The New Old World

by Perry Anderson

  Although Haas’s intellectual framework derived entirely from the American political science of the period, his motivation was biographical. Coming from a German Jewish family that emigrated from Frankfurt for Chicago in the late thirties, when he was in his early teens, he was led—as he later explained—to study European unity by his boyhood experience of the costs of nationalism. With the re-emergence of De Gaulle as a decisive actor on the European stage in the sixties, followed by the economic turbulence of the early seventies, Haas came to the conclusion that in underestimating the continuing force of national sentiments, he had over-rated the technical automaticity of integration in Europe.1 He ended his days writing a massive two-volume comparative study of nationalism across the globe. But his neo-functionalist paradigm, though not without its critics—Stanley Hoffmann was an early case—founded a tradition that produced works like those of Leon Lindberg and others, remaining a central reference point in the field ever since.2

  In the eighties, Haas’s legacy would be sharply attacked by Alan Milward, whose European Rescue of the Nation-State, argued no less famously that the European Community, far from being a supranational project weakening traditional sovereignties, was the product of a continental drive to strengthen them, moved by a post-war search for security—social and national; welfare and defence—that had nothing to do with functional spillovers between interdependent industries.3 This was in every way an intellectual landmark: nothing was the same after it. But already in these years, the founding states of the Treaty of Rome produced no research comparable to this contribution from Britain, not itself even a member of the European Economic Community in the period under study. Nor, when Milward’s later research concentrated mainly on his own country, has continental work compensated. In France, no native scholar could be found to fill the first chair in European studies at the Sciences-Po: a Belgian, Renaud Dehousse, had to be imported instead. In Germany, with its long tradition of Rechtslehre, distinguished constitutional theorists like Dieter Grimm have made punctual interventions of note, some in debate with normative philosophers like Habermas. But no syntheses of the order of Kelsen or Schmitt have been forthcoming. In Italy, if the European University Institute in Florence has rotated many an eminence, it has been more in the style of an extra-territorial enclave than a native centre of production. In the past decade, the magnetic compass has swung back, more decisively than ever before, to the United States.

  Europeans are certainly not absent from the landscape of scholarship of Europe. But they do not occupy its commanding terrain. That has become a province of Greater America—that is, of thinkers born, based or formed in the United States. Of the half dozen or so most important current theorists of European integration, there is scarcely a cis-Atlantic native or career among them. This is not simply a product of an American predominance in political science. In history, economics, sociology, philosophy, jurisprudence: wherever we look, the pattern is the same.

  No attempt to understand the EU today, or where it might be going, can bypass this bloc of writing. Its popular accounts of the Union are straws in the political wind. Of more intellectual significance is what the best-qualified minds trained on the Union now have to say about it. Their reflections can be divided into two broad sets of argument, each posing the question of the nature of the EU. The first treats this as a problem of history, the second as an issue of policy. Roughly: what kind of historical phenomenon is the Union? What sort of political future could it—or should it—have? The two agendas overlap, obviously, since a judgement as to what the EU has been is likely to govern what is thought possible or desirable for it to become, and few authors restrict themselves to either. But the distinction itself is clear enough, and one can begin with the history.

  1

  Setting the pace has for some time been Andrew Moravcsik’s The Choice for Europe: Social Purpose and State Power from Messina to Maastricht (1998), widely hailed as the leading synthesis since Milward. Director of the European Union Program at Princeton, where his wife Anne-Marie Slaughter is author of her own prospect for A New World Order, Moravcsik is currently the most prominent US authority in the field, a tireless commentator on EU affairs in the columns of Newsweek and the pages of Prospect. The theoretical background of his work lies in the notion developed by, among others, Robert Keohane at Harvard—where Moravcsik was a younger associate—of an ‘international regime’, understood as a set of formal or informal principles, rules and procedures determining a common horizon of expectations, and so conduct, for inter-state relations. The particular problem addressed by Keohane’s major work After Hegemony (1984) was how high levels of cooperation could persist among the advanced capitalist states, once the paramountcy of the US that had been responsible for its post-war institutions—Bretton Woods, the IMF, GATT, NATO—passed away, as he thought it had in the early seventies.

  The target of this conception was the dominant realist school of international relations theory in the USA, descended from Hans Morgenthau, which insisted on the ineliminably conflictual nature of relations between sovereign states in the world political arena. This standpoint, Keohane thought, could not make sense of the degree of pragmatic harmony between the leading states of the OECD after the collapse of Bretton Woods. Nor, however, could the alternative of neo-functionalist theory supply the answer: its stress on common ideals and economic ties was in Keohane’s words ‘naive about power and conflict’.4 He proposed instead a synthesis of realism and neo-functionalism that would leave both behind, by modelling as it were the tender-minded phenomenon of international cooperation with the tough-minded tool-kits of rational choice and game theory.

  A decade later, Moravcsik started to apply this line of thinking to the European Community. This was a field, however, where the balance of intellectual forces—at any rate in North America—was the opposite of that which had confronted Keohane. Here it was the neo-functionalism developed by Haas and his pupils that enjoyed most influence, an approach that stressed the specificity of European integration as a process founded on functional economic interdependencies, but driven by federalist political ideals. For the neo-functionalists, this was a combination that was gradually leading to a sui generis structure of supranational character, undercutting national sovereignty in a way unlike any other inter-state arrangement of the post-war epoch.

  Moravcsik’s manifesto of 1993, ‘Preferences and Power in the European Community: A Liberal Intergovernmentalist Approach’, took aim directly at this construction.5 The right starting-point for understanding the process of integration, he asserted, was not what was specific to but what was standard in the EU. The Community had to be seen as another variant of a common pattern of international cooperation, requiring no analytical instruments to capture it beyond those already supplied by regime theory. In analyzing it, pride of place should be given neither to the role of the European Commission in Brussels, nor to the Court in Luxembourg, let alone the Parliament in Strasbourg, but rather to traditional bargaining between member-governments whose key deals set the terms—and limits—of European cooperation. The principal refinement needed to standard regime theory was simply the inclusion of the domestic politics of each state within the theory. ‘Governments’, Moravcsik explained, ‘evaluate alternative courses of action on the basis of a utility function’, shaped ‘in response to shifting pressure from domestic social groups, whose preferences are aggregated through political institutions’.

  The correct way to look at European integration was thus as an exemplar of ‘liberal inter-governmentalism’—liberal in that it supposed private individuals and voluntary associations as the basic actors in politics, and assumed that increased traffic in goods and services across borders would spur ‘reciprocal market liberalization and policy coordination’.6 This was an approach governed by rational choice theory—essentially an extrapolation of the procedures of neo-classical economics to other domains of life—modelling the conduct of states on the behaviour of firms. ‘The essen
ce of the EC as a body for reaching major decisions remains its transaction-cost reducing function’, contended Moravcsik.7 True, this was an international regime which, unusually, involved governments in pooling and delegating elements of sovereignty. But they did so ‘as a result of a cost-benefit analysis of the stream of future substantive decisions expected to follow from alternative institutional designs’,8 which led them to prefer the efficiency gains to be realized by arrangements particular to the EC. Since states make rational choices, it follows that they seldom err in their decisions. Governments bargaining for advantage with one another remain firmly in control of the outcomes. ‘Unintended consequences and miscalculations’ have at best—so Moravcsik—‘played a role at the margins, as they always do in social life’.9

  The Choice for Europe seeks to illustrate this vision by treating the history of European integration as a sequence of five ‘grand bargains’ between governments, to each of which Moravcsik devotes detailed attention: the Treaty of Rome in the fifties; the creation of the Common Agricultural Policy and the Luxembourg compromise in the sixties; the European Monetary System in the seventies; the Single European Act of the eighties; and the Treaty of Maastricht in the nineties. The argument is single-minded. At no point, Moravcsik maintains, was European integration driven either by geo-political calculations—France’s need to contain Germany; Germany’s need to recover respectability—or by federal idealism—Monnet’s dreams of supranationalism; or by considerations of social welfare—as Milward had argued, showing a regrettably weak grasp of American social science.10 Throughout, the primary motivation in the construction of today’s Union has been just the commercial interests of the contracting partners. The result of their rational computations has been ‘the most successful of postwar international regimes’.

  This thesis is hammered home with a mass of dense documentation, most of it revolving around Franco-German relations, with admiring glances at Britain. De Gaulle is cut down to size as little more than a disingenuous lobbyist for French farmers. Macmillan, on the other hand, is hailed as a clairvoyant statesman, whose (failed) bid to get the UK into the Community was ‘an extraordinary act of leadership’.11 Indeed, from the first discussions of a common market at Messina onwards, ‘British diplomacy was far-sighted, efficient and well-informed—close to the ideal rational actor’.12 But in the overall balance-sheet of successive bargains, Moravcsik’s narrative intimates, it was Germany that shaped the process of integration most. From Rome to Maastricht, it can gradually be deduced, Bonn was generally more formative than Paris. Italy’s part in the story is ignored. The tale is one virtually without missteps. Governments, Moravcsik assures us, not only foresaw the immediate consequences of their decisions, ‘they almost never misperceived the direction of future change’.13

  The sheer bulk and self-confidence of The Choice for Europe has made of it, notwithstanding many an objection from historians, the central reference in a field dominated by political scientists of not dissimilar outlook. Its inadequacy to its object is, however, quite clear. For what Moravcsik’s construction is ab initio unable to explain is why the standard objectives of inter-capitalist state cooperation, as codified in regime theory, could not have been achieved after the war in Western Europe by free-trade agreements of a conventional kind, without creation of any complex of supranational institutions or derogations of national sovereignty. Why shouldn’t the EC have looked more like NAFTA? From a ‘liberal intergovernmentalist’ perspective, the European Commission, the Parliament and the Court of Justice enshrined in the Treaty of Rome can only appear gratuitous: unnecessary headaches down the road on which the six governments of the mid-fifties were so prudently and soberly steering.

  What such a conception ignores, of course, is the critical fact that the institutional origins of the European Community were deliberately framed in dynamic, open-ended terms—that is, unlike other forms of international agreement, they were declared to be stepping-stones in view of an ultimate objective whose exact shape was left unspecified. In the famous formula which has haunted Eurosceptics ever since, the first words of the Treaty of Rome spoke of an ‘ever closer union among the peoples of Europe’. It is this teleological aspiration that set European integration categorically apart from the normal world of international agreements. No stable equilibrium was aimed at by the first Coal and Steel Community, or the Common Market that followed it. On the contrary, what they set in motion was an unstable process, potentially concatenating towards a long-term end. This structure was inconceivable without the shaping role of the federalist—not inter-governmentalist—vision of Jean Monnet and his contemporaries. The history of the EC is inexplicable without the impetus to instability genetically engineered into it from the start.

  What then of the rationality of the subsequent process? The rhetoric of rational choice is often empty, since any decision—no matter how seemingly aberrant: let us say, at the limit, Jonestown itself—can be read off from some putative preference structure. In The Choice for Europe, the relevant parameters of choice are specific enough: commercial gains. The question is whether the model they imply can be got to match the real world. The nervous tics of the text itself suggest the answer. For its relentless insistence that every important agreement in the history of the Community was determined above all by—mostly sectoral—economic interests is counterpointed by continual saving clauses noting evidence to the contrary, the better to dispatch it off-stage again, as so many residuals.

  Such admissions-denegations are scattered throughout the book in a compulsive refrain. They recur at every juncture: the Treaty of Rome, the EMS, British entry, the SEA, Maastricht. Treaty of Rome: ‘geopolitical ideas and security externalities were not entirely unimportant’. Macmillan’s bid for membership: ‘we cannot definitively exclude geopolitical prestige as a motivation’. German reactions to De Gaulle’s veto of the bid: ‘I do not rule out geopolitical motivations altogether’. Creation of EMS: ‘this is not to relegate European symbolism and geopolitical arguments to complete insignificance’. The Single European Act: ‘we should not exclude ideological considerations entirely’. German support for monetary union: ‘domestic deliberations and cleavages prevent us from dismissing federalist ideology entirely’. French quest for Maastricht: ‘we cannot dismiss the ideological explanation entirely’. Forty years of integration: ‘we should not neglect geopolitical interests and ideas altogether’. Typicality of EC for relations among industrial nations in general: ‘although we can reject objective geopolitical circumstances as the source of preferences, we cannot entirely dismiss the role of ideas. Yet until ideas are clearly measured [sic] and more precisely theorized, claims for the importance of ideology cannot be more than speculative’.14 In no case does any serious exploration of, or reflection on, what is gestured at follow. Invariably, the factors momentarily conceded and effectively deleted are either geo-political or ideological. What their repetition indicates is simply the extent to which the evidence cannot be stretched to garb the theoretical framework. Tears and holes start to appear as soon as the fabric is pulled.

  Of all these, the most gaping is Moravcsik’s treatment of the role of De Gaulle in Community affairs. ‘Grain, not grandeur’, he declares, lay behind the General’s refusal to admit Britain to the EC in the sixties—essentially, nothing to do with shutting the gates against a Trojan horse from Washington, just a desire to bolster the price of French wheat. Historians have left little standing of the selective use of documents, loose quotation, and forcing of evidence employed to generate this result.15 Beyond such flexing of the record to bend the intentions of a particular, famously obdurate actor to a preconceived schema, however, is the general premise on which The Choice for Europe is built: the belief that political miscalculations and unintended consequences are typically confined—as Moravcsik puts it—to ‘the margins of social life’.

  A less eccentric view would be that most of history is a web of unintended effects. The defining events of the past century
, the two World Wars, are probably the most spectacular cases on record. Much of the inspiration for the building of the European Community, by contrast, came from the goal of avoiding their repetition in the Old World. But the edifice was entirely unprecedented, the architects never at one, the design ever more complex, the process extended far beyond the span of any government. How could it be otherwise than a minefield of misreckonings?

  Among the most recent of these were the hopes invested in the SEA by Thatcher and Delors—opposite, but equally disappointed: the one furious that it paved the way towards a single currency, the other mortified that it proved a dead-end for a more social market. Or the beliefs of Kohl and Mitterrand that monetary union would quicken growth and lessen tensions between Germany and France. Once he reaches Maastricht, even Moravcsik forgets himself to the point of writing that ‘it is unclear whether the economic benefits truly outweighed the costs for any single country, or whether the expectations of the various governments were fully compatible’.16 So much for the unfailing rationality and foresight of the interested parties. As for the Stability Pact imposed by Germany to discipline laxer neighbours, it rebounded so quickly against the Federal Republic that Berlin was among the first to violate it. Such counter-finalities have punctuated integration ever since the Schuman Plan was announced in 1950.