There is a devil in European literature who claims an unexpected virtue: he intends evil but accomplishes good.
In Goethe’s masterpiece “Faust,” Mephistopheles – essentially the devil – tells us: “I am part of that power which eternally wills evil and eternally works good.”
This paradox from German literature’s greatest work perfectly captures a surprising phenomenon unfolding today: Donald Trump may be the Mephistopheles that Europe did not know it needed.
The American president is hardly a figure most Europeans admire. His crude manners, his nationalism, his disdain for alliances and his ‘America First’ agenda are anathema to European sensibilities, ethics and values. Yet Trump, like Mephistopheles, is unwittingly becoming a force for good in Europe.
Nowhere is this paradox more evident than in trade policy. His “Liberation Day” decree on April 2 established a blanket 10 percent tariff on all imports, with European goods facing an additional 20 percent surcharge.
European leaders were aghast. Stock markets tumbled. Economists warned of devastating consequences for growth and prosperity.
But then something remarkable happened. The European Union suddenly positioned itself as the champion of free trade.
Yes, you read that correctly. The same European Union that has for decades maintained one of the world’s most protected agricultural markets through its Common Agricultural Policy is now lecturing America on the virtues of free trade.
Commission President Ursula von der Leyen proclaimed Europe’s commitment to open markets. She offered the elimination of all tariffs on industrial goods. European leaders lined up to condemn Trump’s protectionism, portraying themselves as defenders of the rules-based trading system.
This newfound enthusiasm for free trade is quite the reversal. Not long ago, Europe was the scene of massive protests against trade liberalisation. Remember the demonstrations against the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership (TTIP)? In 2015, hundreds of thousands marched through Berlin to oppose that trade agreement with America. “No to chlorinated chicken!” they chanted, rejecting American agricultural imports.
European politicians, shell-shocked by the public outrage, thereafter dragged their feet on trade deals. They insisted on carve-outs for agriculture. They maintained high tariffs on farm products. They erected complex regulatory barriers to imports.
The EU’s selective approach to free trade was epitomised by its offer to Trump: zero tariffs on industrial goods (like automobiles) but continued protection for agriculture. The French probably would have rebelled had agriculture been included.
Still, Trump’s indiscriminate tariffs have forced Europe into a strategic rethink. Suddenly, European leaders who once pandered to anti-globalisation sentiment are extolling the benefits of open markets. They are filing complaints to the WTO. They are defending the international trading system that Trump wants to bury.
And it is not just in trade policy that Trump’s devilish influence is transforming Europe. His Mephistophelian effect on European defence is even more pronounced. For decades, Europe outsourced its security to America. Despite repeated American pleas, most European NATO members refused to meet the alliance’s target of two percent of GDP being spent on defence.
Trump’s scepticism about NATO has changed that entirely. Faced with his cosying up to Russia’s Vladimir Putin, European nations are ramping up military expenditures at an unprecedented pace.
Poland now spends over 4 percent of GDP on defence and aims to hit 5 percent benchmark next year. The Baltic states are following suit, with Lithuania committing to 5-6 percent by 2030. Germany, traditionally reluctant to invest in its military, has finally reached the 2 percent threshold after years of shortfalls.
Even more telling is Europe’s newfound strategic autonomy. European leaders are now openly discussing how to defend the continent if America pulls back. The EU has unveiled an ambitious Defence White Paper, proposing €150 billion in joint loans for military procurement. Emergency defence summits have been convened. Contingency plans for a “Europe-alone” defence posture are being drafted.
French President Emmanuel Macron, long an advocate for European self-reliance, feels vindicated. “Whatever happens in Ukraine, we need to build autonomous defence capacities in Europe,” he insists. His once-controversial calls for “strategic autonomy” are now mainstream.
Even Germany’s outgoing Chancellor Scholz, hardly a defence hawk, speaks of the need for a “strong and sovereign Europe” that stands “with its back straight.” His successor-in-waiting Friedrich Merz is likely to increase defence spending much further now that the no longer faces fiscal constraints. Poland’s Prime Minister Donald Tusk, from a traditionally pro-American nation, now declares that “Europe must take up this challenge, this arms race. And it must win it.”
Both in trade and defence, Trump’s confrontational approach has forced Europe to grow up. The continent can no longer afford to be naïve about the world’s dangers or hypocritical about its economic interests. It must develop the capability to defend itself and the consistency to champion truly free trade – and not just in areas that suit it. Yes, and that should mean agriculture as well.
None of this would have happened without Trump. His disruptive, often chaotic approach to international relations has jolted Europe out of its complacency. By threatening the foundations of transatlantic cooperation, he has inadvertently strengthened European resolve to achieve self-sufficiency.
Like Mephistopheles, Trump may intend disruption and discord. But paradoxically, his legacy in Europe may be greater unity, responsibility and strength.
There have been reports that Trump covets the Nobel Peace Prize, not least because Barack Obama received one. While a peace price for Trump may be a bit of a stretch, there is another prize Trump might deserve: the Charlemagne Prize, awarded for work done in the service of European unification. Since 1950, it has been bestowed on those who made deliberate efforts to unite Europe.
In Trump’s case, of course, European unity is only an unintended byproduct of his erratic and destructive policies.
Still, it would be a devilishly good idea to award it to him. He may not even notice the irony.
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