The concerning levels of inequality, political polarization, and civil unrest in the United States and the recent threatening of the international rules based order by the likes of Putin and Xi abroad have many feeling that our present moment is quite (shall we say) tinderboxerous. Over the summer, two books were released that attempted to provide a historical context to our present moment: End Times: Counter Elites and the Path of Political Disintegration by Peter Turchin provides a quantitative modeling of societal and The Fourth Turning is Here: What the Seasons of History Tell Us About How and When This Crisis Will End by Neil Howe offers a more ethereal seasonal and generational approach.

Although most typically respond negatively to talk of an American or Global crisis, Howe and Turchin not only look at the likely outcome of present trends more soberly but provide a more hopeful outcome, proposing that such historical inflection points (while dark and harrowing in the moment) are often followed by periods of great unity and achievement (e.g. the post-Revolutionary War Era of Good Feelings or the post-WWII Boom).

Francis Fukuyama, a renowned historian who has penned popular titles such as The End of History and The Last Man and The Origins of Political Order, reviewed both books for The New York Times in July. Fukuyama could not have a more antithetical approach to history than Turchin and Howe: in The End of History he posited that liberal democracy may be the final culmination of mankind's ideological evolution, a governance system that represents the perfect realization of human freedom, leading to a Hegelian end of history. Such a historical approach can be categorized as universalist, directional, or progressive, meaning that history despite some hiccups along the way (like the wars and genocides of the WWII era) follows an arc that bends towards justice, equality, human flourishing, and (in this case) liberal democracy.

Reflecting on my high school years and the initial years of college, I realize that (like many others who underwent a typical Western education) I was often presented with an idealistic narrative of modern history that was imbued with this idealistic, Fukuyamacin narrative — from the romanticization of the free market and the material plentitude brought about by global capital markets to the linear narrative of a march towards equality and empowerment for women, African Americans, and minority groups.

Today, with the rise of Donald Trump and an increasing number of right wing and authoritarian governments gaining power globally, Fukuyama’s liberal and democratic end of history has begun to look both naive and outdated, with the likes of even mostly left-leaning organizations such as the Atlantic and Bloomberg questioning his position.

Still, we see from the moderate left (as personified by Biden) a call to defend this mystical “democracy” both at home against the far right and abroad against the aggression of authoritarian regimes. Such a rallying cry to preserve the status quo seems to be being met with increasing skepticism, especially among younger generations, with a 2019 poll finding that only 37% of Millenials and 27% of Gen Z “strongly agree” that “democracy is the best system of government” and one in five Gen Z/Millennial indicate “dictatorship could be good in certain circumstances.” Another survey completed by the Journal of Democracy in 2016 found that only about 30% of Americans born in the 1980s think it’s “essential” to live in a democracy, compared to 75% of Americans born in the 1930s.

On an anecdotal level, I’ve noticed in my discussions with some of the more politically ambitious individuals of my generation, both from the left and right, a growing impatience with the promises of the benefits of incremental reform within the liberal democratic capitalist system. The fact that I can detect such disillusionment among members of this campus community (who are on average, pretty well-off), means such detestment for the status quo must be even more pronounced among those who have felt for a long time totally left behind.

Historians like Turchin and Howe who critique the efficacy of our present institutions and describe America as being in “crisis” are likely dismissed as catastrophists or have their views conflated with those of right-wing politicians “calling for” civil war. Fukuyama in his review even mentioned the Voldemort-like figure of Steve Bannon and how he is a fan of Howe’s work, suggesting Bannon appreciates the theory only because of the chaos it predicts, presenting the theory as promoting a sort of societal masochism.

He concludes his review with a choice for the reader: “Both authors [Turchin and Howe] hedge their bets, so in place of their rosy futures, they also suggest we may get catastrophic war, chaos and prolonged breakdown, or simply more of the same for another few decades. You pick.”

Fukuyama is applying his linear perspective here in a way that ignores the permutability of Howe and Turchin’s theories, painting the future as exclusively either rosy and bright or dark and terrifying. By playing into the Times’ older, fearful, risk-off readership’s bias towards moral absolutism and progressivist history, he presents the future as having all-or-nothing stakes, thereby making Howe and Turchin’s theories appear inconsistent.

What he neglects, however, is that as Howe and Turchin view history through a cyclical lens, so too do they approach the future cyclically. Just as past crises weren't just anomalies in an overall linear trend towards progress but catalysts for the prosperous periods that followed; so too would any future crisis not just be a setback but a vital precursor to the good times to follow. In this frame of thinking the dichotomous framing of the future as “this or that” is superseded by “this then that.” To put it more simply, to believe in the Turchin/Howe theory is to acknowledge that Winter must come before Spring; to believe in Fukuyama’s theory is to live in a fantasy of perpetual Spring.

But Howe and Turchin’s theories are not just a reality check, they also offer (at least in my reading) an anecdote for the past couple decades that have felt nihilistic and degenerative: a future that is purposeful, collectively good, and in which great things are achieved. Take what he has in store for our generation:

“Millennials will approach the Crisis climax showcasing many of the peer traits for which they are already well known: compliance with authority, desire to contribute, instinct for teamwork, and patience in the pursuit of long-term goals. Yet with so much at stake, Millennials will also display further traits that hardly anyone (yet) associates with them. Even in the face of devastating setbacks and extreme privation, they will be able to maintain their cohesion and optimism. In time, after gaining confidence in attaining modest public goals, they will happily embrace even the most Promethean challenges—from overhauling the economy and rebuilding infrastructure at home to joining in grand alliances and rebuilding nations abroad.

If their mobilization includes service in war, which seems probable, Millennials will cast aside any earlier pacifism and rally to take on adversaries in deadly struggles that they know will require their utmost exertion and (perhaps) sacrifice. At some discrete moment in the Crisis era, every young-adult generation follows this abrupt rite-of-passage script. One year, they are agreeable, well-socialized young people averse to violence following a long era of peace. The next, they face the likelihood of conflict on an unimaginable scale. This moment happened in the fall of 1941, in the winter of 1861, in the spring of 1775, and in the summer of 1675.”

In quotes like these, Howe’s analysis starts to sound like divination, and his work often receives a great deal of hate from more orthodox intellectuals because of that (for example, David Greenberg called Howe’s work a “crackpot theory” for Politico). Sometimes I wonder whether academics such as these have so carefully curated in themselves a cold, all-consuming nihilism that they recoil from any mere intimation of hopeful optimism like a vampire from sunlight. You might read the Fourth Turning as a work of prophecy but prophecies aren’t just silly falsities: Odysseus consulted with Tiresias, Aeneas with the Cumaean Sibyl, Arthur with Merlin, so why can’t our generation get some advice from Howe?

In contrast, Fukuyama’s own prophecy — mankind converging to become “like a long wagon train strung out along a road” to liberal democracy — seems so dull, uninspired, and dreadfully predictable that it’s starting to look like the least likely option. Our generation has been blessed with an opportunity which rarely emerges in the course of things: to pass through one of those harrowing gates of history, to endure times of hardship, conflict, and struggle so that, on the other side, we can achieve great things and create a new world. Or, we can just stick with what we’ve got and get in line for the homogenization of man.

You pick.

.

This is a draft of what is supposed to be published in the Columbia Independent. I said that last time for Post #3, but the editors found it too confusing/not clear enough in its argument, so who knows.

The concerning levels of inequality, political polarization, and civil unrest in the United States and the recent threatening of the international rules based order by the likes of Putin and Xi abroad have many feeling that our present moment is quite (shall we say) tinderboxerous. Over the summer, two books were released that attempted to provide a historical context to our present moment: End Times: Counter Elites and the Path of Political Disintegration by Peter Turchin provides a quantitative modeling of societal and The Fourth Turning is Here: What the Seasons of History Tell Us About How and When This Crisis Will End by Neil Howe offers a more ethereal seasonal and generational approach.

Although most typically respond negatively to talk of an American or Global crisis, Howe and Turchin not only look at the likely outcome of present trends more soberly but provide a more hopeful outcome, proposing that such historical inflection points (while dark and harrowing in the moment) are often followed by periods of great unity and achievement (e.g. the post-Revolutionary War Era of Good Feelings or the post-WWII Boom).

Francis Fukuyama, a renowned historian who has penned popular titles such as The End of History and The Last Man and The Origins of Political Order, reviewed both books for The New York Times in July. Fukuyama could not have a more antithetical approach to history than Turchin and Howe: in The End of History he posited that liberal democracy may be the final culmination of mankind's ideological evolution, a governance system that represents the perfect realization of human freedom, leading to a Hegelian end of history. Such a historical approach can be categorized as universalist, directional, or progressive, meaning that history despite some hiccups along the way (like the wars and genocides of the WWII era) follows an arc that bends towards justice, equality, human flourishing, and (in this case) liberal democracy.

Reflecting on my high school years and the initial years of college, I realize that (like many others who underwent a typical Western education) I was often presented with an idealistic narrative of modern history that was imbued with this idealistic, Fukuyamacin narrative — from the romanticization of the free market and the material plentitude brought about by global capital markets to the linear narrative of a march towards equality and empowerment for women, African Americans, and minority groups.

Today, with the rise of Donald Trump and an increasing number of right wing and authoritarian governments gaining power globally, Fukuyama’s liberal and democratic end of history has begun to look both naive and outdated, with the likes of even mostly left-leaning organizations such as the Atlantic and Bloomberg questioning his position.

Still, we see from the moderate left (as personified by Biden) a call to defend this mystical “democracy” both at home against the far right and abroad against the aggression of authoritarian regimes. Such a rallying cry to preserve the status quo seems to be being met with increasing skepticism, especially among younger generations, with a 2019 poll finding that only 37% of Millenials and 27% of Gen Z “strongly agree” that “democracy is the best system of government” and one in five Gen Z/Millennial indicate “dictatorship could be good in certain circumstances.” Another survey completed by the Journal of Democracy in 2016 found that only about 30% of Americans born in the 1980s think it’s “essential” to live in a democracy, compared to 75% of Americans born in the 1930s.

On an anecdotal level, I’ve noticed in my discussions with some of the more politically ambitious individuals of my generation, both from the left and right, a growing impatience with the promises of the benefits of incremental reform within the liberal democratic capitalist system. The fact that I can detect such disillusionment among members of this campus community (who are on average, pretty well-off), means such detestment for the status quo must be even more pronounced among those who have felt for a long time totally left behind.

Historians like Turchin and Howe who critique the efficacy of our present institutions and describe America as being in “crisis” are likely dismissed as catastrophists or have their views conflated with those of right-wing politicians “calling for” civil war. Fukuyama in his review even mentioned the Voldemort-like figure of Steve Bannon and how he is a fan of Howe’s work, suggesting Bannon appreciates the theory only because of the chaos it predicts, presenting the theory as promoting a sort of societal masochism.

He concludes his review with a choice for the reader: “Both authors [Turchin and Howe] hedge their bets, so in place of their rosy futures, they also suggest we may get catastrophic war, chaos and prolonged breakdown, or simply more of the same for another few decades. You pick.”

Fukuyama is applying his linear perspective here in a way that ignores the permutability of Howe and Turchin’s theories, painting the future as exclusively either rosy and bright or dark and terrifying. By playing into the Times’ older, fearful, risk-off readership’s bias towards moral absolutism and progressivist history, he presents the future as having all-or-nothing stakes, thereby making Howe and Turchin’s theories appear inconsistent.

What he neglects, however, is that as Howe and Turchin view history through a cyclical lens, so too do they approach the future cyclically. Just as past crises weren't just anomalies in an overall linear trend towards progress but catalysts for the prosperous periods that followed; so too would any future crisis not just be a setback but a vital precursor to the good times to follow. In this frame of thinking the dichotomous framing of the future as “this or that” is superseded by “this then that.” To put it more simply, to believe in the Turchin/Howe theory is to acknowledge that Winter must come before Spring; to believe in Fukuyama’s theory is to live in a fantasy of perpetual Spring.

But Howe and Turchin’s theories are not just a reality check, they also offer (at least in my reading) an anecdote for the past couple decades that have felt nihilistic and degenerative: a future that is purposeful, collectively good, and in which great things are achieved. Take what he has in store for our generation:

“Millennials will approach the Crisis climax showcasing many of the peer traits for which they are already well known: compliance with authority, desire to contribute, instinct for teamwork, and patience in the pursuit of long-term goals. Yet with so much at stake, Millennials will also display further traits that hardly anyone (yet) associates with them. Even in the face of devastating setbacks and extreme privation, they will be able to maintain their cohesion and optimism. In time, after gaining confidence in attaining modest public goals, they will happily embrace even the most Promethean challenges—from overhauling the economy and rebuilding infrastructure at home to joining in grand alliances and rebuilding nations abroad.

If their mobilization includes service in war, which seems probable, Millennials will cast aside any earlier pacifism and rally to take on adversaries in deadly struggles that they know will require their utmost exertion and (perhaps) sacrifice. At some discrete moment in the Crisis era, every young-adult generation follows this abrupt rite-of-passage script. One year, they are agreeable, well-socialized young people averse to violence following a long era of peace. The next, they face the likelihood of conflict on an unimaginable scale. This moment happened in the fall of 1941, in the winter of 1861, in the spring of 1775, and in the summer of 1675.”

In quotes like these, Howe’s analysis starts to sound like divination, and his work often receives a great deal of hate from more orthodox intellectuals because of that (for example, David Greenberg called Howe’s work a “crackpot theory” for Politico). Sometimes I wonder whether academics such as these have so carefully curated in themselves a cold, all-consuming nihilism that they recoil from any mere intimation of hopeful optimism like a vampire from sunlight. You might read the Fourth Turning as a work of prophecy but prophecies aren’t just silly falsities: Odysseus consulted with Tiresias, Aeneas with the Cumaean Sibyl, Arthur with Merlin, so why can’t our generation get some advice from Howe?

In contrast, Fukuyama’s own prophecy — mankind converging to become “like a long wagon train strung out along a road” to liberal democracy — seems so dull, uninspired, and dreadfully predictable that it’s starting to look like the least likely option. Our generation has been blessed with an opportunity which rarely emerges in the course of things: to pass through one of those harrowing gates of history, to endure times of hardship, conflict, and struggle so that, on the other side, we can achieve great things and create a new world. Or, we can just stick with what we’ve got and get in line for the homogenization of man.

You pick.

.

This is a draft of what is supposed to be published in the Columbia Independent. I said that last time for Post #3, but the editors found it too confusing/not clear enough in its argument, so who knows.