Responses to Fukuyama*

various authors**

Allan Bloom

FUKUYAMA'S BOLD and brilliant article, which he surely does not present as the last word, is the first word in a discussion imperative for us, we faithful defenders of the Western Alliance. Now that it appears that we have won, what are we and what are we to do? This glorious victory, if victory it really is, is the noblest achievement of democracy, a miracle of steadfastness on the part of an alliance of popular governments, with divided authorities and changing leaderships, over a fifty year period. What is more, this victory is the victory of justice, of freedom over tyranny, the rallying of all good and reasonable men and women. Never has theory so dominated practice in the history of human affairs, relieving the monotony of the meaningless rise and fall of great powers. As Fukuyama underlines, it is the ideas of freedom and equality that have animated the West and have won by convincing almost all nations that they are true, by destroying the intellectual and political foundations of alternative understandings of justice. The challenges to the West from fascism and communism were also ideas, formulated to oppose the success of the historical embodiments of Enlightenment principles which swept the world after the American and French Revolutions. Both fascism and communism constituted themselves as the enemies of the bourgeois, the unflattering description of the citizen of modern liberal democracy. Fukuyama's rejection of the various reductionist accounts, such as those of economic determinism or power politics, of the struggle against these twin threats is certainly fully justified, It is not that accounts of the kind are ignoble and take away the gloriousness and freedom from human deeds. It is simply that they cannot accurately describe or explain the phenomena and must distort them to fit their rigid molds.

This fifty years of opposition to fascism and communism provided us with clear moral and political goals, but they were negative. We took our orientation from the evil we faced, and it brought out the best in us. The threat from outside disciplined us inside while protecting us from too much depressing reflection on ourselves. The global nature of the conflicts we were engaged in imposed an unprecedented uniformity on the world. It has been liberalism - or else. The practical disaster of the anti-liberal Right and Left has in general been taken to be a refutation of the theories which supported or justified them. Now, however, all bets are off. The glance back towards ourselves, as Fukuyama indicates, is likely to be not entirely satisfying. It appears that the world has been made safe for reason as understood by the market, and we are moving toward a global common market the only goal of which is to minister to men's bodily needs and whims. The world has been demystified, and at the end of history all the struggles and all the higher dedications and myths turn out to have served only to satisfy the demands of man's original animality. Moreover, with the loss of our negative pole of orientation, one can expect a profuse flowering of positive demands, liberated from Cold War sobriety and reflecting the non-rationalized residue of human longing. There will be movements agitating for the completion of the project of equality in all possible, and impossible, ways. Religion and nationalism will also be heard from in the name of higher callings.

Kojève's decision to spend the hours when he was not philosophizing as a bureaucrat preparing the ground for the Common Market was his response to the atmosphere of existential despair so fashionable in France after the war. He said he wanted to reestablish the Roman Empire, but this time its goal would be a multi-national soccer team. A serious man, he implied, would adapt himself to the vulgarities which would necessarily accompany the dull business of providing for all equally and the suppression of the anomalies of nation, class, sex, and religion. The existence of the Soviet Union which, according to Kojève, professed that its intention was to establish the universal homogenous state, was forcing the West to actualize the like promise contained in its principles. All snobbisms - which is how he described the various reactions against equality - were being extinguished. This is a universal movement. The science, natural and political, of the West has won in the non-Western world, and it is largely Western nostalgia that wants those old, rooted cultures to be preserved when those who belong to them no longer really want them and their grounds have disappeared in the light of reason.

And it must be underlined that for Kojève and Kojève's Hegel we are at the end of history because reason has won, the real has become rational. Socrates' dialectic has come to an historic end (in both senses of end, final and perfect), because the last contradictions have been resolved. Everything that stood in the way of the reciprocal recognition of men's dignity as men always and everywhere has been refuted and buried by history, i.e. the supra rational claims of religion, nation, family, class, and race. For the first time there are no essential contradictions between our reason and our duties or loyalties. Thus the world is now a feast for reason, replacing piety. What was a project of Enlightenment has, through history, become a part of being. The historicist who is also a rationalist must hold that there is an end of history, for otherwise there could be no knowledge and every principle, every frame of reference, would be impermanent and changing, even historicism itself. The end of history is both a philosophic necessity and a political fulfillment, each supporting and enhancing the other. The goal of philosophy, wisdom, is attained, and that of politics, freedom and equality, is simultaneously reached.

There are elements of Kojève's thought about the end of history to which Fukuyama does not give sufficient weight. The goodness of the end of history, and for Kojève it is good, consists in the possibility of unconstrained philosophizing and in the moral recognition of all human beings as ends in themselves. Fukuyama's presentation emphasizes the gray uniformity of life in "the post-historical" world. He says, "The end of history will be a very sad time," and almost predicts that he will rebel against it in order to get history started all over again. He finds the satisfactions presented by Kojève paltry, so paltry he does not mention them. However, rebellion against history is not criminal, Kojève would say, but foolish. To do so would be to rebel against reason, which no sensible man can do.

Of course, Fukuyama doubts that these satisfactions are as real as Kojève says they are. If wisdom, the owl of Minerva, flies at dusk, as Hegel says it does, is it not evident that the end of history is a night? Does the attainment of wisdom not mean the end of philosophizing? And is the peace and reciprocity of the market really moral or is it herd-like calm? Does not, finally, Kojève's thinking through of Hegel and Marx, the profoundest thinking through of that position, amount to a refutation of the claim that the end is a peak and of the possibility that reality can ever be rational?

Kojève himself is the source of Fukuyama's doubts about the goodness of the end of history. In his later writings there is much to suggest that he began to believe that we are witnessing the ultimate trivialization of man and his reentry into the merely animal order. These writings were very witty, but one wonders whether he quite had the right to them. The note on Japan inserted in the second edition of Introduction to Reading Hegel to which Fukuyama refers is a case in point. I disagree with his interpretation of it. Kojève did not mean that in Japan history had not ended, but rather that there they had invented, centuries ago during a long peaceful period, an interesting way of spending the end of history: a pure snobbism of forms, like the tea ceremony, flower arrangement, and the No play, which provide graceful empty activity. The alternative to the Japanese formalist is the American consumer - stereos, power tools, etc. This he suggested would be the post-historical contest for the taste of the universal homogenous state: the Japanization of America vs. the Americanization of Japan. Nothing is at stake.

It would seem that Kojève had moved, or had always been, closer to Nietzsche's interpretation of modern man as the "last man" than to Hegel's description of him. The "last man" is such a degraded being that he necessarily evokes nausea and revolt. And if, as Nietzsche believed, the "last man" is the ultimate product of reason, then reason is bad and we must look more closely to unreason for hope of salvation. God is dead, and we need new gods. The consequences of this analysis are earth-shaking, and this is the thought of the most modern modernity. Certainly Fukuyama points in this direction.

These issues were addressed in a stunning debate between Kojève and Leo Strauss contained in Strauss's On Tyranny. This may well be the profoundest public confrontation between two philosophers in this century, and the most important task of these remarks is to point the readers to it, as Fukuyama has pointed us to Kojève. They were friends, at the peak of their powers, differing completely about the answers while agreeing about the questions, and able to discuss the weightiest matters with levity. In it Strauss depicts the irrational culmination of Kojève's reason and asks whether the fate of reason is simply identical to that of Hegel. Must reading for today. Their clarity about the problems enabled them to see thirty-five years ago what we feel now.

To conclude, liberalism has won, but it may be decisively unsatisfactory. Communism was a mad extension of liberal rationalism, and everyone has seen that it neither works nor is desirable. And, although fascism was defeated on the battlefield, its dark possibilities were not seen through to the end. If an alternative is sought there is nowhere else to seek it. I would suggest that fascism has a future, if not the future. Much that Fukuyama says points in that direction. The facts do too. The African and Near Eastern nations, which for some reason do not succeed easily at modernity, have temptations to find meaning and self-assertion in varieties of obscurantism. The European nations, which can find no rational ground for the exclusion of countless potential immigrants from their homelands, look back to their national myths. And the American Left has enthusiastically embraced the fascist arguments against modernity and Eurocentrism - understood as rationalism. However this may be, Fukuyama has introduced practical men to the necessity of philosophy, now that ideology is dead or dying, for those who want to interpret our very new situation.

Allan Bloom is a professor on the Committee on Social Thought at the University of Chicago.


Pierre Hassner

MUCH OF the seductive charm of Fukuyama's article lies in its audacity - in the almost reckless vigor with which he cuts through the maze of political and philosophical complexities to affirm an outrageously provocative thesis. In this (more perhaps than in the substance of his analysis) he appears a worthy heir of Alexandre Kojève, of his intellectual daring and of his irrepressible urge to épater le bourgeois. One is almost ashamed, then, to approach his text with one's panoply of "ifs" and "buts," of "on the one hand" and "on the other."

So let me preface my comments with a statement: I have come to praise him, not to bury him. I think his article is not only brilliant and stimulating, but also more right than wrong. I agree with Fukuyama that the current wave of decline in inter-state conflicts and in revolutionary ideologies, particularly in the developed world, is more than an illusion or a temporary fluke. I also agree that it calls for more than a purely political, military, or economic analysis, that it raises fundamental questions about the meaning of war and peace, of revolution and legitimacy. Finally, I think that there is no better way to examine these questions than to take a broader perspective and confront the experience of our time both with the expectations of earlier periods, in particular of the nineteenth century, and with the traditions of political philosophy.

Raymond Aron, in War and Industrial Society, examined the prophesies of Comte, Spencer, and Marx. It is certainly a good idea to go beyond, and to look at the great German philosophers of the nineteenth century - in particular at Kant, Hegel, and Nietzsche - if one wants to relate a judgment about the experience of twentieth-century wars and revolutions, and their possible obsolescence, to a judgment on the meaning of history.

What seems surprising are the choices Fukuyama makes within the twentieth-century political evidence and among the nineteenth-century philosophical perspectives.

The experiences of Auschwitz and totalitarianism, and the vision of mankind achieving its own self-destruction through technology, have led many to question the validity of nineteenth-century philosophies of history. Some, like Dieter Henrich, have even come to question the validity of Kantian ethics, in the absence of cosmological or (as a substitute) historical confirmation. Others, like Michael Doyle, have used the same kind of evidence as Fukuyama to argue that eighteenth-century optimism (culminating with Kant) about the possibility of peace through the growth of republican governments and the substitution of trade for war was justified: Even in the twentieth century, prosperous lib era1 states, while prone to mismanage their relations with non-liberal states, never made war on each other. Characteristically, Raymond Aron was sensitive to both lines of thought and historical perspectives - to the hopes raised by technological progress which promised to solve the economic problem and make war irrelevant as a means to wealth; and to the threat of total war and total cruelty, made possible by the permanence of human nature. He hesitated to choose between the ultimate validity of Thucydides and Kant. But he had no hesitations about the decline of ideology in the West or about the impossibility of extrapolating this trend indefinitely and achieving a final political solution of the human problem.

Fukuyama's own approach is somewhat unusual. On the one hand, he reduces twentieth-century experience to the victory of libera1 democracy and consumer society. On the other, he uses Hegel as a philosophical basis for a description which most of the time seems to have more to do with eighteenth-century Enlightenment, with Locke or Kant, but which in its concluding twist seems to conjure the ghost of Nietzsche's "last man."

Two factors seem to have contributed so far to the "long peace" rightly emphasized by Fukuyama. One, which he hardly mentions at all, is nuclear deterrence. But the nuclear factor entails two dangers to the very peace it has helped to create. The first is the possibility of an irrational war which would be the most destructive in history, or could even end it in a more radical sense than he envisages. The second is the growing allergy to nuclear weapons, entailing the possibility of the decline of deterrence by the denuclearization of crucial regions like Central Europe. This in turn creates the risk of making the world (or at least Europe) safe for conventional war and, ultimately, for nuclear war through uncontrolled escalation.

The second factor, emphasized by Fukuyama, is the one predicted by the apologists of possessive individualism, of enlightened self-interest, of republican government, of democratic equality, of the mellowing power of trade, of industrial society, of work replacing war and the conquest of nature replacing that of man, etc. It is profoundly ambiguous, as one can stress the bourgeois mentality, democracy, prosperity, or bureaucratic rationality as its basic dimension.

But in any case, it appears much more fragile than Fukuyama indicates. It is threatened from outside, for, as Arrigo Levi maintains, while all the ideological challenges to the West have failed, neither the communist world nor the Third World is likely to succeed in emulating its democratic freedom or its capitalistic prosperity even though they recognize their desirability (Corriere della Sera, October 15, 1988). Failing to achieve them at home, their citizens increasingly try to find them in the West, which is as incapable of integrating the hundreds of millions of potential immigrants as it is of creating the conditions, in their home countries, which would make them want to stay there.

Fukuyama recognizes the persistence of war and poverty outside the West but tends to dismiss them as irrelevant since they do not concern the great developed nations which are stepping out of history. But can the latter remain unaffected? Or, rather, do we not have growing evidence of the increasing intolerance caused by the shock of cultures and the overcrowding of the planet? And are these conflicts not linked to internal stresses: at the economic level, in times of crisis; at the political one, if overpopulation and the competition for space make a strong, possibly an authoritarian state more likely; and, above all, within the soul of individuals, where the thirst for absolutes and for community, for violence and for hierarchy, may reassert itself?

Are not the homeless refugee and the homeless drug addict the inseparable companions of the materialistic consumer? Is it really impossible that the search for action in a prosaic society, or the search for scapegoats in a bewildered one confronted with sudden social or natural catastrophe, should produce not the rebirth of systematic ideological doctrines but a primitive form of fascism based on resentment, fear, hatred, and hysteria?

Perhaps passions have given way to interests for good. Perhaps moods without ideas are powerless. Perhaps modern society, by providing material goods, can dispense with public participation. But these were the arguments of the Enlightenment and of liberal critics of the French Revolution and Napoleon, like Benjamin Constant. They would force us to see the totalitarian movements and the wars of the twentieth century in the way Constant or Auguste Comte saw Napoleon, as huge parentheses or aberrations contrary to the spirit of modern times. It seems surprising to base this view on Hegel who saw in Napoleon and his citizen-soldiers the synthesis of state and society, of the ancient virtues and of modern rationality, and who derided the Kantian dream of perpetual peace.

Of course, if one adopts the interpretation of Kojève (himself an admirer of Stalin and a believer in the power of the rational state), war and revolution do seem ultimately to wither away, and man seems to lose the negativity which was the driving force of history. But this has little to do with the very general and rather one-dimensional case for the influence of ideas developed by Fukuyama. While in an ultimate sense history is the development of The Idea, it is through work and war that it progresses, and consciousness is essentially retrospective.

On the other hand if, indeed, history has ended, this does not mean, for Kojève, that art and philosophy are impossible. It means that new contents are impossible, but that everybody becomes a sage or an artist. (The note on Japan does not mean that Japan reenters history but that it shows the way to the only creation possible at the end of history: form without content.) What is impossible, except through individual assassination and palace revolution, is meaningful violence and political action.

Fukuyama's last paragraph, by contrast, seems to raise with great literary maestria but less philosophical consistency the perspective of history being born again out of boredom. This looks more like Nietzsche than Hegel, more like a phase in a cycle than the end of history. One is reminded of Weber's phrase: "historical materialism is not like a carriage which one can board or abandon at will." With his spectacular pirouette, Fukuyama is giving away the game: he does not really believe either in history or in its end.

But the question he raises loses nothing of its relevance and of its importance. He is certainly right about the dominant trend of international politics: the decline of traditional communities, the progress of a moral sensitivity based on permissiveness and compassion, the prevalence of individualism (both spiritual and economic) over collective (particularly military) efforts and sacrifices, and of economic calculations over grand politics - and all likely to continue for years to come.

What is in doubt is whether they represent a fundamental change in world history or the end of a cycle, a la Spengler (a reference I use as loosely as Fukuyama does Hegel) with its familiar components of the role of money, the growth of big cities and of the lawlessness associated with them, the proliferation of superstitions and the frantic search for escapist distractions - traditionally connected with the decline of great civilizations.

In the latter case, it would be followed, one day, by new Caesars and new prophets, by a new age of heroism, austerity and religion, and possibly of conquest and fanaticism. For the long run, a belief in the complexity of human nature and in the notion that fundamental dimensions of the human soul can be repressed for whole periods but not eradicated forever, makes me lean towards this second interpretation. But I welcome it even less than Fukuyama does his version of the end of history. This is not the time to draw the Tocquevillian balance between a decline in individual nobility and a decline in suffering and injustice. But it is always the time to remember what our century has taught us about the possibilities of modern technology in the service of man's perennial potential for fanaticism and cruelty. There may or may not be an end to history. But there should never be an end to vigilance.

Pierre Hassner is research director at the Fondation Nationale des Sciences Politiques in Paris.


Gertrude Himmelfarb

IT IS NOT often that one has the opportunity to argue about Hegel in The National Interest (or anywhere else, for that matter). One must take advantage of it.

One is even tempted to revive the old argument about the "early" Hegel and the "late" Hegel. It was the early Hegel (not quite a "young" Hegel - he was thirty-six at the time) who experienced that epiphany upon seeing Napoleon, the "world-soul," riding through the town on horseback, on the eve, as it soon appeared, of the Battle of Jena. And it was a heady thought to know that the battle itself, fought in Hegel's own university town, was a "world-historical" event ushering in the final stage of history; Hegel may well have felt that the burning of his house by the French and the loss of his job when the university was closed were a small price to pay for the realization of Reason and Freedom.

But the later Hegel had sobering thoughts about the French Revolution. It was too abstract and individualistic, he decided, to "actualize" the principles of the Enlightenment; hence the Terror which sought to impose those principles arbitrarily, in defiance of history and without benefit of the state. And hence the downfall of Napoleon.

And hence all of subsequent history. In one reading of Hegel, all of post-revolutionary (indeed post-Reformation) history was a matter of detail, the working out of principles which had already been realized in consciousness, the objectifying of Freedom in the State and Reason in History. In another reading of Hegel, however, all of history is a constant - and constantly unfulfilled - attempt to realize and actualize those principles. The dialectic does not consist, as Mr. Fukuyama says, in "a beginning, a middle, and an end," but in "a thesis, an antithesis, and a synthesis," in which the synthesis of the preceding stage is the thesis of the present, thus setting in motion an endless dialectical cycle - and thus preserving the drama of history.

Hegel was an Idealist, not a utopian. It was Marx, having defined history as the history of class struggle and socialism as the abolition of classes, who had to contemplate a final, classless state of history - although even he was enough of a Hegelian to be uncomfortable with that end, avoiding any discussion of it except for a few hilarious sentences in The German Ideology (very early Marx) about the completely fulfilled, de-alienated man who would hunt in the morning, fish in the afternoon, and "criticize" (philosophize) in the evening.

As it happened, history did not come to an end either with the French Revolution or, as Marxists once believed, with the Russian Revolution. A good deal of history transpired between and since those revolutions - not only the humdrum "panorama" of ordinary history (as Hegel called it) but momentous, world-historical events. Even the most ardent Hegelian would be hard put to dismiss communism or nazism as minor setbacks in the relentless march of history; he might even be moved to see in them dimensions of human consciousness, potentialities for evil, which bode ill for the progress of Spirit or Reason. At the very least, he might be inclined to put off the end of history to infinity, making it an Absolute by which to judge the present, a star by which to steer our course, but with no expectation of reaching that final destination.

I entirely agree with Mr. Fukuyama's opening sentence, that "something very fundamental has happened in world history." My only problem is with the rest of the paper, in which liberal democracy is universalized and eternalized, bringing history to an end. Would that it were so. I myself have been too traumatized by communism and nazism to have any confidence in the eternal realities of history - except the reality of contingency and change, of the imponderable and the unanticipated (and, as often as not, the undesired and undesirable).

Russia will never be the same in the post-Gorbachev era, any more than France was in the post-Napoleonic era. Communism is as dead as the Old Regime. But that does not mean that liberal democracy, of the Western variety, is the only alternative available to Russia or the rest of the non-Western world. In Russia one can foresee the possibility of some form of nativist or populist or traditionalist authoritarianism. Even if Gorbachev succeeds in ushering in something akin to lib era1 democracy, a Hegelian might expect that to contain within itself the seeds of conflict - of nationalist, religious, even, in a form we cannot now anticipate, ideological conflict.

This is even more true of other countries which have less in their history and culture to sustain liberal democracy. Post-Shah Iran has not exactly confirmed the sanguine expectations of most Western liberals (not that most liberals gave this question much thought when they urged the overthrow of the Shah - or even now, post-Rushdie, give it any serious thought). Mr. Fukuyama comes rather late in his paper to the possibility that religion, nationalism, race, and ethnicity might emerge as "ideological competitors" to liberal democracy, only to dismiss them as not serious competitors because they have no "universal significance." But this is just the point. Hitler, it might be argued, had no "universal significance"; indeed the enormity of the Holocaust was precisely the fact that it was a "unique" event. But it was nonetheless significant for that - significant not only in itself but in signifying the possibility of other such unprecedented, unthinkable events.

The future of liberal democracy is assured, we are told, because it has succeeded in resolving the "class issue." The social problems that remain are not a function of liberalism but the "historical legacy of premodern conditions"; black poverty, for example, is the "legacy of slavery and racism." But even if this were so, the problems continue to plague us and the solutions continue to evade us. History has a habit of bequeathing to us disastrous legacies, bombs that can explode at any time and any place.

In fact one might argue that black poverty, and the poverty of the underclass in general, is not the relic of an old problem but an entirely new problem, qualitatively and quantitatively (qualitatively because quantitatively, a Hegelian would say) different from the old. I agree with Mr. Fukuyama that black poverty does not fit the old "class" model, the kind familiar to classical economists and Marxists. But it may be nonetheless subversive of liberal democracy; perhaps even more so because liberal democracy does not understand it, let alone know how to cope with it.

Nor can nationalism be dismissed as a problem only for an "incomplete" liberalism, to be resolved once liberalism is completed. I remember a lecture by an eminent historian (a refugee, as it happened, from Nazi Germany), who assured a class of freshmen in the fall of 1939 that nationalism was a phenomenon of the nineteenth century, that such vestiges as remained were only that, vestiges which would soon happily disappear. That was the most salutary lesson in history one freshman in that class ever learned.

So far from seeing the end of history in the "Germanic" (i.e., Western) culture of his own time, Hegel entertained the possibility that a new history might be in the making in the new world. Hegel discovered America even before Tocqueville did.

America is therefore the land of the future, where, in the ages that lie before us, the burden of the World's History shall reveal itself - perhaps in a contest between North and South America. It is a land of desire for all those who are weary of the historical lumber-room of old Europe. Napoleon is reported to have said: "Cette vieille Europe m'ennuie." It is for America to abandon the ground on which hitherto the History of the World has developed itself.

Yesterday's America, the "land of the future," may be today's Europe, the "lumber-room" of the past. But there is surely, just over the horizon, another America, possibly a less benign one, whose contours we cannot make out but of whose existence we can be fairly certain.

Hegel is not famous for his modesty. Yet his most celebrated dictum is a lesson in humility. "The owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the falling of dusk." We know, at best, only what was, not what will be. The optimists among us may take comfort in that adage; the pessimists may find it cause for anxiety. But both must take cognizance of a future of which we know only that it is unknowable.

Gertrude Himmelfarb is professor emeritus at the City University of New York.


Irving Kristol

I AM DELIGHTED to welcome G.W.F. Hegel to Washington. He will certainly help raise the intellectual level of the place. This is especially useful if, as seems to be the case, our universities are determined to exile the great thinkers of Western civilization from their curriculum. Perhaps the term "think tank" is about to assume a larger and deeper meaning. And it's time too. In a city full of lawyers and politicians very few of whom have ever read Montesquieu, Locke, or the authors of The Federalist - the great thinkers who originated our own American political tradition - the tone of political discourse could certainly benefit from some elevation, the infusion of a dash of intellectual complexity into the dominant banalities.

But not too much! Some Hegel, yes - but Heidegger, no. The minds of our most powerful philosophers are capable of mischievous enchantment, as the case of Karl Marx clearly indicates. (Marx himself, of course, never recovered from his original bewitchment by Hegel.) It is so easy to confuse brilliant ideas with the mundane political and human realities, even to subordinate those realities to such ideas. So I would hope we would stop short of elevating the intellectual life of Washington to the exalted level of Paris - surely the most exciting city in the world, but one in which common sense, especially political common sense, has to fight for survival. It might not even be such a bad idea to contemplate a modest protectionist tariff against ideas imported from Paris, so that they don't flood our political marketplace, as they have already flooded our academic marketplace.

Hegel is unquestionably a genius - along with Kant, the greatest philosopher of modernity. In a sense, all of us have to decide whether we are pro Hegel or contra, even if we have never read him, as not many of us have. (He is, beyond a doubt, the most unreadable of our great philosophers.) What makes any such decision extraordinarily difficult is the fact that his mode of thinking about history - itself only an aspect of his thinking about the cosmos - has already so infiltrated our own minds that we don't even know when we are being Hegelian. When Jesse Jackson is quoted in the Washington Post as saying, "We have to determine which side of history we are on," he is unwittingly speaking pure Hegelianese (as transmitted by Marx, one can assume).

That the history of Western civilization can plausibly be read as an evolution from the more simple to the more complex, from the more naive to the more "sophisticated," as man gains greater control over nature and as his social organization involves larger numbers in a multitude of differentiated roles - all this was familiar to the eighteenth century under the rubric of Progress. But it was Hegel who read this evolution as expressing a destiny, determined by an inner logic - an inner dialectic, to be more precise - of which the historical actors were themselves ignorant, and which it was Hegel's privilege now to reveal. From a metaphysical point of view, this accession of self-consciousness by a German professor represented an achievement of the universe itself, of which humanity is the thinking, self-conscious vehicle. All philosophy after Hegel had therefore to be, of necessity, neo-Hegelian. The history of philosophy, in turn, previously regarded as a timeless conversation among thoughtful men, now had to be seen as a species of "cultural evolution" whose inner dialectic aimed always at increments of enlightenment - an evolution which we, from the privileged heights of modernity, can comprehend as never before. (That is the way courses in the history of philosophy are now routinely taught in our universities.) And all history, after Hegel, had to be viewed through the same deterministic spectacles. The mechanism of such determinism could be so complex as to give rise to many varieties of scholarship and schools of thought. But that history was History, a biography of the human race that was now, after Hegel, an autobiography, a self-scrutiny of a process whereby events gradually and ineluctably matured into modernity - this is the premise of most historical inquiry today, which takes it for granted that we have the intellectual authority to understand the past as the past failed to understand itself.

Such an immense aggrandizement of human self-understanding could not leave politics untouched. After Hegel, all politics too becomes neo-Hegelian. He saw the modern constitutional state and its liberal social order as having accomplished the end (i.e., the inner purpose) of History. He realized that this accomplishment, however, remained at the level of theory and much political work remained to be done before it could achieve incarnation in the real world. Now, Mr. Fukuyama arrives to tell us that, after almost two centuries, the job has been done and that the United States of America is the incarnation we have all been waiting for.

I don't believe a word of it, but we are all neo-Hegelians now to such a degree that his quite brilliant analysis is not easy to reject or refute. In truth, it is quite persuasive. To reject Hegel out of hand means to cut oneself loose from one's intellectual moorings, and to feel lost at sea. Everything certainly appears to be going Mr. Fukuyama's (and Hegel's) way. Our American civilization does indeed seem to be "the wave of the future" while the various forms of anti-liberalism and anti-capitalism (whether Marxist or neo-Marxist, fascist or neo-fascist) do indeed look passé. I agree that they are in fact passé. What I cannot believe is that we represent "the wave of the future," as distinct from a temporary hegemony. I put no stock in "waves of the future," which I take to be mirages provoked by a neo-Hegelian fever of the political imagination.

The only way I know to liberate oneself from the Hegelian sensibility and mode of thought is to go back to Aristotle, and to his understanding that all forms of government - democracy, oligarchy, aristocracy, monarchy, tyranny - are inherently unstable, that all political regimes are inherently transitional, that the stability of all regimes is corrupted by the corrosive power of time. It is no accident - and here Aristotelian rhetoric is in accord with Hegelian - that the twentieth century has witnessed a whole series of rebellions against secular-liberal-capitalist democracy. These rebellions have failed, but the sources that feed such rebellions remain. Which is to say that our American democracy, though seemingly triumphant, is at risk, and it is at risk precisely because it is the kind of democracy it is, with all the problematics - as distinct from mere problems - that fester within such a democracy. Among such problematics are the longing for community, for spirituality, a growing distrust of technology, the confusion of liberty with license, and many others besides.

We may have won the Cold War, which is nice - it's more than nice, it's wonderful. But this means that now the enemy is us, not them.

Irving Kristol is publisher of The National Interest and a distinguished fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.


Daniel Patrick Moynihan

I TAKE Francis Fukuyama's rousing essay to refer to "the end of history" in two senses. There is first the Hegelian usage in which an historical dialectic reaches its necessary and foreseeable conclusion. The second refers to the end of postwar history, in the sense in which we ask, Is the Cold War Over?

I am not equal to any useful comment on the first question, although I will exercise a kind of one man-one vote right to declare myself skeptical about any proposition asserting there is now to be nothing new in human experience.

In a different world I might be more at home with Hegel. As it was, as a youth, it seemed too difficult, and besides, I never learned German. (Come to think, it wasn't taught.) In middle years I came upon Dahrendorf, whose lecture "On the Origin of Inequality among Men" given at Tubingen in 1961 seemed to relieve one, or so I felt, of any need to bother. The eighteenth and nineteenth centuries in Europe were much given over to speculation on this subject. Much of it turned on the explanation of inequality in terms of private property. Rousseau and Marx being "unrivaled in their insistence on property as the sole cause of social inequality."[1] The "concealed romanticism of a revolutionary utopia." All hopeless. Societies establish norms. That is what it means to be a society. In any setting some are more successful than others in abiding by or excelling at particular norms, whatever those norms might be. One, say, of being kinder and gentler. Hence, inequality.

Human society always means that People's behavior is being removed from the randomness of chance and regulated by established and inescapable expectations. The compulsory character of these expectations or norms is based on the operation of sanctions, i.e., of rewards and punishments for conformist or deviant behavior. If every society is in this sense a moral community, it follows that there must always be at least that inequality of rank which results from the necessity of sanctioning behavior according to whether it does or does not conform to established norms. Under whatever aspect given historical societies may introduce additional distinctions between their members, whatever symbols they may declare to be outward signs of inequality, and whatever may be the precise content of their social norms, the hard core of social inequality can always be found in the fact that men as the incumbents of social roles are subject, according to how their roles relate to the dominant expectational principles of society, to sanctions designed to enforce these principles.

To pretend otherwise is to invite considerable grief.

Wherever political programs promise societies without class or strata, a harmonious community of comrades who are all equals in rank, the reduction of all inequalities to functional differences, and the like, we have reason to be suspicious, if only because political promises are often merely a thin veil for the threat of terror and constraint. Wherever ruling groups or their ideologists try to tell us that in their society all men are equal, we can rely on George Orwell's suspicion that "some are more equal than others."

That grief has been so abundantly clear for so long now, that the utopias are quite discredited. We observe, Fukuyama asserts, "the triumph of the West . . . the total exhaustion of viable systemic alternatives to western liberalism." Fair enough. But are we truly witnessing 

the end point of mankind's ideological evolution and the universalization of Western liberal democracy as the final form of human government[?]

Here I find myself mumbling on about the Second Law of Thermodynamics and the prospective "heat death of the universe," when there will be an absence anywhere of energy in a form that can be converted into work. This is hardly an immediate prospect among the present peoples of the earth. Again, Dahrendorf:

Since the "value system" of a society is universal only in the sense that it applies to everyone (it is in fact merely dominant), and since, therefore, the system of social stratification is only a measure of conformity in the behavior of social groups, inequality becomes the dynamic impulse that serves to keep social structures alive. Inequality always implies the gain of one group at the expense of others; thus every system of social stratification generates protest against its principles and bears the seeds of its own suppression. Since human society without inequality is not realistically possible and the complete abolition of inequality is therefore ruled out, the intrinsic explosiveness of every system of social stratification confirms the general view that there cannot be an ideal, perfectly just, and therefore non-historical human society.[2]

Does Fukuyama disagree here? I am not sure. He writes that "it is impossible to rule out the sudden appearance of new ideologies or previously unrecognized contradictions in liberal societies." Let me assure him that it is not at all impossible! In his closing paragraph, he even notes:

I can feel in myself, and see in others around me, a powerful nostalgia for the time when history existed.

I fear he will survive to live once again "in interesting times"!

As regards the end of postwar history, it appears to me that Fukuyama has it right. Which is perhaps too casual a way to treat a thesis that not that long ago would have been greeted with incredulity, in many circles at least.

Nathan Glazer and I have had a similar experience. For some thirty years now we have argued that the increasing salience of ethnicity in industrial or post-industrial societies was incompatible with Marxist analysis and a fundamental contradiction, if you like, of communist societies almost everywhere. We were not paid a great deal of attention, one way or the other. Ethnicity (as a category of social stratification) just couldn't break through the spell of Marxism on the one hand, liberalism on the other. In 1977 when the Fontana Dictionary of Modern Thought appeared in Britain, there was no entry on the subject. We noticed this and were asked to provide one for a second edition, which appeared in 1988. It included this passage:

In the Communist Manifesto, Marx and Engels forecast that all preindustrial distinctions of an ethnic character would disappear with the emergence of a world-wide industrial PROLETARIAT united by a perceived common condition and shared interest. The Workers of the World belief, central to MARXISM, is increasingly presented as central to the falsification of Marxist prediction.[3]

I would think that thirty years ago an Oxford-based publication would have rejected out of hand any assertion that Marxism had been falsified. (That itself being a play on the "scientific socialism" scam.) Fifteen years ago, considerable editing. In 1986, however, the entry was accepted without comment and printed without change.

Here I do have a difference with Fukuyama. He seems to want to be one of the company of "good Hegelians." He describes the ascent of Protestant capitalism as "the result of the victory of one idea over another." Deep stuff. (By the way, do not the Italians have a higher standard of living than the British these days?) And probably wrong in the way in which he uses the construct to account for the latest conversion of the Slavs. Marxism failed because its predictions failed. The Workers of the World did not unite. Social production did not prove more efficient. It was in 1982 that Murray Feshbach (formerly of our Bureau of the Census) reported that life expectancy for males in the Soviet Union was declining.[4] To be sure, such a fact can quickly become a metaphor and hence, a sort of idea. But the fact came first. So much for standing people back on their heads.

Even so, the fact of Soviet economic decline is palpable. Talk to officials in Moscow or Leningrad. Two years ago they were speaking of the "widening gulf between the Soviet Union and the advanced capitalist nations." They were not talking of the Netherlands. Peter the Great figured out the Netherlands. They were talking of Korea, Taiwan, Singapore. Coolie labor. Asian hordes. Of a sudden flooding world markets with micro-circuitry whilst Soviet Russia was left peddling fish eggs and furs, the trading goods of a hunter/gatherer economy. As for ideology, it appears that the regular Party man in Moscow got 11 percent of the vote in the momentous elections of March 1989.[5]

What I need to know is whether the United States is going to absorb all this at the level of foreign policy. It surely did not in the 1980s. To the contrary, the Reagan Doctrine held that we had entered a third phase in the expansion of the Soviet empire. The first followed World War I with modest annexations in the Baltic and a general consolidation of the heartland. Considerable expansion took place after World War II, both in Europe and the Far East. Soon, however, the heartland was encircled by adversary capitalist regimes. In phase three this inner circle is attacked from the rear, by pre-positioned insurgencies in the Third World. In an address given at the Naval Academy in the spring of 1984, Robert C. McFarlane, then National Security Adviser, asserted that this has made "obsolescent" the earlier policy of containment. Because the Soviets were now "militarily strong and adventurous enough to leapfrog the buffer states and jump anywhere in the world that suits their own strategies," it was necessary to go "beyond containment."[6]

Mr. McFarlane was on that occasion justifying the mining of Nicaraguan harbors and describing the resistance there which gave the particular élan to the new doctrine. In a 1986 article in Strategic Review, a State Department official put it that

[The] "Reagan Doctrine" has evolved in pace with a remarkable phenomenon of global dimensions: the spontaneous combustion of resistance to direct and surrogate prongs of the Soviet Union's expansion in such disparate regions as Asia, Africa and Central America. The doctrine, as an expression of American moral values, calls for support, in various forms, to those forces of resistance. On a global scale, it seeks not only to fend against the time-honored and recently accelerating Soviet strategy in the developing world, aimed at outflanking the centers of capitalist power, but to exploit the vulnerabilities opening in the Soviet strategy in order to turn the offensive back. As such, the doctrine leans on the strategic principles of objective, offensive, economy of force and maneuver.[7]

Economy of force meant, inter alia, getting the Ayatollah Khomeini on our side.

Some of these people were berserk. In the process, they all but brought on a crisis of the regime. I cite Theodore Draper on the Iran-Contra events:

If ever the constitutional democracy of the United States is overthrown, we now have a better idea of how this is likely to be done.[8]

Just as ominously - for it carries over after them - they brought on our own "period of stagnation." In eight years they increased the national debt by an amount almost equivalent to the debt incurred during World War II. But in this instance, the United States ended up in debt to the rest of the world, with an economy that itself was having difficulty keeping up with the "advanced capitalist nations."

It would be small consolation to find at the end of history, or at least at the end of the twentieth century, "the basic principles of the liberal democratic state could not be improved upon" if in the process the principal liberal democratic state finds itself exhausted from the struggle, depleted, demoralized. The metaphor of American decline - "imperial overstretch," "twin deficits" - everywhere in evidence. And with no electoral break with the administration that brought this on.

This presents the central challenge and great opportunity of the new presidency of George Bush. He is free to change American policy toward the Soviets as much as he wishes, without risk of being said to have subverted it. Indeed, the later Reagan years provide a transition. It was he, after all, who defended his friendship with the new leader of the Kremlin in rather unusual terms.

. . . [H]e is the first leader that has come along who has gone back before Stalin and.. . is trying to do what Lenin was teaching . . . . I've known a little bit about Lenin and what he was advocating, and I think that this, in glasnost and perestroika and all that, this is much more smacking of Lenin than of Stalin.[9]

I have written elsewhere of a "return to normalcy" in the American presidency, and there is every indication that this will now be possible with Soviet Russia. And surely we can sort out the distinctions that will have to be understood in order for there to be such a shift in foreign policy. In essence, it is now to be understood that the Russian leadership has foregone the claim that its social and economic system represents the foreordained next stage in history. In consequence of which it is now bound by the rules of the present stage in history. Indeed not bound by any rules, being a mere instrument of a historical process which it did not commence, and over which it has no more control than did the bourgeois powers, or even the feudal ones.

This does not mean relations with Russia will be friendly, or even cooperative. There is the phenomenon Westerners describe as a "gut shot grizzly." But they will be fundamentally different from seven decades of revolutionary expectations.

All this came together in an extraordinary appearance of George F. Kennan before the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations in the spring of 1989. At age eighty-five, the man who had sent the "long telegram" from Moscow in 1946 told the Committee that it was all over. The end of the Russian Revolution had come. There can have been few such moments in our Committee's history. (At the close the entire room rose in standing ovation.) With impeccable clarity and reserve he walked us through from beginning to end, and from a perspective that transformed almost every subject he touched upon.

First of all, subtly, simply by the use of words, we were asked to think of Russia, not some agitprop abstraction called the Soviet Union. (For two centuries, Russian regimes have had a good many soldiers. On the other hand, they wait to be attacked. The military are not Caesarist; civil rulers seem safe there, etc.) Next, and just as important, we were asked to consider the centrality of nationalism (Glazer and I would add ethnicity) to the modern experience. There is nothing else of remotely comparable significance. Marxism? "[Something that took account, if you will, only of the tragedies of class differences in the early period of the industrial revolution . . . ."[10] Not exactly absurd, but hardly of any relevance as you enter the twenty-first century.

Ambassador Kennan's summation needs to be published soon. Let us then have it for The National Interest!

. . . [I]t appears to me, that whatever reasons there may once have been for regarding the Soviet Union primarily as a possible, if not probable, military opponent, the time for that sort of thing has clearly passed. That country should now be regarded essentially as another great power like other great powers - one, that is, whose aspirations and policies are conditioned outstandingly by its own geographic situation, history, and tradition, and are therefore not identical with our own but are also not so seriously in conflict with ours as to justify any assumption that the outstanding differences could not be adjusted by the normal means of compromise and accommodation. It ought now to be our purpose, I consider, while not neglecting the needs of our general security, to eliminate as soon as possible, by amicable negotiation the elements of abnormal military tension that have recently dominated Soviet-American relations, and to turn our attention, instead, to the development of the positive possibilities of this relationship, which are far from insignificant.

Daniel Patrick Moynihan is senior Senator from New York.

1. Ralf Dahrendorf, Essays in the Theory of Society (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1968), 159. (back to text)

2. Dahrendorf, 1778. (back to text)

3. Alan Bullock, et. al. The Fontana Dictionary of Modern Thought, rev. ed. (London: Collins, 1988), 285. (back to text)

4. Murray Feshbach, "Issues in Soviet Health Problems," in Soviet Economy in the 1980's: Problems and Prospects, Selected Papers submitted to the Joint Economic Committee, Congress of the United States, December 31, 1982 (Washington: GPO, 1983). (back to text)

5. Bill Keller, "Soviet Voters Deal a Mortifying Blow to Party Officials," New York Times, March 28, 1989, A10. (back to text)

6. Barnaard L. Collier, "McFarlane Says Hill Knew About Mining," Washington Times, April 13, 1984, 1. (back to text)

7. William R. Bode, "The Reagan Doctrine," Strategic Review 14, no. 1 (Winter 1986), 21. (back to text)

8. Theodore Draper, "The Rise of the American Junta," New York Review of Books,October 8, 1987, 47. (back to text)

9. Lou Cannon, "Text of Interview with President Reagan," Washington Post, February 26, 1988, A31. (back to text)

10. George F. Kennan, Testimony before the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations, The Future of U.S.-Soviet Relations: Overview, April 4, 1989. (back to text)


Stephen Sestanovich

THE END of history, in Frank Fukuyama's excellent essay, can easily begin to sound like the political equivalent of global warming. Each theory has some of the same conceptual advantages and difficulties, and for better or worse these will probably affect the response of many readers. The principal advantage: a couple of extremely hot summers in a row predispose people to believe a permanent change has occurred. Contrary evidence can be dismissed as reflecting an insufficiently long view. The principal difficulty: audiences want to know whether the new forecast has any practical application. They are not entirely satisfied to hear that the glaciers will melt sometime between the last decade of the twentieth century (that is, very soon) and the last decade of the twenty-first (too far in the future to affect most vacation plans).

Long lags between the initial ascendancy of liberal ideas and their eventual embodiment in social and political institutions are a problem not merely for predicting the future, but for interpreting the past as well. There was, after all, quite a delay between the Battle of

Jena and the founding of the Weimar Republic, not to speak of VE Day. One way to test theories of history is to put them to work explaining these gaps between idea and reality. About nations that have come late to constitutionalism and consumerism, it doesn't seem quite enough to say that the clash between liberalism and opposing ideologies can simply take a century or two to resolve itself. Of course it can, but it doesn't do so everywhere. Not every nation has to be "forced to be free."

Precisely to explain such differences in development (why, for example, was there no serious fascist movement in Britain?), political theorists introduce other variables - political institutions, the means of production, and so forth. This was the most important amendment Marx made to Hegel; he said that the ideas that appear to govern human society become relevant only when someone is actually ready to make material use of them. Fukuyama updates Hegel in a similar way when he defines the "universal homogeneous state" as liberal democracy plus consumer electronics. History clicks off when the VCR clicks on? Marx would surely argue that this formulation is closer to his own view of history's dynamic than to Hegel's. Its assumptions are Marxian even if its conclusion - that history culminates in capitalist pluralism instead of communism - is not.

The Soviet Union is today the place where it matters most whether, and when, history will in fact come to rest in a liberal result. Recent events have for the first time made a positive answer thinkable. As Fukuyama points out, the crucial "conceptual" hurdle has been overcome. Gorbachev and his lieutenants now endorse economic reforms whose only "unifying thread" is liberalism; they advocate political innovations whose origins are "alien" to Marxism-Leninism. As a result of such ideological "demolition work," even if there is no further progress for now, it will be difficult to restore the status quo ante.

This is an extremely persuasive analysis, which makes clear why Gorbachev represents a watershed in Soviet history. Advocates of a fundamental break with the past are suddenly in positions of power, and many of them appear to see that the problems the Soviet Union faces would be better managed in a system of markets (political and economic) than in one of monopolies. Yet the gap between victorious liberal idea and future liberal reality remains, and the more one thinks about the Soviet case, the more it seems that the problem liberalism is least effective at handling is that of establishing itself in the first place.

Consider the issue of nationalism. Fukuyama concludes that it is not "an irreconcilable contradiction in the heart of liberalism." Certainly ethnic and racial conflicts are not normally an insoluble problem within a functioning pluralist order; to the contrary, they are most acute where liberalism has not yet been fully implemented. But the fact that lib era1 outcomes are stable once reached does not establish what the process of reaching them is like. Unfortunately, it can be tumultuous. For groups whose animosities have festered in an illiberal setting, the freedom to speak up, organize, and assemble may present itself primarily as a long-sought opportunity to fight things out. In the Soviet Union, this dilemma has now become very clear. To be a liberal is in effect to encourage the escalation of conflicts that could before long tear the USSR apart. A liberal program, in other words, may only prepare the ground for an illiberal outcome.

National divisions and loyalties are one obstacle to peaceful reform in the Soviet Union. Another is the residual anti-liberal sentiment of Stalinist ideology. Fukuyama is doubtless right that the authority of communism is too badly tattered to be restored. But it is perhaps still strong enough to affect the fate and shape of reform. Something of Gorbachev's problem is suggested by his inability to call his program by its proper name. He too cowers in fear of the "Lword," not so much to protect the stability of the system but because, for all the implicit support it probably enjoys, liberalism publicly remains a bourgeois ideology without respectability. Searching for slogans with popular appeal, the Stalinist elite now in fact seeks refuge in the claim that liberalism's unbridled worship of money and success will divide Soviet society. One of their spokesmen, Yuri Bondarev, has called the reformist outlook "a poison offered as a cure." As he told last summer's Party conference:

We are against our society becoming a crowd of solitary people, a voluntary captive in the trap of commercialist consumerism that promises the luxurious life of alien, all-pervasive advertising.

This theme is obviously meant to reach beyond socialist true believers. There is a growing affinity in the Soviet Union between the Stalinist Left and the ultra-nationalist Right, and the strongest link between them is a common dislike of liberal individualism and the social order that goes with it. Such a union of extremes would of course hardly be unique to Russia. Let us suppose the weakened remnants of Stalinism tip the outcome in favor of a fascist alternative because they think anything is better than liberalism. If so, we would witness a near-exact replay of the dynamic that helped to crush Weimar and bring the Nazis to power.

It is sometimes said that Gorbachev has begun to understand a liberal reformer's special vulnerability in the Soviet setting, and that he has accelerated the pace of political change (especially his recent experiment with elections) so as to give himself new weapons for the struggle ahead. To put it slightly differently, he may now suspect that the Soviet Union will not make the uneasy passage between liberal idea and liberalized reality except by way of a certain amount of disorder. He and his allies surely hope to be able to control this process, but the popular anger revealed by this spring's balloting should make them wonder.

In the light of Soviet history, it would be astonishing if an upheaval on the scale sketched out by Gorbachev could be accomplished without loosening the moorings of the system at least a little. Liberal institutions have rarely been created in the incremental, indirect style that Fukuyama seems to envision for the end of history. His is an accurate description of liberalism in place, less so of liberalism in the making. In his truly admirable analysis of the foundations of a free society, and the eroding bases of unfree ones, an important word is all but missing; that word is revolution.

Whatever form it may take at home - violent or not - the Soviet Union's deep ferment has already been accompanied by changes in its thinking about the outside world. Liberalizing impulses, resource stringency, an apparent loss of confidence in the benefits that have flowed from past policy - these influences seem to be eating away slowly at Soviet aspirations to hegemony.

The removal of what has for decades been the main source of Western insecurity would obviously reshape international politics. But would ideological antagonism and military competition really give way to "Common Marketization" - to a world in which governments were guided by the same economic calculus, in which war was a senseless interruption of commerce and bureaucratic accommodation resolved all conflicts?

It is easy to make Fukuyama's analysis sound a little outlandish, even utopian. Yet much of it is really beyond dispute. The internal evolution of the major powers does focus them increasingly on economic goals that are unlikely to be advanced by a resort to force. It is hard to imagine that the gradual disappearance of the Soviet threat will lead the states of the West to uncover new enemies within their own circle rather than to become less military-minded in general.

Violence and coercion may play a less pervasive role in world politics, and this is a major change. Yet it is equally important to understand how much will remain the same. International relations will surely continue to be relations among the strong and the weak, among ascending and declining states. And the meaning of inequality will be much what it has been in the past. Those who are powerful will stamp the system with their own preferences; those who are less powerful will have correspondingly less freedom to select their own national goals. In this environment, a state whose economic vitality is in decline will do just what one would predict today of a state whose military potential is slipping: tend to its own affairs, take fewer chances. By contrast, growing economic weight will lead a national leadership - of Japan, say, or China - to think that its writ should run further, that others should pay it greater heed.

Liberalism is not the end of politics in the world at large any more than it is the end of politics at home. A liberal international order may be less violent, may look less like the state of nature. But just because power takes on new forms, it will not cease to exist or cease to define a hierarchy of those who count and those who do not. As a result, the strong will (still) do what they can; the weak will (still) do what they must.

Stephen Sestanovich is director of Soviet studies at the Center for Strategic and International Studies, Washington DC


**  Summer 1989, The National Interest

* see the invidual biographies at the end of each section.

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