The so-called rules-based international order is the diplomatic world’s version of a chivalric code: lofty, self-congratulatory, honoured in the breach, and useful for beating others over the head while insisting on your own virtue. It's a system built on handshakes, hypocrisy, and hegemony, and it owes more than a passing nod to a man who knew a thing or two about controlling the chaos of international affairs while draped in silk and scented with absolutism: Klemens von Metternich.
Ah, Metternich – the Austrian puppet-master of Europe. After Napoleon was finally bundled off to Elba (and then unbundled and rebundled again), Metternich convened the Congress of Vienna in 1814–15 to restore what he called the natural order of things – monarchs on thrones, revolutionaries in dungeons, and Austria smack in the middle of every diplomatic map. His grand idea was to build a Concert of Europe, a gentleman’s agreement among the great powers to consult, cooperate, and above all keep the plebs quiet.
It was, in effect, the first modern attempt at a rules-based order – but only for those who mattered. Britain, France, Austria, Prussia, and Russia would decide how Europe was carved up, and everyone else would be expected to smile politely and pay their tithes. The Metternich System was reactionary in the extreme – chivalry in epaulettes – but it worked, after a fashion. Europe avoided another continent-wide war for the best part of a century. The rules were made by the powerful, for the powerful, and enforced with a mix of diplomacy, repression, and the occasional bayonet.
Fast forward to 1945, and the post-WWII settlement was essentially Metternich with a UN logo. The new ‘order’ was constructed by the victorious powers – this time with America replacing Austria as the power behind the curtain – and it was designed not to liberate the world, but to stabilise it in ways that kept the big players on top. The UN Security Council? A modern-day Holy Alliance. NATO? The new Prussian garrison. The IMF and World Bank? Financial instruments of containment. And much like Metternich’s Congress, this system had no enforcement mechanism beyond "We know where you live, and we have tanks."
It even had its own moral wrapping paper – human rights, democracy, sovereignty – all noble ideals, as long as they didn’t interfere with US strategic interests, British oil contracts, or French post-colonial tantrums.
In this, the modern order mirrors not just Metternich, but the feudal codes of chivalry and bushidō. These weren’t universal systems of ethics – they were elite operating manuals. Chivalry applied to knights, bushidō to samurai, and the rules-based order to countries with embassies in Geneva and a half-decent air force. The rest – peasants, serfs, or what we now call ‘developing nations’ – were expected to bow, bleed, and be grateful.
The language of these systems is always the same: duty, honour, restraint. In practice, it means the strong pledge not to abuse their power, unless absolutely necessary, and the weak are told their suffering is the unfortunate result of defending a higher principle.
And, like those older codes, the rules-based order thrives on myth. Chivalry gave us the noble knight, despite the frequent rape and pillage. Bushidō gave us the loyal samurai, conveniently ignoring the courtly backstabbing. The rules-based order gave us the image of a peaceful, civilised world... while drone strikes, coups, and economic coercion told another story.
Just like Metternich’s Europe, it held together while the balance of power did. But now? The gentlemen have left the table, and the poker chips are being swept up by populists and autocrats. Trump smashed the crystalware and called it realpolitik. Putin’s doing his best Napoleon impression without the charisma. China plays the game when it suits, rewrites the rules when it doesn’t. The global order, such as it was, has become a glorified brawl in a faded ballroom, with Metternich's ghost tutting disapprovingly in the corner.
So let’s not kid ourselves. The rules-based order, like chivalry or bushidō, is a performative dance of restraint – as long as it's convenient. When it no longer is, the sabres come out, the rules are burned, and the polite phrases give way to the iron truth: the world runs not on laws, but on leverage. Metternich knew it. The modern powers pretended otherwise. Now the illusion is cracking.
And when it finally collapses, don’t be surprised if the next Congress of Vienna is chaired by someone with a TikTok account, a missile silo, and absolutely no time for treaties.


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