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Sometimes when I sit down to start a post I have something that’s dying to get out, something which I feel must be said, and as quickly as possible. In my assessment of social media I assume that many people feel this same mix of necessity and rapidity, and that it’s probably just as illusory for them as it is for me, but without such illusions no one would ever write anything. At other times I’m not sure what to write about. One might imagine that in these instances that I would decide to write nothing, but that never happens. Perhaps it should, but I tell myself that my writing is as much for my own education as it is for the education of others, and as such I should maintain the habit regardless of whether I feel particularly driven to write at any given moment.
All of this is a way of explaining that when I sat down to write this post I found myself in the latter category, wondering what to write about. Which is not to say there was no subject that seemed important enough to write about, but more that there were too many important subjects at that moment, and I’ve already talked about them, and worry I’m out of anything unique or noteworthy to add. As a further drag on my desire I worry that my own methodology for speaking about things might be getting overused, that is digging into the deeper implications of some book I’m reading, or alternatively exploring the ramifications of the political crisis de jour. But I’ve decided that rather than avoiding this tendency that, at least in this post, I’m going to double down on it, and combine a discussion of a book I’m reading with a discussion of the latest political crisis! I’m sure you’re all very excited.
The book is The End of History and the Last Man by Francis Fukuyama. In the past I have made light of the contention Fukuyama makes right in the book’s title. That we have reached the “end of history”, but my criticisms were probably misplaced and mostly due to me having an overly simplified view of what he was saying. After discovering that his point was more complicated, I vowed to read the book, which I did while at the same time working on this post.
Fukuyama’s chief argument is that, at the end of the cold war the hybrid system of capitalism and liberal democracy didn’t have any obvious competitors. That no other ideologies remained which had a credible claim for being the better system. The book was written in 1992, when the Chinese communist system was still looking somewhat shaky in the wake of things like Tiananmen Square. In the intervening years I think it’s made a credible run at providing a competing vision of governance, but a specific discussion of China will have to wait for another post (probably not the next post which will be my September book review post, but the post after that.) However, in 1992 things were very different and there was lots of room for hope. Thus one obvious criticism of the book is that it suffers from being too close to things.
At the time, this idea that capitalism and liberal democracy had won, was treated as great news. The cold war was over. We didn’t have to worry about being eventually overwhelmed by communism or alternatively perishing in a fiery apocalypse brought on by two irreconcilable ideologies. Unfortunately in the midst of all this optimism, a new problem emerged, and this is where Fukuyama’s book is at his best. (Chapter 28, “Men Without Chests”, which discusses Nietzsche’s view of things, justifies the entire book all by itself.) This new problem might be stated: If what we have is as good as it’s going to get, if we’ve reached an ideological dead end, what happens if it turns out not to work either? What if we discover that liberal democracy itself is ultimately fragile in a similar fashion to all previous types of government? (Perhaps the fragility just takes longer to manifest?) If this turns out to be the case, then there’s really no refuge left. To put it another way, since the Enlightenment, people have aspired to a liberal democratic government as an ideal, even more so after 1776 when it was apparent that it was actually possible. And it was felt that if a nation ever managed to make that transition that things would vastly improve But if, as seems to be currently happening, liberal democracy starts breaking down, then what’s left to aspire to?
I know some people still aspire to communism but that carries a host of issues, including it’s record of failure, and the difficulty of assembling a broad enough base of support. Beyond that there are proposals for a variety of untried systems, or for massive changes to liberal democracy, but the proposals seem unlikely to work in anything close to the fashion their advocates envision, and making massive changes seem at best a method of buying more time, not anything that changes liberal democracy from something which can fail into something which can’t.
In examining this question of whether democracy too might fail, or whether it’s already failing, it’s useful to consider why previous systems of government failed. Fukuyama mainly ascribes these previous failures to a lack of legitimacy. In particular the 20th century saw lots of totalitarian states. These states derived their legitimacy from several things, economic growth, stability, and particularly the point of a gun. What didn’t play any part in their legitimacy were big ideas which persisted when those other three things went away. Because eventually all three of those things will go away. Even rule at the point of a gun isn’t sustainable forever. (Though as North Korea illustrates it can be sustained for a very long time.) To a certain extent communist regimes had big ideas like equality and plenty for all, but these big ideas never panned out, even after decades of effort. Also it’s difficult to combine maintaining something at the point of a gun while also claiming that it’s really the big idea that keeps everything going. Which is to say it’s tough to believe in the utopia of Communism when your country is being run by Stalin.
Previous to democracy and communism, and even well into the 19th century, there were monarchies, which operated under big ideas like heredity and the divine right of kings. (And the fact that the vast masses of people couldn’t do much about the system even if they wanted to.) Whatever their source, according to Fukuyama, these big ideas provide a long-term source of legitimacy, similar to a cash reserve that can be drawn on when things get bad. In the case of the monarchy, even during a revolution, these big ideas were in play, and a relative of the previous king started from a much stronger position than some random individual, or even some random noble. In the same way that someone who won an election (even if that election was suspected of being rigged) has far more legitimacy than the average individual these days. But this isn’t the only source of modern legitimacy. When things were tough for the Soviet Union during World War II they could draw on the idea that they were fighting fascist hordes who wanted to wreck their communist utopia, and probably they drew on their sense of national pride as well. Finally, the point of a gun was almost certainly in there as well. This is still Stalin we’re talking about.
This last example brings up the idea of necessity, which is related, but somewhat different than legitimacy. As I pointed out in a previous post, one possible reason for why we’re so disunited at the moment is that there’s nothing forcing us to be united. No external threat we need to face. Post Pearl Harbor and with literal Nazis in charge of Europe, it was probably pretty easy to be united, and as far as I can tell there were very few questions of where the government derived its legitimacy. And the point that Fukuyama makes in his book, is that while some external threat exists, or alternatively when the economy is booming and times are really good, it’s easy for any form of government to seem legitimate. They’re performing the core tasks that governments need to perform. It’s when times get tough and there’s nothing external to unite against that totalitarian governments end up being more fragile than liberal democracies because there’s no underlying big idea to draw on to keep things together if, say the economy tanks.
If, as is the case today, the country feels no necessity to unite in the face of an external threat, because there are none. And further, if the economy is not booming and things are not going well, at least for the vast majority of people. And finally, if the government is (hopefully) not being maintained at the point of a gun. Then the only difference between a totalitarian regime on the verge of collapse, say the Soviet Union in 1988, and us, is our big ideas. And if they truly are the only thing standing between us and collapse, then it’s probably a good idea to examine what those big ideas are and see how they’re holding up.
One of the big ideas is permitting free and open debate. The assumption being that if all the information is out there that people will eventually make the right decision. I don’t want to spend a lot of time on this particular idea because it’s something which I’ve talked a lot about in the past, and it’s also something that’s being talked about a lot by people other than me, but it seems clear that this is one big idea that’s looking pretty shaky. Not only is it harder and harder to separate good information from bad, but there’s a significant push to restrict speech and information above and beyond that.
Another big idea is using elections to ensure the peaceful transfer of power. This isn’t looking that great either. Certainly Trump’s recent statements undermining this idea are alarming, but when Hillary Clinton is saying that Biden should not concede the election “under any circumstances” I’m not sure 100% of the blame can be placed on Trump for the erosion of this idea. My current prediction is that the 2020 election will continue to fulfill this function, but it’s hard to argue that this idea isn’t getting weaker each cycle.
Yet another important big idea is equality of opportunity. Of all the ideas that existed at the time Fukuyama wrote his book, this is the one that has undergone the most sustained attack, particularly from the perspective of the ongoing racial inequalities. Though in Fukuyama’s defense he foresees that this might be the case:
Moreover, even American democracy has not been particularly successful in solving its most persistent ethnic problem, that of American blacks. Black slavery constituted the major exception to the generalization that Americans were “born equal,” and American democracy could not in fact settle the question of slavery through democratic means. Long after the abolition of slavery, long, indeed after the achievement of full legal equality by American blacks, many remain profoundly alienated from the mainstream of American culture. Given the profoundly cultural nature of the problem, on the side both of blacks and whites, it is not clear that American democracy is really capable of doing what would be necessary to assimilate blacks fully, and to move from formal equality of opportunity to a broader equality of condition.
However, having mentioned it as a possibility, he doesn’t seem to think it poses much of a problem long term. Yes, it comes up a lot, but only in very general terms, he definitely didn’t foresee what’s happening now. And of course maybe he’s right, and in the end current unrest may have very little long term impact. Perhaps I’m as blinded by the events of 2020 as Fukuyama was by the events of 1989. In his case it ended up creating too much optimism, perhaps in my case it’s creating too much pessimism. But for the moment let’s imagine that the possibility Fukuyama brings up in the book is in fact a description of our current reality, that American democracy is not “capable of doing what would be necessary to assimilate blacks fully, and to move from formal equality of opportunity to a broader equality of condition.” What then?
Well, insofar as big ideas confer a reserve of legitimacy, to be drawn on when times are difficult (which they seem to be) the disappearance of this idea, perhaps more than any of the other big ideas, may leave us without any reserves of legitimacy. The equivalent of a totalitarian government dealing with a popular uprising. Indeed many people would describe it in just these terms, but I don’t think any of those people have actually ever lived somewhere truly repressive.
The recent death of Ruth Bader Ginsberg brings up the final big idea I’d like to cover. (To be clear there are lots of big ideas underpinning liberal democracy, but I think even the ones I’ve neglected to mention are passing through a period of unusual weakness.) This final big idea is the rule of law. Now of course Republicans would be quick to point out that in confirming her replacement they aren’t violating any laws, and this is entirely true, nor did they violate any laws when they refused to hold a hearing for Merrick Garland, nor did the Democrats violate any laws when they failed to confirm Robert Bork, nor will they be violating any laws if they retake the Presidency and the Senate and pack the courts. But laws, particularly laws as elegantly devised and as pithy as the Constitution aren’t designed to cover every conceivable eventuality. Accordingly part of the “rule of law” big idea is the awareness that laws are surrounded with certain understandings, norms, and even a layer of civility and cooperation which keeps things from descending into a contest of merely seeing who can get away with the most the fastest.
Despite the existence of these many pressing problems I just pointed out (and the many I didn’t), it’s common to hear people counter that things aren’t as bad as they were in the late 60s/early 70s, and certainly they’re nowhere near where they were on the eve of the Civil War. (I’ve even done it myself on occasion.) But if, as Fukuyama asserts, it’s less about the amount of blood being spilt and more about the amount of legitimacy in reserve, then we might actually be closer to disaster than we were in either of those cases. For example, however intense the violence got during the late 60s/early 70s, all of the “big ideas” were significantly healthier. Free and open debate was taken to be an article of faith by the media and those in power, and it was a particular cause of the left (see for example the Free Speech Movement). I don’t recall any big worries about the peaceful transition of power, but that says more about us than about them, that the subject has even come up. Moving on to equality of opportunity, certainly the Civil Rights act didn’t solve everything, but I would nevertheless argue that people were significantly more optimistic about it solving the problems of racial inequality than anyone is about anything involving race right now. Finally, as has been well documented, despite whatever other unrest was going on, partisan rancor was not nearly so severe. Further, I can only conclude, based on all the people arguing that the Senate has historically “never done this”, or “never done that”, or “always done something else” that this history of greater cooperation they’re referring to includes that period in the late 60s and early 70s.
As far as the Civil War. Here the case for big ideas is even stronger. So strong, that, speaking personally, I’ve always had a hard time entirely wrapping my head around it. This is a situation where, speaking just of soldiers on the Union side (it being dangerous to say much of anything about the Confederacy these days) 360,222 were willing to die, just for the big idea of preserving the United States. For those with more modern sensibilities it would be easier to understand if you imagine that they were dying for the big idea of ending slavery and indeed that was the thing underlaying the entire war, but for the average Union solider the priority was preserving the country. They were fighting and dying for the big idea of American exceptionalism. This takes on added significance when you recall that the 360,000 who died came out of a far smaller population, about a tenth of what it is today, meaning that would be equivalent to 3.6 million dying today.
If all of the foregoing is correct and legitimacy is really the thing that matters, and liberal democracy, especially American liberal democracy, is suffering a crisis of legitimacy, what can we do about it? The totalitarian governments which had recently fallen when Fukuyama was writing his book were able to shift from totalitarianism to liberal democracy. But as I pointed out at the beginning, if Fukuyama is correct and liberal democracy represents the end point of progression, then there is no system we can switch to. We’re at the end of things, and if that system doesn’t work then there’s nowhere else to go.
Some people seem to imagine that communism is still an option, and perhaps it is, perhaps it just needs certain institutions, technologies and attitudes which didn’t exist the last time it was tried. An idea I explored in a previous post, despite this it’s still a pretty far-fetched idea.
Other people think that there’s a way of combining critical race theory with liberal democracy to produce a new system which would finally fully assimilate blacks in a way that actually led to equality of condition. When I say that some people think there’s a way to do this, I’m actually not sure anyone seriously thinks it can be done, the conflicts between the two systems are essentially irreconcilable, but it represents the vague desires of everyone with a “Black Lives Matter” sign in their yard. Which is to say, it’s a great idea, but from the standpoint of this post, even if it were possible, the system would end up possessing neither the big ideas of liberal democracy nor the big ideas of critical race theory. I understand this last bit is a claim that probably needs more support than I’m giving it. But my post Liberalism vs. Critical Race Theory covers a lot of that territory.
As perhaps the most radical option of all, conceivably you could ditch liberal democracy entirely, and switch to a system whose legitimacy rested on the big ideas of Critical Race Theory. Fukuyama actually covers this possibility, though not directly:
At one extreme, the Marxist project sought to promote an extreme form of social equality at the expense of liberty, by eliminating natural inequalities through the reward not of talent but of need, and through the attempt to abolish the division of labor. All future efforts to push social equality beyond the point of a “middle-class society” must contend with the failure of the Marxist project. For in order to eradicate those seemingly “necessary and ineradicable” differences, it was necessary to create a monstrously powerful state. (emphasis mine)
Again, I understand that this point deserves more support than it’s getting, and again I would direct you to my previous post.
After surveying our various options, it would seem that if our reserves of legitimacy are depleted that there are no good options, of course other than somehow refilling those reserves, of restoring the big ideas enough so that they can once again act as a source of legitimacy. Put that way, there are obviously lots of people working on the project. But unfortunately I’m not seeing many signs that they’ve been at all successful.
There is one other system that seems to possess some reserves of legitimacy, (though how large these reserves are is anyone’s guess) that system is Chinese Communism. But as I alluded to near the beginning I’m saving that for the post after next. If you have any concerns that I might run out of steam before then, consider donating.
Just a few alternative ways we could think about this:
A system that can’t fail is one thing but what about a system that can work? By that I mean you try something, it may fail, but then you try it again. Buying a lottery ticket is like that. A ‘can work’ system would be one that would try something, failure would not mean extinction, but then you could try it again.
An example here might be universal health coverage. You could argue about it and we could endlessly tweak whatever system we currently have. The hope that the next iteration will be better keeps us going but failure doesn’t destroy us or our spirit.
The other is the ancient Chinese philosophical idea of the ‘mandate from Heaven’. A ruler didn’t have legitimacy, he either had the mandate or the mandate was against him. How do you measure that? Well kind of fuzzy but that was by design. A single bad crop or lost battle was not sufficient , but there was occassions where it felt like the ruler was just…well….done.
In the Revolutions podcast I believe this moment comes over and over. For example, when the Tsar, after numerous bad things, went to war with Japan…which was expected to be a cakewalk given the racist presumptions of the old school traditionalists in Russia at the time, saw their fleet destroyed by a modernized navy there was very much a ‘last straw’ sense among both supporters of the Tsar and opponents.
One objection is that such decisions should be made by a well articulated checklist or system rather than some collective ‘gut feeling’. But we know on the individual level many of our decisions operate through our subconscious mind mulling over things and then our conscious mind, pretending to be in charge of everything, makes up reasons to justify a decision made in the gut. We have a collective subconscious at work as well and it is picking up on reading various signs over and over again…
I really like the idea of “The Mandate of Heaven” (which I’ve encountered previously) but also isn’t it something of a tautology. If you have the ability to rule you have the mandate, once you lose the ability you’ve lost the mandate. And yes, legitimacy might make it take more to lose the mandate of heaven, which makes revolutions less frequent, but in the end revolutions are the ultimate trial and error, and the ultimate test of the “mandate”.
So yeah decisions should be made according to a system, which is essentially what liberal democracy is, but the system itself has to have some credibility…
Well I guess ancient Chinese philosophy would say you’re free, whenever you want, to try to stage a revolt against the Emperor and be executed if you lose. Not exactly liberal democracy but kind of in a fight club type sense. I would say the system has credibility because it can work, and if it doesn’t you can reset and try again.
The ‘you’ being the ‘royal you’. You gotta put your life on the line if you want to stage an uprising.
In terms of a more modern take, I would consider the difference between chess and Russian roulette. Chess you can play again if you lose, the latter you can’t. If we are playing a game we can reset if you mess up, we’re ok. If not we have a long term risk.
One of the big ideas of your blog centers around Taleb’s ideas around fat tail risks. Taleb points out again and again that people tend to ignore low-probability fat-tail risks precisely because they’re low-probability. But eventually some low-probability risks will be realized, and that’s when we reap the harvest of the fat tail.
You’ve argued (along with Taleb again) that it’s important for us to be aware of those fat tails, even if they’re unlikely. Instead of just relying on the high-probability event, we also need to brace ourselves for the possibility of low-probability events so we don’t get wiped out if they happen.
But what if that project itself increases the probability of realizing a low-frequency event? The Greeks were probably the most famous for cautioning that you meet your destiny on the road to avoiding it, and maybe there’s some truth to that. Take any scenario from your list above. How about the peaceful transfer of power.
Trump’s perception seems to be that there was no peaceful transfer of power when he took office. He has repeatedly claimed that his campaign was spied on, that there was no effort to transfer responsibilities and allow a smooth transition, etc. His side claims that established officials did not believe that Trump was fit for office and actively undermined him both on his way in and after he took office. From Trump’s perspective, he had to fire a bunch of people who were abusing their office to ensure he couldn’t do his.
The Left’s perception is that Trump has been abusing HIS office to actively undermine the internal checks on power that existed in the executive branch. He fires whistleblowers, investigators, and anyone who gets in his way. They claim that he does this to protect his friends and undermine revelations of corruption/wrongdoing.
Literally either (or both) of these explanations could be true. If you believe one explanation and not the other, you’re primed to believe there’s an internal fight to preserve the rule of law and the legitimacy of the executive branch from corrupt attempts to undermine it. Both sides are saying this!
Meanwhile, the question about a peaceful transfer of power seems to be uncharitably signal-boosted to the level of Constitutional Crisis every time it’s brought up. The question is political theater, as far as I can tell, but it’s a show both sides want to watch. It’s essentially asking the candidate, “When you lose, will you concede defeat?” where the assumption built into the question is ‘when you lose’ and answering it truthfully requires the candidate to concede they might lose.
Politicians train themselves to never talk about their own defeat. (Or maybe we select for that trait?) It’s bad branding, and if you believe anything about the psychology research on priming it’s something you should never do. So instead they say, “I’m not going to lose. There’s not going to be a need for me to concede.” This is how I interpret HRC’s remarks, and how I interpret Trump’s remarks. Why am I not more alarmed? Because literally the only reason to believe otherwise is this specific question, and I don’t think it’s a good question.
Not conceding defeat based on election day reporting, or not conceding based on a state’s ballot totals, isn’t the same as saying “I refuse to accept the results of the electoral process.” It’s saying, “I reserve my constitutional rights to continue fighting this election by all legal means available to me.” The question itself asks the candidate to pre-commit that they will give up some/all of those rights, and it is therefore illegitimate. Yet both sides ask it because they’re afraid the other side is so radical they’re going to reject the results of the election and take/retain power by force. So they ask the question, and they psyche themselves out based on the predictable answer. “I knew it! This proves what I already believed.”
Once you’ve convinced yourself of that, what’s the only responsible thing to do? Let the other guy steal the country out from under you? Certainly not! Maybe you mobilize your side, bracing yourselves to fight – to the death if necessary – to protect the Republic. You’re not planning to take power. You’re planning to protect the system. But in this case, literally BOTH SIDES think the other side is unwilling to give up power and accept the results of the election, and it’s based on the EXACT SAME logical misreading of a trick question!
As you pointed out above, it can be difficult to parse legitimate data from bad statistics – or really just fact from fiction. Both sides have employed bad stats and false ‘facts’ during this campaign, leading both sides to believe in (and prepare for) unlikely risks. Mobilizing in response to a legitimately low-probability tail event has the two sides on edge. Both sides are waiting for the other to fire the first shot.
What happens if there’s a misfire? Instead of an investigation as to who fired the shot (maybe even a hostile foreign agent), both sides will assume they’re under attack, and the war will begin.
Not because we didn’t anticipate a low-probability event, but precisely because we tried so hard to do so.
It is well to remember that you meet your destiny on the road to avoid it. But I think we’re already pretty far down the road, Oedipus has already killed his father and married his mother. And it’s time to brace for the fallout.
The point about why they can’t answer in a way that’s calming is an even more interesting point. But once again, we’ve reached a point where you can’t imagine them not asking that question.
All of which is to say, “The harvest is past, the summer is ended and we are not saved.” 😉
Right, but when they were talking about it during the first debate all I could think was that this was a huge waste of time. Of all the important topics that we could be discussing, Wallace chose to ask both candidates a trick question that was nothing more than panic-mongering for their opposition.
Maybe “we’re already too far down that road” to stop, but if we’re going to crash at the bottom do we have to jam our foot on the accelerator? Maybe, we could even hit the brakes so the impact isn’t so bad.
In this case, can we at least admit that a massive amount of the panic-mongering from both sides is not substantive? I just want to move on to things that matter, but everyone seems to want to get psyched up about these ridiculous panic scenarios.
And yes, it IS coming from both sides. That’s not both-sidesism. That’s an actual observation from someone who is still undecided about who to vote for in November.
Quite frankly if a President at this point cannot lose an election for what he has done then what purpose is the election even serving? Remember, up against democracy other systems are ‘standing by’ so to speak….
“Trump’s perception seems to be that there was no peaceful transfer of power when he took office.”
I think this is the gaslighting rather than Trump’s perception. The “well maybe both sides have a point” is itself a rather dangerous idea here because it is essentially laying the groundwork for permission.