"Big" Theories and Policy Counsel: James Burnham, Francis Fukuyama, and the Cold War

As many commentators note, American political discourse is not generally characterized by a receptivity to "big" theories; nor, in particular, is policy analysis. ¹ But two writers, one at the beginning of the Cold War and one at the end, offered theories that are notable exceptions to this generalization. James Burnham and Francis Fukuyama, anchoring their theories on their observations of the Cold War, construct dramaturgical philosophies of history, synthesize and append European architectonic writers to their accounts, and offer comprehensive critiques of American liberal democracy. Moreover, both "big" theories, despite their apparent incongruence with American political discourse and conventional policy counsel, attract wide attention and are well received by economic and political elites.

This article examines the major works of Burnham and Fukuyama in terms of their dual attempts to formulate both policy and philosophical agendas for the Cold War and its aftermath, respectively. Burnham's and Fukuyama's projects are informative in themselves as examples of a certain model of policy counsel with both benefits and liabilities that I hope to explore by utilizing a framework offered by Thomas More. They are also suggestive as evidence of a patterned response to crisis that emanates from a culture that welcomes the construction of broad narratives that include a fusion of self-congratulation and critique.

I

Thomas More in Book One of Utopia offers one of the most informative discussions about the nature of policy counsel. The "dialogue of the counsel" includes three participants: two high-level seasoned policy advisers (Peter Giles and More himself) and a world traveler (Raphael Hythloday), who discuss the problems of counsel. Hythloday has just returned from a global journey and Giles and More suggest that he share his knowledge of different societies with European kings. Hythloday responds that policy counsel is a form of servitude and lists a series of reasons why it is a waste of time. He concludes that if a counselor offers advice that is based upon other ages or other places he has studied and visited, his competitors will respond with admonitions against dramatic departures from accepted practice. A "reverence for times past" and the attempt to "cling to it desperately" make the likelihood for the success of Hythloday's form of policy counsel extremely remote. ²

After Hythloday offers several examples, More intercedes. He argues that there is another kind of philosophy that is "better suited for political action." Counsel based upon this framework "takes its cue, adapts itself to the drama at hand, and acts its part neatly and well." More continues: "And don't arrogantly force strange ideas on people who you know have set their minds to a different course than yours." He urges counsel by indirection and tact. ³ Hythloday still demurs. He suggests that More's model leads to either co-optation or duplicity. When both Giles and More doubt the efficacy of his radical proposal, Hythloday proceeds to describe a society, Utopia, which functions justly without private property and money. Since this republic does not actually exist, Hythloday's observations themselves represent a mode of thought that examines the likely consequences of radically altering existing political constraints. ⁴

I do not suggest that either Burnham's or Fukuyama's motives are as complex as More's might have been; nor do I suggest that either presents a utopia. My purpose is to highlight the departure of both their big theories in comparison to the respective leading models. If, for example, one were to compare Burnham's analysis to George Kennan's advocacy of containment and Fukuyama's to Anthony Lake's counsel of enlargement, one could readily construct a contemporary version of the "dialogue of the counsel." Kennan's and Lake's counsel, framed at the beginning and close of the Cold War, respectively, represent clearly defined initiatives that are not without a degree of risk-taking. But...