This article explores Francesco Guicciardini’s concept of the imagination and argues that it plays a vital, yet hitherto unexplored, role in his political thought. What are called “imaginary conceptions” determine the effects that different governmental strategies have upon a given society. As these both affective and cognitive conceptions are tied to shared, symbolic representations, understanding informal aspects of political life becomes a crucial aspect of Guicciardini’s construal of effective government. To understand these aspects it is necessary to reconstruct the historical genesis of the communal representations as it determines the specificity of the society under consideration. The historical contingency of a society’s imaginary conceptions forces political theory to “imaginatively construct” the institutional forms it suggests, rather than “discover” them among the exempla of the past. The centrality of contingent, imaginary conceptions to political reality leads Guicciardini to break with former Renaissance conceptions of exemplarity.

During the nineteenth century, liberalism played a fundamental role in the newly formed Latin American nation-states. Yet little attention has been paid to how liberal thinkers on the periphery reacted against liberal theories suffused with pro-colonial rhetoric and Eurocentric bias. This study examines the underexplored reaction of José Victorino Lastarria to John Stuart Mill’s liberal project. Lastarria, one of the most influential nineteenth-century Latin American liberals, critically engaged with Mill’s liberalism, discerning there an example of Eurocentrism that missed insights from the republican Latin American experience. This article examines the intellectual connections and disconnections between Mill’s liberalism, representing the imperial metropole, and Lastarria’s thought, a form of liberalism in the newly independent peripheral states. By reconstructing his discussion of Mill, this article presents Lastarria’s main political ideas to a broader audience.

Adam Smith argued that human beings naturally desire to dominate others and that they enjoy it. He showed how ancient masters, landlords, and economic actors in some eighteenth-century English and colonial markets were driven by their love of domination against their own economic interests. Recent scholarship argues that to fully understand the role libido dominandi plays in Smith’s thought, love of domination should be associated with the broader concept of vanity and esteem-seeking. This article challenges that interpretation, showing that, for Smith, the love of domination has nothing to do with the love of praise but that most of the pleasure people derive from it is to see their ends promoted by others without the need to persuade them about the utility of those ends. This understanding locates the love of domination outside commercial society where, under certain socio-economic circumstances, mutual persuasion among individuals is the rule.

In his recent analysis of digital platforms as a medium for (democratic) political communication, Jürgen Habermas has proclaimed a constitutional imperative to maintain a functioning public sphere—leaving open, however, what this would require. While a growing literature develops ideas for social media reforms, these models put the cart before the horse. To restructure social media in a targeted manner, one first needs to determine the platforms’ desired contribution to democracy—which is far from obvious. Social media have a plurality of democratic affordances and can thus be assigned different, sometimes competing roles. To determine social media’s place in democracy, we need to do what Habermas has failed to do: locate social media in the center–periphery model of political communication in media society. In doing so, I argue that social media reforms should primarily aim to empower agents in the periphery.

My comments on Kahan’s new history of liberalism have a relatively narrow focus: the book’s organizing concept, fear, rather than its insightful accounts of different authors and movements. I suppose that makes me a “lumper,” in the familiar dichotomy between lumpers and splitters that Kahan cites in his introductory chapter. But I’m afraid that even historians have to lump it sometimes. For you need to know just what idea you’re splitting up, even if your goal is to trace its different manifestations. You need to identify the genus correctly if you want to record the lives of its most interesting species.

I commend Kahan for this ambitious and erudite new intellectual history of liberalism. Freedom from Fear tells a story of liberalism’s development that de-centers concepts such as natural rights, consent, equality, constitutionalism, or even the proverbial social contract with which liberalism is commonly identified. Locke is out; Adam Smith and Montesquieu are in. Instead of fixating on seventeenth-century England or the so-called “Enlightenment,” the “short 19th century” (9–22, 77–120) becomes decisive. Contrary to reductionist criticisms of liberalism as atomistic, secular, or deracinated, Kahan emphasizes that liberalism has traditionally been bolstered by three distinct “pillars” of political freedom, free markets, and morality. These pillars have been marshaled at successive stages of liberalism’s development in response to a number of liberal “fears,” ranging from the threats posed to liberty by the arbitrary power of church and state, by social and political revolutions, poverty, nationalism, totalitarianism, populism, and so forth. Extrapolating from Judith Shklar’s seminal understanding of liberalism in terms of minimizing cruelty, Kahan expands her concern with fear to a wide range of periods and thinkers, offering fresh interpretations of canonical figures such as J. S. Mill and Alexis de Tocqueville while showcasing lesser-known thinkers such as A. V. Dicey, Léon Bourgeois, L. T. Hobhouse, the Ordoliberals, and many others. Kahan’s readings of individual thinkers are consistently illuminating and worthy of discussion in their own right, but my remarks focus on the book’s larger conceptual framework.

There is much to praise in Freedom from Fear, including Kahan’s compelling case that liberalism must be studied in relation to the concrete conditions which shaped liberal fears and hopes; his fair-minded exploration of liberalism’s complex relationships with democracy, religion, imperialism, feminism, and economic transformation; and his recovery of important, oft-neglected figures. But, as Kahan reminds us, liberalism valorizes conflict. Accordingly, I dwell on my disagreement or doubts concerning Kahan’s definition of liberalism, his depiction of liberalism’s “third wave,” and his suggestions for liberalism’s response to populism.