Huntington's clash

Illustration by KAL

IN THE early 1990s America's opinion-makers competed to outdo each other in triumphalism. Economists argued that the “Washington consensus” would spread peace and prosperity around the world. Politicians debated whether the “peace dividend” should be used to create universal health care or be allowed to fructify in the pockets of the people or quite possibly both. Francis Fukuyama took the optimists' garland by declaring, in 1992, “the end of history” and the universal triumph of Western liberalism.

Samuel Huntington thought that all this was bunk. In “The Clash of Civilisations?” he presented a darker view. He argued that the old ideological divisions of the Cold War would be replaced not by universal harmony but by even older cultural divisions. The world was deeply divided between different civilisations. And far from being drawn together by globalisation, these different cultures were being drawn into conflict.

Huntington added another barb to his argument by suggesting that Western civilisation was in relative decline: the American power-mongers who thought that they were the architects of a new world order were more likely to find themselves the victims of cultural forces that they did not even know existed. The future was being forged in the mosques of Tehran and the planning commissions of Beijing rather than the cafés of Harvard Square. His original 1993 article, in Foreign Affairs, was translated into 26 languages and expanded into a best-selling book.

The “Clash of Civilisations?” was only the most famous of numerous exercises in goring sacred cows. In “The Third Wave: Democratisation in the Late 20th Century” (1991), he argued that democratisation might have more to do with the Second Vatican Council, which had unleashed a wave of democratisation across the Catholic world, than with the spread of free-markets. In “Who Are We? The Challenges to America's National Identity” (2004) he challenged the reigning orthodoxy of multiculturalism, pointing out that American civilisation is the product of Anglo-Saxon Protestant culture, and warning that the huge influx of Latinos threatened to unmoor it from its roots.

Huntington's last book earned him a reputation as a crusty old reactionary. He certainly became a hate figure to the left and a hero to many conservatives. But his politics were altogether more complicated. He was a lifelong Democrat, a representative of that dying breed, the hard-headed cold war liberal. He wrote speeches for Adlai Stevenson and acted as a foreign-policy adviser to Hubert Humphrey. He briefly served in the Johnson and Carter administrations (he was a particularly close friend of Zbigniew Brzezinski, one of Barack Obama's early backers). He was a fierce opponent of the neoconservatives who thought they could transplant American values into Mesopotamia.

But he believed that it was vital to mix liberal idealism with a pessimism rooted in a conservative reading of history. He rejected the economic reductionism that drove the Washington consensus, and insisted instead on seeing people as products of culture rather than as profit-and-loss calculating machines. He also rejected the beguiling idea (some say it has beguiled The Economist) that all good things tend to go together—that free markets go hand in hand with pluralism, democracy and the American way. He felt that America was a living paradox: America's culture turned it into a universal civilisation but those values were in fact rooted in a unique set of circumstances.

For all his long career and prodigious energy—Huntington was on the Harvard faculty for 54 years and wrote 17 books on a wide variety of subjects—he will always be associated with the phrase “the clash of civilisations”. How well does his argument hold up 15 years after he first penned it?

Both well and badly. Huntington came as close as anybody to predicting September 11th and the “war on terror” with his strictures about Islam's “bloody borders”. He also came as close as anybody to predicting America's agonies in Iraq by pointing out that democracy is the product of very specific cultural processes. His argument that modernisation does not necessarily entail Westernisation also looks prescient: why should the Chinese embrace the American economic model when it seems to produce such economic havoc? And why should authoritarian regimes in the Middle East embrace democratisation when it might mean handing power to Islamists? The master emerges better than his pupil, Mr Fukuyama.

Right up to a point

But the corrective itself has needed correcting. Huntington defended his taste for the broadest of brushes on the grounds that, without one, you are left with what William James called “a bloomin' buzzin' confusion”. But his pronouncements often distorted reality rather than imposed order on it. He skated over the fact that many of the nastiest clashes take place within civilisations rather than between them: more Muslims die at the hands of their fellow Muslims than die at the hands of “Jews or Crusaders”; and Europeans fought the 20th century's bloodiest conflicts among themselves. He also downplayed the extent to which the American model attracts people the world over: the Chinese business elite are much more interested in Silicon Valley than in their Confucian past. His arguments can produce policies that are just as naive as those he excoriated: policies that drive Muslims together into a single angry mass, rather than prising them apart, for example, and policies that encourage Western self-doubt just as surely as do the hand-wringing of the multiculturalists.

Huntington was a remarkable figure for all sorts of reasons, but most importantly because he was willing to question the excessive liberal optimism of the 1990s. Perhaps the best tribute that can be paid to him now is to question the excessive Huntingtonian pessimism that is now threatening to replace it.