This chapter canvasses coalitions for and against pluralism that emerged with the foundation of the Republic of Turkey. It shows that while the early nation-builders pursued a unitary, ethno-nationalist project, Kemalism also entailed an “embedded liberalism” inherited from late Ottoman modernization, including resources for eventual democratization. Throughout the twentieth century, political actors sought to mobilize these resources toward pluralizing the political system across a series of critical junctures (e.g., the 1920s’ cultural revolution; the 1950 transition to multiparty democracy; successive coups in 1960, 1971, and 1980; and a 1997 “postmodern coup.”) Across these junctures, the chapter argues, there were only two pronounced periods of secularist/Islamist cleavages. More often, conflict was driven by significant, cross-camp cooperation and intra-camp rivalry. Tracing when and why pluralizing and anti-pluralist alignments succeeded or failed, the chapter captures a key dynamic: the installation of an ethno(-religious nationalist project – the Turkish-Islamic Synthesis (TIS) – as national project, even as ideas and actors invested in pluralization continued to mobilize.

Chapter 10 explores democracy versus autocracy. It offers a frequency-based fitness analysis of the political regimes in the world, demonstrating the superior fitness of democracy, represented by the United States in time and place, but also revealing the resilience of non-democratic forms of government, represented by China. Countering the larger historical trend, democracy has retreated and autocracy has gained in recent years. It is difficult to tell whether this is a temporary setback for democracy or the start of a longer trend. Evolution does not assume constant progress, so the chapter dives deeper into the performance criterion for competing political regimes by peeling off the labels and examining different components of a political regime. In addition, the chapter offers a discussion of how East Asians have lived with the liberal international order, which most current American and Western leaders view as central to their fight against autocracy.

The label “cultural nationalist,” deployed by David Kimble in 1963 continues to be used by scholars to describe early Gold Coast intellectuals. Kimble and others like Kweku Larbi Korang assumed that nationalism in the Gold Coast was a continuum of anti-colonial “resentment and criticism.” Contrary to the theme of the early twentieth century as a period of cultural nationalism and of opposition to colonialism, it was a period of constructive criticism of an inchoate colonial system and advocacy for synthesis of local customs within a liberal imperial frame. Regarding the intellectuals as anti-colonial cultural nationalists proved difficult because of their apparent pro imperial statements and actions. Critics disparaged the intellectuals as motivated by self-preservation, blindly pro-colonial, deluded, or traitorous to their culture. So-called cultural nationalists can be more properly understood by not assuming Kimble’s unchanging problematic and recognising the British presence then, now homogenized as “colonialism,” as something less cogent.

This chapter explores a hardy perennial – the meaning of the American Civil War – from the standpoints of the nineteenth, twentieth, and twenty-first centuries. It evaluates historian David Potter’s 1968 assertion that, from an international perspective, the defeat of the American South’s bid for independent nationhood and the emancipation of enslaved Blacks, the American Civil War resulted in an unprecedented marriage of liberalism and nationalism, a union unique in the formation of nineteenth-century nation-states. This marriage not only gave liberalism a strength it might otherwise have lacked but also lent nationalism a democratic legitimacy that it may not otherwise have deserved. It also explores how the end of the Cold War and the emergence of multiple decentralizing technologies (cell phones, social media, the internet, etc.) and other polarizing forces which have raised serious questions about whether a more than 150-year-old marriage can survive the centrifugal temptations of the new century.

Louis Hartz’s triumphalist manifesto for an enduring American liberal tradition, The Liberal Tradition in America (1955), certainly did not underestimate the role of ideology in American history, but it misinterpreted the origins of the nation’s prevailing ideologies. Hartz’s underlying argument that all American ideologies emerged from a liberal core contained a kernel of truth. But the terrain of American politics reveals that its political ideologies have been more complex than Hartz comprehended. Hartz’s fundamental misunderstanding of the ideology of the founders led him into problems in defining the liberalism that flourished in American life. Hartz’s insistence on explicating American liberalism ironically produced an original understanding of American conservatism, whether of southern slaveholders trying to fashion Tory conservatism or twentieth-century businessmen trying to insist that conservativism was consistent with the creative destruction that defines capitalism.

This chapter explores the work of Hanif Kureishi and, in particular, his 1995 novel The Black Album. Set in London in 1989, the novel engages with the fall of the Berlin Wall, with terrorism, and, most prominently, with the Rushdie Affair. It stages debates around religion, free speech, and cultural identity. Kureishi conceives of multiculturalism as premised on a vibrant exchange of ideas, and in The Black Album he portrays Islamism – and, by extension, fundamentalism of any kind – as a pseudo-idea which can only constitute a threat to, and never a part of, an effective multiculturalism. However, this chapter identifies a key paradox in The Black Album: it implores readers to treat ideas seriously, and yet there is very little serious treatment of particular ideas in the novel itself. As such, Kureishi’s novel is far more invested in the idea of ideas than in any particular body of them.

This chapter draws a distinction between ideas-as-content and ideas-as-form in E. M. Forster’s Howards End, arguing that the novel stages an ongoing tension between liberalism as a set of propositional ideals (content) and liberalism as a procedural approach for investigating ideas (form). Although the novel is invested in liberalism as an ideal, an ethos best encapsulated in the novel’s epigraph to “Only connect,” its commitment towards a liberal methodological treatment of ideas – to balanced debate and discussion that takes conflictual views into account and tries to reconcile them – means that this liberal ideal is also constantly undermined and challenged throughout. This chapter traces the dynamics of this tension and Forster’s attempt to resolve it.

The conclusion turns to the implications of this study today, both in terms of our own view of liberal democratic society and the place of women in it. Grouchy shows us, firstly, how significant ideas can persist through an era of upheaval like the French Revolution: through constant negotiation, continual re-interrogation, and a determination to hold on to core concepts while adapting and discarding others. It argues, furthermore, that Grouchy’s politics and philosophy provide further evidence that women in history have thought and acted politically, but not always in the ways we commonly understand as ‘thinking’ or ‘acting’. It expresses the hope that the example of Grouchy will provide inspiration for other historians who wish to reconstruct the ideas of those in the past – in particular women and other marginalised groups – who did not do all, or any, of their thinking over the course of long texts. The reconstruction of this rich history will, in turn, help combat the problem of authority still encountered by women today in political and intellectual spheres. Finally, it ends with the suggestion that Grouchy’s thought may be of use for those twenty-first century theorists who argue that emotions are essential to successful liberal democracies.

This chapter introduces the conceptual claim of this book that the idea of a competition-democracy nexus is grounded in a normative commitment to a republican conception of economic liberty as non-domination originating in ancient Roman thought. The chapter first shows how the existing ‘special interest capture’ and ‘conventional liberty’ accounts fail to make sense of the competition–democracy nexus. It then explores the republican conception of liberty as non-domination as an alternative explanation of the idea of a competition–democracy nexus. It shows that this republican understanding of economic liberty is the only explanatory variable that can explain why competition enhances and the concentration of economic power undermines democracy and why competition law is the right tool to address this problem.

Focusing on the afterlife of the Freedom Edict of April 7, 1800, the chapter moves the story into the nineteenth century, a period of imperial crisis that saw the emergence of liberal trends in the empire as well as new stakeholders in the historical context of the island and, more generally, of the Spanish Atlantic world. Chapter 9 focuses on the problems that the emancipated cobreros faced in actualizing a corporate community model along the lines of colonial Indian law. It further compares El Cobre’s predicament in the new period with that of two other recognized Indian pueblos of El Caney and Jiguani, a situation that resonated elsewhere in the Spanish Atlantic in the postcolonial Latin American republics. Questions about native rights, race, and citizenship, about civil and political rights, about corporate and individual land rights emerged in this new political context, especially with the globalization of El Cobre. This globalization was linked to the arrival of French refugees and the development of a British mining industry in the region. These emerging trends led to the erasure of major aspects of the Freedom Edict of 1800 by the early 1840s.

Beginning in 1840, the acceptance of emancipation among liberals became more general, no doubt, but still remained deeply ambivalent. The chapter uses the example of Baden to show this fact and moves from there to the early stages of the 1848 Revolution, during which pogroms against Jews, first in the French provinces along the border with Germany and then within Germany itself, gradually spread across the country. Once again, the fate of the Jews represented the duality of the overall German situation. Meanwhile, efforts to formulate a new constitution at the Paulskirche did indeed grant full emancipation to the Jews, but soon suffered the fate of the rest of the liberal constitution, with the collapse of the revolution. The Prussian king refused to cooperate with the revolutionaries, but even more important for their final collapse was their own weakness vis-à-vis the forces of reaction and the inner split among them due to their inability to reconcile liberalism, democracy, and nationalism.