Niall Ferguson, as I noted a few years ago in my review of The Great Derangement, seems to consist of two or more authorial personas. Having now read Doom, his most recent book, I can confirm and expand this observation. Ferguson indeed has multiple authorial personalities, and I believe that he gives voice to most of them in this book. (Although it's thoroughly footnoted and referenced, I find the archive-digging, monograph-writing historian is the missing persona in this book). But we do experience the scholar-data-digger; the purveyor of sweeping narrative; the innovative analyst; the philosopher of (and about) history; and the political commentator. Reading this book, I sensed that while quarantined by the pandemic, Ferguson performed a mind-dump into this book. But I say this not by way of criticism. The contents of Ferguson's mind never prove boring. Aggravating at times, yes; but never dull. When I went back in my blog over the last twelve years, I find many considerations of his work, some enthusiastic and some critical; but--at least to my mind at the time--certainly worth having read and commenting upon. This work doesn't disappoint, even if it is a bit unwieldy and unfocused.
The overarching theme of the book concerns the human reactions to catastrophes and how responses can vary for good or ill. Catastrophes happen; some are natural disasters, some man-made. We can't control earthquakes or volcanic reactions in the least bit, nor can we hope to completely tame droughts and floods and hurricanes, although we've certainly--if unwittingly--learned how to exacerbate them. So while we have little or no control over the occurrence of some events, we do have a measure of control over how we humans anticipate and respond to natural and man-made disasters. ("Man-made"? Think "accidents" like Chernobyl, Three-Mile Island, Fukushima, Bhopal, mining disasters, plane crashes, and famines as examples.) Ferguson provides abundant examples and analyses of such occasions. Ferguson sometimes gets a bit long-winded with statistics and lists, but you come away with a comparative appreciation of the many events that have challenged humankind.
As Ferguson turns to the recent pandemic (now likely to morph into endemic status), he compares it to the 1957 "Asian flu." The comparisons and contrasts are intriguing. The response to the arrival of the Asian flu in the U.S. was more or less business as usual in terms of risk avoidance and daily life. Of course, in writing about COVID-19, Ferguson must shift from history to the journalism of current events (he completed his manuscript in late summer 2020), so some of these observations and anticipations don't have the benefit of hindsight that history offers. Here he treads on less solid ground, and he allows his contrarian and (politically) conservative instincts freer rein.
Toward the end, Ferguson explores The Three-Body Problem as manifest not only in Liu Cixin's sci-fi novel but also as a metaphor for the rise of China and its relation to the U.S. and the rest of the world. He also wonders (not unprofitably) off into Mary Shelley's The Last Man, Thomas Mann's Death in Venice, Margaret Atwood's MaddAdam Trilogy, and Emily St. John Mandel's Station Eleven, among others. Even the very learned historian must turn to the imagination of fiction, especially science fiction, to try to peer more deeply into the fog of the future.
I also want to mention that Ferguson talks about some who've written about the patterns of history. Of course, there is the older school, represented by the likes of Spengler and Toynbee. But more recently we find the work of sociologist Jack Goldstone and biologist-turned-historical theorist, Peter Turchin, both of whom have promoted the "structural-demographic theory" of social and political patterns of historical events. Ferguson thinks highly of this line of thinking, but he notes (correctly, in my opinion) that such patterns are not inevitabilities but likelihoods, given the "black swan" nature of events outside the dynamics of the patters, such as natural catastrophes (earthquakes, volcanos, droughts, floods, etc.) or wars. Ferguson also touches on the recent work of investor Ray Dalio, who's posted his claim of identifying a pattern of political-economic change. The same reservations--about the effects of exogenous shocks to the system (pattern)could modify or even destroy the pattern Dalio identifies (assuming he's in some measure accurate). Ferguson, as a historian and someone who seems to appreciate history as a way of knowing, has developed some interesting ideas of his own about the contingency of history and the use of counterfactuals. (In a future blog, I intend to explore more deeply Ferguson's ideas about history, his relation to the work of R.G. Collingwood (whom he's often cited), and criticisms of Ferguson's work in relation to Collingwood's, especially as set forth by my fellow Collingwood enthusiast, David Pierce (here and here).
Doom is a big, detailed work about what has and will no doubt continue to go seriously wrong in our world. It displays Ferguson's skills as an analyst, the breadth of his knowledge, his narrative skill, and his willingness to wade into controversy. It's classic Ferguson in one big book. And given that catastrophes of various sorts are unlikely to disappear by some magic of good fortune, we'd do well to consider what Ferguson has revealed, take heed, and govern ourselves accordingly. I don't recommend adopting a sense of doom, but we certainly could use a strong dose of prudence.
