Interview with Edward Luttwak
Contents
Edward Luttwak is an American strategic thinker, author, and contractual advisor to the U.S. government and treaty allies.
Tolstoyevsky
Max Raskin: What's the first thing you read in the morning?
Edward Luttwak: Le Monde because that French newspaper continues be a real newspaper – not just an excuse for repetitive polemics, or even crude historical fabrications, like the New York Times. Later on, I get my physical copy of the Wall Street Journal which I read thoroughly. I glance at the Korea Herald, read the Japan Times front page, the Jerusalem Post (and Haaretz for laughs). And if there’s an important European story, I read the Süddeutsche Zeitung, a very serious newspaper. They're the ones who handled the gigantic Panama Papers data drop. The Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung is not as good as it used to be. And I glance at the Daily Telegraph.
MR: Is the Wall Street Journal all you read in hardcopy?
EL: I subscribe to the London Review of Books, which has some leftist polemics but many more serious reviews. It also has, by far, the world's best reportage on conflict areas. The people who write them are truly knowledgeable – not just affecting knowledge. And of course, they know the languages—as would be true of Le Monde also, but no American newspaper. The Times Literary Supplement I read from start to finish, to keep up with intellectual trends in fields I do not otherwise follow – its book reviews are rarely less than good, often much more than that. It’s not like the New York Review of Books, whose knowing style implies a highly cultured readership, but then the editors ensure that all the necessary facts are inserted, because it is not really meant for the really educated. And of course, it’s boringly polemical.
It was different in the past. I used to read the New York Times, and even the Washington Post contained some real information in the past. But now the information quotient is not worth my time.
MR: Do you read your books in hardcopy or on a device?
EL: I only read books and have never tried Kindle. I do look at stuff online which is taken from books quite a lot.
MR: Do you do marginalia?
EL: No. I never write in my books.
MR: How do you remember things you read in books? Mnemonics?
EL: The things I’m interested in, I remember, and I don't need any notes at all.
MR: What’s the last book you read cover-to-cover?
EL: Just a journalistic book by Belton on Pushkin's friends…I said Pushkin, I meant Putin’s friends! I have Pushkin on my mind because a friend recently gave me a new translation of his collected prose—marvelous stuff. He traveled down to the Caucasus in the 1820s accompanying the Russian army. When you read Pushkin’s prose, you realize that if he hadn’t died in a duel in 1837, then everybody would know the Russians as, above all, Europe’s greatest literary nation of the 19th century, with Pushkin at the beginning and Tolstoy at the end, Dostoevsky three quarters in, Turgenev in the first quarter, and Chekov and Gogol. Compared that to what English, French, Italian, or Spanish writers produced – readable yes, but not much more than that. It all happened because Pushkin recklessly fought a duel with a crack shot.
Folk alla Scala
MR: Do you listen to music when you read?
EL: Yes, but my taste in music is esoteric. Aside from Mozart, I only really like raw folk music, which is not performed by slick entertainers but by artists like Chava Alberstein or traditional village and itinerant performers.
For example, when I’m reviewing the press, I put on my folk stuff. Romanian gypsy music, Hebrew and Yiddish songs and all sorts of rustic choral music.
MR: Do you listen on Spotify?
EL: No, no, I don’t have Spotify.
MR: Is there a Romanian folk song or singer that comes to mind right now?
EL: The Taraf de Haïdouks – they are illiterate gypsy performers who play their instruments and sing in magic ways. I was once in Villa d’Este and ran into a bunch of clarinet players from La Scala and such. I asked them if they had ever heard of the gypsy clarinet player Ivo Papazov, who’s actually Bulgarian. They all laughed at me; they said that they have him over every year to learn how to really play the clarinet to the fullest.
MR: Is there a song of his that really resonates with you?
EL: There’s a particular video where he allows his downtrodden wife to sing briefly. She is one of those people who can actually use her lips as a musical instrument, and she hits every note on the note. He lets her sing briefly, then he shuts her up. He’s jealous. But I rarely stare at the screen – I put it on and continue reading my stuff.
Gymnopédia Britannica
MR: Do you think music is important to your thinking process?
EL: I really can't tell you. I don't know if it helps, hurts, or is neutral.
I have to confess that the place where I get my ideas is the gym. I go to the gym every day. I do heavy weights, and when I don't feel like doing anything serious, I go on the elliptical machines. I'm not totally sure, but I think I get my best, truly original ideas at the gym.
MR: Like Eric Hoffer at the dock.
Can you tell me about your exercise routine?
EL: Well, I go every day, and when I travel abroad – I travel a lot – I always pick my hotel according to the quality of its gym. This means, for example, that in Moscow I always tried to stay at the beaten down Olympic Hotel. It was really a third-rate, crummy place, but it had a very complete gym, and also a huge pool with the most beautiful girls in Moscow, that is, the most beautiful girls in the world, swimming up and down – not wearing burqas, either.
One of the things that the Soviet system did very well was gyms. In the capital of Kazakhstan, now renamed Nur-Sultan, which caused me to call it by its original name, Ek-mola – there is a big SAS Hotel, and next to it there is a place called World Class Gym – let me tell you, it is the world class gym! The best gym I know anywhere.
In Tokyo, hotels are better than anywhere else in each price range but that tend to be poor in gyms – so I stay at the Oakwood Premier because it has a whole gym floor.
MR: How do you find the good gyms – do you go online?
EL: Yeah – I try to. They all claim to have good gyms, and they all lie. And in some places it’s desperately difficult to find a decent gym. In Rome, for example, they are pathetic, except for the Cavalieri which is poorly sited on a hill – very impractical if you are in Rome to work.
MR: Do you think that there's some correlation between how serious a country's gyms are and their geopolitical something or other?
EL: Well, no – I can’t say that at all. I avoid making that type of analogy.
Edward Luddite
MR: Do you listen to music when you’re at the gym?
EL: Absolutely no. I do not have a smartphone. I have no devices. I don’t put anything in my ears.
MR: What kind of phone do you have?
EL: Here, I can show you my phone [shows flip phone] – it does calls very well. But on travel I use a much simpler Samsung – it does cost $10.
MR: Do you text message?
EL: No. I actually paid money to remove the GPS and there’s no texting and the camera is disabled
MR: How do you take pictures if you want to see something?
EL: I have a camera somewhere, but I never actually use it.
MR: Do you take a lot of pictures?
EL: I have actually done quite a lot of work which required pictures. One of the qualifications for my assistant is that she should have the ability to take photographs because sometimes I need to record things.
MR: People in my generation, when they see something they like, instead of looking at it, they take a picture of it.
EL: I'm afraid I don't do that. I don't own a smartphone. And I don't walk around with a camera. I'm not the photographer.
Grand[master]son
MR: How long are you at the gym for?
EL: If there aren't any problems, like waiting for machines, just an hour a day. But I go there by bicycle and come back by bicycle.
MR: Do you have a routine?
EL: I do a lot more with my hands than my legs. My legs are highly developed for whatever reason, so I do upper body – all the different available machines to do upper body.
MR: Do you do the same thing every day?
EL: No, I vary it. I move to whichever machine is free at that moment.
MR: How much can you bench press?
EL: I can’t tell you that because I don’t bench press. For the butterfly machine, I do 145 pounds. For the pull-down machine, I do 85 pounds. When I’m at the gym I usually have to increase the weight I find.
MR: Have you always worked out?
EL: Not when I’m engaged in strenuous physical activity. In addition to writing, I treasure opportunities to do security work, in the field. I dislike helicopters, so there can be a lot of walking involved.
MR: Do you go to the gun range to stay in shape there?
EL: I do, but I don't do it on a regular basis, and I do not do it enough.
MR: Did you ever do martial arts?
EL: No, but I've been amused by people trying to use them. I don’t think anyone who is serious ever uses them. They’re for unwatchable movies.
MR: What about chess?
EL: I play chess. I used to win every game when I played with my grandson till he turned seven. Now he’s nine and I don’t win one.
MR: Do you have a favorite opening?
EL: Yeah, the banal one, where you move the pawn ahead of the horse.
Snacking on Food
MR: Let me talk to you about food and drink – do you snack during the day?
EL: I eat all the time. Given all the exercise I do, I should be thin as a rake. I eat things like raw vegetables, but then I eat some bread. My wife doesn’t buy any manufactured foods – there are fruits, vegetables, canned tuna in water, and she often cooks – very well. I don’t eat what Americans call snacks. I snack, but I don’t eat snacks.
MR: What will you snack on?
EL: I might eat a big cucumber. I do eat nuts. Lots of hazelnuts, too many.
MR: What about drink – what kind of alcohol do you like?
EL: Very little wine, almost no beer. I switch between whiskey and vodka.
MR: What about religion – do you practice anything?
EL: Yeah. I like to recite all the Jewish blessings. Whenever there is an opportunity to do a nice vigorous kiddush [chants Kiddush].
MR: That’s amazing. Do you believe in God?
EL: No.
MR: Do you believe in an afterlife?
EL: Absolutely not. I agree with Catullus – una nox dormienda – just one night’s (longer) sleep.
MR: What about for your mind – do you meditate? Do you do yoga or anything like that?
EL: No, but I have showers. I like to take long showers. Other than the gym, the shower is my thinking shop.
MR: Do you sing in the shower?
EL: No, I just enjoy the water flow.
MR: Do you take hot or cold showers?
EL: Well I went to boarding school in England when I was 11, and we only had cold showers.
MR: So you take them now?
EL: Never at home, but in the Amazon where I developed a cattle ranch, the solar bags often failed.
Under the Sea
MR: Do you do anything else athletic?
EL: I’m a fanatical snorkeler but scuba only rarely. I prefer places where snorkeling is quite adequate – Polynesia, Seychelles, Maldives.
MR: Do you go on vacation?
EL: I go for those purposes and to explore exotic countries. I do not go to resorts – my wife is allergic to resorts, anyway. I often travel without her, but then I go where there is the best snorkeling and there never are real hotels in those places, let alone resorts.
MR: Where do you think the best snorkeling in the world is?
EL: I think it’s the Tuamotu Archipelago in French Polynesia – as it happens where Gauguin went, but not his particular atoll, Rangiroa. There are different atolls in the archipelago, and one has a very rude name. That is my favorite atoll.
MR: What’s it called?
EL: I’m not going to tell you, but it’s extremely rude.
I’m familiar with the around-the-world crowd – they go through the Panama Canal, the Marquesas Islands, and descend to Polynesia, Fiji, Tonga, the Great Barrier Reef, Bali, Phuket, the Red Sea, and the Med. I’ve been on some segments for work purposes, not holiday purposes. Some also reach a place which I have yet to visit, but I will before I’m dead – the Solomon Islands. People tell me that in the last of the Solomon Islands there are fantastic artificial reefs because the Japanese Navy is down there.
Long-Haul Hauls
MR: You have to be on planes a lot. What do you do when you’re on planes?
EL: I’m very well-equipped, because I have certain publications that I hoard for flights. They are extremely light and have a lot of text. That’s when I read my back copies of the London Review of Books and the Times Literary Supplement. When I know there’s a trip coming up, I stock them and read them on the flight.
MR: Do you always have a bag packed?
EL: Yes, I always have a bag packed.
MR: What do you wear on a plane? Do you try to be comfortable?
EL: Of course, absolutely.
MR: The reason I ask is because you see pictures of people from the 1950s and they are dressed up to go on a plane.
EL: Airplanes were once flown by the upper classes, and therefore when you took a flight you would meet your peers, your colleagues. My parents did, but I don't remember any of that. So yes, of course I wear comfortable clothes. I wear black gym shoes and soft clothes. And also because I very often end up being in two different climates on the same trip, I have tricks – thermal underwear and combinations of light things, which, when put together, are warm.
MR: What kind of shoes do you wear?
EL: There is a company called Dr. Comfort – exemplary. When they send you a pair of shoes, it comes ready-packed with a return label in case it does not fit perfectly. They’re extremely well-made, not expensive, and provide the answer for someone who really wants to walk.
Kurosawar
MR: Do you watch TV?
EL: I don't watch television as such, and never have (there is none in my house). But there are certain films that I enjoy watching very much – some I consider transcendental works.
MR: Like what?
EL: My idea of a perfect film is Kusturica’s When Father Was Away on Business. In the filmmaking world, people know that Emil Kusurica is the greatest filmmaker of our times, who was horribly abused by crooked businessmen. His Time of the Gypsies is also a very great work of art.
MR: Are there any other?
EL: Melville in France, Hollywood at its very best, think Casablanca, and at the opposite end the little known [Sergei] Parajanov – his Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors is simply unforgettable
Then there are people who are more familiar like Akira Kurosawa. Anybody who has actually been involved in war – in fighting, in using weapons – knows that Seven Samurai is a complete course on how to train fighters, raise their morale, and command them in war. When Seven Samurai came out, people quickly realized that it was a film that had to be watched three or four times in a row, and then every few years. And people did that, very commonly.
I have actually trained men to fight in war, and I have sat them down and made them watch Seven Samurai, and they complained a lot. Then a few of them wanted to see it again. Then after a while, all of them wanted to see it again. All of them learned a hell of a lot from that film. Leadership, cohesion, morale, when you should raid and when you shouldn't raid, when you should be on the defensive, when you should be on the offensive. Akira Kurosawa pretended that he was a pacifist and antiwar (in post-1945 Japan, war was unfashionable, to say the least). But in truth he loved war. I've used it in El Salvador – actually did the same thing – train villagers to defend themselves from any passing guerilla. Making the name of the village a terror to them all. They would no longer be attacked anymore.
Complex Napoleon
MR: Is there anyone throughout history whose personal habits you are interested in? If you could have had this conversation with anyone, who would it have been?
EL: Napoleon. Napoleon is the only non-writing historical figure whose mental capacity can be documented exactly because his entire correspondence is archived. He would administer his empire, organize his armies, and command his campaigns by sending letters to his different marshals, ministers, and officials – everything from where to march, to making sure that each cart had its little bottle of heavy oil to grease the wheels.
The way he did it – he had four junior officers at the corners of the tent, and he would go in front of each one, dictate a paragraph – maybe about legal reform in France – then he’d go to the next officer and dictate a paragraph about wagons and horses. Then to another to write to his brother, the king of Spain, to guide his hand in Spanish politics. Then he’d go back to the first officer and dictate the second paragraph of the legal letter, the second paragraph of the logistics letter, then the third. And for each he would also come up with some parting words – one to Murat was – l'audace, l'audace, toujours l'audace. And he dictated as many as a hundred letters in a night.
MR: What would you ask him?
EL: I want to ask him what was his secret with women. He was extremely successful at sleeping with beautiful ladies when he was emperor, but he had also been extremely successful when he was a penniless cadet from the most remote part of France – Corsica – which the French barely considered France at all. He was also the shortest in his class, and not the most handsome of men, but he bedded all the most beautiful women.
MR: What do you think his secret was?
EL: I think it was a derivative of his intelligence. People who claim to be intelligent, but don’t know how to seduce women – I have no respect for.
MR: I think some of our smartest presidents – just in terms of raw intellect – were philanderers.
EL: Well, it's not a question of being a philanderer. God himself provided men two comforts: sex, and then much later, drink. It turns out that wine was in production by roughly 7,000 BC – at least according to Armenian archeology. Distilled alcohol, which is much better than wine, only showed up in the 14th century, I think. It was God seeing the suffering of humanity. That’s what the Russians believe about vodka, and they are completely correct, of course.
MR: Do you go to bars?
EL: No. I don’t go to bars at all. Even when I travel, I don’t go to hotel bars.
MR: Why not?
EL: It’s like fishing in a fishpond. I don’t like the idea of fishing in the fishpond.
MR: When you were younger did you have a bar you would go to?
EL: Only when I lived in London, when I would rarely go to my local pub. Never had time to sit around. I always want to do something else.
MR: Do you have a difficult time sitting around?
EL: Yes – I don’t. To me, it’s intense suffering. If I’m not reading something or doing something else, this is really a form of torture for me. Sitting around is a form of torture.
MR: Did you ever do Shabbos when you were younger?
EL: Yeah, I've done Shabbos and still do at times. But that’s not sitting around. There have been times when I have gone to shul quite often, but never to sit and listen. There is one thing you can always do – pick up the Tanakh – the Torah. You will always find something very interesting. This notion that the Bible is inexhaustible has a lot of merit to it. It’s so full of surprising, unexpected, uncoordinated disharmonic stories and facts.