In 1847 the legendary Austrian statesman and diplomat Prince Metternich wrote to a colleague that "the word 'Italy' is a geographical expression, a description which is useful shorthand, but has [no] political significance". This is perhaps understandable: a substantial slice of territory which fell into the lands covered by the geographical expression "Italy" were controlled by the Austrian monarchy, for whom Metternich worked. His job rather depended on the insistence that Italy amounted to a geographical-spatial rather than a political idea.
Perhaps unaware of Metternich's opinion, a parliament of deputies was assembled in Turin and on 17 March 1861 proclaimed Victor Emmanuel II the first King of Italy. By 1866 the Austrians had been hounded out of their last Italian territories in the Veneto and didn't have any cause to worry about what sort of expression "Italy" was any more anyway.
In 2021, Vladimir Putin produced an extraordinarily wordy essay expounding his strongly-held opinion that the word "Ukraine" is a purely geographical expression, which has no political significance, and that any political significance given to the geographical term is artificially imposed by the west. Mr Putin also confidently expected that, upon being liberated from their artificial political structure by the mighty Russian army, these Russians-misled-to-think-they're-Ukrainian would celebrate and revel in the return to mother Russia.
(It is interesting to note that Mr Jenkins has since 2022 regularly expressed some degree of sympathy for the Putinist viewpoint).
Perhaps unaware of Mr Putin's opinion, the Ukrainians have since rendered the Russian Black Sea Fleet inoperable, shot down enough Russian warplanes that the Russian Air Force can't operate in their airspace, imposed close to a million casualties on the invading army, and generally demonstrated with extreme prejudice that actually they're pretty sure they are Ukrainian and their interest in what kind of expression foreign dictators think "Ukraine" is could be written on an extremely small piece of, for example, toilet paper.
All of which is to say: there is a historical precedent for people from, as it were, here insisting that the people there are not what they say they are, it's all a myth or a fantasy or not a real thing, and so should sit down and shut up and do what the people here want them to do, not what the people there themselves want to do. The world is full of geographical expressions, and also full of political identities, and the two constantly intermingle and recursively form and reshape one another.
Simon Jenkins thinks that "Celt" or "Celtic" or "the Celts" is a kind of geographical expression. There are territories in Britain (and France) which have physical and linguistic traces suggesting similarity (with one another) and difference (from the central or dominant culture), which have been labelled Celtic. Jenkins doesn't especially take issue with this—he agrees that there's evidence of a certain similarity between Welsh and Cornish (Brythonic Celtic) and Irish and Scottish Gaelic (Goidelic Celtic), and that there's evidence of a Cumbric Welsh in the Old North, and so on. What he takes issue with is the idea that these peoples with loose, non-political connections in the past might use those alignments to identify themselves together now. Most particularly, that they might align together in opposition to a British or English identity.
One gets the sense, as Jenkins runs through the list of Celtic alignments and arguments-from-Celticness which are presently getting up his nose—Ireland's stunning success after independence; the belief that Scottish independence would be viable in close partnership with Ireland; the rejection of the United Kingdom's ability to tear entire Celtic countries (which voted no) out of the European Union because England voted yes—that Mr Jenkins largely doesn't like the whole "Celtic" thing because it doesn't feel fair. When the Celtic nations invoke their Celticness, merry England has nothing with which to hit back.
That is to say: Jenkins is arguing that "Celtic" is a purely linguistic-geographic expression with no political significance. He spends much of this book tracing the history of these Celtic peoples vis-a-vis England in an effort to show that they've rarely coordinated against the English. They didn't think of themselves as all Celts together. That's all very well, but it speaks to a fundamental fallacy in the way that people think about history. And that is this:
Just because people didn't do something in the past doesn't mean they can't do it now. Put another way: history is evidence of how things were in history, not of how they are, and certainly not of how they should be.
I'm happy to believe for the sake of argument that Mr Jenkins is right and not one person thought of themselves as a Celt with any kind of connection to other Celts in other Celtic populations around the British Isles right up until—I don't know, let's say the year 2000. Say that's completely and unshakeably true. Say, for good measure and for comparison, that Mr Putin was correct as well and pre-Maidan Ukrainians really were just Russians who'd been bamboozled by Western propaganda.
Even if all that were true, the Ukrainians still shot back in 2014, and shot back even more emphatically in 2022. There's no appeal to mediation on the basis of history; history is how we got here, not where we should be.
Even if it were true that Celticness was an invention of the early noughties as devolution and the accelerating collapse of the United Kingdom as a viable political entity created centripetal forces driving Scotland, Wales and Ireland to look elsewhere, Celticness is still here. Once we accept the very basic premise that history can only ever tell us what is, not what ought, Jenkins' project here becomes unmistakably quixotic. He's positioned himself in the same shoes as Metternich, informing the Italians that actually they aren't Italian, that's not a real thing, they just feel like they're Italian.
Ernest Renan tells us that "a nation is a daily plebiscite": nationhood is not a fixed entity, a thing out there in the world to discover and inspect. Nationhood is a continuous act of collective will. If people feel like a nation then they are a nation. Mr Jenkins doesn't like that many Celtic people increasingly feel that they are Celtic and have affinities with other Celtic peoples. He seems to think that their growing sense of Celticness poses a threat to his sense of Britishness, on which count he is probably—for a change—right. If he wants people to lay aside the Celticness and believe in Britishness, though, he would have more success if he gave up the scolding and instead put his efforts into generating a positive and convincing sense of Britishness for people to believe in.
Thus far, Jenkins other publications include England's Thousand Best Churches, England's Thousand Best Houses and A Short History of England, neatly illustrating both why he is so concerned about the non-English parts of Britain losing interest in the project and why the non-English bits of Britain feel solidarity with one another against as opposed to alongside the English.
Like Metternich's 1847 letter, this feels ultimately like the product of a thinker past their best-before date, operating with assumptions a half century old in a world where their information is no longer current and their perspectives are no longer relevant. Jenkins' thinking and positions are redolent with the now-ancient idea of great powers led by great men, bestriding the world like colossi while lesser powers cower beneath their skirts and mere people and beliefs trickle wherever the agents of empire tell them. That view was shown disastrously inaccurate in 1914; it would be comical if it wasn't so deadly in 2025. Russian soldiers continue to die for it as I write. Italy continues to operate as a modern political entity despite it. Mr Jenkins—and Putin, and Metternich—look rather like Cnut the Great, ordering the tide not to rise in ignorance of the real forces at work in the world around them.