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Between Past and Future

Sorin Antohi

I. Meanings of 1989: Present Significance of the Past

3. 1989 as Rebirth1

Karol Soltan

Texte intégral

  • 1 I presented an earlier version of this chapter as a paper during the conference “Between Past and (...)
  • 2 György Konrád, Antipolitics (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1995); Václav Klaus, Renaissance: The Rebi (...)

1The events of 1989 were not a revolution (neither liberal, nor self-limiting, nor velvet, nor anti-revolutionary). They were not simply reforms or restoration. They were a rebirth2, and rebirths (not revolutions, as Marxists would have it) are the locomotives of history.

2It is symptomatic of the uniqueness of these events, and the inadequacy of contemporary social science and political theory, that we still argue not just about the causes, consequences, or significance of them, but about what we should name them. Of course, the naming itself has little importance. We must find a satisfactory framework for understanding such events. The most revealing name will naturally emerge when we find an appropriate framework.

  • 3 Bruce Ackerman, The Future of Liberal Revolution (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992); Andrew (...)

3There is now a large literature on the meaning of 19893, but I don’t think an adequate framework has been found. The proposal I sketch in this chapter centers on a broadly “constitutionalist” conception of modernity. According to this conception, the politics of modernity is deeply and permanently bipolar, a battle between creative and destructive power, between a civic politics (building, protecting, and improving complex institutional structures) and a politics of war between revolution and subversion. The great rebirth that occurred in 1989, while a victory for civic politics, did not end bipolarity; it only ended the distinctive and rather well-articulated form of bipolarity that characterized the cold war.

Constitutionalist Conception of Modernity

  • 4 Mircea Elkin and Karol Soltan, eds., A New Constitutionalism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press (...)

4Constitutionalism is a big and awkward word, which we do not use much4. And when we do, we give it a narrow and technical meaning. For some, it refers to the art of writing and interpreting legal texts known as constitutions. But legal texts called constitutions can be pure fictions, as Stalin (among others) demonstrated. Constitutions as legal documents matter when they have real effect, when they determine, or at least significantly influence, the main features of a political system. We have then a political system restrained by law. A still more meaningful conception of constitutionalism is not narrowly legal, but more broadly political. It refers to the art and science of designing political institutions, creating in the process the capacity to achieve collective purposes, but also restraining those institutions by the rule of law.

5I would like to suggest a “constitutionalism” that is broader still: a perspective on modernity, politics, and human interaction. According to this conception the central battle of modern politics and (underlying that) the central battle of human interaction in general is the battle between creative and destructive power. We live in an inherently and unavoidably bipolar world. We should not be neutral in that battle; we should promote creative power and limit destructive power. We can see the events of 1989 as a major victory for politics on the creative side, which we can call civic politics, and the defeat of communism, the most fully organized form of destructive politics yet invented, centered on a revolution imposed from above using the full coercive apparatus of the state.

6According to this broadly constitutionalist view, there is a big story of modernity, but it is not anything like the big story of inevitable liberal progress or inevitable progress toward communism (via a sequence of revolutions). The direction of history does not seem inevitable at all; in fact, it is very difficult to predict. But the battle between civic and destructive politics does seem inevitable; it is a battle of creative power (creation of new institutions, new capacities to improve the world) against the forces of destruction and degradation.

7A more conventional view of modernity neglects the forces of destruction, decay, and death. According to this view, modernity lifts the chains of inevitability that bind all premodern, traditional societies, dramatically expanding the scale and depth of human design as opposed to organic growth or evolution. The world increasingly does not impose itself on us. We make it ourselves, though we do not make it “as we please”. In the institutional sphere, legislation (made law) replaces found law, and our lives are increasingly governed by formal, special-purpose organizations. In the human sphere we see the spread of various forms of education (schools, therapy, counseling), organized efforts to design the furniture of our minds. In the material sphere we see the development of technology and machines, accompanied by the shift of human life from a natural to a constructed environment (the city).

8According to this view, modernity is characterized not simply by the growing scale but also the greater “depth” of design, as seen in the increasing importance of second order design. Let me give two examples. In the institutional sphere second order rules are rules governing the making of rules. They are the chief distinguishing characteristics of modern legal systems (in contrast to systems of customary law), in which they take a broad range of forms, including constitutional and contract law. They are the foundation of the legal-rational forms of authority about which Weber writes. In the material sphere, second order design involves the design of objects for the production of objects and constitutes the foundation of the industrialization of the world.

9The constitutionalists, as I imagine them in this essay, claim that this picture of modernity is radically incomplete, missing a crucial ingredient. Modernity does indeed lift the chains of inevitability, but in doing so it liberates both creative and destructive forces, both design and destruction. So modernity is characterized by the increasing scale and depth of the battle between the creative and destructive forms of power.

10We live in a permanently bipolar world. Keeping this thesis really in mind has deep consequences. It allows us to live our lives, allocate our energies, and choose our politics in a way that recognizes the pervasiveness of evil and the inevitability of death. Those who are forgetful of death and who think evil is somehow a temporary and avoidable burden will necessarily seem to lack seriousness. They will seem adolescent.

11The intellectual and motivational sources of communism were in many ways adolescent in just this way. But in giving organizational form to human destructiveness, communism appears to have also provided an opportunity for the development of a more deeply constitutionalist mentality. This mentality often (as in this case) has grim allies. The intimate experience with the destruction of matter and spirit produced by communism was one such ally. The development of nuclear weapons and increasing environmental destruction are additional allies. To understand the constitutionalist mentality, it is best to turn not to the technicians of constitutional law and political theory, who will tell us only how to put routine limits on the destructiveness of ordinary states, but to the anti-communist opposition, who have experience with the most elaborate forms of political and social destructiveness (though more pathetic than vicious toward the end).

The Civic Style of Politics

  • 5 Jean Cohen and Andrew Arato, Civil Society and Political Theory (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1992); Václ (...)

12We can extract from the political thought and practice of the anticommunist opposition a distinctive civic style of politics and an ideal of civic society5. The concept of citizenship usually refers to a form of membership in the state and its associated set of rights. But citizenship can also be understood in a less law-bound and state-centered way, as a form of loyalty to any institution or group and a mentality associated with that loyalty. The anticommunist opposition developed the idea of civic society as an alternative to more state-centered strategies of reform. The idea of citizenship implicit in it had little to do with the state. It did have something to do with a more general form of loyalty to society.

13A society of citizens is a society of people pursuing a variety of projects, improving in a variety of ways the world around them, without much direct concern for the state. The civic attitude they express combines a willingness to sacrifice in defence of the object of loyalty with a willingness to sacrifice in the reform and improvement of that object. This loyalty of a citizen, who combines efforts to defend and to improve, can be contrasted with the loyalty of a subject, who defends but is unwilling to criticize. This would have been the loyalty of a perfect socialist individual, if such a creature had been created. It can also be contrasted with a variety of attitudes that have nothing to do with loyalty: the mentality of a subversive aim to destroy or at least degrade its object and the mentality of the manipulator, or as the Polish philosopher Jozef Tischner’s “beggar-thief,” who sees in the world nothing but instruments to be used without limit as means to achieve one’s own purposes. Real socialism produced many beggar-thieves, some subversives, and a few good subjects. The aim of the opposition was to promote a more civic attitude.

14The civic perspective can be divided into general political and intellectual inclinations on the one hand and specific institutional design and policy development skills on the other. The anticommunist opposition had no reason or opportunity to develop the latter, given the assumption of the continued survival of communism. The general political and intellectual inclinations they did develop, though, bear a striking resemblance to those we recognize as requirements of complex institutional design in a bipolar world:

  1. They promoted two kinds of “social arts”: the art of separation6 and the art of combination. Society needed to be separated from the state, and various aspects and elements of society needed to be kept separate from one another. The blended and homogenized “fish soup” of communism needed to be transformed back into a vivid and complex aquarium. The construction of complex institutional wholes requires the art of separation so that the identity of the various parts can be maintained. But it also requires the art of integration so that the parts can be made to work together. And the opposition also worked to reconstruct the broken forms of horizontal social solidarity.
  2. They had a preference for ideological hybrids and for the political center. Civic politics balances two concerns, those of security (protection, maintenance) and those of improvement (progress, reform). We might call this a form of progressive conservatism. But in Poland, at least, another term became popular, vividly expressing the widespread skepticism about the extremes of the political spectrum and about what passed for consistency in politics. Many in the anticommunist opposition signed up to Leszek Kolakowski’s liberal socialist conservative manifesto7. Their political ideology was liberal, but it was hyphenated liberal—it was a hybrid, unapologetic about its political syncretism. So the events of 1989 were not a liberal revolution, in part because they were not a revolution (they were more moderate than revolutions), but also because they were more hyphenated and syncretic (and hence more inclined toward the ideological center).
  3. The anticommunist opposition rejected the idea of large-scale social experiments. They preferred the incremental and the well-tested. They tended to accept some version of a Popperian style of critical rationalism and the idea of an open society. The rebuilding of the aquarium was going to be a decentralized and incremental task, in which much room had to be allowed for learning and error correction.
  4. The oppositionists were quite conscious of human imperfection in all its many aspects. They had all around them evidence of what can happen when one forgets about human frailty. Their political thought was ever mindful both of human cognitive limits and of the pervasive danger of destructiveness. They thought a great deal about how to prevent an anticommunist revolution. And in a deeply constitutionalist spirit, they inclined toward self-limitation, both in the choice of means (nonviolence) and in the choice of ends. So they supported the rule of law as an ideal for the state and a Gandhian-style, self-limiting social movement for the opposition to the state.
  5. They revived not only the idea of a civic (or civil) society, but also the ideal of an antipolitical politics of truth. The politics of truth can take a variety of forms. For the critical intelligentsia and public intellectuals, this mostly means speaking truth to power. For the great nonviolent and self-limiting social movements of the twentieth century (Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Solidarity), it is best expressed in Gandhi’s term satya-graha, or truth force8. In the constitutionalist tradition it has taken the form of natural law9, with its claim, in slogan form, that truth can be the source of law (veritas facit legem). Modern natural law incorporated as its centerpiece a commitment to some form of a universal charter of rights. And that commitment, too, was prominent in the fight against communism.

15The events of 1989 were marked by this combination of features found in the political thinking of the anticommunist opposition. Most oppositionists did not make successful transitions to government officials, civil servants, or parliamentarians. But the general principles of their political thinking were nonetheless a significant element in defining the distinctive qualities of those events.

1989 as a Rebirth

16The events of 1989 were profoundly antirevolutionary, so they cannot be called revolutions. Yet they were also clearly not part of the routine of politics the way “reforms” are. They were more dramatic, radical, and involved changes too deep for this simple category of ordinary politics to be applicable. So commentators have coined new words (refolution) or paradoxical combinations (antirevolutionary revolution) to describe these events. Neither strategy is likely to be helpful in understanding the distinctive quality and significance of what happened. We need a more adequate alternative.

17In light of a constitutionalist interpretation of modernity and of politics, we should see these events as a rebirth. For a constitutionalist, rebirths (and not revolutions) are the locomotives of history. The chief source of hope in politics is not the inevitability of progress or of the final triumph of the socialist revolution. The main source of hope is the possibility of rebirth, a reversal of destruction. The collapse of communism in East Central Europe is a vivid and dramatic illustration of such a reversal.

18Historians, political theorists, and social scientists have spent many years honing the concept of revolution and clarifying its various subtypes. We need to get started on the idea of rebirth. Let me suggest that a pure case of rebirth (a kind of ideal type) would have the following three distinctive features:

  1. rebirths restore some form of continuity with the past, reversing destruction or decay;
  2. they are distinguished by the level and form of activity they involve—there is an unusually high level of plural and incremental improvement;
  3. they are periods permeated by social energy and passion, in which sacred values are taken seriously. They momentarily reverse, in a way, the disenchanting tendencies of modernity.

Restoration of Continuity

19Revolutions are breaks in continuity (in addition to displaying other characteristics, of course). In this, rebirths are the opposite of revolutions; they restore continuity. Yet the reality of actual revolutions is more complex. Their appeal to the political imagination is certainly due in part to a dramatic break with the past, but it is also due to the element of rebirth that often accompanies revolution. The early revolutions of the modern era were seen largely as restorations. Cromwell fought for the restoration of “ancient English liberties”. The French Revolution in its early phases was also largely a fight to restore old rights and privileges. The word “revolution” originally had return as a central element of its meaning. So introducing more systematically the contrast between rebirths and revolutions will probably also require us to rewrite the history of revolutions.

20If revolutions are the locomotives of history, then the key events of history are breaks in continuity. Modern civilization is a product of a fundamental break with the past or perhaps a whole series of such breaks. If rebirths are the engines of history, then the fundamental events are restorations of continuity, not breaks. The basic model is the Renaissance, which centered on a restoration of continuity with various elements of ancient culture and politics, whether real or imagined.

21Enlightenment critics, convinced that a fundamental break had occurred between the ancients and the moderns, accused the Renaissance of ancestor worship. However, no one with even the most superficial acquaintance with Renaissance culture—its writing, its painting, or its architecture—could possibly reduce it to ancestor worship. The critics failed to make the important distinction between restoring the past (or worshipping it) and restoring continuity with the past. The Renaissance did only the latter.

22The same distinction is also fundamental to understanding the events of 1989. Efforts to restore the past—as it actually was before the communist episode, with its borders, political systems, political parties, and ideologies—were quite weak in 1989. This was not a restoration, but a rebirth. It centered on civic loyalty, not the loyalty of a subject. Civic loyalty aims to improve its object as well as to protect and maintain its continuing identity. The loyalty of a subject is different: it expresses itself only in the protection of its object as it is. A subject attempts to maintain and restore the past without change. A citizen maintains or restores continuity with the past, allowing for change and even insisting on it. This contrast may not sound very substantial on paper, but it marks the difference between the democratic politics of civic societies and the fundamentalism that now feeds contemporary forms of destructive politics. Few contrasts have greater practical significance.

Plural Improvement

23In addition to being a break with the past, a revolution introduces change that is both large scale and novel (capitalism is replaced by communism, for example). We can often identify the revolution’s program, even if it is rarely carried out exactly as planned. Rebirths are different in every way. They are periods of great activity, but involve many individuals and groups engaged in their own projects, largely independent of all the others. There is for the most part no central program, and most of the change is incremental.

24Rebirths, unlike revolutions, take into account the basic law of social change, the foundation of which lies in inescapable human ignorance. This basic law tells us that large-scale improvements are more likely to succeed when they are not innovative, and innovative improvements are more likely to succeed when they are incremental. The great revolutions were efforts to introduce large-scale and innovative change. They were not likely to succeed as intended, and for the most part they did not. Rebirths substitute a combination of large-scale change that is not innovative, for example, establishing the conditions necessary for a rebirth, as we saw in 1989, and many small-scale innovative improvements.

25The large-scale change can be achieved, as we saw in 1989, by a combination of pressure from self-limiting mass social movements and “round table agreements”. Incremental innovations are the work of civic society and the market. This combination constitutes, I would suppose, the core “methodology” of rebirth. It is a methodology that recognizes the conflict we face between scale and novelty when we want to change the world, a conflict due to our basic ignorance. The revolutionary tradition, based as it is on a stronger faith in reason, has trouble recognizing this conflict. It has been tempted by the illusion of a complete and deep understanding of social life and history (as contained, say, in Marxism-Leninism), with which the conflict would disappear and great revolutions, however destructive, could at least achieve their ends.


26Rebirths, and revolutions as well, are full of energy, exuberance, and passion. People are willing to do what they wouldn’t think of doing at other times. They go out on the streets to protest. They organize committees and councils. They form new groups and organizations. They do not act out of cold calculation of interests, but out of internal necessity moved by higher ideals. These are periods during which, in small ways and large, people are willing to risk or to sacrifice their lives. And historically this also has meant that people have been willing to risk and sacrifice the lives of others: revolutionary passions led to revolutionary violence.

  • 10 Ernest Gellner, Conditions of Liberty (London: Penguin, 1994); Michael Ignatieff, “On Civil Societ (...)

27This century provided many examples of such turns of events. It has made many people suspicious of all forms of passion and all forms of great sacrifice as somehow tainted by violence. Let us be bourgeois and civil instead, they say. They reject anything that smacks of the heroic because of its association with violence. They turn, with Richard Rorty, to a postmodern bourgeois liberalism, or to a fully disenchanted civil society: a true bürgerliche Gesellschaft, which seems to me quite a bit less than a society of citizens as conceived by many in the anticommunist opposition10.

28But the twentieth century has also provided an alternative upon which the anticommunist opposition drew. We associate it most fully with Mohandas Gandhi. The basic invention amounts to this: It is possible to have an effective form of politics in which willingness to risk and sacrifice life can be combined with a firm unwillingness to risk and sacrifice the lives of others. This discovery was an essential ingredient of the political thinking of the anticommunist opposition; sacred ideals did not have to be abandoned. And commitment to them need not make one dangerous. Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr. proved this to be true, and Solidarity proved it again. Heroic virtues that for ages have been associated in politics with violence and destructiveness, with war and revolution, can be constitutionalized. Rebirth can perhaps finally also mean rebirth of the most sacred ideals without a turn toward violence, which a Gandhian “political methodology” would now block.

29There was something profoundly new and hopeful about the events of 1989, even if (or perhaps because) they did not introduce (nor did they aim to introduce) any regime of a completely new type. Activation of energies in politics and in other forms of human activity requires hope. In modern politics the deepest source of hope traditionally has been faith in the inevitability of progress. Some believed in the inevitable triumph of reason, others in the inevitable triumph of the socialist revolution.

30This form of hope turned out to be both misplaced and dangerous, and for a long time now nothing has been found to replace it. The events of 1989 suggest a new deep source of hope, the basis of which is not the inevitability of progress but the reversibility of destruction. It is striking, therefore, that these events were followed not by enhanced hope, but by a deep and widespread disappointment.

The Disappointment of 1989

31The years 1989-91 saw the collapse of communism as a serious global alternative and as the victory of civic politics over the remnants of the twentieth century’s main form of destructive politics. It was a period of great—though ambiguous—rebirth; it was a combination of triumphs and defeats, the exhilaration of victory and deep disappointment. The disappointment had at least two sources, based in what the events of 1989-91 were not.

32First, they were not a permanent defeat of the politics of destruction, but just one of its forms. So disappointment emerges as we face the politics of destructiveness being reconstituted into new forms, more warlike and energetic than communism had been for a long time. War returned to Europe, and in most of the places where it has been avoided, new forms of aggressive politics have emerged. But no one should have expected that the destructive aspect of politics would somehow evaporate together with communism.

33The second source of disappointment has been in some ways more subtle. The social movements that were triumphant over the revolutionary form of destructive politics turned out to be helpless in the face of a fully disenchanted modern civilization with its consumerism, technocracy, and cynicism. The sovereignty of the communist party was replaced by the sovereignty of money. Or, if you are a true cynic, it was replaced by the sovereignty of “real things”: money, power, and sex. The heroic element, centered on the Gandhian idea of a self-limiting social movement committed to truth and love, to satyagraha and ahimsa, disappeared almost without a trace. And this (almost) disappearance has been quite painful, especially in Poland where Solidarity had deep roots.

34But the events of 1989 were not just events of local significance, and so perhaps the disappointment is premature. They also transformed the global organization of power and ended the cold war. And the world keeps changing in ways that suggest that the rebirth of 1989 may yet turn into a harbinger of a more global rebirth, transforming modernity from a civilization centered on a break with the ancients and on revolutions to one centered on the Renaissance and rebirth. It is not anything one could predict, but it is perhaps a possibility.

  • 11 Jessica Mathews, “Power Shift”, Foreign Affairs 76:1 (1997): 50-66.

35In fact, ideas that were central to the anticommunist opposition are showing up all over the world. It seems that almost everybody now favors the strengthening of domestic civil society as an important bulwark against the coercive state and as an instrument for decentralized reform. We also increasingly recognize the importance of a global civil society with its interconnected worldwide network of nongovernmental organizations fighting to protect human rights, to defend the environment, to limit corruption, and so on11.

36Conservative liberal socialism used to be a quaint—and moderately ironic—political formula that only people connected to the anticommunist opposition would love. Leszek Kolakowski, when he first put forward his conservative liberal socialist (CLS) manifesto, felt certain that a CLS International would never come into being. It is not so clear any more.

  • 12 Maciej Zieba, Po Szkodzie? Przed Szkoda? (Krakow: Znak, 1996).

37We see a rush to develop a principled politics of the center, one that doesn’t simply search out the median voter to win elections; hence, political hybrids are taken with new seriousness. Officials of the Catholic Church, from Pope John Paul II and Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger down, talk of the need to incorporate certain key aspects of liberalism into Catholic social doctrine12, which was already quite open to conservative and socialist thinking. So CLS seems to have a bright future among the Catholics of the world. CLS is also alive and well in the communitarian movement in the English-speaking world, which is liberal as well as communitarian and whose communitarianism carefully incorporates both conservative and socialist impulses. The Third Way of Clinton, Blair, and Schröder is not yet quite CLS in power, lacking an explicit conservative component, but it may be as close as one can come in a political system dominated by two parties.

38These two examples are changes on the surface of political thinking and practice. But there are also intellectual changes that address the larger issue of the kind of modern civilization in which we want to live. There are various efforts to revive the Renaissance, to go to the roots of modernity in order to free us from some of the grim legacy of the seventeenth century: Cartesian rationality, the logic of which drives revolutions (destroy first, build later); contractarianism in political theory, which in many ways reinforces this Cartesian logic; and the Westphalian system of sovereign territorial states, within which the destructive power of states can be limited only domestically.

39The Renaissance revival projects with which I am familiar cover a broad range of politics, society, and culture. They include:

  1. a broader front of attack against the Cartesian formulation of rationality and against Descartes in general; the well-known works of the critical rationalists, such as Popper and Hayek, are now joined by Stephen Toulmin’s effort in Cosmopolis to undermine the main Cartesian aspects of modernity by elaborating on some late Renaissance intellectual trends, visible especially in the work of Montaigne13;
  2. the new republicanism in political theory14, which establishes continuity with the civic humanism of the North Italian Renaissance as a way of fighting the contractarianism that has its modern roots in the seventeenth century (Hobbes and Locke);
  3. the “Romanian Chicago School” in the study of religion15, which attempts to establish continuity with the program of the Platonic Academy in Florence and the works of Ficino and Pico della Mirandola, searching for deep structures of the experience of the sacred, independent of differences in creed and dogma;
  4. efforts of the social potential movement in the United States to bring about some sort of a new Renaissance, promoted in the cultural and political journal Utne Reader, among others;
  5. efforts to rethink the global system of international relations in a way that abandons the assumptions that have come to be associated with the Treaties of Westphalia. Instead of a system of sovereign territorial states, something more complex should emerge, based in part on a thorough revision of what we mean by security16 and development, and which institutional system can best guarantee both. In discussing these changes, some have used the term “a new medievalism”17, but they do not mean a return of the Dark Ages (although that, too, is a possibility). They mean a system like that before the Treaties of Westphalia; a return to the Renaissance.

40All these efforts to re-establish continuity with the Renaissance can also be seen as ways to redefine the meaning of modernity. We see an effort here to abandon an idea of modernity in which the state and revolution are the main players. Its basic image was set out by Descartes: modernity must first destroy what it has inherited from the past in order then to be able to design a new world ex nihilo, using in the case of social design the device of a contract or the strategy of revolution. This kind of modernity requires a fundamental break with the past. And a revolution, taking over the state and using its coercive apparatus, is the most powerful instrument to achieve this goal. Communism was the high point of modernity understood in this way.

41The constitutionalist alternative proposes a different picture: a complex institutional design that limits the destructive capacity of the state but promotes its capacity to make the world better and protects the capacity of other agents both to make the world more secure and to improve it. And the main locomotives of history are not revolutions breaking continuity with the past, but rebirths that re-establish this continuity. The real origin of modern civilization is not in the break between the ancients and the moderns that much of the Enlightenment promoted, but in the Renaissance effort to re-establish continuity with the past. In a modernity that celebrates breaks with the past, the rebirth of 1989 is at best puzzling. But in a modernity that re-establishes continuity with its symbolic origins in the Renaissance, the events of 1989 can be celebrated as exemplary: in them more than anywhere else we see revolution replaced by rebirth.


1 I presented an earlier version of this chapter as a paper during the conference “Between Past and Future” at the Central European University in Budapest and as a lecture during a summer school organized in Timişoara by the Open Society Institute and the Center for the Study of Post-Communist Societies, University of Maryland. I would like to thank especially Jeffrey Isaac and Bartlomiej Kaminski for their comments.

2 György Konrád, Antipolitics (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1995); Václav Klaus, Renaissance: The Rebirth of Liberty in the Heart of Europe (Washington, D.C.: Cato, 1997).

3 Bruce Ackerman, The Future of Liberal Revolution (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992); Andrew Arato, “Interpreting 1989”, Social Research 60 (1993): 609-46; Ralf Dahrendorf, Reflections on the Revolution in Europe (New York: Random House, 1990); Francis Fukuyama, “The End of History?” The National Interest 16 (Summer 1989): 3-18; Francis Fukuyama, The End of History and the Last Man (New York: Free Press, 1992); Jeffrey Isaac, “The Meaning of 1989”, Social Research 63:2 (1996): 291-344; Ken Jowitt, New World Disorder: The Leninist Extinction (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992); János Kis, “Between Reform and Revolution”, East European Politics and Societies 12 (1998): 300-83; Ulrich Preuss, Constitutional Revolution (Atlantic Highlands, N.J.: Humanities Press, 1995

4 Mircea Elkin and Karol Soltan, eds., A New Constitutionalism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993); Jon Elster and Rune Slagstad, eds., Constitutionalism and Democracy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988).

5 Jean Cohen and Andrew Arato, Civil Society and Political Theory (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1992); Václav Havel, Living in Truth (London: Faber and Faber, 1987); György Konrád, Antipolitics; Marcin Krol, Liberalism Strachu czy Liberalizm Odwagi (Krakow: Znak, 1996); Adam Michnik, Szanse Polskiej Demokracji (London: Aneks, 1984); Aleksander Smolar, “Revolutionary Spectacle and Peaceful Transition,” Social Research 63 (1996): 439-64; Jerzy Szacki, Liberalism after Communism (Budapest: CEU Press, 1995); Vladimir Tismaneanu, Reinventing Politics: Eastern Europe from Stalin to Havel (New York: Free Press, 1992

6 Michael Walzer, “Liberalism and the Art of Separation”, Political Theory 12 (1984): 315-30.

7 Leszek Kolakowski, “How To Be a Conservative Liberal Socialist”, Encounter 51:4 (1978): 46-47; Marek Leszkowski, “Glowne Nurty Solidarnosci”, Kontakt 1:8 (1982): 7-10.

8 See for example, Bikhu Parekh, Gandhi (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997).

9 See A. P. d’Entreves, Natural Law (London: Hutchinson, 1951).

10 Ernest Gellner, Conditions of Liberty (London: Penguin, 1994); Michael Ignatieff, “On Civil Society”, Foreign Affairs 74:2 (1995): 128-36

11 Jessica Mathews, “Power Shift”, Foreign Affairs 76:1 (1997): 50-66.

12 Maciej Zieba, Po Szkodzie? Przed Szkoda? (Krakow: Znak, 1996).

13 Stephen Toulmin, Cosmopolis (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992).

14 J. G. A. Pocock, The Machiavellian Moment (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1975); Ronald Terchek, Republican Paradoxes and Liberal Anxieties (Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield, 1996).

15 Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane (New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1959); Mircea Eliade, the Myth of the Eternal Return (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1971); and loan Couliano, Eros and Magic in the Renaissance (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987).

16 Emma Rothschild, “What is Security?” Daedalus 124:3 (1995): 53-98.

17 Stephen Kobrin, “Back to the Future: Neomedievalism and the Postmodern Digital World Economy”, Journal of International Affairs 52 (1998): 361-


Karol Soltan teaches political science at the University of Maryland.

© Central European University Press, 2000

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