With the fall of the Soviet Union in 1991 the last great theoretical alternative to liberal democracy appeared to have collapsed under the weight of its own internal contradictions. With no little hubris, Francis Fukuyama proclaimed the “End of History”. Liberal democracy enjoyed something of a golden era, until at least September 11th, 2001, and arguably until the global financial crisis of 2008.
As even Fukuyama has long acknowledged, liberal democracy has since been in retreat. Russia under Vladimir Putin, and latterly China under Xi Jinping, have taken increasingly authoritarian turns. India, the world’s largest democracy, has succumbed to Hindu nationalism. All have moved farther away from the liberal democratic ideal.
*** A version of this book review was first published in The Irish Times on 24 January 2026 ***
As even Fukuyama has long acknowledged, liberal democracy has since been in retreat. Russia under Vladimir Putin, and latterly China under Xi Jinping, have taken increasingly authoritarian turns. India, the world’s largest democracy, has succumbed to Hindu nationalism. All have moved farther away from the liberal democratic ideal.
As is now well rehearsed, the politics of many western democracies have themselves taken an illiberal turn in the face of “performance illegitimacy”. As governments are perceived to have failed to deliver improved living standards for the majority of their citizens, the very foundations of liberal democracy itself have been called into question. This is exemplified not least in the election, and recent re-election, of Donald Trump in the United States.
With the aim of both explaining and advancing this illiberal turn, a growing body of work has emerged under the banner of “post-liberalism”, attracting adherents from across the political spectrum. Essentially, the post-liberals argue that liberalism has failed, even if they struggle to agree on what should replace it.
As even Fukuyama has long acknowledged, liberal democracy has since been in retreat. Russia under Vladimir Putin, and latterly China under Xi Jinping, have taken increasingly authoritarian turns. India, the world’s largest democracy, has succumbed to Hindu nationalism. All have moved farther away from the liberal democratic ideal.
As is now well rehearsed, the politics of many western democracies have themselves taken an illiberal turn in the face of “performance illegitimacy”. As governments are perceived to have failed to deliver improved living standards for the majority of their citizens, the very foundations of liberal democracy itself have been called into question. This is exemplified not least in the election, and recent re-election, of Donald Trump in the United States.
With the aim of both explaining and advancing this illiberal turn, a growing body of work has emerged under the banner of “post-liberalism”, attracting adherents from across the political spectrum. Essentially, the post-liberals argue that liberalism has failed, even if they struggle to agree on what should replace it.
At different points, McCormick presents Ireland, his home country, as a potential counterpoint to the travails of liberal democracy elsewhere. That no far-right politicians were elected to the Dáil in 2024 is not perhaps the strongest argument that our democracy is in rude health, however. Similarly, that the President’s ability to refer legislation to the Supreme Court acts as a bulwark against authoritarianism seems speculative.
McCormick often presents liberal democracy less as a contested institutional arrangement than as a moral inheritance encompassing decency, moderation and fairness. He doesn’t seek to engage deeply with liberalism from a theoretical perspective, nor with “post-liberal” critiques. This is of particular relevance since many of the problems McCormick identifies – inequality, institutional decay, democratic disengagement – are precisely those seized upon by post-liberal writers as evidence of liberalism’s failure. Where McCormick sees challenges to be addressed within a liberal democratic framework, post-liberals see proof that the framework itself is broken. A more scholarly consideration feels essential.
As the title suggests, Kelly’s Against Post-Liberalism takes aim directly at the intellectual foundations of the post-liberal critique. His central claim is that post-liberalism is not yet a coherent political philosophy. Unlike liberalism, socialism or conservatism, it lacks a worked-out account of political authority, legitimacy, rights or obligations. Instead, it functions as what the author calls a “negative ideology”: a loose coalition of grievances and dissatisfactions united by hostility to liberalism rather than by any shared vision of what should replace it.
Kelly sets out a clear taxonomy of post-liberal thought. He identifies national-populist variants that portray liberalism as an elite ideology imposed on ordinary people; communitarian or “common good” approaches, often rooted in Catholic teaching or Aristotelian ethics; and elite-driven hybrids such as – in the UK – Blue Labour or Red Toryism, which combine cultural conservatism with selective economic intervention. What unites these otherwise divergent projects is a shared narrative of liberal failure.
Central to Kelly’s critique is the demonstration that the post-liberal narrative depends on a caricature of liberalism. Post-liberal writers routinely conflate liberal political philosophy with a contingent and historically specific set of late-modern practices: market fundamentalism, technocratic governance, cultural permissiveness and professional-managerial dominance. These features are then projected backwards on to liberalism as such. Kelly’s approach is to return to the liberal canon and test this attribution. It fails.
Locke, Mill, Kant, Rawls, Berlin and Brian Barry emerge in Kelly’s account not as prophets of social atomisation, but as thinkers grappling seriously with the moral limits of politics in societies characterised by disagreement. Liberalism, properly understood, is not a denial of the good life but a response to pluralism: the fact that people hold divergent, and often incompatible, views about how to live well. The liberal solution is not moral vacuity, but restraint.
At different points, McCormick presents Ireland, his home country, as a potential counterpoint to the travails of liberal democracy elsewhere. That no far-right politicians were elected to the Dáil in 2024 is not perhaps the strongest argument that our democracy is in rude health, however. Similarly, that the President’s ability to refer legislation to the Supreme Court acts as a bulwark against authoritarianism seems speculative.
McCormick often presents liberal democracy less as a contested institutional arrangement than as a moral inheritance encompassing decency, moderation and fairness. He doesn’t seek to engage deeply with liberalism from a theoretical perspective, nor with “post-liberal” critiques. This is of particular relevance since many of the problems McCormick identifies – inequality, institutional decay, democratic disengagement – are precisely those seized upon by post-liberal writers as evidence of liberalism’s failure. Where McCormick sees challenges to be addressed within a liberal democratic framework, post-liberals see proof that the framework itself is broken. A more scholarly consideration feels essential.
As the title suggests, Kelly’s Against Post-Liberalism takes aim directly at the intellectual foundations of the post-liberal critique. His central claim is that post-liberalism is not yet a coherent political philosophy. Unlike liberalism, socialism or conservatism, it lacks a worked-out account of political authority, legitimacy, rights or obligations. Instead, it functions as what the author calls a “negative ideology”: a loose coalition of grievances and dissatisfactions united by hostility to liberalism rather than by any shared vision of what should replace it.
Kelly sets out a clear taxonomy of post-liberal thought. He identifies national-populist variants that portray liberalism as an elite ideology imposed on ordinary people; communitarian or “common good” approaches, often rooted in Catholic teaching or Aristotelian ethics; and elite-driven hybrids such as – in the UK – Blue Labour or Red Toryism, which combine cultural conservatism with selective economic intervention. What unites these otherwise divergent projects is a shared narrative of liberal failure.
Central to Kelly’s critique is the demonstration that the post-liberal narrative depends on a caricature of liberalism. Post-liberal writers routinely conflate liberal political philosophy with a contingent and historically specific set of late-modern practices: market fundamentalism, technocratic governance, cultural permissiveness and professional-managerial dominance. These features are then projected backwards on to liberalism as such. Kelly’s approach is to return to the liberal canon and test this attribution. It fails.
Locke, Mill, Kant, Rawls, Berlin and Brian Barry emerge in Kelly’s account not as prophets of social atomisation, but as thinkers grappling seriously with the moral limits of politics in societies characterised by disagreement. Liberalism, properly understood, is not a denial of the good life but a response to pluralism: the fact that people hold divergent, and often incompatible, views about how to live well. The liberal solution is not moral vacuity, but restraint.
At different points, McCormick presents Ireland, his home country, as a potential counterpoint to the travails of liberal democracy elsewhere. That no far-right politicians were elected to the Dáil in 2024 is not perhaps the strongest argument that our democracy is in rude health, however. Similarly, that the President’s ability to refer legislation to the Supreme Court acts as a bulwark against authoritarianism seems speculative.
McCormick often presents liberal democracy less as a contested institutional arrangement than as a moral inheritance encompassing decency, moderation and fairness. He doesn’t seek to engage deeply with liberalism from a theoretical perspective, nor with “post-liberal” critiques. This is of particular relevance since many of the problems McCormick identifies – inequality, institutional decay, democratic disengagement – are precisely those seized upon by post-liberal writers as evidence of liberalism’s failure. Where McCormick sees challenges to be addressed within a liberal democratic framework, post-liberals see proof that the framework itself is broken. A more scholarly consideration feels essential.
As the title suggests, Kelly’s Against Post-Liberalism takes aim directly at the intellectual foundations of the post-liberal critique. His central claim is that post-liberalism is not yet a coherent political philosophy. Unlike liberalism, socialism or conservatism, it lacks a worked-out account of political authority, legitimacy, rights or obligations. Instead, it functions as what the author calls a “negative ideology”: a loose coalition of grievances and dissatisfactions united by hostility to liberalism rather than by any shared vision of what should replace it.
Kelly sets out a clear taxonomy of post-liberal thought. He identifies national-populist variants that portray liberalism as an elite ideology imposed on ordinary people; communitarian or “common good” approaches, often rooted in Catholic teaching or Aristotelian ethics; and elite-driven hybrids such as – in the UK – Blue Labour or Red Toryism, which combine cultural conservatism with selective economic intervention. What unites these otherwise divergent projects is a shared narrative of liberal failure.
Central to Kelly’s critique is the demonstration that the post-liberal narrative depends on a caricature of liberalism. Post-liberal writers routinely conflate liberal political philosophy with a contingent and historically specific set of late-modern practices: market fundamentalism, technocratic governance, cultural permissiveness and professional-managerial dominance. These features are then projected backwards on to liberalism as such. Kelly’s approach is to return to the liberal canon and test this attribution. It fails.
Locke, Mill, Kant, Rawls, Berlin and Brian Barry emerge in Kelly’s account not as prophets of social atomisation, but as thinkers grappling seriously with the moral limits of politics in societies characterised by disagreement. Liberalism, properly understood, is not a denial of the good life but a response to pluralism: the fact that people hold divergent, and often incompatible, views about how to live well. The liberal solution is not moral vacuity, but restraint.
s with Blue Labour in the UK, elements of post-liberalism have been internalised into the praxis of certain strands of the modern left. As his book’s subtitle suggests, however, Kelly is at pains to paint this as a “dead end”. Whatever its rhetorical appeal, post-liberalism strips the left of its strongest moral and political imperatives while offering little in return beyond cultural conservatism and an often ill-defined notion of the “common good”.
For the Irish left in particular, Kelly’s argument should be sobering. The advances made in recent decades – on social rights, equality and accountability – were achieved through liberal democratic institutions, not in spite of them. Post-liberalism’s suspicion of pluralism and rights risks aligning the left with forces that are, at best, indifferent to economic justice and, at worst, actively hostile to it. If the left’s task is to renew democracy so that it delivers social progress, then Kelly is right: post-liberalism is a strategic cul-de-sac.
Against Post-Liberalism succeeds in demonstrating that post-liberalism’s intellectual foundations are far weaker than its rhetorical confidence suggests. Matt Sleat’s Post-Liberalism reinforces this conclusion, albeit from a different angle. Where Kelly mounts a normative defence of liberalism, Sleat’s central argument is that post-liberalism relies on a fundamentally implausible form of monocausal explanation. Liberalism is blamed for everything from economic inequality to cultural alienation. This, Sleat argues, is not serious social analysis.
Liberalism has always coexisted – often uneasily – with capitalism, nationalism, welfare states, religious traditions, and bureaucratic governance. To attribute the full range of contemporary social pathologies to liberal philosophy alone is to confuse correlation with causation.
Like Kelly, Sleat dismantles post-liberal caricatures of the liberal canon. Many of the supposed vices of liberalism – market absolutism, moral subjectivism, technocratic domination – have been criticised by liberal thinkers themselves. What post-liberals attack, Sleat suggests, is not liberalism as such, but a set of contingent political and economic arrangements that happen to coexist with liberal institutions at a particular historical moment. This chimes neatly with the thrust of Kelly’s argument.
For Irish readers, Sleat’s insistence on multiple causality and historical nuance resonates. Ireland’s transformation since the 1960s cannot plausibly be explained by liberal ideas alone. EU membership, foreign direct investment, educational expansion, demographic change, declining religiosity and technological advances have all played decisive roles.
Sleat offers no grand alternative vision and few policy prescriptions. Some readers may find this unsatisfying, especially those drawn to post-liberalism precisely because it promises moral clarity and political direction. Moreover, the author’s austere analysis can feel somewhat detached from lived experience. He explains why post-liberalism is a bad theory, but says less about why it resonates emotionally. Like Kelly, Sleat succeeds in the narrow sense of refuting the theoretical post-liberal critique. As such, both books are timely and necessary.
Read together, these three books offer a robust defence of liberalism, and of liberal democracy as the ideal system of governance. McCormick is right to insist that liberal democracy faces serious challenges, many of them rooted in political economy rather than abstract theory. Kelly and Sleat are correct in rejecting the claim that liberalism itself is the source of those challenges.
Housing, healthcare, affordability and inequality are not second-order issues; they are foundations of democratic legitimacy. If our governments cannot deliver on these fronts, others will offer simpler, more authoritarian alternatives. Far from being at odds with liberal democracy, mixed economies with high-quality public services, opportunity for all and low economic inequality in fact underpin it, with Nordic social democracies consistently proving the most potent exemplars.
Liberal democracy remains the best framework we have for managing disagreement without violence: for disagreeing agreeably. Its survival may depend less on philosophical purity than on the unglamorous work of delivery. McCormick reminds us why the stakes are high. Kelly and Sleat remind us why abandoning liberalism is a mistake. Together, they point towards a pluralist politics that does a better job of addressing voters’ everyday concerns.
vicduggan 