Rather than disparaging France for not being more supportive of our foreign policy, Americans should adopt the seriousness of the French approach.

France is in some danger of joining Iran and Iraq on the list of countries Americans most love to hate. To judge from the unremittingly bitter remarks from talking heads and guest pens ever since the latest go-round with Saddam Hussein began, France is a major obstacle to success in the Iraqi crisis. We want to expand sanctions and, if Iraq fails to bend to our will, to use military power, while the French are not at all enthusiastic about additional sanctions, and they oppose military action against Iraq. The French attitude is explained by their notoriously cynical foreign policy, which, we are told, is based on greed: they want to get in on the oil deals in Iraq, just as they have done in Iran.

Our animus toward the presumed amorality of France goes back a long way; Mark Twain insisted that "France has neither winter nor summer nor morals--apart from these drawbacks it is a fine country."

It is certainly true that the French concept of national interest, and how best to pursue it, is quite different from ours. They do not feel obliged to constantly wrap their actions in moralistic justifications, nor to observe the Marquess of Queensbury rules in foreign policy. The French have learned from Machiavelli that the moral rules that govern normal human behavior can be very dangerous if adopted by leaders in high places. One's enemies are unlikely to abide by those rules, and so the unduly moral leader risks the worst of all fates: defeat, and domination by his enemies.

The rules of traditional morality do not apply to the national interest, which must be advanced at all costs. Not for nothing is such a policy best described by a French phrase: raison d'étât. Not for nothing was their late president François Mitterrand known as the Florentine, both for his ruthless destruction of his domestic political opponents and for his use of raison d'étât in international affairs.

No Interest in Half Measures

This does not mean, as it is widely taken to mean, that the French do not share our objectives or ideals. They do. It's just that they don't want to waste their time or money, and certainly not their lives, on empty gestures or on policies destined to fail.

Back in the mid-1980s, when the United States decided to bomb Libya, Washington's U.N. ambassador, Vernon Walters--who has more experience dealing with the French than any American since Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin--was sent to Paris to see if Mitterrand would agree to let our fighter-bombers fly over France en route to North Africa. This was not merely a matter of convenience; this route would save many hours for pilots involved in a dangerous mission, and it would reduce the number of times the planes had to refuel in midair.

The French response was clear and correct: If the bombing were part of a campaign to overthrow Muammar Qaddafi, then not only would they approve the overflights, but they would join with us in the campaign. The Foreign Legion, after all, was used to operating in the area, and had considerable military resources on hand. But if, as they sorrowfully suspected, we were simply going to "send a message" to Qaddafi, and then leave the area, well, perhaps it was better we take the long way around. After all, if there were going to be reprisals from the Libyans, they would be more likely to explode in France than in the United States.

At that time, many accused the French of cravenness. Nothing could be further from the truth. They have been second to none in the fight against international terrorism, and, unlike so many other modern countries, they do not shrink from the unpleasant but necessary actions required to defeat the terrorists.

The French have always been with us when the stakes were high. Decades ago, Vernon Walters was sent to Paris to brief President Charles de Gaulle on the presence of Soviet missiles in Cuba and to ask for French support in the crisis that had developed. Walters brought with him all manner of intelligence, including the latest photographs from spy planes, and he began his briefing by offering the intelligence to de Gaulle. The French leader waved him aside. "In such matters," he remarked, "the word of the president of the United States is all I need. Just tell me what you want France to do, and she will do it."

During the run-up to the Gulf War, Mitterrand was frenetically trying to negotiate a settlement with Saddam, in no small measure because he feared the Americans lacked the will to win. But even so, he made it clear to us that if diplomatic measures failed, his troops would be at our side, and they would fight from beginning to end. He was right on both counts: The French did fight, but we performed victory interruptus, stopping the fighting before our enemy had been destroyed, thereby violating another of Machiavelli's basic rules: If you strike at the king, be damn sure you kill him.

The Latest Iraqi Crisis

The French attitude in the current crisis is no doubt the same as it has been in the past. If we had a serious policy to remove Saddam's evil regime, they would be the first to join with us. In such matters the French are deadly serious, perhaps the last serious nation left in Europe. But they know what everybody with eyes and ears knows by now: The United States has no such policy. The Clinton administration briefly supported an effective opposition force in northern Iraq, but betrayed and abandoned it when Saddam sent his tanks against it in the summer of 1996.

If we end up bombing Iraq today, it will be Hollywood, not Normandy. It will not remove Saddam, but only make us feel good, at least for a while. Saddam will remain in power and his influence in the Middle East will grow, and along with it his capacity for revenge against those who have hurt him in the past. Why should a serious country support such a silly policy?

In short, the French are saying to us: If you're going to fight to win, we're with you, and even if we question your will, we'll stand by you if the stakes are important enough. But if you're just going to posture for the cameras on a matter that doesn't fundamentally threaten Western security, we'll try to advance our own interests as best we can. That's not cynical or immoral; it's good policy. We would do well to learn from the French instead of denouncing their presumed perfidy. They've got it right: more Machiavelli, less Cecil B. De Mille.

Michael Ledeen holds the Freedom Chair at AEI. His book Machiavelli on Modern Leadership will be published by St. Martin's Press.