DECEMBER 23, 2025 – The regular reader knows by now that I’m a compulsive student of history. Just as some folks are obsessed with NFL football or college basketball (or as I used to be, with major league baseball), I’m zeroed in on “what happened and why” in previous chapters of civilization. What is the point of my interest? At base level, it’s to satisfy a curiosity that I developed at an early age. In the main, this curiosity was acquired from my dad, whom I admired. He was a serious—and seriously self-assured—student of history; the academic equivalent of a rabid sports fan. Just as it was understandable why the kid of a Yankees fan would mimic his father’s biases and prejudices against the Bosox, so it was only natural for me to adopt my dad’s biases and prejudices when it came to history, except . . . as a kid, I beheld them as self-evident truths. Only as I was exposed to alternative views and interpretations did I learn to see Dad’s approach to history as narrow and therefore superficial, at least according to my own biases and prejudices.
He was very much a hero-worshipper, starting with the “Founding Fathers,” who, according to Dad, were geniuses of unrivaled standing, except, perhaps, for grand stalwarts such as Pericles or Marcus Aurelius; likewise, Lincoln, Grant, Churchill, MacArthur, and . . . Chiang Kai-Shek.
By the time of the U.S. invasion of Iraq, I found myself at direct odds with much of Dad’s world view. I’ll never forget—and always regret—the knock-down, drag-out argument we had over OIF (“Operation Iraqi Freedom”). Dad was so furious with me over my strong opposition, his face turned beet red, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head as he shouted down my arguments. In the end, he unwittingly surrendered by yelling, “Well, we had to do something!” I wanted to say, “I rest my case,” but instead I bit my tongue.
Dad generally viewed things with a healthy dose of skepticism. Whether he faced an argument or someone’s construction project, no flaw escaped his notice. He was naturally uncomfortable joining a consensus. His eschewal of organized sports, it seemed, was emblematic of his independent thinking. Likewise, his lack of interest in joining any kind of civic, religious or fraternal organization, outside of his professional association, of which, ironically, he served as a very active president and was greatly admired by his colleagues, doubtless for his intellect and experience.
Yet, Dad was unquestioning in his embrace of anti-Communism and his opposition to anything that smacked of “socialism,” “big government” or “Democrat.” He was distinctly uncritical of ultra-conservative pundits and held rigidly hawkish views of history and the use of military force. When it came to liberals, he rejected their “programs” contemptuously. More than once I heard him say of Democrat constituencies, “These people who complain about things don’t know how good they have it.” After seeing firsthand people who didn’t “have it so good,” I learned to see his intolerance as an extension of his limited interaction with people who struggled and his impatience with imperfection—an indelible mark of his personality.
I’ve been thinking of Dad now that I’m amidst a deep scuba-like dive into the seas of modern Chinese history and more specifically, the Korean War. In keeping with my life view that “One thing leads to another,” (see yesterday’s post), the plunge into these topics necessarily requires a close examination of American politics from the early 1940s to the mid-1950s and beyond. Moreover, it’s impossible to examine that era without ripping the scab off the Vietnam War and even more critically . . . developing a more enlightened perspective on our current times.
As I dive among the coral reefs, into the underwater canyons, the schools of exotic fish, bizarre sea creatures seemingly of Jules Verne’s imagination, and the competition among predators and between predators and their prey, I wonder . . . if Dad were to observe all this, would he permit himself a more nuanced view of the sea at large? After all, despite his rigid opinions, in his daily endeavors—vocational and avocational—he was exceedingly logical and reasonable. Would the truths of the deep murky sea have altered his simple and often simplistic perceptions based largely on was at or above the surface—the wind, the waves, the tides, the light?
Would Dad have moderated his views and “either-or” thinking if he’d taken into full account George F. Kennan’s analysis of the Soviet Union in his famous article in Foreign Affairs (attributed to “Mr. X”); if he’d read Truman, David McCullough’s acclaimed biography of FDR’s successor and read Present at the Creation, the memoir of Dean Acheson, Truman’s Secretary State; if he’d examined in depth, the outspoken disdain that Generals Marshall and Stilwell had for Chiang Kai-Shek; if he’d been fully acquainted with General MacArthur’s reckless insubordination; or if he’d understood the post-war debate that raged between advocates of a security strategy centered on nuclear weapons and proponents of one based on conventional weapons but at a much higher cost?
And by extension, if people generally were to see more of what lies below the surface, would they eventually adopt a more nuanced, better informed view of historical influences? And how might that alter the course of history in its forward march?
This morning over breakfast and coffee, I found myself going so far down into domestic American politics in the post-war era, I needed to stage my return to the surface to avoid the bends. More on the highlights in a subsequent post, but by the time I was safely out of the depths, the impressions formed from my most recent dive were as profound as any I’d derived from previous “underwater expeditions.” I was left to ponder, “What I hadn’t fully appreciated about history and this complicated country and world of ours!” As I conclude this post, I’m left to wonder, “What would Dad think about all this?”
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
