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ОглавлениеThe Crisis That Didn’t Change Much of Anything
Conjure, if you will, a primal sequence encountered in B-grade horror films, where the celluloid protagonist suffers a terrifying encounter with doom, yet on the cusp of disaster abruptly wakes to a different world, which initially seems normal, but eventually is revealed to be a second nightmare more ghastly than the first.1 Something like that has become manifest in real life since the onset of the crisis which started in 2007. From the crash onward, it was bad enough to endure house prices sinking under water, dangling defaults and foreclosures, the collapse of what remained of manufacturing employment, the reduction of whole neighborhoods to bombed-out shells, the evaporation of pensions and savings accounts, the dismay of witnessing the hope of a better life for our children shrivel up, neighbors stocking up on firearms and people confusing bankruptcy with the Rapture. It was an unnerving interlude, with Nietzschean Eternal Return reduced to an Excel graph with statistics from the Great Depression of the 1930s.
Fast forward to 2011. Whether it was true or not, people had just begun to hope that things were finally turning around. Moreover, journalists in mainstream publications bandied about the notion that academic economics had failed, and hinted that our best minds were poised to rethink the doctrines that had led the world astray. Yet, as the year grew to a close, it slowly dawned upon most of us that the natural presumption that we were capable of rousting ourselves from the gasping nightmare, that we might proceed to learn from the mistakes and fallacies of the era of Neoliberal Follies, was itself just one more insidious hallucination. A dark slumber cloaked the land. Not only had the sense of crisis passed without any serious attempts to rectify the flaws that had nearly caused the economy to grind to a halt, but unaccountably, the political right had emerged from the tumult stronger, unapologetic, and even less restrained in its rapacity and credulity than prior to the crash.
In 2010, we were ushered into a grim era of confusion and perplexity on the left. It took a rare degree of self-confidence or fortitude not to gasp dumbfounded at the roaring resurgence of the right so soon after the most dramatic catastrophic global economic collapse after the Great Depression of the 1930s. “Incongruity” seems too polite a term to describe the unfolding of events; “contradiction” seems too outmoded. Austerity became the watchword in almost every country; governments everywhere became the scapegoats for dissatisfaction of every stripe, including that provoked by austerity. In the name of probity, the working class was attacked from all sides, even by nominal “socialist” parties. In the few instances when class mobilization was attempted by trade unions to counterattack, as in the recall petition for Scott Walker in the state of Wisconsin, the birthplace of American progressivism, it failed. The pervasive dominance of neoliberal doctrines and right-wing parties worldwide from Europe to North America to Asia has flummoxed left parties that, just a few short years ago, had been confident they had been finally making headway after decades of neoliberal encroachment. Brazenly, in many cases parties on the left were unceremoniously voted out because they had struggled to contain the worst fallout from the crisis. By contrast, the financial institutions that had precipitated the crisis and had been rescued by governmental action were doing just fine—nay, prospering at precrisis rates—and in a bald display of uninflected ingratitude, were intently bankrolling the resurgent right. Indeed, the astounding recovery of corporate profits practically guaranteed the luxuriant postcrisis exfoliation of Think Tank Pontification. Nationalist proto-fascist movements sprouted in the most unlikely places, and propounded arguments bereft of a scintilla of sense. “Nightmare” did not register as hyperbolic; it was the banjax of the vanities.
The Winter of Our Disconnect
I remember when I first felt that chill shiver of recognition that the aftermath of the crisis might be suspended in a fugue state far worse than the somnolent contraction itself. I was attending the second meeting of the Institute for New Economic Thinking (INET) at Bretton Woods in New Hampshire in April 2011.2 There probably would have been better places to take the temperature of the postcrisis Zeitgeist and observe the praxis of the political economy than up in the White Mountains, but I had been fascinated by the peccadilloes of the economics profession for too long, and anyway had felt that the first INET meeting at Cambridge University in 2010 bore some small promise—for instance, when protestors disrupted the IMF platitudes of Dominique Strauss-Kahn in Kings great hall, or when Lord Adair Turner bravely suggested we needed a much smaller financial sector. But the sequel turned out to be a profoundly more unnerving and chilly affair, and not just due to the caliginous climate. The nightmare scenario began with a parade of figures whom one could not in good conscience admit to anyone’s definition of “New Economic Thinking”: Ken Rogoff, Larry Summers, Barry Eichengreen, Niall Ferguson, and Gordon Brown. Adair Turner was summoned for a curtain call, reprising his previous year’s performance, but offered only tired bromides on “happiness studies” and rationality. The range of economic positions proved much less varied than at the first meeting, and one couldn’t help notice that the agenda seemed more pitched toward capturing the attention of journalists and bloggers, and those more interested in getting to see some star power up close than sampling complex thinking outside the box. It bespoke an unhealthy obsession with Guaranteed Legitimacy and Righteous Sound Thinking. But, eventually, even the journalists and the bloggers sensed the chill in the proceedings. Here were a few contemporary responses:
University economists, of the sort gathered at Bretton Woods, are now under relentless pressure to conform to a narrow, established paradigm. Inexplicably most supporters of that paradigm also feel that the crisis confirmed its validity.3
The last great crash caused a revolution in economics. Why hasn’t this one? . . . None of those theories appears to have appreciably shaped the economic policy proposals coming from the White House or Congress, where lawmakers draw much of their economic inspiration from think tanks built on dogma . . . Neither party seems keen to search for orthodoxy-challenging economic answers.4
The weight of the 1920s-decorated rooms, and the grey presence of so many headliners of the economics profession (which we are making the most of with the interviewing) is creating great confusion about what is “new” in New Economic Thinking. One line is nostalgia and it began with the opening session when Rogoff recalled with regret and humor how as a young man he was unengaged by Charles Kindleberger’s teachings . . . In a trope that I saw repeated thrice, it was said that economics is at a stage where a Copernican revolution has occurred but one needs still to use Ptolemaic cosmology for a few decades more, for policy advice . . . None of this is new, and worse still, none of it is very critical. New Economic Thinking is hard to win. For nearly a century philanthropic money tried to steer economics into interdisciplinarity and social and historical consciousness, in the 1970s they gave up. And because change is so hard, there is a danger that INET gives up, and becomes a left of center think tank to argue the policy wars. The task of producing knowledge against the grain requires imagination. I would have wished to see the big headliners back to back with some new ideas from INET grantee portfolio. I would have wished more collaborative work and less staging [sic] speeching. I would have wished more time for debate and critique. I would have wished less farce and more tragedy.5
Unlike Gordon Brown, Mr. Summers portrayed himself in the role of a Chinese mandarin tired at the world daring to challenge his mandate from heaven. For example, when the irrepressible Yves Smith asked Larry Summers about whether banking risks in the United States could not be helpfully diminished if its large institutions were run (read: compensated at the top) more like utility companies, he immediately aborted any effort at an intellectually honest answer by making it sound as if she were proposing to bring state socialism to banking. A man who reportedly earned millions for having advised hedge funds one day a week for a year shortly before serving in the Obama Administration (and who is quite likely, now that he’s out, to do so again), he ought to have been patriotic and intellectually honest enough to provide a real answer.6
The most interesting moment at a recent conference held in Bretton Woods, New Hampshire—site of the 1945 conference that created today’s global economic architecture—came when Financial Times columnist Martin Wolf quizzed former United States Treasury Secretary Larry Summers, President Barack Obama’s ex-assistant for economic policy. “[Doesn’t] what has happened in the past few years,” Wolf asked, “simply suggest that [academic] economists did not understand what was going on?” . . . For Summers, the problem is that there is so much that is “distracting, confusing, and problem-denying in . . . the first year course in most PhD programs.” As a result, even though “economics knows a fair amount,” it “has forgotten a fair amount that is relevant, and it has been distracted by an enormous amount.” . . . [Unlike Summers,] it is the scale of the catastrophe that astonishes me. But what astonishes me even more is the apparent failure of academic economics to take steps to prepare itself for the future. “We need to change our hiring patterns,” I expected to hear economics departments around the world say in the wake of the crisis.7
Many at the conference confessed their perplexity as “The crisis is over, but where was the fix?” The political debacle of the “rescue package” promulgated throughout the West was acknowledged by all and sundry, although accounts concerning the nature and causes of the failure would have drawn much less consensus. Some suggested that the immediate imperative of being seen to act (by the Federal Reserve, or the Treasury, or the ECB, or other authority) had preempted the equally necessary stage of reflection and reform. Yet the nightmare cast its shroud in the guise of a contagion of a deer-in-the-headlights paralysis: beyond their pretense of expertise, no one who fancied themselves opposed to neoliberal decadence really possessed solid convictions concerning where the intellectual failure behind the crisis should have been well and truly situated. They seemed united by nothing more than a vague disaffection from the status quo in economics. And worse, while the authorities dithered, the Ghoulish Creatures of the Right had gotten back up, dusted themselves off, and discovered renewed strength. Economists such as Ken Rogoff and Carmen Reinhart had the audacity to stand up at INET and treat the contemporary world crisis as just another ho-hum business cycle: nothing untoward or unprecedented had happened here. Thus doctrines concocted at the American Enterprise Institute and the Cato Institute began their slow seepage back into respectability. The INET crowd kept trying to wake up from—what?—neoclassical microeconomics, rational expectations, the efficient markets hypothesis, Black-Scholes, the Coase theorem, faux-Keynesian macroeconomics, optimality, public choice theory, baroque fiduciary mathematics, the end of history—what exactly? How could you even know if the fix was in or not, if you weren’t even sure about where one needed to look for conceptual guidance?
Now, the reader may cavil I just had myself to blame for my little nightmare scenario; for, after all, whyever would a shindig produced and paid for by George Soros actually conjure up any authentic New Economic Thinking?8 True to form, there was almost no serious debate of any sort at Bretton Woods, nary even an impressionistic summary of possible alternative paths for economics; there was, however, a nostalgia so thick it curdled the sumptuous desserts, sustained by a motley scrum of B-list celebrities (since no economist after Keynes would ever attain the cultural name recognition of an Arnold Swarzenegger, or a Bob Dylan, or even a Malcolm Gladwell) hoping to enjoy a frisson of safe transgression; their jollity tempered by a caution that it was prudent to downplay any concrete divergences from the economic orthodoxy that, after all, had granted them their modicum of fame in the first place. None of the participants evinced the slightest unease in their embrace of the dogma that nothing that had transpired in the last seventy-five years had moved the goalposts of allowable economic controversy away from those supposedly positioned by John Maynard Keynes and Friedrich Hayek. Many speakers openly delighted in conjuring the Shade of Maynard in those hallowed halls. Surely it had been fatuous of me to hope INET might have provided a platform for any authentic divergent strains of economic thought, given that those glitterati would have avoided the conference like the plague if it had been stocked up with post-Keynesians, Regulation School representatives, Institutionalists, and Minskyites, much less Chinese-style Marxists.9
But the nightmare scenario was not confined to INET or George Soros. It turns out to have been far more pervasive than that.
From the White Mountains to Mont Pèlerin
On March 5–7, 2009, the Mont Pèlerin Society (MPS) held a special meeting at Ground Zero of the global economic meltdown, New York City, to discuss the implications of the tremors for their political project. Around a hundred members and an additional hundred guests convened under the banner “The End of Globalizing Capitalism? Classical Liberal Responses to the Global Financial Crisis.” Back then, many titular heads of the neoliberal movement were dreading the possibility that the snowballing crisis might just be their own worst nightmare. After all, the prime event that had originally prompted the organization of the nascent Neoliberal Thought Collective [NTC] was the Great Depression of the 1930s. The initial motley crew of Friedrich Hayek, Ludwig von Mises, Lionel Robbins, Milton Friedman, and all the rest had endured the horror of being ridiculed and lambasted for their responses to the Great Contraction, relegated to the margins of discourse by the sheer misfire of the Economic Engine of Human Progress. They had huddled at Mont Pèlerin in 1947 to try and figure out how to intellectually redeem themselves. In many ways, the first generation had spent the rest of their lives living down the shame that had accompanied their disenfranchisement and defeat at the hands of John Maynard Keynes, FDR, scientists such as J. D. Bernal, a phalanx of market socialists such as Oskar Lange and Jacob Marschak, and a host of European political thinkers. So it was not pitched beyond the realm of possibility that, with the benefit of hindsight, the Third Generation Neoliberals would be in for a rough ride in 2009.
Once upon a time, such an emergency executive committee meeting of the NTC might have been the occasion for truly imaginative blue sky thinking, forging an optimal response to the impending collapse of their cherished worldview. Perhaps, in a rerun of the 1940s, the neoliberals in 2009 might have come up with some transformative new ways to think about the market, stealing some of the thunder of the left by combining previously statist concepts with a novel revision of the True Nature of market activity. To a historian, it is striking the extent to which the neoliberals have repeatedly taken ideas from the left over the last half of the twentieth century and twisted them to their own purposes. Perusing the papers from the New York conference, however, one finds instead mostly predictable platitudes and tired retreads about the wicked government causing the crisis.10
Deepak Lal raised an interesting question in his keynote address: why did the crisis occur when so many “Friends of the MPS” like Alan Greenspan and Jean-Claude Trichet were in charge of the world financial system, and hinted they may not have leaned sufficiently in favor of “Sound Money.” Niall Ferguson rallied the troops with the catechism that it must have been regulation that caused the crisis, and not some failure of the market economy, while also exploring his personal theme that somehow China might be to blame. Gary Becker floated the opinion that it might be better to do nothing in response to the crisis, rather than flail about with all manner of government remedies. (This book refutes that canard, when it comes to the neoliberals.) It seems the general mood of the conference was that neoliberals (the “classical liberal” moniker was a smokescreen to be discussed in later chapters) should pretty much keep doing what they had been doing all along, even if the crisis appeared a little scary. Other observers of the neoliberals noticed this soon thereafter: “And just like that, the idea-intoxicated American right vanished . . . Instead of reckoning with a starkly transformed global economy, conservative thinkers are reviving seventy-odd-year-old talking points from the Liberty League.”11
For some on the left, this betokened evidence of relative decline of the MPS from its postwar heyday, or perhaps the participants had been just caught unawares, like most professional economists. Nevertheless, three years on, it now looks as though the neoliberals have come through the crisis unscathed. Far from the economic crisis constituting the invigorating jolt of the 1930s redux for the Neoliberal Thought Collective, early returns seemed instead to have ratified their intransigence, repetitiveness, and lack of imagination. Now it confirms that they were right to stick to their guns, because, contrary to every expectation, nothing much has been changed by the crisis. But the neoliberals have not won by default—that would be a sorry interpretation of events. Neoliberals don’t let a serious crisis go to waste. Instead, the thought collective subsequently made a number of moves that cemented their triumph. This book aims to document the strategies, and survey their successes. Many of these activities involved the economics profession.
Ranging from the White Mountains to Mont Pèlerin, economists have proven exceedingly shopworn and hackneyed in their responses to the crisis. This opinion has congealed into conventional wisdom. However, this coagulation has had an asymmetrical effect upon the two ends of the political spectrum. Monotonous repetition seems to have fortified the right admirably well in weathering the crisis, whereas by contrast, it has delegitimated the left to an even greater degree than its rather parlous status during the decade of the Great Bubble. Beyond the tendering of excuses, there hovers the open question of to what extent the unexpected resurgence of the right after the crisis has grown out of the stock of neoliberal cultural infrastructure built up over the period from 1980 till 2008, and conversely, to what extent the left has been the author of its own rout. This phenomenon, I will suggest, needs to be examined much more closely.
Nothing substantial has been altered in the infrastructure of the global financial system from its state before the crisis.12 Government “reforms” have proven superficial at best in both Europe and the United States. Further post-2008 evidence of debilities, such as the “flash crash” of May 2010, the epic failure of the BATS IPO in March 2012, and the Knight Capital meltdown in August 2012 passed without serious concerted response, even though they suggest that market malfunctions run deeper than the conventional fixation over mortgage securitization and banking fraud. The coincidence of employment stagnation and persistent inflation has resurfaced for the first time in three decades, although the responsible agencies persist in obscuring the evidence. Bubbles have returned with astounding rapidity in commodities speculation (especially in oil) and in initial public offerings (such as LinkedIn and Fusion-io). The predominant focus upon government austerity programs as the central response to the crisis demonstrates that public discourse has degenerated to an analytical level that one would have recognized in the early 1930s. The MPS apparently has not suffered the ignominy of dramatic falsification of its cherished economic ideas; rather, it has been its opponents situated on the “level-headed left” that have collapsed instead. Given the palpable absence of innovative neoliberal analyses, one is hard-pressed not to suspect that one major source of weakness inheres in what passes for interventionist economic doctrine among the professional economic orthodoxy. But perhaps the debility runs even deeper than that.
Where There’s Smoke, There’s Toast
There subsists a surfeit of books and articles dedicated to covering the crisis. Many people who rushed to read them in 2009–10 have ended up feeling less informed than before they started. Furthermore, as if that weren’t bad enough, no one volunteers to relive a nightmare; what they want is to be rousted back to the comforts of consciousness. The latter-day appeal of these crisis books seems to have become limited to those who harbor a penchant for crunch porn. By 2012, it seems most people had begun to tune out most serious discussions, and flee the tsunami of l’esprit de l’escalier.
There was a short interlude when editorial cartoonists and TV comedians tried to turn the whole thing into a joke, portraying how buffoon bankers bemoaned that the restive public just could not understand that they were the only ones who could clean up the godawful mess they had made, and proved petulant and unrepentant when Uncle Sam unloaded truckloads of money to pay them to do just that. As usual, reality outpaced satire when the former CEO of AIG, Hank Greenberg, brought suit against the U.S. government for not bailing out AIG at a sufficiently munificent rate.13
Bitter comic mordancy can be ripping fun; but a nagging voice whispers: isn’t it just too easy to make fun of the Invisible Hand? Isn’t there something lazy about Stephen Colbert and Jon Stewart? Is the right response to the nightmare of crisis fatigue to laugh it off? What if the people who helped bring on the crisis were quite literally laughing all the way to the bank as the financial system approached the precipice? Gales of merriment apparently rocked the meetings of the Federal Reserve Open Market Committee, as revealed by a tabulation of all the recorded instances of stipulated “[laughter]” in meetings transcripts from 2001 to 2006, reproduced in Figure 1.1.14
Figure 1.1: Hilarity at the Federal Reserve
Source: Federal Reserve FOMC Transcripts, Graph created by Daily Stag Hunt
Sometimes the best response to crisis fatigue is not an injunction to recover your flagging sense of humor, or to aspire to the status of he who laughs last. Levity might not be a universal nostrum.
The filmmaker Adam Curtis has written in disgust, “Despite the disasters we are [still] trapped in the economists’ world.”15 Yet it will become necessary for us to differentiate the world of the economists and the world of the neoliberals. This conflation is an affliction of many on the left. A major sticking point here is that neoliberals themselves generally do not believe in the comic-book version of laissez-faire sometimes promoted by the economists. They may profess it to the masses; they may even propound it in Economics 101; but it does not characterize their sophisticated internal discussions, and is belied by their political activities.
Moreover, advocacy of economic inequality can lead to parallel advocacy of epistemic inequality: this is something we will probe in depth in chapter 2. Readers of Foucault and his followers are familiar with the idea that neoliberalism involves a reconstruction of the ontology of what it means to be a person in modern society; where some Foucauldians have fallen down, I propose, is that they have neglected to plumb the symmetrical ontological transformation of what it means for a “market” to even exist.
Maureen Tkacik caught a glimpse of what is disturbing about the plenitude of Monday-morning quarterbacking:
What was easy to convey was that something about the past ten years had been unsustainable. But the truth—that an entire ideology had been unsustainable—is one that we have not yet grasped. And that is why so many journalists, economists, intellectuals and financiers now scramble to churn out books that for the most part read like the memoirs of people trying to make themselves feel less stupid. The current financial system was constructed to make us all feel stupid, and in the process of building it the architects allowed themselves to become stupid as well.16
The crisis has not only wrought the economic insult mutely suffered by so many; it has also inflicted a breakdown in confidence that we can adequately comprehend the system within which we are now entrammeled. It has been de rigueur to denounce the antics of groups like the Tea Party, Golden Dawn, the True Finns, and the Front National; but can the left really claim it has been all that more sober, thoughtful, and incisive since 2007? The problem I grope toward in this volume is: How can people dismayed at the unexpected fortification of the Neoliberal Ascendancy feel less stupid? What would a useful intellectual history of the crisis and its aftermath look like?
Everyone seems to champion their own personal favorite candidate for Nostradamus of the Crisis—and I will deal with this whole vexed issue of “prediction” in chapter 5—but here I want to consider those on the nominal left who long ago discarded the Marxist eschatology of the Collapse of Capitalism and the Transition to Socialism, only now to retreat to a position of unabashed professions of ignorance. To pick on one journalist at random (I will deal with the economists later), I here point at Ezra Klein:
“Inside Job” is perhaps strongest in detailing the conflicts of interest that various people had when it came to the financial sector, but the reason those ties were “conflicts” was that they also had substantial reasons—fame, fortune, acclaim, job security, etc.—to get it right.
And ultimately, that’s what makes the financial crisis so scary. The complexity of the system far exceeded the capacity of the participants, experts and watchdogs. Even after the crisis happened, it was devilishly hard to understand what was going on. Some people managed to connect the right dots, in the right ways and at the right times, but not so many, and not through such reproducible methods, that it’s clear how we can make their success the norm. But it is clear that our key systems are going to continue growing more complex, and we’re not getting any smarter.17
The fact that some representatives of the “level-headed left” have felt compelled to attack the popular documentary Inside Job is itself a token of just how dire things have gotten in the interim; even more telling is the way in which fundamental neoliberal precepts concerning epistemology and the sociology of knowledge are baldly taken as presuppositions. After the crisis, professional explainers from all over the map were throwing up their hands and pleading that the economy was just too complex to understand. Better to treat the Great Recession like an Act of God, and simply move on. This is a cultural debility that predated the crisis but has worked wonders in immobilizing responses to the debacle. As described in chapters 2 and 3, and anatomized in chapter 6, the neoliberals have developed a sophisticated position with regard to knowledge and ignorance; getting a grip on how they manage to deploy ignorance as a political tool will go some distance in dispelling the onus of having been transparently duped. It may also suggest that the time has come for the left to reinvent its own plausible sociology of knowledge.
The first step toward a history and sociology of knowledge about the crisis is to acknowledge that the intellectual response has occurred on a range of different levels, with counters situated at each level sometimes diverging in content and timescale, but eventually achieving rendezvous and resonating in such a manner as to stymie any political responses not controlled by the banks and financial sector. One must be nimble to manage these variant levels. There is the level of the culture at large, where entrenched neoliberal images of human flourishing had to confront the palpable onset of collapse of a whole way of life. There is the level of public elite wisdom, momentarily blindsided, in tandem with the Mont Pèlerin Society, which found itself enjoined to improvise new understandings of the outpouring of academic chatter concerning the world turned upside down. There is (I will insist) a general Neoliberal Playbook as to how to strategically respond to really big crises. And then there was the economics profession. While not the only priesthood brandishing the key to something they diffidently called “the economy,” it turned out that academic economists have played a critical role in the aftermath to the crisis, in a manner I believe has been poorly appreciated by both insiders and the general public. The neoliberal resurgence after the crisis has been heavily reliant upon the interplay of contemporary orthodox economists with the other levels of cultural response and elite generalist knowledge, even though no one tradition could be reduced to any other. Neoclassical economics was not intrinsically neoliberal over its entire one-and-a-half-century history; but it sure looks like they are working in tandem now. That is why this volume, in chapters 4 and 5, devotes a fair proportion of attention to what economists have said and done after 2007.
When considering the relationship of formal economic knowledge to social movements, it has become commonplace for pundits to quote the dictum of John Maynard Keynes in the General Theory: “Practical men who believe themselves to be quite exempt from any intellectual influence, are usually the slaves of some defunct economist. Madmen in authority, who hear voices in the air, are distilling their frenzy from some academic scribbler of a few years back.”18 However stylish was Keynes’s prose, the rudimentary sociology of knowledge propounded therein has turned out badly flawed. Far from ectoplasmic missives from the late lamented, a simulacrum of a genteel Edwardian séance, the injection of economic ideas into quotidian politics has been conducted in ways both more concrete and yet more convoluted than is suggested by this rather tendentious bit of economists’ self-flattery.
Economic doctrines rise to dominance because they have been built up from compelling intellectual trends located elsewhere in the culture, and often, in other sciences; and, in turn, depend upon promoters and funders to impress their importance upon other economists, and thenceforward the larger world. Ideas may be retailed, but they are not simply marketed, whatever the neoliberals insist otherwise. As with history, men make ideas, but not as straightforwardly as they please. Ideas have a nasty habit of transubstantiating as they wend their way throughout the space of discourse; sometimes proponents do greater harm to their integrity than do their opponents. Other times, people seem congenitally incapable of grasping what has been proffered them; and creative misunderstanding drives thought in well-worn grooves. In a riot of Dubious Signifiers, the Big Lie is king; but that does not preclude the fact that the juddering call and response strewn around it can be regularly bent to political ends. Furthermore, whenever basic notions are treated as colorless and transparent, the more they can serve as political ramparts to channel history in only one direction. When doctrines persist against all odds, say, in a worldwide economic crisis; when knowledge and power converge in stasis, then surely there is something that demands explication.
Do Zombies Dream of Eternal Rest?
In the throes of the red-misted nightmare, it looks as if the crisis, otherwise so virulent and corrosive, didn’t manage to kill even one spurious economic notion. This is not exactly news. John Quiggin has entertainingly dubbed the phenomenon Zombie Economics, and deserves kudos for stressing this point. Incongruously, Friedrich Hayek’s Road to Serfdom has returned to best-seller lists after a long hiatus. Even Ayn Rand has apparently enjoyed a new lease on (undead) life. One can readily agree with Colin Crouch: “What remains of Neoliberalism after the financial crisis? The answer must be ‘virtually everything.’”19 Similarly, a glut of crisis books has been pouring from every possible digital delivery system of publishers. They fall from the presses, not stillborn, but clone-dead. The cynic might say: Leave it to academics to turn a pervasive human disaster into another unsustainable growth industry. What could be the purpose of yet another jokey variation on the metaphor of the “Invisible Hand” on the cover of some text that purports to convince us that a very few select events or principles (usually a prime number) constitute the Rosetta Stone for decoding recent events? The distance from self-help books (Six Things Momma Taught Me to Succeed When Good People Do Bad Things) to crisis prescription books (Dunk That Invisible Hand in Talcum Powder and Snap on the Handcuffs) and get-rich-quick books (Who’s Afraid of the Big Black Swan?) narrows precipitously in the modern marketplace of ideas.
Rest assured this will not be another of those books “about the crisis,” in the sense of purveying yet one more play-by-play account of who did what to whom. Indeed, some of the best-detailed accounts of the economic history of the contraction of 2007–9 are freely available online; the problem seems to be, rather, that no one cares enough anymore to expend the effort to read them.20 There is even a superb film that lays out the basic sequence of breakdown in an admirably clear way for a general audience: I refer to the movie Inside Job (2011). It even comes with an equally insightful follow-up book (Charles Ferguson’s Predator Nation). In an ideal world, as a service to tyros, there would be a YouTube link to it right here in the text. Of course, the film is weak on intercalated structural causes, elides nonfinancial considerations, and tends to fall down on international developments; and it has that bad American habit of needing to finger the stick-figure “bad guys.” Of course, such son et lumière pageants are no replacement for detailed indispensable sources of financial defalcations, quantifornication, legal sabotage, and twisted crisis particulars. But there is something else: while the film stands as an unprecedented indictment of the economics profession, it rather incongruously gives ideas a wide berth. It is skeptical of economists, but discordantly, takes no position on economics. This book therefore seeks to supplement it along a crucial dimension: it explores the economic crisis as a social disaster, but simultaneously a tumult of intellectual disarray. If the references hadn’t been so egregiously obscure, I toyed with the prospect of calling the book The Goad to Neoliberal Serfdom. Avoiding that gaffe, it may nevertheless transpire that we can recognize our predicament as a conceptual debacle, and perhaps then, in retrospect, the crisis will not go down in history as such a pathetic waste.
Beyond that, I will endeavor to make use of the crisis as a pretext and a probe into the ways in which neoliberal ideas have come to thwart and paralyze their opponents on the left. The ongoing crisis is a political watershed; keeping that conviction front and center turns out to be much more difficult than one might initially think. And by “the left,” I do not mean those benighted few, those Revenants of the Economic Rapture, who were certain that only complete and utter breakdown of capitalism would pave the way for a transition to the political ascendancy of the proletariat. History has already been unkind to them. I aspire to a different, more general audience. The Great Contraction has completely wrong-footed people who used to be called “socialists” or “progressives,” confounding every expectation that they had finally achieved some small measure of vindication for their understanding of the economy. It ushered in a mongrel regime leaving them baffled and bewildered, such that one frequently heard them wonder out loud whether there was any left left.21 It is those people who have taken it as a fundamental premise that current market structures can and should be subordinate to political projects for collective human improvement whom I seek to address here. Such like-minded compatriots are legion, but I fear their understanding of markets and societies has fallen into dire intellectual desuetude.
Let me draw one example from the film I have just praised, Inside Job. There and elsewhere in the aftermath of the crisis, one heard that the neoliberals were primarily responsible for the disaster because they imprudently deregulated markets, or else because they undermined existing regulation. I witnessed this proposition rolled out repeatedly at INET, for instance, and from people in Washington. Without a doubt, there had been important alterations in regulatory structures since 1980, and I will point to some of them in this book; but in no sense were they a simple removal of strictures that could or should be reinstated in any sense. To accept the language of “deregulation” is to become ensnared in a web of concepts that serves to paralyze political action. The neoliberals have openly expressed contempt for their opponents’ easy appeals to “reregulation”; and I think the time has come to take them far more seriously.22
The nostrum of “regulation” drags with it a raft of unexamined impediments concerning the nature of markets, a dichotomy between markets and governmentality, and a muddle over intentionality, voluntarism, and spontaneity that promulgates the neoliberal creed at a subconscious level. This, I believe, has been one major symptom of the endemic failure of economic imagination on the left. Phalanxes of political theoreticians before me have repeatedly insisted that the neoliberal project primarily reregulates and institutes an alternative set of infrastructural arrangements; it never ever wipes the slate clean so that it gets closer to the tabula rasa of laissez-faire. Neoliberalism has never been especially enamored of the Eden of right-wing folklore, a paradise that never existed anywhere, anytime. I cannot exaggerate the myriad times this point has been made over the last century,23 and yet there perdures a dizzy distracted air about the culture of late modernity that keeps ignoring it, repeatedly embracing the Dumb Dichotomy every time the politics heats up. This paramnesia is far too convenient for one side of the political spectrum to chalk up to ambient Alzheimer’s or inept journalists. Appeals to “free markets” treat both freedom and markets as undefined primitives, largely by collapsing them one into another. It takes substantial theoretical sophistication to keep this fact front and center in the political disputes of the modern era; both neoclassical and Marxian economics have not proven salutary in this regard. This book aims to remind us that economics turns out to be good to forget with; one prophylactic will be recourse to a different approach to economics, one that is antithetical to core neoliberal tenets at its ontological base.
There is another way Team Regulation inadvertently capitulates to Team Greed. Team Regulation often has quipped a quick one-liner justification for its prescription: there were no financial crises (often left unstated: in the United States) from the 1940s to the mid-1980s; therefore, all we need do is reset all the dials back to that Golden Era. In subscribing to this notion, the left unconsciously accepts the key notion of the populist right and the neoclassical orthodoxy, that “nothing is substantially different between then and now.” Markets are timeless entities with timeless laws, they insist. Indeed, this is the identical premise of some of the most popular crisis books of the last few years, from Kenneth Rogoff and Carmen Reinhart’s This Time Is Different to David Graeber’s Debt: The First 5,000 Years.24 Yet that is precisely where the polemical divergence should originate on the left. Things are profoundly different about the economy, the society, and in the global political arena than they were during the Cold War: some recent neoliberal innovations have lent the current crisis its special bitter tang; understanding precisely how and where they are different is a necessary first step in developing a blueprint for a better world. The neoliberals divested themselves of their nostalgia25 for a Golden Age long ago; it is high time their opponents on the left did likewise.There is one very basic example how Team Regulation has served to betray the left, a lethal dynamic that has played out in the previous three decades. When financial crises erupted, first in peripheral countries, and then increasingly in the metropoles, technocratic economists in alliance with the neoliberals claimed they could contain it and “clean it up” by substituting sovereign state debt and rich-country guarantees for the insolvency of private actors; hence, when the Big One hit in 2007–8, responses reverted to the standard scenario. The mantra had always been to have the government in question “rescue” the collapsing sectors by shoring up their balance sheets, through the instrumentality of taking more debt onto its own accounts; and then purportedly when the worst had finally passed, subsequent efforts could be devoted to addressing any structural flaws, perhaps with more regulation. Imprimatur was sought indifferently from both Milton Friedman and John Maynard Keynes for this practice. Yet I shall argue in chapter 6 there was something new and sinister about the way the “rescue” was prosecuted, so as to prevent any return to older structures. The “level-headed” response turned out to be a shell game, with much of the mechanics of the rescue handed over to private interests, and where so much sovereign debt was being piled on over time that the backstop character of state fiscal authority was undermined; private sector insolvency had infected state solvency. In other words, recurrent banking crises revealed the basic incapacity of the Keynesian state to immobilize and rectify endemic macroeconomic crises, rendering “regulation” a hazy memory. Indeed, by 2012, people were actually forgetting that this was at base a crisis of capitalism, and only derivatively a fiscal crisis of the state. Sovereign debt looked as wobbly as private bank debt. This dynamic was avoidable because it was entirely predictable.
If you don’t have a working comprehension of how the economic system failed—and a major thesis of this book is that most economists did not understand the economy’s peculiar path prior to the crisis, and persisted in befuddlement in the aftermath—then the notion that one could impose some one-size-fits-all format of rational regulation is a vain delusion. This catastrophic intellectual failure of the economics profession at large should quash wistful evocations of Cold War versions of “regulation” on the left, and further, frame the implosion of things such as the Dodd-Frank initiative and Basel III. The intellectual wing of the neoliberal movement had actually long made this argument concerning easy appeals to regulation many times before; the difference is that they currently preach that all and sundry consequently should simply capitulate to their natural state of ignorance, and give up most (but not all—an important caveat) attempts at steering the economy. Conspicuously, the neoliberals themselves do not themselves practice what they preach; and it is incumbent upon the left to develop an alternative framework to explain that fact, as part of a project to build an economy that conforms to open advocacy of a roster of social goals.
Reusing Old Graves with Tombstones Marked “Neo”
I earlier mentioned John Quiggin’s Zombie Economics; our two books share more than a few common concerns; and it so happens that the current book will also touch upon a few of the same technical concepts found therein. Quiggin and I both propound the thesis that our culture is held in thrall to dead and rotten ideas concerning the economic crisis. Suspended in a gauzy red nightmare, it can be hard to discriminate zombies from mere bit players; I think Quiggin is also right to suggest that it is the economists who are the ambient zombies, and not the neoliberals (yet another reason it is indispensable to keep neoclassical economics and neoliberalism separate and distinct as analytical categories).26 Treating everything that moves as malignant and menacing is almost as big a mistake as treating all markets as operating alike. Quiggin provides a nice overview of the state of play of orthodox macroeconomic theory circa 2008 for the noneconomist, thus absolving me (for the most part) of having to initiate you into the intricate mysteries of the same. I will often have occasion to point to his concise and brave diagnoses of where mainstream economics has gone astray. This is one way of saying his book is indispensable collateral reading.
However, I am equally going to take that book as exemplary of the kinds of thinking that have inadvertently consigned the left to passive ineffectual resistance to neoliberalism in the current crisis. Reprising his undead trope, it seems Quiggin believes that the best way to coax a zombie back into the grave is to reason with him. If only it were so easy to recycle old graves. Quiggin has done us the favor of boiling down his basic approach to political economy to a few pithy paragraphs on the popular blog Crooked Timber:27
Although I’m clearly to the left of most people in the economics profession (including a fair number who would call themselves heterodox), I’m happy to identify myself with the mainstream research program in economics. The first reason for this is one of personal/political strategy. Starting from broadly social-democratic premises about the way the world works, I’m concerned to identify and advocate policies that will lead to better outcomes for society as a whole and particularly for the working class and the disadvantaged. Mainstream economics provides a set of tools (the theory of public goods, externality and market failure, taxation and income distribution) to do the analysis and a widely-understood language in which to express the results. No existing alternative body of thought in economics comes close to this.
By attacking the logical foundations of this simple model, heterodox economists may undermine faith in the policy conclusions derived from it. But this doesn’t get you very far. Even if you regard economic arguments for laissez-faire as worthless, this does not establish any positive case for alternative policies.
More generally, I don’t find the whole idea of orthodoxy and heterodoxy, or the related notion of schools of thought, particularly useful. It seems to me to imply a kind of intellectual ancestor-worship which is of no use to anybody. It goes with debates about what Keynes or Commons or Hayek really thought, which seem to me to be almost entirely pointless. In most cases, if their ideas were good ones, they will have been adopted by at least some people in the mainstream, and tracing their intellectual ancestry is of at most second-order interest.
This goes with a judgment that most of the concerns* that are commonly raised against simple-minded versions of economics can be addressed without throwing out the whole system and starting from scratch. If you don’t believe in the perfectly rational economic man (sic), there’s a huge body of work on behavioral economics, bounded rationality, altruism and so on. If you don’t like simplistic competitive models, the shelves are groaning with books on strategic behavior and game theory.
I am sure Quiggin didn’t intend it, but this came too perilously close to Margaret Thatcher’s “There Is No Alternative” for comfort. These notions that serious intellectual work outside well-worn paths sanctioned by the established disciplines has often proven ineffectual when it comes to political rough and tumble; that every valid critique of neoclassical economics has already been made by someone else long ago and, furthermore, has been adequately absorbed by the cognoscenti; that you must voluntarily shackle yourself to the tropes of the modern economic orthodoxy if you have pretentions to be taken seriously; and that every doctrine should be judged in a cod–John Dewey fashion by its immediate proximate uses—all constitute major impediments to understanding how the left has failed in the current crisis.
Quiggin’s book illustrates the disturbing conundrum of how difficult it can be for him, or indeed any other critic internal to the orthodoxy, to certify that he is not already infected with the zombie virus (a standard conundrum in zombie movies), and therefore deserves some culpability for their recrudescence. The first rule of nightmares is that sniping at zombies does not often stem their tide. For instance, Quiggin argues at one point, “The appealing idea that macroeconomics should develop naturally from standard microeconomic foundations has turned out to be a distraction”; but it is a distraction he himself cannot resist, relying as he does on neoclassical notions of “market failure,” natural monopoly, absence of Arrow-Debreu contingent commodities, information as a public good, and conventional definitions of risk to motivate his version of “real-world” economics. At another juncture, he admits that a relevant macroeconomics “is not simply a matter of modifying the way we model individual behavior,” but as he repeatedly conjures “behavioral economics” as the font of deliverance, he has nothing else on offer. In chapter 5 we suggest that behavioral economics has been a sink of despair. Quiggin frequently wishes for a “newer Keynesianism,” but has to concede that the neoclassical synthesis was “not particularly satisfactory at a theoretical level, but it had the huge practical merit that it worked.”28 Time and again he signals that he is aware that neoclassical economics frustrates and confounds intellectual deliverance from the morass of zombie ideas; but nevertheless, he cannot seriously countenance the possibility that the solution to logical incoherence involves its repudiation. The result is that Quiggin repeatedly contradicts himself, and perforce treats it as a virtue. This is itself a pungent symptom of zombie thought, and is widely found across the board of the “legitimate left” of the economics profession, from Paul Krugman to Joseph Stiglitz to Adair Turner to Amartya Sen to Simon Johnson. Paul Krugman, feeling secure in his status, has conveniently confessed to the derangement:
The brand of economics I use in my daily work—the brand that I still consider by far the most reasonable approach out there—was largely established by Paul Samuelson back in 1948, when he published the first edition of his classic textbook. It’s an approach that combines the grand tradition of microeconomics, with its emphasis on how the invisible hand leads to generally desirable outcomes, with Keynesian macroeconomics, which emphasizes the way the economy can develop magneto trouble, requiring policy intervention. In the Samuelsonian synthesis, one must count on the government to ensure more or less full employment; only once that can be taken as given do the usual virtues of free markets come to the fore.
It’s a deeply reasonable approach—but it’s also intellectually unstable. For it requires some strategic inconsistency in how you think about the economy. When you’re doing micro, you assume rational individuals and rapidly clearing markets; when you’re doing macro, frictions and ad hoc behavioral assumptions are essential. So what? Inconsistency in the pursuit of useful guidance is no vice.29
I do not wish to suggest one should never, ever simultaneously entertain A and Not-A. There is a grain of truth to this: quantum mechanics has been deemed inconsistent with classical mechanics and macro-scale theories such as relativity at various points in its history; it is possible for a science like physics to operate for a while with conceptual schizophrenia. Indeed, sometimes it may be a necessary prerequisite to come to understand the full nature and character of the submerged contradiction. However, the historical divergence comes with neoclassical economics in that most other sciences do not then banish their members who point out the inconsistencies and worry over their meaning. Nor do they simply expel the proponents of one side of the theory in order to maintain doctrinal purity, as happened with the rational-expectations movement and its epigones.
During the Cold War, the economics profession was growing more exclusive, but was not completely intransigently intolerant of rival doctrines, for reasons of ideological appearances. For instance, evidence from the Paul Samuelson archives suggests he really did nominate Joan Robinson for the Bank of Sweden economics “Nobel.”30 Things really ratcheted upward in terms of imposed conformity only after the Fall of the Wall, for equally obvious political reasons. However, the apogee of denial of divergent thought occurred during the Great Bubble. A very strange literature sprang up in the early 2000s, asserting that there was no such thing as neoclassical economics anymore, in the sense that the legitimate orthodox economics profession had explored every possible analytical divergence from the rigid Walrasian general equilibrium model of days past, and someone, somewhere, sometime had built formal models addressing the previously heterodox concerns.31 Rationality? Who needs it? Equilibrium? We can do without it! Maximization? We can get around it! Individual greed? Just read Amartya Sen! Supply and demand? That just gets fed to people insufficiently mathematical to grasp the latest interpretation of the Sonnenschein-Mantel-Debreu theorems! Bubbles? We got ’em, hot, foamy, and rational. Complexity? How much can you handle? And so on and so on. Point to anything you may not find salubrious, and we’ve got a “not-so-new” model (and maybe a bridge) to sell ya. And yet, all this putative open-minded tolerance and catholic heedfulness was accompanied by bald attack on and excommunication of any last vestige of heterodox economics in top-ranked universities throughout the world, and the redoubled exclusivity of top-ranked economics journals. History of doctrines was banished, and scattered ghettos of heterodox thought were unceremoniously leveled. Even European holdouts were vigorously routed in their national contexts. For those on the front lines, it was wrenching to witness this contradiction up close.
I believe it was no accident that all manner of otherwise tolerant eclectic people started claiming that heterodoxy in economics was finally a thing of the past precisely during the Bubble run-up to 2007; perhaps we can now appreciate it as the twin offspring of the neoliberal herald of the “end of history,” akin to the “Great Moderation,” only now in the precincts of intellectual endeavor. The profession had been rendered starkly more homogeneous in outlook and training, not least through graduate recruitment of tyros with no undergraduate degree in economics, which had significant consequences for the bumbling responses of economists when the crisis hit. Training and backgrounds had grown so narrow that the newer generation had no idea there had ever been anything alien to their tradition, and hence their impressions of intellectual freedom were simple artifacts of their ignorance. Things had gotten so bad that some heterodox holdouts felt they had fallen victim to an elaborate fraud themselves: “There is nothing more frustrating for critics of neoclassical economics than the argument that neoclassical economics is a figment of their imagination.”32 No purge is more insidious than that which comes cladded with plausible deniability.
There are many different ways to understand how Big Brother managed to accrue a reputation for political neutrality and an open mind; and this book is an attempt to look at that phenomenon from a number of different perspectives. It is a bit more of a stretch to see how that reputation has been maintained (albeit under persistent duress) throughout the drubbing that the economics profession has suffered in the aftermath to the crisis; that also is the concern of this volume. It seems clear that the faux-tolerance of the “End of Neoclassical Economics” movement in the new millennium actually has made the response to the crisis by economists even more addled than it might have been otherwise.
However, there is one concise explanation of this history that no PhD economist would deign to entertain, although we shall insist it be kept on the table for the duration of this book. It is the proposition that Quiggin turned out to be half-right: it is not just that a few component models found in economics are zombiefied; rather, it is the neoclassical tradition as a whole that is approximating the walking undead, and has been lurching around that way for a while. Patently, this begins to get at why no amount of heterodox brickbats (or incisive reasoning) can halt its inexorable march. Before my audience dismisses this notion out of hand as too draconian, consider the following.
Let us provisionally take the proponents of the dissolution of the neoclassical program at face value. First off, it seems we have arrived at the historical epoch where academic neoclassical economics no longer strives to explain “the economy,” because for sophisticated economists, there is no such thing. Critics who prattle on about “real-world economics” merely flaunt their naïveté to the quiet disdain of the gatekeepers of expertise. Rather, card-carrying neoclassical economists come convinced they possess a Theory of Everything at the End of History, and apply their so-called economic approach to everything great and small under the sun: life and death, sex, neurons, nations, language, knowledge, science itself, personal identity, evolution, aesthetics, global environmental disruption, even human virtues such as dignity.33 Through prestidigitation, a theory of trade has morphed into a “theory of choice”; and choice is everywhere. After all, isn’t that the central message of Freakonomics, the best-selling book of the Great Moderation: that wicked rebel (yet safely orthodox) economists can explain sumo wrestlers, teen homeboys, girls’ first names, and crime statistics? Yet explanatory hubris brings its own special tragedy: it is a philosophical commonplace that a doctrine that nominally explains “everything” in fact explains nothing at all. Everything can potentially be portrayed by neoclassical economists as the orderly product of disembodied “self-interest” as long as the “interest” is defined in a sufficiently post hoc manner, order is conflated with the status quo, and the ontology of the “self” changes from one application to the next. As with all good zombies, there is something missing where a brain should be. Neoclassical economics resembles a catechism for the undead who have palsied difficulty counting to ten.
The unbearable lightness of the economy within neoclassicism is only the tip of the iceberg. Let us look more closely at the practical mechanics of orthodox contemporary “economics imperialism.” While gleefully encroaching upon the spheres of interest of other disciplines, orthodox economics has also freely appropriated formalisms and methods from those other disciplines: think of the advent of “experimental economics” or the embrace of magnetic resonance imaging, or attempts to absorb chaos theory or nonstandard analysis or Brownian motion through the Ito calculus. Indeed, if there has been any conceptual constant throughout the history of neoclassical theory since the 1870s, it has been slavish attempts to slake its physics envy through gorging on half-digested imitations of physical models. A social science so promiscuous in its avidity to mimic the tools and techniques of other disciplines has no principled discrimination about what constitutes just and proper argumentation within its own sphere; and this has only become aggravated in the decades since 1980. Economics, seemingly so powerful because so ubiquitous, parlously teeters on the edge of fragmenting into a pointless succession of whatever turns out to be fashionable in other scientific disciplines, which at least possess the virtue of having intellectual agendas that spawn novel practices and techniques.
Third, it would appear that the corporeal solidity of a live intellectual discipline would be indicated by consensus reference texts that help define what it means to be an advocate of that discipline. Here, I would insist that undergraduate textbooks should not count, since they merely project the etiolated public face of the discipline to the world. But if we look at contemporary orthodox economics, where is the John Stuart Mill, the Alfred Marshall, the Paul Samuelson, the Tjalling Koopmans, or the David Kreps of the early twenty-first century? The answer is that, in macroeconomics, there is none. And in microeconomics, the supposed gold standard is Andrew Mas-Collel, Michael Whinston, and Jerry Green (Microeconomic Theory), at its birth a baggy compendium lacking clear organizing principles, but now slipping out of date and growing a bit long in the tooth. Although often forced to take econometrics as part of the core, there is no longer any consensus that econometrics is situated at the heart of economic empiricism in the modern world. Beyond the graduate textbooks, the profession is held together by little more than a few journals that are designated indispensable by some rather circular bibliometric measures, and the dominance of a few highly ranked departments, rather than any clear intellectual standards. Indeed, graduates are socialized and indoctrinated by forcing them to read articles from those journals with a half-life of five years: and so the disciplinary center of gravity wanders aimlessly, without vision or intentionality. The orthodoxy, so violently quarantined and demarcated from outside pretenders, harbors a vacuum within its perimeter.
Fourth, and finally, should one identify specific models as paradigmatic for neoclassical economics, then they are accompanied by formal proofs of impeccable logic which demonstrate that the model does not underwrite the seeming stolidity of the textbooks. Neoclassical theory is itself the vector of its own self-abnegation. If one cites the canonical Arrow-Debreu model of general equilibrium, then one can pair it with the Sonnenschein-Mantel-Debreu theorems, which point out that the general Arrow-Debreu model places hardly any restrictions at all on the functions that one deems “basic economics,” such as excess demand functions. Or, alternatively, if one lights on the Nash equilibrium in game theory, you can pair that with the so-called folk theorem, which states that under generic conditions, almost anything can qualify as a Nash equilibrium. Keeping with the wonderful paradoxes of “strategic behavior,” the Milgrom-Stokey “No Trade theorem” suggests that if everyone really were as suspicious and untrusting as the Nash theory makes out, then no one would engage in any market exchange whatsoever in a neoclassical world. The Modigliani-Miller theorem states that the level of debt relative to equity in a bank’s balance sheet should not matter one whit for market purposes, even though finance theory is obsessed with debt. Arrow’s impossibility theorem states that, if one models the polity on the pattern of a neoclassical model, then democratic politics is essentially impotent to achieve political goals. Markets are now asserted to be marvelous information processors, but the Grossman-Stiglitz results suggest that there are no incentives for anyone to invest in the development and refinement of information in the first place. The list just goes on and on. It is the fate of Delphic oracles to deal in obscurity.
Returning to our point of departure in this section, it really will turn out to be of paramount importance to keep the thought collectives of “neoclassical economics” and neoliberalism separate and distinct, for analytical purposes of understanding the nightmare of the current crisis.34 Neoclassical economics as a theory long predated the Neoliberal Thought Collective; it is only lately that it has shown signs of morbidity. As we shall argue, it has fallen to neoclassical economists to swarm over and incapacitate most serious attempts to isolate and diagnose why the crisis came as a shock and an enigma to those tasked with its understanding. The economists have haunted our dreams with their half-coherent struggles to describe and analyze the creeping dread. Yet it has been the neoliberals who have served as the advance shock troops for the zombie hordes, reconnaissance parties deploying their shock doctrines and shock therapies that rally the walking dead in their wake.
Once summoned, lurching across the landscape, scaring the populace with their bad haircuts, dull, staring eyes, and adamantine cries, neoclassical economists became the major enablers of the Neoliberal Resurgence across the land. As Quiggin confessed, “I underestimated the speed and power of Zombie ideas.”35 We need to see why.
