The End of History? Reflections on Some International Legal Theses

Susan Marks ¹

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Democracy used to be a word that international legal commentators preferred to avoid. At least by the second half of the present century, this was not because too few governments identified themselves as democratic. It was rather because too many did so. The world's most repressive regimes joined their more representative counterparts in claiming a title that had become synonymous with praiseworthy and justified politics. In some cases modifying adjectives were used (`one-party democracy', `people's democracy', etc.); in other cases the appropriation was unmodified. Either way, observers found normative inferences difficult to draw, for democracy appeared to mean everything, and therefore nothing.

What put an end to the commentators' reticence was, of course, the demise of communism and the turn in all regions of the world to multi-party electoral politics. For many, these events confirmed both that democracy was the foundation of political legitimacy, and that repressive regimes, whatever they chose to call themselves, lacked that legitimacy. Influential international legal scholars felt able to declare that a `right of democratic governance' was now `emerging',² and that international law was, or at any rate should now be, beginning to take in the lessons of `liberal internationalism'.³

This article examines these claims.⁴ The concern here is not to affirm or deny that state practice and opinio juris square with an emerging right of democratic governance. The evidence relevant to deciding that doctrinal question will not be presented, and no conclusion will be offered with respect to it. Nor does this article seek to maintain that democracy is a Western artefact, with limited relevance outside the West. On the contrary, the premise of what follows is that, provided it is understood to refer to a general concept or ideal of self-rule on a footing of equality among citizens,⁵ rather than to particular conceptions of democratic politics and their institutional manifestations, democracy is an idea of potentially universal pertinence. Its historical roots may be localized. But the worldwide struggles being waged in democracy's name leave little room for doubt that democracy has today become globalized.

The previous paragraph's proviso is, however, a very large one, and points to the central question addressed in this article. What is the understanding of democracy that informs the claims concerning the right of democratic governance and liberal internationalism? The argument advanced here is that the international legal scholars who put forward these claims precisely do not identify democracy with a concept or ideal of self-rule on a footing of equality among citizens. Rather, they, along with many of their critics, for the most part elide democracy with certain liberal institutions. This serves, in ways to be highlighted, to attenuate the emancipatory and critical force that democracy might have. In doing so, it limits the contribution that international law (should it develop along the lines the scholars suggest) might make with respect to anti-authoritarian politics, whether in countries yet to embrace democracy, in countries newly embracing democracy, in countries of long-standing democratic commitment, or indeed in the innumerable other non-national settings of contemporary political life.

The elision of democracy with certain liberal institutions can be linked to a more general perspective evinced in the claims concerning the norm of democratic governance and liberal internationalism. This perspective will be referred to as `liberal millenarianism', an expression which hopefully makes up in salience for what it lacks in euphony. Liberal millenarianism is the analytical framework adopted in this article, and the first section sketches the key features that are here associated with it. The second section then reviews the international legal scholarship in which the claims under discussion are elaborated. The final section considers to what extent, and with what consequences, that scholarship exhibits a liberal millenarian perspective. This article's conclusion is that, if international law is to lend its support to ongoing efforts to extend and deepen democracy's purchase, the emerging norm of democratic governance and liberal internationalism offer, at best, a partial agenda.

I. Liberal Millenarianism

Liberal millenarianism finds its most extreme, and certainly its best known, expression in the work of Francis Fukuyama in the late 1980s and early 1990s.⁶ Fukuyama undoubtedly set out to provoke, and this he very effectively did. His work of this period attracted many critics and few unqualified supporters.⁷ One is tempted to dismiss him as isolated, a passing gadfly not to be taken too seriously. To do that would, however, be to ignore his many qualified supporters. It would be to overlook that his premises and argument found resonance - and continue to find resonance - in the work of a broad spectrum of commentators, including many whose outlooks are considerably more moderate than his. Liberal millenarianism refers to this whole spectrum. That said, precisely because he articulates in bold, telegraphic fashion, and even at times rhetorically overstates, that which others more delicately bury or hedge, Fukuyama's work offers an excellent vantage point for surveying the shared terrain.

A. Fukuyama and the End of History

Fukuyama's central thesis is that the end of the Cold War confirms a worldwide consensus in favour of liberalism, including not just capitalism but liberal democracy as well. As he sees it, liberalism has conquered all rival ideologies, most recently communism, and liberal democracy is now the sole legitimate system of government. This marks the `triumph of the West'.⁸ More than that, it heralds - he proposes - the `end of history'.

What we may be witnessing is not just the end of the Cold War, or the passing of a particular period of postwar history, but the end of history as such; that is, the end point of mankind's ideological evolution and the universalisation of Western liberal democracy as the final form of human government.⁹

This claim obviously relies on a distinctive notion of `history'. If most scholars today conceive history as without grand design, Fukuyama considers this an understandable response to the abominations of the first half of the twentieth century. But he holds that this conception now requires rethinking. In the events of the century's closing decades he finds warrant for returning to the teleological notion of history that can be found in the work of Hegel and Marx, their secular version of the pre-modern deterministic understanding. According to this perspective, history is purposive, directional, progressive, and oriented towards a particular goal. Fukuyama endorses the view, which he identifies especially with Hegel,¹⁰ that the goal towards which history is oriented is rationality and freedom, and that human societies progress towards it dialectically, through the clash of ideologies. The culmination - or `end' - of history is eventually reached when perfect freedom and rationality are attained, and the clash of ideologies is resolved. This is what Fukuyama argues may now have occurred. Ideological competition appears to be over. Whereas Marx thought democracy in the shape of communism was our final destiny, it turns out - so Fukuyama holds - to be liberal democracy that has emerged from the fray, to await us at the end of history. It turns out to be liberal democracy that overcomes all the defects, irrationalities and contradictions of earlier forms of government, and promises to bring the historical dialectic to a close.

Fukuyama recognizes, of course, that not all countries of the world have embraced liberal democracy, and that those which have done so face continuing challenges. His point, he insists, is that history may have ended in the sense that the ideology of liberal democracy represents the final stage of political evolution. By this he means that the idea of liberal democracy cannot be improved upon. Ideology and ideas are one thing; practice is quite another, and in this case lags far behind. Thus, the end of history does not entail that there may, or will, be no further events and no further conflict. Nationalism and religion, in particular, appear to Fukuyama likely to remain sources of violence. Many societies have not yet begun, or have scarcely begun, to realize liberal democracy, and will face turbulent times before they do. In particular, he remarks, `the vast bulk of the Third World remains very much mired in history'.¹¹ Even `post-historical', Western societies have incompletely implemented liberal democratic principles. For this reason they are likely to experience continuing internal strife. In their relations with one another, however, war has become `unthinkable'.¹² In this connection, Fukuyama argues that the post-historical West should actively defend its gains through a `league of democratic nations', `capable of forceful action to protect its collective security from threats arising from the non-democratic part of the world', and `inclined also to expand the sphere of democracy, where possible and prudent'.¹³

Why is it that liberal democracy has achieved such a victory, at least at the level of ideas or consciousness? On what basis does Fukuyama claim that liberal democracy embodies perfect rationality and freedom? He takes the view that the main engine of progress in the modern world is what he terms the `logic of modern natural science'.¹⁴ By this he means instrumental rationality, especially calculations of economic cost and benefit. According to Fukuyama the logic of modern natural science accounts for the triumph of capitalism and the establishment of a `universal consumer culture'. It also accounts for the decline of traditional forms of social organization and the profound worldwide impact of technological innovation. But of itself this logic cannot account for liberal democracy's privileged place in history. While liberal democratic countries generally fare best economically, and while economic modernization may help create the material conditions for liberal democracy, such as urbanization and education, economic efficiency may in some contexts militate in favour of authoritarian-bureaucratic government, rather than liberal democracy. Economics alone cannot explain liberal democracy's consummate status. In his words, the logic of modern natural science `gets us to the gates of the Promised Land of liberal democracy, but does not quite deliver us to the other side'.¹⁵

Fukuyama believes that liberal democracy may represent the ultimate form of government because it satisfies certain fundamental human psychological needs. These he refers to (drawing again on Hegel) as the desire for `recognition', a desire he takes to be manifested in such feelings as self-respect, self-esteem, dignity, ambition, pride and concern for prestige. For Fukuyama `the problem of human history can be seen ... as the search for a way to satisfy the desire of both masters and slaves for recognition on a mutual and equal basis; history ends with the victory of a societal order that accomplishes that goal'.¹⁶ As he sees it, liberal democracy is that order; it offers a framework for mutual and equal recognition of all citizens.

And yet, if liberal democracy awaits us at history's end, there is another sense in which, according to Fukuyama, the human desire for recognition will be left profoundly unfulfilled, even debilitated. There is an aspect of that desire that can only find fulfilment in the context of ideological competition. Whereas those - he refers to them as the `first men' - who began the struggle for liberal democracy had to exhibit courage, take risks and aim high, the `last men' at the end of history will have no further need of heroism.¹⁷ Indeed, they will be encouraged not to stand out. Fukuyama worries about the mediocrity, ignobility and materialism of liberal democracy's `last men'. Following in the tradition of Tocqueville and others,¹⁸ his enthusiasm for liberal democracy is tinged with regret for the passing of aristocracy, and a belief that too much equality, rather than too little, may pose liberal democracy's greatest challenge.

B. Liberal Millenarianism

This thesis was widely interpreted - and Fukuyama himself confirms that it was intended - as an attempt to provide an antidote to the prevailing `declinist' mood of American political analysis in the 1980s.¹⁹ Those `pessimists' who were continuing to assert that the power and influence of the United States were in decline had failed to notice the `good news'²⁰ that a `liberal revolution' was underway worldwide. At the same time, those `intellectuals who believe they grasp the world in all its complexity and tragedy'²¹ had failed to see that history has a pattern, and that, posturing aside, `[t]oday ... we have trouble imagining a world that is radically better than our own'.²²

Patently, Fukuyama's antidote was strong stuff. Though not without ambivalences, his work makes few concessions to those who do not share his outlook, and is almost ostentatious in its disdain for those he takes to be left-liberal or, perhaps, un-American. And yet, his themes are not confined to what has been called the New Right. Rather, they appear, as noted at the outset, to exemplify a more widely held perspective. It is this perspective to which liberal millenarianism refers. Its key features may be summarized as follows.

In the first place there is the notion that history has a telos. This involves a view of historical change as directional, linear and evolutionary, with identifiable developmental stages and an end-point that can be known, and potentially reached. Secondly, there is the supposition that history's telos is liberalism, or at any rate liberal democracy in association with a market-oriented economy. This is based both on an empirical assertion that all alternatives to liberalism have been eliminated, and on a normative assertion that liberalism is superior to all alternatives. A third feature is a distinctive voice, a `we' who (fine tuning aside) have liberal democracy and experience no serious - or, at any rate, no intractable - problems, in contradistinction to a non-liberal `they' (in the Third World and elsewhere) for whom things will necessarily remain more complicated and more unpleasant. Finally, there is a distinctive tone, a call to celebrate the present, tempered perhaps by nostalgia for the past, but nonetheless optimistic, confident and flushed with a sense of victory over the forces of regression.

Millenarianism refers in Christian doctrine to the belief that Christ will return to reign on earth for a thousand years. More generally, it is applied to premonitions of global futures of diverse kinds, but especially redemptive ones.²³ Liberal millenarianism's millenarianism thus consists in its perception that the world may stand on the brink of an unprecedented era of peace and good government, a perception which is millenarian also in the more literal sense that it pertains to the millennium about to begin.²⁴ Reinforcing the millenarian character of this vision in Fukuyama's work is the annunciatory, exalted, sometimes even ecstatic, language in which it is expressed, and the evocation of eschatological, especially evangelical,²⁵ themes. The liberal character of liberal millenarianism derives obviously from the fact that this is presented as a vision of a liberal world. But what sort of liberal world? To pursue this question, and also to explore further liberal millenarianism's implications for the meaning of democracy, it is helpful to draw into the discussion some of Fukuyama's critics.²⁶

C. Liberal Millenarianism and Democracy

One striking feature of Fukuyama's argument is that it largely proceeds as if there is, and can be, only one liberalism, one democracy and one liberal democracy. While recognizing a certain diversity of institutional arrangements, Fukuyama fails to consider the diversity of values and beliefs that contributes to producing divergent understandings of the meaning of liberalism and democracy, and of their interrelation. Liberal democracy cannot spell the end of ideological struggle because it is itself the subject of ideological contestation, and will continue to be so.

What, then, of Fukuyama's own understanding of liberalism, democracy and liberal democracy? A number of critics highlight Fukuyama's failure to address the tension between liberalism and democracy. The liberal preoccupation with rights and freedom from government control, and the democratic preoccupation with equal participation in, and accountability of, public power, may point in different directions. Rights and freedoms justified by reference to liberalism may compromise the extent to which all citizens are equally enabled to participate in politics; political decisions justified by reference to democracy may compromise individuals' rights and freedoms. On this point David Held observes that Fukuyama endorses economic liberalism, without examining the extent to which the `free market' constrains democratic processes, by generating and sustaining systematic inequalities of wealth that involve systematic inequalities of power.²⁷ Thus, without addressing the implications of doing so, Fukuyama effectively resolves the tension between liberalism and democracy in favour of liberalism (especially in its neo-liberal economic aspect). This leads him, Jonathan Macey and Geoffrey Miller remark, to proclaim a victory for liberal democracy wherever he sees economic liberalism.²⁸

Also of concern is Fukuyama's `uncritical affirmation'²⁹ of liberal democracy. He neglects to investigate alternatives to prevailing liberal democratic practices, and gives little sign of grasping the limitations of those practices. Indeed he leaves largely unexplained the basis on which an evaluation might be made. His celebration of liberal democracy, thus ungrounded, overlooks the obvious failures of liberal democracy, its omissions with respect to the historic promise of self-rule on the basis of equality among citizens. These omissions find reflection in the pervasiveness of unaccountable power and the persistence of asymmetrical life chances between sexes, ethnic groups and classes.³⁰ At the same time, Fukuyama's celebration also overlooks that liberal democracy has never been under so much strain. He considers the challenges posed to liberal democracy by nationalist and religious movements. But, as Held and others observe, he fails to address the far-reaching challenges posed by the diffusion of decision-making power and political activity in the contemporary world.³¹ This arises from a wide range of developments, among them innovations in the media and communications and information technology, economic globalization, and the rising importance of social movements (the environmental and women's movements, etc.).³² In profound and diverse ways, these developments put in doubt the tenability of an account of liberal democratic politics that focuses solely on national governments, and treats periodic elections, the rule of law and civil and political rights as not just necessary but largely sufficient. Yet this is the account that informs Fukuyama's claims.

Fukuyama's uncritical approach to liberal democracy is accompanied by a portrayal of the world that is hard to locate in actuality. Like Voltaire's Pangloss, he insists on an account of this `best of all possible worlds' that defies, rather than attends to, contemporary realities. Jacques Derrida puts this point starkly:

[N]ever have violence, inequality, exclusion, famine, and thus economic oppression affected as many human beings in the history of the earth and humanity. Instead of singing the advent of the ideal of liberal democracy and of the capitalist market in the euphoria of the end of history, ... let us never neglect this macroscopic fact, made up of innumerable singular sites of suffering: no degree of progress allows one to ignore that never before, in absolute figures, have so many men, women and children been subjugated, starved or exterminated.³³

These sites of suffering, of course, cross-cut the distinction Fukuyama draws between `historical' and `post-historical' states, and serve to assure the continuance of ideological divergences in both categories of countries.

A further problematic element in Fukuyama's argument is his premise that a `liberal revolution' is underway. He acknowledges that the Islamic world stands outside the consensus that he takes to be forming concerning liberal democracy, but discounts the significance of resistance there and elsewhere. Commentators have countered that, while few profess to reject the basic ideas associated with democracy and while some form of capitalism characterizes most economies, there is little evidence of support in many countries for liberal values more generally. Fukuyama exaggerates the scope of the consensus by finding liberal democracy almost - though not invariably - wherever he locates some variant of capitalism.

Fukuyama's defence is that his thesis about the end of history posits the end of ideological contestation, and is not an empirical claim. Thus it is not falsifed by the obvious fact that not all societies have embraced liberal democracy. But does this thesis not presuppose compelling evidence as regards aspirations, even if not as regards political practices and institutions? What precisely is Fukuyama's `good news'? Derrida calls attention to the way Fukuyama characterizes liberal democracy both as an ideal and as an occurrence, alternating between the two to suit his argument.³⁴ On the one hand, Fukuyama refutes evidence that contradicts his thesis, insisting that he is speaking of an ideal that transcends events. On the other hand, he maintains that events have occurred - the death of communism, the establishment of liberal democracy and capitalism as ideologies of near-universal choice, the recognition accorded by Western liberal democracies to their citizens - which represent the realization of this ideal. Fukuyama's `good news' thus intends to refer, Derrida shows, both to an accomplished fact and to a vision of the future.

This leads to a final observation. Inasmuch as Fukuyama's linear conception of history admits of only one future, it reduces and oversimplifies the processes of historical change. While Fukuyama acknowledges that reversals are possible, he assumes that the trends he identifies will broadly continue. In this, Samuel Huntington observes, Fukuyama overstates the predictability of history and the permanence of the moment. Current trends may continue, but experience suggests that they may well not.³⁵ The historical record to date offers little support for Fukuyama's notion of progress. Held too finds that Fukuyama has failed to appreciate the contingency of events and the complexity of social processes. Held highlights that Fukuyama's essentialized conception of `man' and his two master engines of modernity (instrumental rationality and the desire for recognition) cannot adequately explain such central historical phenomena as classes, gender inequalities and the international division of labour.³⁶ If this is the case, then the predictive value of his conceptual framework must likewise be open to question.

To summarise, it can be argued that the thesis of the end of history - as the ideological triumph of capitalist economics and liberal democracy - attaches insufficient importance to a number of matters which render ideological divergences inescapable and, indeed, vital. These include the following points: the meaning ascribed to the terms involved is itself at least partly a matter of ideology; the enduring tension between liberalism and democracy invites continuing contestation concerning liberal democracy; liberal democracy is subject to profound - increasingly profound - challenge; at the end of the twentieth century progress is far from obvious; the scope of support for any version of liberal democracy, even at the level of ideas, is not clear; history follows not a single path but multiple and diverse trajectories that proceed and interact in complex and imponderable ways.

Critics draw diverse conclusions from their analyses of Fukuyama's thesis, though almost all find in it a dangerous inducement to complacency. Huntington's worry is that it may encourage Americans to underestimate the contemporary sources of political instability, and on this basis to relax their vigilance in foreign relations. Declinism, in Huntington's view, was, in contrast, a useful warning and goad to action.³⁷ Held has a different concern. Only fifty years after nazism, fascism and Stalinism almost eclipsed liberal democracy, Fukuyama prematurely pronounces a secure future for liberal democracy, and glosses over the most serious challenges that currently confront it.³⁸ Derrida shares this anxiety that Fukuyama masks the fragility of liberal democracy, and thus reduces the possibilities for strengthening and improving it. In this regard Derrida expresses particular disquiet at the way Fukuyama seeks to deny (while himself, however, in key respects exemplifying)³⁹ the continuing relevance of ideas and critical practices that draw inspiration from Marx.⁴⁰ Like a number of other scholars,⁴¹ Derrida takes the view that these ideas and practices are rendered more, not less, pertinent by liberalism's gains.

The points discussed here arise in relation to Fukuyama's writings. But most apply with equal force to liberal millenarianism generally. This is because most stem from the features of Fukuyama's work that have been characterized as, more broadly, liberal millenarian: the progressivist notion of history; the identification of liberal democracy as history's telos ; the distinctive `post-historical' voice; the celebratory tone. Indeed, the critical perspectives just reviewed highlight the extent to which these features are interrelated and mutually reinforcing. With respect to the progressivist conception of history that is a central pillar of liberal millenarianism, Fukuyama's critics echo insights that can be found in the work of many other scholars. Among these, Michel Foucault's well-known account of history and genealogy is worth briefly recalling at this point.⁴² Foucault shows how progressivist history confirms rather than unsettles established power relations. It represses dissension, struggle, and domination, rather than articulating and addressing them. It presents the world comfortingly, as simple, coherent and ordered, rather than challengingly, as complex, heterogeneous and contingent. In seeking to hold onto things as they are, it asserts blithely, but also impotently, that things must be as they are. What this puts in relief is the sense in which liberal millenarianism, for all its professed optimism, is ultimately pessimistic, not - as Fukuyama suggests - because it envisions a world of excessive equality, but because it evokes a world of enduring and immutable inequalities.

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1 Fellow, Emmanuel College, Cambridge, CB2 3AP, United Kingdom. I would like to thank Professor James Crawford for his invaluable assistance and support in the writing of the PhD dissertation on which this article draws.

2 The leading exponent of this is Thomas Franck. See, esp., `United Nations Based Prospects for a New Global Order', 22 NYUJ. Int'l L. & Pol. (1990) 601; `The Emerging Right to Democratic Governance', 86 AJIL (1992) 46 (hereinafter Franck 1992); `Democracy as a Human Right', in L. Henkin and J. Hargrove (eds.), Human Rights: An Agenda for the Next Century (1994) 73 (hereinafter Franck 1994); and Fairness in International Law and Institutions (1995) (hereinafter Franck 1995), Ch. 4 (largely reproducing Franck 1992).

3 See esp. Slaughter (Burley), `Revolution of the Spirit', 3 Harv. Hum. Rts J. (1990) 1 (hereinafter Slaughter 1990); `Towards an Age of Liberal Nations', 33 Harv. Int'l L.J. (1992) 393 (hereinafter Slaughter 1992a); `Law Among Liberal States: Liberal Internationalism and the Act of State Doctrine', 92 Columbia L.R. (1992) 1907 (hereinafter Slaughter 1992b); `Law and the Liberal Paradigm in International Relations Theory', Proc. ASIL (1993) 180 (hereinafter Slaughter 1993); and `International Law in a World of Liberal States', 6 EJIL (1995) 503 (hereinafter Slaughter 1995). For a related theme, see Tesón, `The Kantian Theory of International Law', 92 Columbia L.R. (1992) 53 (hereinafter Tesón 1992).

4 For elaboration of these claims, see also Fox, `The Right to Political Participation in International Law', 17 Yale Int'l L.J. (1992) 539; Fox and Nolte, `Intolerant Democracies', 36 Harv. Int'l L.J. (1995) 1; and Cerna, `Universal Democracy: An International Legal Right or a Pipe Dream of the West?', 27 N.Y.U. J. Int'l L. & Pol. (1995) 289. For arguments refuting the claims, see Carothers, `Empirical Perspectives on the Emerging Norm of Democratic Governance', Proc. ASIL (1992) 261; Koskenniemi, `"Intolerant Democracies": A Reaction', 37 Harv. Int'l L. J. (1996) 231; and Roth, `Democratic Intolerance: Observations on Fox and Nolte', 37 Harv. Int'l L.J. (1996) 235. For discussion of the claims, see Panel `National Sovereignty Revisited: Perspectives on the Emerging Norm of Democracy in International Law', Proc. ASIL (1992) 249-71.

5 Amongst the vast literature on the subject of democracy, D. Held, Models of Democracy (2nd ed., 1996) and J. Dunn (ed.), Democracy: The Unfinished Journey 508 BC to AD 1993 (1992) provide exceptionally valuable overviews of the roots and vicissitudes of this ideal. In evoking the ideal, this article seeks not to define democracy (the contestability of which resists definition), but rather to associate itself with a venerable and powerful strand of democratic thought. For an exemplary distillation of that strand, see Beetham, `Key Principles and Indices for a Democratic Audit', in D. Beetham (ed.), Defining and Measuring Democracy (1994) 25.

6 Fukuyama's thesis, discussed below, was first advanced in an article published in 1989, and then elaborated in a further article and in a book published three years later. See Fukuyama, `The End of History', The National Interest (Summer 1989) 16 (hereinafter Fukuyama 1989); `A Reply to My Critics', The National Interest (Winter, 1989/90) 18; and The End of History and the Last Man (1992) (hereinafter Fukuyama 1992).

7 For a sampling of critiques, see Huntington, `No Exit: The Errors of Endism', The National Interest (Fall, 1989) 3; Holmes, `The Scowl of Minerva', New Republic (March 23, 1992) 27; Macey and Miller, `The End of History and the New World Order: The Triumph of Capitalism and the Competition between Liberalism and Democracy', 25 Cornell Int'l L.J. (1992) 277; and Held, `Liberalism, Marxism and Democracy', 22 Theory and Society (1993) 249 and `Anything But A Dog's Life? Further Comments on Fukuyama, Callinicos and Giddens', 22 Theory and Society (1993) 293.

8 Fukuyama 1989, at 3.

9 Fukuyama 1989, at 4.

10 A consideration of whether this is accurate is beyond the scope of this article. Fukuyama acknowledges, in any event, that his understanding of Hegel is strongly influenced by the interpretation of French philosopher Alexandre Kojève (himself introduced in English translation by Allan Bloom).

11 Fukuyama 1989, at 15.

12 Fukuyama 1992, at 283.

13 Fukuyama links this idea with Kant and the tradition of liberal internationalism, as to which see infra, sections II and III. He considers that the league of democratic nations he recommends - a `Kantian liberal international order' (Fukuyama 1992, at 283) - already exists to an degree under the umbrella of organizations such as NATO, EC, OECD, Group of Seven and GATT. He contrasts such a league with other organizations and alliances, such as the UN, which are not limited to liberal democratic nations. See Fukuyama 1992, at 276-284 (quotations are at 283 and 280 respectively).

14 This is explained further in Fukuyama 1992, ch. 6.

15 Fukuyama 1992, at 134.

16 Fukuyama 1992, at 152.

17 Concerning the `last man', see F. Nietzsche (R. Hollingdale, trans.), Thus Spoke Zarathustra (1969) 45-47.

18 See A. de Tocqueville (G. Lawrence trans.; J. Mayer. ed.), 2 Democracy in America (1994) 690-95. Fukuyama's contemporary influences are conservative-elitist thinkers, Leo Strauss and Allan Bloom.

19 See, e.g., R. Keohane, After Hegemony (1984) and P. Kennedy, The Rise and Fall of Great Powers (1988).

20 Fukuyama 1992, at xiii.

21 Fukuyama 1992, at 69.

22 Fukuyama 1992, at 46.

23 Fredric Jameson contrasts this with `inverse millenarianism' - claims about `the end of this or that' - which he associates with postmodernism. See F. Jameson, Postmodernism, or The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism (1991), at 1. The difference between millenarianism and `inverse millenarianism' appears to be principally one of emphasis, however, for both look at once backwards and forwards. Liberal millenarianism, in any event, has this ambivalence.

24 James Crawford refers to `the facile millenarianism that was an immediate product of 1989'. See J. Crawford, Democracy and International Law: Inaugural Lecture (1994) 25.

25 Jacques Derrida finds a specifically Christian resonance in Fukuyama's work, thus buttressing the present characterization of Fukuyama as `millenarian'. When Fukuyama says that economics takes us `to the gates of the promised land but does not quite deliver us to the other side', and when he finds a spiritual basis for his `good news' concerning liberal democracy in the human desire for recognition, Derrida suggests that Fukuyama is not only choosing Hegel in preference to Marx, but is also (in so doing) choosing a Christian account in place of a Jewish one. The other great religion of the `promised land', Islam, does not feature in Fukuyama's allusive repertoire; he observes that the Islamic world falls outside the consensus he finds in favour of liberalism. See J. Derrida (P. Kamuf, trans.), Specters of Marx (1994), at 59-61 and 66.

26 The following discussion draws mainly on Held, supra note 6; Macey and Miller, supra note 6; Huntington, supra note 6; and Derrida, supra note 24. These critiques proceed, it should be noted, from widely divergent standpoints and reach widely divergent conclusions from their analysis of Fukuyama.

27 Held, supra note 6, at 257-58.

28 Macey and Miller, supra note 6, at 282. This comment finds support in Fukuyama's inclusion, in a list of countries he characterizes as liberal democratic, of Singapore, South Korea, Honduras and Mexico. See Fukuyama 1992, at 49-50. (But see also his later discussion of, e.g., Singapore's authoritarianism, Fukuyama 1992, at 241.)

29 Held, supra note 6, at 295.

30 An illustrative summary of democracy's `broken promises' and `unforeseen obstacles' can be found in N. Bobbio (R. Griffin, trans.; R. Bellamy, ed.), The Future of Democracy (1987), at 27-39. (The conclusions Bobbio draws are, however, at variance with the position adopted in the present article.)

31 For a wide-ranging and instructive discussion of the implications of globalization for democracy, see D. Held, Democracy and the Global Order (1995).

32 Amongst the many accounts of globalization and associated developments, from diverse perspectives, M. Waters, Globalization (1995) is especially instructive. A valuable corrective to over-enthusiastic accounts of globalization, especially economic globalization, can be found in P. Hirst and G. Thompson, Globalization in Question (1996).

33 Derrida, supra note 24, at 85.

34 Ibid, at 62-63.

35 Huntington, supra note 6, at 10.

36 Held, supra note 6, at 296-97.

37 Huntington, supra note 6, at 4.

38 Held, supra note 6, at 296.

39 A number of commentators make this argument on the basis, e.g., of Fukuyama's teleological notion of history and his turn to `grand theory'. See, e.g., Huntington, supra note 6, at 9-10. Others, however, disagree. See, e.g., A. Callinicos, Theories and Narratives (1995), ch. 1.

40 Derrida, supra note 24, at 68-69 and 86-94. Derrida has an intriguing explanation for why Fukuyama does this. He proposes that, in advancing the thesis of the end of history, Fukuyama is engaging in a kind of `mourning work' following the death of `actually existing socialism'. Out of fear and `bereavement' as Marx's unacknowledged heir (for, Derrida insists, we are all Marx's heirs, whether we wish it or not), Fukuyama is denying the continued relevance of socialist critique. As Derrida puts it, adapting Marx and Engels' own immortal image, Fukuyama is attempting to `conjure away' the `spectre of Marx' that has long haunted liberalism. Yet, Derrida maintains, this work of mourning cannot succeed. It can displace, but it cannot efface, the spectre of Marx, for that spectre is liberalism's necessary accompaniment. In this regard Derrida refers not only to Marx and Marxian thought. He evokes the spectre - or, as he prefers to say, spectres (for he stresses the extent to which Marx's legacy is plural and diverse)- of Marx metonymically to stand for all the forms of critique that can help to evaluate ideals, grasp realities, and reduce the gap between them. In view of the importance of these forms of critique, Derrida urges instead a `counter-conjuration', a strategy of active engagement, rather than disavowal. In this, he contends, scholars have a particular role. Quoting (at 176) a line in connection with another famous ghost, Derrida recalls Hamlet's injunction: `Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.' See Derrida, supra note 24, at 61 and 68-75.

41 See, e.g., the essays in R. Blackburn (ed.), After the Fall (1991).

42 M. Foucault (P. Rabinow, ed.), `Nietzsche, Genealogy, History', in The Foucault Reader (1984) 76. I am grateful to Professor Gerald Frug, Harvard Law School, for calling my attention to this text, and for an illuminating discussion of it.

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