Francis Fukuyama is both one of the luckiest and unluckiest writers working today. His luck is that, in 1992, he published one of the most widely referred to books of recent decades. His bad luck is that almost nobody read it. Even among those who did read it – or professed to read it – a distinct number went on to demonstrate that they had nevertheless misunderstood it.
The End of History and the Last Man is an extraordinary work of political and philosophical scholarship. Its scope, depth and detail would have made it an exceptional work in any era. But like the book with which it is often paired (Samuel Huntington’s Clash of Civilisations), its virtues have been lost in the quarter of a century since it came out. Like Huntington, Fukuyama’s title suggested a misleadingly simple thesis. And like Huntington it did not in fact advocate what it was accused of advocating.
To this day, people who have never read beyond the title of either book will argue with what they imagine to be Fukuyama or Huntington’s thesis. Both authors continue to be cited in innumerable radio programmes and op-eds, with people seizing either man’s thesis to set up a fallacious-point that they can then bravely refute.
There have, of course, been more enlightening criticisms of Fukuyama’s work. The most persuasive being that the book contains a slight misreading of Hegel which Fukuyama had picked up from the brilliant but troubling Alexandre Kojeve. And after a quarter century being misread, it does seem possible that Fukuyama has come to realise that there is room for misinterpretation in his first book; he has spent recent years concentrating on rewriting elements of that thesis in two considerable books The Origins of Political Order [2011] and Political Order and Political Decay: from the industrial revolution to the present day [2014].
Between such deep and substantial works, Fukuyama has a tendency to turn out shorter, slighter works. Hence The Economist is – as it is so often – slightly wrong in its summary of Fukuyama as quoted on the dustjacket of this latest book. It is not the case, as the organ claimed, that Fukuyama is the “glorious exception” to the basic rule that in intellectual life, “celebrity destroys quality”. During the 2000s, in particular, Fukuyama’s oft-citedness most certainly damaged the quality of his work. State Building [2004] was a slight and hastily-produced. It seemed almost to be a symptom of the problem it was aspiring to address. America at the Crossroads (published in the UK as After the Neocons) [2006] was little more than an act of distancing: possibly politic; personally useful; but far from glorious.
His new book, Identity: contemporary identity politics and the struggle for recognition, is another of these slighter works, but one which is still more significant than most churned out these days. In it, Fukuyama attempts to address some of the questions which many people have spent the last two years trying to consider: namely ‘why do people keep voting the wrong way?’
Fukuyama would not put it so crudely or crassly of course. Still, his work is an attempt to grapple with the rise of political instincts that are not his own. Much of this can write itself, and has done so elsewhere many times. Donald Trump appears in the book’s first sentence. Vikor Orban pops up on the third page, and Brexit arrives, inevitably, just a few paragraphs later. For Fukuyama the Trump and Brexit votes were a particular disappointment, suggesting to him as they did that the two countries which led what he calls the “neoliberal revolution” under Reagan and Thatcher were now “turning away toward a more narrow nationalism”. To his credit, Fukuyama tries to understand why something he abhors should have happened. And he has typically Fukuyaman explanations.
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