away enormous quantities of wealth. Lahore was also laid waste during his campaigns. Much of the wealth seized from his conquests was subsequently used to transform Samarkand into a magnificent imperial capital, filled with monumental architecture and monuments celebrating Tamerlane’s victories.

His armies also pushed into Eastern Europe. In 1399, Tamerlane’s forces defeated the Lithuanian army commanded by Grand Duke Vytautas at the Battle of the Vorskla River. His campaigns reached into territories associated with Poland, demonstrating just how far the influence of his armies had spread. During his northern campaigns, Tamerlane also came within striking distance of Moscow. Rather than continuing toward the city, however, his forces turned back after capturing Yelets and redirected their attention toward Persia.

Tamerlane’s conquests were accompanied by extreme violence. He was a committed Muslim ruler, but his treatment of non-Muslim populations—and even of Muslim opponents who resisted him—was often ruthless. Entire populations could be massacred when cities resisted his armies. The pyramids of skulls reportedly left behind after some of his victories became a terrifying symbol of his methods.

Perhaps Tamerlane’s most famous victory came in 1402 at the Battle of Ankara, sometimes called the Battle of Angora. There he confronted the forces of the Ottoman sultan Bayezid I, one of the most powerful rulers in the Islamic world. Tamerlane defeated and captured Bayezid, dealing a severe blow to the Ottoman Empire and temporarily halting its expansion.

Even after conquering enormous territories, Tamerlane’s ambitions remained vast. He planned an invasion of China, intending to expand his empire even farther east. But the campaign never took place. In 1405, while preparing for his expedition, Tamerlane died.

His empire did not survive intact for long after his death, but his legacy endured. His descendants continued to rule important parts of Central and South Asia. Among them was his famous grandson Babur, who would eventually found the Mughal Empire in India. In that sense, Tamerlane’s influence continued long after his own conquests had ended.

Tamerlane remains one of medieval history’s most extraordinary and controversial figures: a brilliant military commander, a ruthless conqueror, and the architect of a vast empire that stretched across much of Asia. His career combined the military traditions of the Central Asian steppe with the political and cultural world of the Islamic Middle East, leaving behind a legacy that was as magnificent as it was brutal.

What would you consider to be some of the greatest developments in the history of technology?

Technology has, in a sense, come to define and time-stamp various periods in history. In the ancient world, metal smelting and alloy formation gave rise to the Bronze Age. However, it was the development and widespread use of iron that truly advanced toolmaking and, of course, weapons technology. The development of writing and the wheel in Mesopotamia extended the reach of communication and transportation. Improved irrigation techniques should also not be understated, as they were vital to the expansion and sustainability of the Agricultural Revolution. From a construction perspective, much was owed to our understanding of simple machines, especially the lever and the gear, which provided critical mechanical efficiencies.

Astronomical tools developed in both the Middle East and the Far East improved our understanding of the calendar, which in turn allowed agricultural societies to better anticipate seasonal changes and maximize crop yields.

Papyrus, as a medium for writing, was enormously beneficial to scribes, but the truly great breakthrough came with the development and refinement of papermaking in China and its eventual spread throughout surrounding regions. The Chinese would also contribute enormously to the technological advancement of our species through their invention of the compass and the development of gunpowder, which was initially used extensively for fireworks and other forms of entertainment.

The Egyptians were masters of construction, but this should not diminish the achievements of the remarkably sophisticated cities built by the Indus Valley civilizations, as well as those that developed along the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers in China. Earlier Mesoamerican civilizations also proved highly adept at pyramid construction, urban planning, and water management. Their achievements were particularly noteworthy in the areas of water distribution, drainage, and sewage management. The Greeks, Phoenicians, and Chinese, meanwhile, proved to be excellent traders and shipbuilders, laying important foundations for the spread of maritime technology and commercial networks throughout Europe and Asia.

It was in the ancient world that many of the foundations of technology were laid, and it was through travel and trade routes such as the Silk Road that these innovations were shared across vast distances. The Islamic Golden Age, together with the earlier technological and intellectual achievements of China, particularly during the Tang dynasty, helped sustain this remarkable flow of knowledge across Eurasia. However, it was the European Renaissance and the innovation it stimulated that helped set the stage for the extraordinary technological expansion of the last four centuries.

This transformation was reinforced by the development of the scientific method in its modern form. Mechanics, astronomy, the Earth sciences, chemistry, and human biology would all experience significant advances. In the 19th century, this progress was exemplified by the development of the battery, electric motor, generator, and transformer. These technologies allowed electrical energy to be converted into and between other forms of energy, dramatically increasing the efficiency and flexibility of machinery and manufacturing. They also gave the world the telegraph, telephone, and, eventually, radio.

The laws of thermodynamics became better understood, contributing to the development of the internal combustion engine and the diesel engine. A stronger understanding of fluid mechanics and aerodynamics advanced aviation and ultimately made heavier-than-air flight possible. Working in synergy, these advances—many of them rooted in physics—laid the groundwork for the numerous machines and appliances that have transformed everyday life and improved the quality of life in the modern world.

Yet it was not physics alone that drove these breakthroughs. Chemical and biological research formed the basis for what might be called the “Three As”—anaesthetics, antibiotics, and antiseptics—which have made modern medicine vastly more successful than many of the treatments available in previous centuries. Advances in other interdisciplinary fields also gave us plastics, synthetic materials, and increasingly sophisticated composite materials.

In the post-World War II era, electronics came to dominate the technological landscape. Transistors, logic gates, and integrated circuits made the computer revolution possible, which subsequently evolved into the Information Age and, more recently, the Artificial Intelligence Revolution. Each of these developments has transformed society. Some would argue that the transformation has been overwhelmingly positive; others remain far more skeptical about its consequences.

Whatever one's perspective, our world in the early 21st century has come an extraordinarily long way from the extended timeframe of the hunter-gatherer period. Where will technology take us in the future? Nobody fully knows. The frontiers of space certainly beckon.

Technology has offered humanity enormous hope, but we remain victims of our own frailties and circumstances as an imperfect species. We can splinter in different directions, pursue competing objectives, and make decisions that are difficult to reverse. In this sense, the course of history is not nearly as predictable as some would have us believe.

Perhaps that is the greatest lesson of all. Technology may determine what we can do, but history will ultimately be shaped by what we choose to do with it.

How did the Jews founding mythology play out over time?

 The Jews have never been a large people in number but they have played an outsize role in World History through their influence on Christianity, Islam and the moral framework of Western Civilization. . It is certainly on the mark to argue that Jewish history has been cursed with a litany of horrors and it is correct to note that Judaism with a history over three thousand years ultimately survived these horrors. Jewish history like that of any civilization has an origin rooted in mythology that I will outline.

 Its foundation story traces back to the Mesopotamian figure Abraham who was seen as the father of an ethical monotheism that contrasted with polytheism of the time. It was through Abrahamic lineage that followed through his descendants Isaac and Jacob that the Hebrew nation would emerge, developing in exile and then transforming into a people upon the Exodus from Egypt. 

Driven by the divine law granted to the people at Mount Sinai - with the inspired contribution of the greatest of all  prophets Moses -  the Hebrews gradually took over the promised land. It was Moses’ successor Joshua who led the war campaign as the 12 tribes - all claiming descent from  Abraham - conquered the land of Canaan that roughly comprised the territory between the Jordan River  in the East and the Mediterranean Sea in the West. Dates differ as to the time of the events that the mythology rests upon but the common wisdom is that they fall within the last half of the 2nd millennium BCE.

Although they adhered to the early codified law received at Sinai the tribes were not united and frequently clashed with one another. In addition there was external pressure from the various surrounding nations viz. The Philistines (or sea people), the Midanites, Amalekites and others. At the time heroic Judge figures arose to fight off the enemy. Samson, Deborah and Gideon are three of many who stood firm against the outsider enemies.  Prophets such as Samuel provided the moral authority and he would honor the later request by the people to anoint a monarch for a United Kingdom.

Saul from the tribe of Benjamin was selected but despite his  earlier success fighting the Canaanite foe he struggled against his own demons of depression and jealousy that led ultimately to his demise in the battle of Gilboa against the Philistines. His chosen successor was his former rival David, whose bravery versus the Sea People- in particular the slaying of the Philistine giant Goliath - had afforded him legendary status. It was David who finally put to an end the Philistine menace. He also expanded the United Kingdom of tribes building on from Saul’s gains by capturing  the city of Jerusalem from its Jebusite holders. This would serve to be his future capital with a perfect location in the heart of the land of the tribe of Judah from which the Jewish people gain their name.

Although he was a spiritual man and a very accomplished musician - legend has it that he wrote the book of Psalms -David’s reign was also marred by turbulence. He struggled with his own lustful urges  and showed misplaced  favoritism in  specific offspring. A rebellion by his son Absalom proved to be a traumatic event in his reign but ultimately and despite much repentance he was not deemed worthy by G-d of building the First Temple. His blood soaked reign disqualified him from such an honour even if he is regarded as arguably the greatest of all the Hebrew monarchs.

David’s successor Solomon built up his father’s kingdom to reach its zenith. He was a master of negotiations establishing numerous trade alliances as Israelites emerged as a dominant player in the region.  Legend has it that he formed a  strong relationship with the African Queen of Sheba .It was Solomon who built the elaborate First Temple in Jerusalem to house the Ark of the Covenant. He spared no expense in bringing in world class craftsmen and using some of the finest timber from Phoenicia (the famed cedars).

As a philosopher king Sololomon was known for his wisdom and there are indeed several books in the Jewish Tanakh (and Christian Old Testament)  that attribute legendary authorship to him.  But he also introduced ideas into his kingdom that were foreign to the Israelites. Many of these were the belief systems that his wives - of which he had many- brought to the Kingdom  from their exotic homelands. Like David much of the Solomonic stories are intertwined in the nebulous area where fact meets fiction but he does like his father come across as a larger than life character.

However after Solomon the situation in the Unified Kingdom deteriorated. Reheboam his  son and heir was a tactless and poor ruler. He ran into conflict with the  Northern tribes who would subsequently  break away under the leadership of Jeroboam to  form the Kingdom of Israel in 930 BCE. Excessive taxation was the prime driver for such a division although the accommodation of idolatry played an important role as well. The remaining tribes - Judah and Benjamin would form the kingdom of Judea with Jerusalem as their capital. The historical trajectories of a now divided kingdom would show different paths of development.

Israel for one was strongly influenced by the cult of Baal as described in the Elijah narrative. Judah adhered more strongly to the principles inherent in the Sinai revelation. 

It  would continue to be governed largely by rulers from the House of David (although some have disputed this). The Kingdom of Israel existed from 930 -772 BCE and was finally destroyed by the Assyrians (leading to the mythology of the Ten Lost tribes) in 722/721 BCE. Judea survived until the Babylonian exile of 587/586 BCE that followed the destruction of the First Temple. Today’s Jews are believed to be the descendents of the Ancient Kingdom of Judea.

In 538 BCE the Persian king Cyrus the Great allowed some Jews to return from exile in Babylon. Influenced by such figures as Ezra and Nehemiah they would go on to build the Second Temple in Jerusalem.

Was the American Civil War worth it?

This topic continues to be a source of debate even in the modern era for it is difficult to place a metric onto the cost of human life. More Americans in fact died during the Civil War than all other conflicts that the nation has been involved in aggregated together (The Department of Defense claims that 1.1 million Americans have died in wars from the Revolutionary War to the conflicts of 2026 inconclusive).

The victims were not only the dead but their families. Lives were shattered and entire infrastructures and economies were destroyed. Sherman’s march to Savannah wrecked much of the South for decades to follow, rendering the challenge of the Reconstruction that followed to be a task of significant magnitude.  In fact one could easily make the case that the South spent the next century in recovery mode. While Slavery did end and the full benefits of the Constitution could be enjoyed by a greater swath of the population the necessary changes did not happen immediately. 

Southern States resisted integration and the backlash against the freed Black population was seen in the rise of the Ku Klux Klan and on a much more extensive level the Jim Crow Laws that followed. It would take until the Civil Rights era - almost a century later - for these vestiges of discrimination to be swept aside by both Legislative and Judicial action.

Yet the war did save the Union as Lincoln intended. He of course wouldn’t live long enough to see the outcomes of the immediate transition as he was assassinated by the Confederate sympathizer, John Wilkes Booth, in 1864 but there is no doubt that if the Union had lost the United States would have undergone a binational fission setting up a scenario of differential north and south development. This in all likelihood would have limited the American influence globally with dangerous consequences if we extrapolate to the World Wars of the 20th century. A weakened United States offering a truncated stance for liberal democracy would undoubtedly play into the hands of the totalitarian ideologies of Fascism and Communism - both of which based on the death numbers alone took a tremendous toll on humanity several decades after Lincon’s death.

Some have made the point that the war was unnecessary in that Slavery,  being the flawed moral and economic system that it was, would have died a natural death in the United States as it held elsewhere. Given enough time slavery would have disappeared into detritus of history as it did in the British Empire. Perhaps this is true but time is a cruel demon and history offers little guarantees. Millions suffered as a result of slavery and the US could not saunter along as the divided nation it was through a likelihood of one ‘Bleeding Kansas’ after another as populations moved into expanding territories. These prolonged conflicts were just not worth it. The Civil War destroyed slavery, it came at a high price but the United States is better for it.