This is a very big book with a distinct thesis—to my knowledge, an original one—and it’s downright encyclopedic in providing supporting examples. I’ve not read the authors’ previous book, How Nations Fail, so I’m not sure how much of this thesis continues earlier work. Though Acemoglu and Robinson are economists, The Narrow Corridor is only tangentially about economics; rather, the subjects here are political history, political theory, a little sociology and anthropology, and the various ways that states have developed across centuries and cultures. To explain their theory, Acemoglu and Robinson have invented a colorful nomenclature for the political dynamics they describe. These terms are initially a little annoying, but they're useful.
Their premise is that political liberty is essential for economic growth and prosperity, and that liberty is uncommon in human history, that it is not inevitable, not the natural tendency of the arc of history. Rather, liberty has developed under specific cultural circumstances, within a narrow corridor in which the state’s power and society’s power are in some form of balance and are advancing simultaneously. Most polities today, like most societies in human history, are not in the corridor. Moreover, under the right circumstances, some nations, such as South Africa, can move into the corridor, and, conversely—with Weimar Germany the striking example—can move out of it.
Because they’re economists, the authors chart their theory on a simple line graph, with state power on the y or vertical axis and society's power on the horizontal or x axis. Liberty can only develop within a narrow band close to a 45° angle. Polities that develop along a more vertical trajectory, in which state power is high and society’s independent power is low, are despotic. But cultures with powerful social norms that inhibit the evolution of a strong state—that is, with angles well under 45°—also repress liberty, because people therein are dominated by others and by traditional norms, what the authors call the “cage of norms.” In modern India, for example, caste discrimination is illegal but pervasive because the government is weak relative to centuries of custom.
The authors take their basic concept from Hobbes, that a strong state, a Leviathan, is needed to liberate people from domination by others—that is, from warre (following Hobbes’ 17th-century spelling), the condition of every man against every other. Free people, in other words, rely on the protection of a strong government, which should have a monopoly on the use of violence or force. But Hobbes thought that any Leviathan was better than none, whereas Acemoglu and Robinson insist that liberty can only thrive in a “shackled Leviathan,” in which the state’s power is monitored, constrained, and channeled by “social mobilization.” “The vital challenge,” they write, “is to make sure that the state can increase its capacity to meet society’s needs but still remain shackled.”
Though today we take relative liberty for granted in most of Europe and the English-speaking world, as well as in a few other countries scattered across the globe, elsewhere and throughout history there have been few shackled Leviathans. History, ancient and current, has seen many “absent Leviathans”—polities, like Albania, with scant state capacity, in which the people are trapped in the “cage of norms,” or beset by warre, or otherwise under the domination of elites. Nations like China are “despotic Leviathans,” in which society is weak relative to an all-controlling state. And there are “paper Leviathans,” prevalent across South America and Africa: corrupt states with all the trappings of real governments but little capacity to actually govern the nation or protect the people—as a matter of fact, little interest in doing anything except enriching the elites in charge.
Under a shackled Leviathan the state and society run a constant competitive race with each other, each growing its capacity; the authors call this arms race “the Red Queen effect,” with reference to Alice in Wonderland. The result of this balance of power is liberty, with the strong state freeing people from domination by others and from the cage of norms and strong society keeping state power in check.
A weakness in this book is the fuzziness of the concept of social mobilization. What exactly is society’s power, as distinct from the state’s power? The authors provide examples, but not, to my recollection, any definition, so they must assume that it’s self-evident. It’s probably close to the more familiar “civil society”: community groups, small businesses, trade and labor unions, professional and trade associations, NGOs, churches, indigenous groups, charities and foundations, the free press—all reflecting the power of people combining outside government to further their interests. Nevertheless, Acemoglu’s and Robinson’s thesis would be stronger if this important component were clearer.
Within this framework, The Narrow Corridor examines the political histories of ancient Athens, Albania, the Italian city-states of the Middle Ages, the United States, China, India, England, Prussia, Switzerland, Argentina, Colombia, Japan, Sweden, Costa Rica and Guatemala, the Islamic ummah and empire, and several native societies in Africa, among others. This is wide-ranging history, anthropology, and political science (and you have to admire the authors’ fearlessness in trespassing on so many academic disciplines not their own).
Particularly interesting is the way they contrast Poland and Russia after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Though both countries attempted reforms to create democracies and market economies, Poland essentially succeeded in entering the narrow corridor and Russia failed. According to the authors, the key difference seems to have been Solidarity, the huge and popular trade union in Poland, which Acemoglu and Robinson consider an example of social mobilization competing with state power. Nothing comparably bottom-up existed in Russia, which devolved to Soviet-style despotism. Or consider Soviet Tajikistan, which for most of the 20th century had been governed informally by traditional clan leaders, who conveniently styled themselves Communist Party members and served their own interests while pretending to be clients of Moscow; so even under Soviet rule Tajikistan never developed a strong central government. When the Soviet Union collapsed, what little state capacity there was in Tajikistan disintegrated and the clans continued their feuding, resulting in civil war, a hallmark of the absent Leviathan.
As one would expect, Acemoglu and Robinson end with some cautionary words for the United States. They break no new ground here by noting the parallels between Weimar Germany and America under Trump. The former was a functioning, modern, prosperous, democratic state until it was jolted by the Depression, when the German people voted to install the Nazis and ditch democracy. In hindsight, the Weimar Republic’s key weakness was the polarization of the people into resentful and opposed groups, their willingness to see categories of fellow citizens as internal enemies—a condition ripe for exploitation by a demagogue and a despot. The authors refer to this condition as the “zero-sum Red Queen,” in which the elements of society compete not with the state, but vehemently, in winner-take-all battles, with each other. The healthy, positive-sum Red Queen effect is about society’s many organized facets driving the growth of civilization, taking to politics only (1) to achieve what only the state can achieve, and (2) to maintain limits on state power. Under the zero-sum Red Queen, on the other hand, competing groups in society strive to capture and even augment state power for themselves. It’s hard not to see American politics today as a zero-sum competition. It’s hard not to see the possibility that the US will slip outside the narrow corridor of liberty.
Given the originality of their thesis, Acemoglu and Robinson offer correct but unoriginal diagnoses and recommendations vis-à-vis our current political predicament. They note that American culture is perhaps too distrustful of state power, and that, in the domestic sphere at least, the federal government is too weak. Americans see the inability of Congress to legislate to address society’s real needs as evidence that government per se is irrelevant and corrupt, that the people’s votes and voices don’t count, and that democracy is a sham. But liberty cannot thrive, and the nation cannot stay in the narrow corridor, if people abandon all trust in institutions and the democratic process. Citizens become cynical when they see political corruption hiding in plain sight, with massive amounts of money being poured into campaigns and lobbying to serve the interests of elites, widening our growing inequality and encouraging rather than discouraging industrial power and concentration.
Our widening inequality is the key warning sign that we may be straying from the narrow corridor, and it has many causes. It’s perpetuated by our highly undemocratic education system, the decline of labor unions to balance the well-organized power of business interests, and our failure to regulate the financial industry and cyber giants such as Facebook, Google, and Amazon. Beyond reforms in those areas, Acemoglu and Robinson insist that the American state “must begin designing and operating a more generous and comprehensive social safety net, which will protect individuals who are not benefitting from the major economic changes.” Such a safety net, they conclude, does not necessarily stifle “opportunities and incentives for business dynamism and innovation,” nor should it put us automatically (in Friedrich Hayek’s term) on the road to serfdom. The authors greatly admire the achievement of Sweden, both during and since World War II, in developing a considerable safety net, maintaining a strong industrial capitalist economy, and growing a robust democracy. Though it’s hard to imagine Swedish-like reforms in the context of today’s American politics, we may have few other choices if we are to remain within the narrow corridor.