Tariffs as the New Art of War

The scene is not a battlefield but a cabinet retreat in Banff, and yet I recognize the smell of war. The United States has barred certain Canadian dairy products, motorcycles and most alcoholic drinks; Canada has already answered with tariffs on $27.6 billion of American goods. One prince calls the latest American move “relatively modest,” and speaks of security, sovereignty and a mutually beneficial deal. Do not be distracted by the politeness of the words or the cleanliness of the clothes. These are maneuvers between powers testing strength, probing each other’s nerves, and seeking to alter the balance without firing a shot. It is war by other means, but it is still war, and must be judged by the same measures.

In my time, war required soldiers, fortresses, and gold; now one sees that customs officials and tariff schedules serve as the new artillery. When I wrote in *The Prince*, in the translation of W. K. Marriott, that a ruler must have “arms of his own” and not rely on mercenaries and auxiliaries, I meant that the instruments of force must be under his direct command and aligned with his interest. Here, tariffs and import bans are very much arms of their own. No foreign captain can suddenly change sides; no hired condottiere can decide to plunder his employer. A modern prince who can move whole markets with a decree, and back that decree with an apparatus that actually collects the duties, possesses a form of disciplined infantry.

The American tariffs are described as modest compared with past measures. This tells me something important: the prince is not striking wildly but testing. In such contests, a reckless blow that seems strong at first can in fact yield the initiative, just as a general who advances too far without supplies gives victory to the enemy’s patience. A “relatively modest” escalation, followed by the threat of more, may serve as reconnaissance in force—measuring the other side’s unity, their domestic appetite for sacrifice, and the resilience of their industries. If this is the intention, then there is some virtù here: the courage to use force, but the prudence to keep reserves. Force that escalates by design, not by temper, is force that can still be directed.

Canada’s answer shows a similar understanding. Tariffs on $27.6 billion of goods are no trifle; this is not a symbolic protest but a shot meant to be felt in specific American interests. Yet the prime minister speaks in the language of readiness to negotiate, of building at home and diversifying abroad, of focusing on what can be controlled. This is not inconsistency; it is the double face a free state must show when dealing with a stronger neighbor. Outwardly, firmness and the insistence on sovereignty; inwardly, a hard look at domestic weakness and the search for new markets. When I argued in the *Discourses on Livy*, in Ninian Hill Thomson’s translation, that Rome’s tumults between people and Senate produced its liberty, I meant that conflict, properly channeled, renews a republic. Here the conflict is external, but the logic is the same: use the pressure from abroad to stir industry and reform at home.

Observe also how carefully both parties speak about appearances. The American side chooses which Canadian goods to ban, and when, in a way that sends a message of strength to its own people: we are willing to bear discomfort to defend our producers. The Canadian leader insists there is a “mutually beneficial deal possible” that respects sovereignty, which tells his citizens: we do not bend, but we do not sulk. Most men judge by the eyes rather than the hands; they see images of firmness, hear words about security, and feel reassured. Reputation in such matters is like a city’s walls. Once the belief spreads that a prince can be pushed without consequence, every neighbor becomes bold. The ceremony of toughness, if steadily maintained, often spares a state the necessity of proving it.

What I find most instructive is the use of these economic arms as a substitute for more dangerous forms of conflict. In my youth, a quarrel of this intensity between powers might have produced raids, blockades, mutinies among mercenaries. Here, the struggle proceeds through laws, countersanctions, and cabinet retreats. This is not softness. It is an institutionalization of enmity that, for now, keeps it within predictable channels. As I compared fortune to a flooding river in *The Prince*, I said she does most damage where princes have built no dykes or barriers. These tariff regimes, dispute panels, and set-piece announcements are a kind of dyke: they give form to the flood, so that passion runs in pre-dug channels instead of washing away the whole field.

Yet one must not be lulled. All things of men are in motion; a trade war either escalates toward rupture or subsides into new rules. The middle course—the one I distrust—is to strike blows too small to force change but large enough to breed chronic resentment. If these “modest” moves only create new habits of suspicion without compelling either side to adapt, then what appears as prudence becomes decay. The true test will be whether each prince uses this occasion to strengthen internal capacities, reduce dangerous dependencies, and clarify alliances. If so, then the pain of tariffs will have purchased more solid foundations. If not, they will have spent the public’s patience for nothing, and fortune, which always waits for the inattentive, will one day present the bill.