Stumbling and Mumbling

Cargo cult economics

In the first pages of After Virtue Alasdair MacIntyre imagines people trying to revive science after it has been destroyed by catastrophes and know-nothing governments. They would, he said, have only fragments to build upon; bits of theories unrelated to other bits or to experimental evidence; and partial ideas unrelated to their context. They would use scientific words but the beliefs and evidence behind such words would be missing.

This, I fear, is the state in which economics has fallen in politicians' hands. They use economicky words, but stripped of the context and evidence in which such words made intelligent sense.

Here are some examples of what I mean.

Tax cuts.

The FT reports that, despite the evidence of the Truss-Kwarteng Budget, some Tory MPs still want tax cuts. Such demands might have made sense in the 60s and 70s, when top tax rates were so high that it was at least plausible that we were on the wrong side of the Laffer curve. And they might also have been sensible when public services were adequately funded.

But neither condition now holds. Tax rates are quite possibly below (pdf) their revenue-maximizing levels (pdf). And even if they weren't, the dire state of the NHS, local government and legal system mean that any future government would have to reverse tax cuts. Fearing cuts would only be temporary people would not change jobs or boost spending in response to them, and so they would not increase growth so much.

"Tax cuts", then, are words cut off from the context in which they made sense.

Profit maximization.

Milton Friedman famously argued (pdf) that "the social responsibility of business is to increase its profits". That was a tenable view when companies were constrained from egregious exploitation by strong unions, competition or regulation. In a world where these constraints are weak, however, a relentless pursuit of profit leads to shit in rivers and seas, terrible service and degrading working conditions.

Incentives.

High-powered financial incentives might sometimes adduce better performance. But they can also encourage reckless risk-taking (pdf); crowd out other motives such as professionalism or altrusim; discourage creativity; encourage fraud; or distract managers from important but difficult-to-measure tasks (pdf). It all depends upon detailed context. Idle talk of incentives cut off from precise individual context is mere handwaving - and often ideologically-motivated hand-waving.

Bashing trades unions.

This was a plausible position in the 1970s when profit margins were squeezed, leading to lower investment, and when regular strikes hampered productivity. Nobody, however, believes these conditions apply today.

None of this, however, is to say that context-free pseudo-economics is confined to the right. Here are two examples on the left.

Nationalization.

There's a tendency to see this as a solution in itself, echoing what James Scott in his marvellous Seeing Like A State calls "high modernism" - an overconfidence in the ability of the state to manage complex systems from the top down. Such a view - though now discredited - made sense in the context of the 1940s and 50s when wartime planning (plus the apparent success of the Soviet Union) lent it credence.

But this is not the context we live in now. We know that nationalized industries, in Tory hands, can be used as a weapon in the class war - to defeat unions (as in mining in the 80s), or to enrich their clients by selling them cheaply.

The question, then, is how to avoid this fate - how to ensure democratic control of the nationalized industries. Which also poses the question of what aims nationalization should serve: in electricity, for example, it could be used to shift from marginal to average cost pricing.

The point is that nationalization is not an end, but a means.

Wealth taxes.

Of course, a wealth tax would raise money. But the government does not need money: it can print as much of it as you want. It needs real resources: nurses, care-workers, builders, quality managers and so on. The question is how a wealth tax would release these from the private sector. It would do so if the rich respond to it by cutting their spending. But it won't if they merely run down their savings.

Again, what we have here is an idea out of context. In a context where governments cannot print money (such as in the euro zone), it might make sense. In a British context, however, the case for a wealth tax (if there be one) lies elsewhere - perhaps, in simple vindictiveness.

It's not just in what people say that they demonstrate context-free ideas. What's revealing is also what is not said, what's not on the agenda. Whilst politicians worry about shortages of labour, they are mostly silent about shortages of adequate management - despite the fact that even mainstream economists agree that these are a big cause of the UK's stagnant productivity*. They are stuck in an out-dated context of unthinking deference to bosses and hierarchy.

What we have here is, however, not unprecedented. In WWII some Melanesian islanders saw American soldiers marching and pointing lights towards the sky, after which cargo would be dropped from planes. They inferred that if they did similar things, they too would get valuable goods. They performed rituals, without understanding the causal link between those rituals and actual outcomes. So it is with so much talk about economics: it imitates the words of proper economics, but without comprehension of the circumstances in which such words have meaning or use.

* And perhaps of labour shortages too: some people are retiring early because of stressful work, which itself is caused by poor management.

On resilience

Two apparently different things I've seen recently illustrate a common mistake which distorts our thinking about politics and organizations.

First, 30p Lee tried to show that one could eat very cheaply with Tesco's Weetabix. And then when somebody posted a picture of a mouldy Tesla, Musk's incel fanboys claimed the fault was "owner error."

Anderson's mistake is to fail to see that whilst one perhaps could subsist adequately if one were a joyless calculating machine (what a great advert for capitalism), few people are such machines. And Tesla's fans fail to appreciate that even if Teslas do keep well in optimum conditions, few of us are so careful of our vehicles.

The common error here is an inability to see that products and systems must be resilient to human error simply because such errors are widespread and an inevitable part of the human condition.

Risible though these examples are, similar mistakes are common.

Brexiters who complain that Brexit has been poorly implemented should have foreseen the chance that the process would have been undertaken by fallible individuals. In policy-making, implementation must not be a mere after-thought. A policy that only works if everyone is competent is not a serious policy at all.

The same is true of those calling for reform of the NHS. Maybe there is some kind of insurance system which would be an improvement. But this is only a voice in your head. In this world, we must guard against the (high) risk that the task of reforming the NHS will be undertaken by vicious incompetents in hock to US insurance companies.

My call for policy and institutions to be robust to human error is in fact one with a long tradition. Burke famously said:

We are afraid to put men to live and trade each on his own private stock of reason; because we suspect that this stock in each man is small.

Marx said that "the emancipation of the working classes must be conquered by the working classes themselves" because he did not trust individual leaders. (Marx and Burke aren't so unalike).

The US's founding fathers created a system of checks and balances "to control the abuses of government." "If angels were to govern men, neither external nor internal controls on government would be necessary" wrote James Madison, knowing that men were far from angels.

And Warren Buffett has said: "I always invest in companies an idiot could run, because one day one will." He looks for companies that are resilient to human error. The damage caused by such error can be enormous; one cause of the financial crisis was Fred Goodwin's tyrannical management of Nat West.

So, what would a polity that embeds this principle look like?

In some ways, like our present one. There are nine decision-makers on the MPC to help guard against any one of them being fallible. Judges are constrained by sentencing guidelines to avoid rogue ones making erratic decicions. Where markets function well, they eliminate the bad products resulting from human error. And there's increasing use of algorithms because, as Daniel Kahneman and colleagues have concluded, "simple models beat humans" (although of course algos can go wrong because they are made by flawed humans).

But could we do better? Yes. Here are four possibilities:

 - A more generous welfare state. In my context, the case for this isn't just that Anderson is wrong and people need an income well above subsistence levels because they cannot budget with maximal efficiency. It's also because fiscal and monetary policy-makers cannot adequately foresee the future which means that discretionary policy is unreliable. Stronger automatic stabilizers - a higher safety net - thus do a better job of protecting is in bad times.

 - Improving selection mechanisms. Our media-political institutions select not for the best but for the worst: they attract incompetent MPs and ministers, and filter out intelligent ideas. They thereby magnify our vulnerability to the human factor: the story of Truss and Johnson is one of systemic rather than individual failure. We must think how to reverse this.

 - Increasing diversity. Cognitive diversity reduces the danger of us accepting bad policy by ensuring that all views - not just those of narcissists flattering themselves they are "contrarian" - get heard. Institutions that might facilitate this include citizens assemblies and forms of sortition.

 - Economic democracy. The UK has a shortage of good managers. Econ 101 says we should economize on scarce resources. We must find ways of reducing our dependence upon incompetent, rent-seeking or hubristic bosses. One way to do so is strong competition policy: in well-functioning markets, bad companies are competed out of business and easily replaced by rivals. Failing that, tougher regulation of financial "services", rail companies or utilities is needed; one lesson of the financial crisis is that our economy was too dependent upon a few flawed individuals. And there's a case for worker democracy too.

I know. All these proposals are vague. I mention them not as a blueprint - there's no point writing a menu if you don't have a kitchen - but to highlight how far short our existing institutions fall from the ideal of ensuring resilience to bad decision-makers.

This issue is, however, off the political agenda. One of the many defects of our political debate is a belief that things will be tolerable if only we could find the right people; this is Bonnie Tylerism, holding out for a hero. This, however, is the wrong question. We should be looking not for good people but for the right institutions, selection mechanisms and processes - devices which would make our economy and politics more resilient to idiots or crooks.

The full employment challenge

Many technocrats think the UK is at or around full employment. What they don't say is that this requires some radical thinking about economic policy.

The Bank's chief economist Huw Pill recently said that the labour market so tight that higher interest rates might be needed to cut aggregate demand and inflation. And Sir Keir Starmer says: "We’re going to have to be fiscally disciplined." The only charitable reading of this is that it means he thinks he's going to inherit a reasonably tight labour market (albeit perhaps not as much so as now) and so a fiscal expansion would be inflationary.

Which raises a big problem. Any intelligent government will need many more workers in some sectors: in health and social care; in housebuilding; in insulating homes; or making and installing solar panels and windmills. But where will these workers come from? The answer used to be simple: migrants and the dole queues. If these are not sufficient to supply the extra staff, however, we need something else - to destroy some existing jobs. Rachel Reeves has promised to "create good jobs", but this might require the abolition of bad ones.

At full employment, doing the things we want - building houses, improving social care, greening the economy - means doing less of something else. Progress must be a matter of creative destruction.
Which jobs should be destroyed? It's here that we need radical thinking.

For a long time, many economists have thought that the labour market was micro efficient but macro inefficient. As Keynes said:

I see no reason to suppose that the existing system seriously misemploys the factors of production which are in use. There are, of course, errors of foresight; but these would not be avoided by centralising decisions. When 9,000,000 men are employed out of 10,000,000 willing and able to work, there is no evidence that the labour of these 9,000,000 men is misdirected. The complaint against the present system is not that these 9,000,000 men ought to be employed on different tasks, but that tasks should be available for the remaining 1,000,000 men. It is in determining the volume, not the direction, of actual employment that the existing system has broken down.

If this is the case, then the solution to our problem is simple: higher taxes would destroy private sector jobs generally, thus making room for job creation in priority sectors.

But it might not be the case. There are reasons to think the existing system does seriously misemploy factors of production.

I don't mean that simply that people spend too much on trinkets of frivolous utility, thus creating over-employment in nail bars, takeaway restaurants or in sports car manufacturing. Instead, I'm thinking of five other mechanisms.

Agency failure. The "bullshit jobs" described by David Graeber are a product of this: middle managers would rather expand their empire of underlings than maximize "shareholder value". So to is the guard labour documented by Samuel Bowles and Arjun Jayadev: security guards, supervisors and some of legal system are in employed to ensure that agents (workers) do what principals (capitalists) want. I'd add many fund managers to this category: savers don't know that active managers on average under-perform the market and so employ too many of them.

Wrong policy choices. One obvious example here are the Border Force agents and lawyers needed to enforce an illiberal immigration policy. I'd add the lawyers, accountants and DWP staff employed to cope with an excessively complicated tax and benefit system, and the police required to enforce anti-drugs laws.

Ideology. Skill is a social construct, a product of ideology. Fund managers are considered skilled even though “the vast majority” of them are “genuinely unskilled” measured by their ability to beat the market. Conversely, care workers are considered unskilled not because they lack technique because they are disproportionately women or ethnic minorities. The result is excessive demand for some workers (many financiers and managers) and insufficient for others.

Externalities. Where the social cost of pollution is unpriced or under-priced, some industries are larger than would be socially optimum and so have too many workers. Standard examples here are those which emit carbon and other air pollutants. But these aren't the only forms of pollution. There's also risk pollution. The costs of financial crises are borne by all of us rather than internalized with the financial system, and so there is excess employment in the sector. Similarly, when Bulb went bust, we all had to pay more, reminding us that privatized utilities might employ more people than necessary. But there's something else. A lot of "journalism" and poshcuntstalkshit programmes are intellectual pollution; they degrade the public sphere and contribute to bad government.

Peer pressure. Robert Frank has shown that some types of consumer spending (such as on big cars) are fuelled by a desire to keep up with the Joneses, leading to excessive employment in those sectors. He advocates a progressive consumption tax to - in effect - ratchet down this arms race.

Here, though, is a problem. Except perhaps in our last case, higher taxes in general will not on their own destroy the right jobs. We need other policies: tax simplification; deregulation in some sectors and more regulation in others; nationalization; carbon taxes and Pigou taxes; worker democracy; cultural change to valorise care work; better financial education; and so on. It's not clear to me, however, that Labour is thinking along these lines, or even is aware of the problem.

Maybe it is right to be. Perhaps the labour market isn't as tight as Pill believes: this is a purely empirical question the answer to which must not be coloured by one's ideology. (The level of unemployment is not a sufficient metric here: what also matters are mismatches between demand and supply). Or perhaps it will be loose by the time Labour takes office.

Herein lies a paradox. In some respects, inheriting a recession would make things easier for Labour. In such a world, it could create jobs in the care sector and green economy simply by fiscal expansion - assuming it has the will to reject moronic talk of fiscal responsibility. Intellectually, there is no challenge here.

If, however, the labour market is tight, decarbonizing the economy and fixing health and social care will require much more thought.

For decades, we've thought of full employment as an ideal. Which in many ways it is: joblessness is a big cause of unhappiness. In a sclerotic, low-productivity economy, however, it also brings with challenges - ones which are largely neglected.

The two agendas

During my long adulthood there has been an under-appreciated change in British politics: whereas left and right used to at least agree upon what the issues were, this is now less true.

Historically, left and right disagreed upon economic issues: nationalization or privatization; capital or labour; fiscal or monetary activism; regulation or deregulation; austerity or not. But for all our differences, we at least agreed that these were the big questions.

This agreement, though, has faded. Whist many of us are still pre-occupied by economic questions - how to raise productivity, decarbonize, democratize the economy and so on - many others are not. Their concerns lie elsewhere: in combatting imagined attacks on freedom whilst ignoring real ones; in identity politics; in talk of "diversitycrats", wokeness or "gender identity ideology"; in what should be taught in schools; or in "stopping the boats."

This divide is not wholly a left-right one. There are some on the left who are obsessed with identity politics (albeit far fewer than in the right's fevered fantasies) and others in the Labour party who fret about second-order issues, whilst some centrists haven't abandoned interest in economics. Nevertheless there is, I sense, an overlap between the left-right split and the disagreement about what matters.

Which leaves many of us older economic-orientied leftists befuddled. As Duncan Weldon tweeted:

Worst NHS crisis of my lifetime, dire economic situation and the public policy discussion today is about a maths teaching plan for the mid to late 2020s which we don’t have the teachers to deliver.

To a degree I've not seen in my lifetime, left and right disagree not just about policy but about what the issues are.

Brexit was an example of this. Before 2016, the big division wasn't so much between Leavers and Remainers: such words had no meaning then. Instead, it was between a few rightists who thought EU membership was a big issue and the rest of us who didn't: one of the right's great rhetorical tricks was to call themselves "eurosceptics" rather than what they really were - which was eurofanatics.

Which poses the question: why has this division emerged?

Part of the story is the spread of poshcuntstalkshit programming. The lack of demand and supply of genuine experts means these are filled with "commentators" whose main talent is being able to turn up to a TV studio at short notice. As these are unable to talk intelligently about complex issues - the stalling of productivity growth, fiscal policy; falling real incomes; the NHS's problems - they resort to the drivel one could hear from thousands of golf club gammons.

But there's something else. It's that actually-existing British capitalism - whether you call it neoliberalism, financialization, rentierism or whatever - has failed most people; even before the jump in gas prices real wages were barely higher than they had been 15 years previously. If you are going to talk about economics, then, you must either talk of big change or defend a system that works only for a minority. It's no wonder therefore that many on the right would rather point to a dead cat: Prince Harry is the latest one, but there'll be another along soon enough. "Culture wars" are a product of capitalist stagnation.

With the economy flat-lining, tricky questions arise. Should we allow public services to deteriorate or raise taxes, if so on whom? Do we really want to cut private consumption to make room for more public consumption? Given that higher energy costs mean that the UK is poorer as a country, whose real income should take the hit: nurses and railworkers, or others, and if so whom? In short, who do we throw under the bus?

These are nasty trade-offs. Which many don't want to talk about. This is true more of the centre and right than left: whereas the latter are comfortable demanding higher taxes on the rich (maybe too comfortable) the former don't like to call explicitly for the impoverishment of nurses.

Instead, if they must talk of economics they wibble about electability or a lack of money - which is only slightly less moronic than asking about nationalizing sausages. Better for them that they retreat to the comfort zone of culture wars.

I would read Truss's ill-fated premiership in this context. Although she spoke of being pro-growth and breaking with Treasury orthodoxy, this was mere cargo-cult economics. It was language without substance, and assertion without evidence - for example that tax cuts would boost growth. Instead, it was identity politics - invoking a (partly fictitious) image of Thatcher and appealing to Tory prejudices rather than seriously engaging with genuine issues.

Whatever the reason for this divide about what we should talk about, it has an important implication. One facet of political power is control over the agenda: if we're talking about immigration or trans people or "wokesters" we are not talking about the failure of capitalism. One under-appreciated route through which the media exercise influence is in deciding what it is that we do talk about. Given this, it's not at all clear to me that it is even possible for the BBC to be truly impartial.

Why economists need history

Should economists pay more attention to intellectual history? I'm prompted to ask by Jan Eeckhout's book, The Profit Paradox.

His thesis is that, since the early 80s, many industries have become dominated by a handful of superstar companies whose increased market power allows them to enjoy higher profit margins. The result is higher prices than would otherwise be the case which in turn means lower output, lower demand for labour and lower real interest rates. It's not just workers who suffer from this but also smaller companies who face tougher competition from giant firms and higher costs from them too. We should read all this alongside Thomas Philippon's The Great Reversal and Lindsey and Teles' The Captured Economy, both of which also document how American capitalism has become less competitive and dynamic.

Whilst all this might be true of the US, I suspect it is much less so here in the UK. Of course, we have monopolies, but many of these are privatized rentiers rather than firms like Apple and Amazon that have won the competition for markets. The UK has very few superstar companies - and indeed not many that even reach the height of mediocrity. This much is evident in the fact that the share of GDP going to workers in the UK hasn't changed much since the late 80s yes, real wages have stagnated here for 15 years but this owes more to flatlining productivity than to firms' increased market power.

This, however, is not my beef with Eeckhout. Instead, my problem is that he gives us no historical context.

The idea that capitalism would see increased monopoly power is an old one. Marx wrote that:

The battle of competition is fought by cheapening of commodities. The cheapness of commodities demands, caeteris paribus, on the productiveness of labour, and this again on the scale of production. Therefore, the larger capitals beat the smaller. It will further be remembered that, with the development of the capitalist mode of production, there is an increase in the minimum amount of individual capital necessary to carry on a business under its normal conditions. The smaller capitals, therefore, crowd into spheres of production which Modern Industry has only sporadically or incompletely got hold of. Here competition rages in direct proportion to the number, and in inverse proportion to the magnitudes, of the antagonistic capitals. It always ends in the ruin of many small capitalists, whose capitals partly pass into the hands of their conquerors, partly vanish. Apart from this, with capitalist production an altogether new force comes into play — the credit system, which in its first stages furtively creeps in as the humble assistant of accumulation, drawing into the hands of individual or associated capitalists, by invisible threads, the money resources which lie scattered, over the surface of society, in larger or smaller amounts; but it soon becomes a new and terrible weapon in the battle of competition and is finally transformed into an enormous social mechanism for the centralisation of capitals.

And in 1966 Paul Baran and Paul Sweezy argued in Monopoly Capital (pdf) that American capitalism had become dominated by giant corporations with market power, with the result that the economy was stagnating. In essence, that's similar to Eeckhout's theory.

But Eeckhout mentions none of this.

Does this matter? I suspect so.

First, at least some of the monopolistic giants of Baran and Sweezy's time subsequently ceased to be so: think of General Motors, US Steel or Eastman Kodak. This tells us that monopolies are not always as longlasting as they seem. Instead, technical change, competition from unlikely sources, diseconomies of scale or management hubris and over-reach can eventually slay them.

Of course, maybe this time is different. Perhaps companies such as Apple, Alphabet and Microsoft have better economic moats than did 1960s monopolies. But Eeckhout never poses this question - perhaps because that absence of history means it didn't arise.

Eeckhout's omission here is not, however, a personal failing but a symptom of academia. The history of economic thought is not taught as much as it once was. And pressure to publish and to sell books have led to an over-valorization of "original" contributions and thus a failure to locate one's work in an intellectual tradition: the replicability crisis shows us that original work is often not good.

One effect of this is that economists sometimes need to reinvent the wheel. MMT, for example, is in essence the (welcome) rediscovery of functional finance. The result is not only a lack of intellectual progress as we fail to stand upon the shoulders of giants, but also an entrenchment of neoliberal individualism - the selling of research as individual output rather than collective tradition.

But there's something else. Such neglect of intellectual history - and especially the Marxian tradition - leads to naive politics. Eeckhout calls for the establishment of a powerful "Federal Competition Authority" to restrict mergers and promote competition.

But this begs the question: how is such change to be achieved? To paraphrase Marx, this is merely writing a recipe for a cook-shop of the future. Yes, it's valuable in showing that a better world is possible, but it leaves open the matter of how to achieve this world.

Again, this is not a personal failing of Eeckhout. His work reminds me of Case and Deaton's Deaths of Despair. Both skilfully document how capitalism is failing the American people but then assert that the system can be redeemed by technocratic fixes whilst showing little curiosity about systemic change: Eeckhout says that "only pro-market capitalism can attain healthy competition" without even considering market socialism. Both are remarkably optimistic about the potential to reform capitalism whilst unable to conceive of more radical alternatives to the system. 

In fairness, he's not wholly blind to the problem here. He acknowledges that such a call is "very idealistic" given that market power buys political power via paid lobbyists. But this misses the point that capital has many other sources of influence over government. There's simple deference; Gordon Brown's kowtowing to bosses was not motivated by personal greed. There's the belief (which as Eeckhout shows is sometimes dubious) that high profits are necessary to create jobs. There's simple ideology, which politicians have internalized. And of course, there is the influence of the media.

Reigning in monopoly power requires governments to overcome these forces. And that in turn requires the growth of either a threat to capitalism itself or at least a countervailing power to capital. It's no accident that capitalism was more equal (and productive) when there were strong trades unions and a threat of communism.

So yes, I think we do need intellectual (and social and economic) history - because it teaches us that meaningful improvements in economic policy must be a collective effort and not merely clever people proposing technocratic tweaks.

It's not about the money

One common mistake non-economists make when thinking about economics is that they think about money when money is often not the issue.

I suspect people appreciate this implicitly in their everyday life. The £50 you spend in a record shop matters because it is £50 you then don't have to spend on dinner with your partner. What you are giving up when you buy those records is something real - a date night.

It's in this context that higher energy bills are so nasty. The higher cost of gas means that even those of us who are quite well off must forgo something real, something nice - nights out, books or music. That hurts. And not just us personally. What's going on is a transfer of resources from dynamic, entrepreneurial sectors of the economy towards rentiers. As David Ricardo pointed out 200 years ago, that's the sort of thing that can push an economy into long-term stagnation.

Money, then, is in many contexts not the point. What matters are real resources and opportunities - the good things we must sacrifice to get other things. Money is just one measure of such sacrifices. But it is just that - a measure.

And not the only one. As I approached retirement, I thought of big-ticket items in terms of how much longer I'd have to work if I bought them: a car was a year's work, a holiday a month's work and so on. A labour theory of value makes sense because labour - leisure foregone - is a measure of what we must give up to get stuff.

All this might seem obvious, but it is often forgotten in politics.

For example, Mark Harper says it is "unaffordable" to give public sector workers pay rises that match inflation. "I do not have a bottomless pit of taxpayers’ money" he said.

But money is not the issue: governments can print limitless amounts of the stuff. What Harper should have said is that higher gas prices mean that the UK has become poorer: as a nation, our real income has fallen. Which poses the question: why should public sector workers not share in this fall?

Of course, you might well have a good answer to this: many have suffered years of falling real incomes, and there are others who should bear the cost instead.

And that's the point. Harper was using a nonsense claim about money to disguise what is a profoundly political choice, of who should suffer from our country's impoverishment.

It's not just Tories who talk of money when they should speak instead of real resources. Lisa Nandy has said that "the big problem is that there isn't enough money."

She is of course wrong to say there isn't enough money. But she is bang right to say there is a big problem. We lack real resources. Anyone wanting a big increase in public spending must answer the question not "where will the money come from?" but "where will the workers come from?" We are closer to full employment than we have been for many years, and there are certainly very few unemployed doctors or nurses. The government can print money, but it cannot print workers.

This is a big reason why the Truss-Kwarteng budget was such a disaster. The gilt market feared that tax cuts at a time of near-full employment would lead not so much to higher employment and output but simply to higher inflation.

It's in this context that Sunak and Johnson's health and social care levy made sense. We don't need higher NICs to finance public spending; printing money can do that. We need them to release labour that is otherwise unavailable when employment is so high. We need to reduce consumer spending so that retail and hospitality workers lose their jobs and become care workers instead.

Which poses a problem for the left. If we want more builders, home insulators, solar panel makers, care workers and NHS staff where will we find them?

Immigration, of course, must be part of the answer. Another part of the answer is that Labour might well take office when unemployment is higher than it is now, and so these workers can be taken from dole queues without raising inflation.

But what if these answers are insufficient? Then we might need higher taxes to force capital and labour to move from parts of the private sector to healthcare, greening the economy and building houses.

Not all taxes, however, would do this. Wealth and windfall taxes could in principle raise billions. But if these billions would otherwise be merely hoarded in bank accounts real economic activity does not decline and so there will be no release of capital or labour and thus no more potential housebuilders or nurses. The nasty fact is that if we want more health workers or more people working to decarbonize the economy then we need the sort of taxes that depress economic activity elsewhere - that is, taxes that don't just fall upon the mega-rich. The left needs to be honest here.

There's another sense in which some on the left are ducking a tough question - nationalization.

They are, of course, correct to say that money is no obstacle to this: it's quite sensible to borrow at a real interest rate of around 1% to buy a higher-yielding asset. But my question arises again: how does nationalization affect real resources? There's no question that the railways and Royal Mail are atrociously managed. But will nationalization change this? Yes, if bad management is due to bad incentives which public ownership could correct. But it does not if the problem is simply a lack of management ability. Nationalization is not an end in itself, but a means to an end. And we need to think more about those means and those ends.

My point here should also shape how we think about fiscal rules. High government borrowing becomes a problem when it deprives the private sector of real resources - either by creating a tight labour market or by raising real interest rates.

Clearly, neither is a problem at times of deficient demand of the sort we saw after the financial crisis. So fiscal rules should not constrain borrowing then. But when should they?

The answer depends in part upon the extent to which government borrowing raises interest rates, and also upon how much those higher rates depress healthy investment. If they deter firms from making emissions savings or productivity enhancements then government borrowing should be reduced. If instead they deter crypto-mining or property speculation, then high government borrowing is not so troubling. Personally, I don't think we can generalize on this point.

But there's another issue here: what sort of economy do we want? Do we want private affluence and public squalor (to use Galbraith's phrase) or something closer to the opposite? This is fundamentally and unavoidably a political choice. Talk of fiscal rules often effaces this fact in favour of arid technocracy.

And that's the point. We must think of economic policy in terms of real resources, not money. Whilst the question of how many unemployed resources there are must be a purely empirical one uncoloured by ideology or wishful thinking, the question of how we want to employ those resources - in healthcare, housebuilding, decarbonizing or in private consumption - must always be a political one. Talk of money and finance can sometimes be a technocratic trick to distract us from this fact.

In praise of conventional thinking

When does innovation work and when not? I'm prompted to ask by Ed Smith's wonderful new book, Making Decisions, which argues for the need for"anti-processes", original thinking and spontaneity to resist "the slide into bureaucratic inertia":

If your decisions do not diverge from conventional wisdom in any important respect, you are failing to do your job. Indeed, you no longer have a job. You have a sinecure.

All this is good and true. Following process and protocols can degenerate into groupthink, cargo-cult decision-making, and an irresponsible deference to algorithms.

But, but, but. I read Ed's book whilst cryptocurrencies were collapsing: whilst Elon Musk was ruining Twitter; whilst we are still awaiting the "sunny uplands" of Brexit; and a few weeks after Liz Truss's promise of "doing things differently" ended in abject failure. All of which show that there's something to be said for cleaving to the conventional wisdom. As Edmund Burke said:

We are afraid to put men to live and trade each on his own private stock of reason; because we suspect that this stock in each man is small, and that the individuals would do better to avail themselves of the general bank and capital of nations and of ages.

Reinforcing this point, whilst reading Ed I was listening to a lot of J.S. Bach, whose life shows that great genius sometimes consists not in originality but in sticking to rules.

Economics, perhaps, offers more examples of what I mean. It's not clear that recent new economic thinking - be it DSGE models or MMT - is much of an improvement on the functional finance and structural models we had before the 1980s. A while back, the Guardian used to run tiresome articles calling for new thinking about economics, when what I suspect they meant was a return to old thinking.

Nor is economics alone here. In Science Fictions, Stuart Ritchie describes "a deep corruption within science itself", which has a "dizzying array of incompetence, delusion, lies and self-deception." Hence the replication crisis which seems to have afflicted most academic disciplines. "New thinking" is often bad thinking with dubious results.

All of which raises the question: under what circumstances should we stick to conventional thinking, and which not?

Of course, the best time to innovate is when there is cheap money and lots of mug punters. The collapse of cryptocurrencies is yet another reminder that actually-existing markets incentivize bad innovation rather than good.

That aside, there are, I suspect, four conditions when we should reject Burke and Bach in favour of Smith.

One is that the conventional wisdom is sometimes merely the groupthink of the privileged, who use it to entrench inequality. Talk of a "fiscal black hole" for example is used to justify otherwise questionable austerity, just as talk of incentives or deregulation (pdf) can be a ideological cloak for inequality.

A second is that the cliche is true: necessity is the mother of invention. Bach had such abundant resources of genius that he could create brilliantly within existing conventions; he didn't need to innovate. The rest of us, though, often aren't so lucky. Francis Spufford's brilliant Backroom Boys describes how British boffins in the mid-20th century developed space rockets and computer games with little budget and puny computing power.

Ed had to do something similar. In 2019 England lacked top-quality opening batters and so experimented with a big hitter, Jason Roy, at the top of the order. That didn't work, but the subsequent performance of England's openers suggests it was worth a try.

A more successful example of innovation in response to lack of resources was "moneyball". The Oakland Athletics' small budget for players led their manager Billy Beane to evaluate players on the basis of statistics rather than conventional coaching judgements which led (briefly) to the recruitment of undervalued players and an improvement in the team.

Economic policy also provides an example. The UK adopted inflation targeting in 1992 in a panic and pretty much as a last resort after previous "monetary anchors" such as M3 targets, shadowing the Deutschemark or ERM membership had failed. Until recently, it worked much better than its predecessors.

A third circumstance favouring innovation and thinking outside the box is when the environment changes. Cricket provides another example. Jonathan Liew describes T20 as "an entirely different sport now" requiring the "shedding the decades of ingrained cultural baggage." In T20, a team's most aggressive batter should be not in the middle order but an opener, simply because he can then potentially face more balls.

The environment, of course, also includes technological possibilities. These don't just facilitate new companies, but also new strategies. As Stian Westlake and Jonathan Haskel have pointed out, modern intangible assets make production much more scalable which enables a few successful companies to get very big - hence the emergence of superstar (pdf) firms.

We see - or should see - this in politics too. The genius of Blair and Brown was to see that changing socio-economic conditions after the 1970s required a new form of social democracy. Equally, though, economic changes after the 90s requires yet another rethinking of social democratic politics. Most Blairites and Corbynites are too tribal to see it, but in important respects Corbyn was the heir to Blair.

But there is a limit here. It's easy to see a changed environment when in fact there is only fashion. One of the surest ways for investors to lose money is to believe "this time is different". Which it rarely is. Conventional thinking, such as intelligent momentum investing, beats believing hype about new technologies.

We could add a fourth circumstance when thinking outside the box works. In strategic interactions, be it sport or business, it can give one an edge over one's opponents. Arsene Wenger's use of healthy diets and more overseas players gave Arsenal big advantages in the late 90s.

The problem with these, however, is that one's opponents quickly learn to emulate such innovations, thereby neutralizing them. Wenger's use of sports science became less help as other coaches copied him, and Billy Beane's moneyball became less effective as rival teams adopted his methods.

The point generalizes. William Nordhaus has shown that the profits to companies' innovative activities are usually tiny simply because new products and processes get copied, thus bidding away initially high profits. Sustainable high profits come from conventional thinking about how to hold down costs, preserve brand power and fend off competitors thus maintaining what Warren Buffett calls economic moats.

All of which is to merely regurgitate an old saying of Niels Bohr: the opposite of a great truth is another great truth. Whilst there is sometimes (occasionally) a case for original thinking it is also true that conventional ideas are sometimes conventional for a very good reason. Which vindicates Ed's point: we will always need a "human dimension" if we are to have a hope of distinguishing the two.

The austerity choice

The Tories, aided by much of the media, are trying to pull a con trick. They want to present spending cuts as a technocratic necessity when they are in fact a political choice.

A big part of this trick is the idea that there is a fiscal "black hole" that needs to be plugged. Fiscal black holes, however, are not like stellar ones. They are not objective physical facts, but are subjective economist-made artefacts. This is partly because they are products of economic forecasts and any forecast, as Carsten Jung says, "depends hugely on the assumptions for economic growth, inflation and interest rates." But it's also because, as Ed Conway says, "they exist only relative to particular fiscal rules." If the fiscal rule mandates a large surplus, a given forecast deficit will imply a big "black hole" but if it permits a large deficit - voila - the black hole disappears.

For example, the IFS's Carl Emmerson says:

We need a credible plan to ensure that government debt can be expected to fall over the medium-term.

But this poses questions. Why must government debt be expected to fall? Why isn't mere stability sufficient, given that there is no credible evidence that a particular debt-GDP ratio leads to trouble? What does "medium-term" mean - two or three years, or five or ten? And should the requirement to cut debt be absolute, or instead contingent upon factors such as economic growth, inflation or bond yields?

The size - or even existence - of the "black hole" is therefore a choice. It depends upon the choices you make when you produce economic forecasts. And it depends upon your choice of fiscal rule. And fiscal rules, remember, are very much a political choice: since 2010 the government has changed (pdf) them in April 2011, March 2014, December 2014, October 2015, January 2017 and January 2022.

The only black hole that exists for sure in this debate is in the media, where political journalists are so dense that little can escape from them. 

None of this, however, is to rule out some type of austerity. There might be a case for it. But if so, it is for a reason the Tories don't want to advertise.

Quite simply, it is because we are a poorer country than we would like to be, and if we are poorer we just can't afford stuff (yes, economics can be simple.)

One reason for this, of course, is that higher energy prices are cutting our real incomes. To the extent that these are temporary, there is a strong case for government borrowing to smooth out higher costs over several years. But it's not clear that this is wholly the case: although gas prices have fallen since the summer, they are still well above their pre-2022 levels.

But there are other causes of our low incomes. Some are policy choices, such as Brexit, antipathy to migrants and the failure to invest in infrastructure. Others, though, are the failures of the private sector that have given us 15 years of flatlining productivity. One symptom of this, as Duncan Weldon has pointed out, is that labour-intensive hand car washes have replaced automated ones.

And herein lies the fiscal policy problem. Our economy is so labour-intensive that we are near full employment - maybe not actually at it, but near it. There is therefore a real resource constraint upon fiscal policy: a loosening of fiscal policy will lead not so much to increased employment and output but to inflation - which is one reason why bond markets took fright at the Truss/Kwarteng Budget.

Herein lie not one but two different arguments for austerity.

Argument one is that tigher fiscal policy will cut aggregate demand and thus inflation, and so prevent interest rates rising as far as they otherwise would. Austerity, then, is the price to pay for lower mortgage rates.

This is a choice. Such a policy would benefit home-owners, and especially that minority that benefits from rising house prices, to the detriment of public service workers and users. Which poses the question. Why should wealthy people gain more at the expense of some of the most vulnerable such as those with serious health or educational needs? Talk of needing to fill a fiscal black hole effaces this question, and denies a key fact - that policy-making is about power, and choosing whom to throw under the bus.

Argument two is that when we are near full employment, fiscal austerity is necessary to release the real resources needed to work on our priorities. If we want more nurses, social care workers, home insulators or solar panel manufacturers we need to stop some people doing the jobs they are currently doing so they can transfer to these others. The question "where will the money come from?" has always been a bullshit question asked only by dickheads. But the question "where will the nurses come from?" most certainly is not.

Of course, in a rationally governed nation, part of this answer would be: from migrants. In the real world, however, the answer lies in tighter fiscal policy. This was the (largely unspoken) logic behind Sunak's health and social care levy: higher national insurance contributions would cut consumer spending, thereby forcing some retail, hospitality and nail bar workers out of their jobs, from where thry could find work in social care.

Which brings us to the problem. Neither left not right are making this argument. The right isn't justifying austerity on the basis that it's needed for a greener, caring economy. Nor, of course, can they, because such an economy requires higher public spending. And Labour are dodging the question. To a greater extent than other taxes, windfall and wealth taxes seize money that would otherwise be saved rather than spent. They therefore do little to depress demand and thus little to free up labour. Such taxes are vindictive (for me, a feature not a bug), but they are cargo cult fiscal policy - a worshipping of the fetish of "sound money" whilst failing to identify the fundamental question.

Which is: what kind of economy do we want? In a resource-constrained economy, we cannot have more private consumption, more people working to decarbonize and more social services. Nor even can we have adequate public services at current levels of taxation and economic growth.

We must choose. Carys Roberts is right: macroeconomic policy "isn’t simply a technocratic exercise to fill a 'black hole'. It’s deeply political."

Which is why talk of fiscal black holes is so nasty. Not only is it terrible economics, but it is also terrible politics in two ways. First, because it tries to pretend that politics is a merely technocratic recognition of necessity, thus effacing the fact that it is about choice. And second, because it denies the fact that years of economic dysfunction have left us with real and nasty choices.

The cost-cutting error

It's being said that the government is looking to cut costs. Such a framing is in many cases wrong and dangerous.

To take an example, in this clip the BBC's Jon Kay puts it to Jonathan Reynolds that "we can't afford [the pensions triple lock]; the economy can't afford it...so how are you going to afford it?"

The problem here is that cutting real-terms state pensions is not a saving. A lower state pension means that younger people must either save more privately for their old age or work longer (or both). Cutting the state pension therefore does not save money. It merely shifts the cost of provision for old age from the collective to individuals. To speak of the government cutting costs in this context is therefore plain wrong. It's not cutting costs, but merely shifting them.

The same applies to some other possible government cost savings. In scrimping on hospital provision the government has pushed NHS waiting lists up to record highs, one effect of which is to increase the number of people going for private treatment. Again, what's happening here is not that the government is cutting a cost, but that it is transferring it - from the state to those who can afford to go private.

An even more obvious example of what I mean are benefit cuts. These merely transfer costs from government to benefit recipients who must cut their spending and lead meaner lives.

The cost does not fall on them alone, however. It also falls upon those companies who suffer lower demand when benefit recipients cut spending. When Tesco chairman John Allan says we have "a moral responsibility" to look after people suffering from the cost of living crisis, he's appealing to the government to help his firm. Smarter capitalists know that austerity hurts them too.

In cases such as these, therefore, talk of the government cutting costs is plain wrong. What it is doing is shifting the costs, from the collective to individuals.

In this cases, the key question is: who is best able to bear costs - the state or individual?

In the case of pensions, I think the answer is clear - the state. Private pension provision is difficult and expensive. Not only do we face high fees from the organized theft that is the fund management industry, but we also face investment risk and longevity risk. The state is better on all three counts.

Similarly, scrimping on NHS spending introduces risk into our lives - that of being impoverished by ill-health. Benefit cuts have a similar effect, forcing individuals and retailers into being more exposed to bad economic times. They therefore weaken the automatic stabilizers that help protect us from recession.

In all three cases, the Tories are stepping back from a classic function of the state, which is to pool risks. It is transferring risk from government to individuals, who must take more investment risk, risk of impoverishment by ill-health, or risk of income loss in bad times. In this context asking "how great is the 'black hole' in the public finances?" is the wrong question. The question is: which costs and risks should be borne by the state and which by individuals?

This is not to say however that all possible government cuts are merely shifting costs.

One pure cost saving would be the reduction in the deadweight costs of administering taxes and benefits. Shifting taxes from incomes to land would be one such saving; land taxes don't have the disincentive effects that other taxes do. So too would simplifying the benefit system.

Other cost savings would be reducing the functions of the police, for example by legalizing drugs. Yet another would be cutting military spending: if you cut health spending, we might buy a private operation, but if you cut military spending we'll not buy our own private nuclear weapons. You can think of other examples.

You might reply that even in these cases, cutting government spending is not a pure cost saving as it entails job losses. Not necessarily. We are close to full employment, which means we must consider not only the volume of employment but the nature of it: do we really want arms manufacturers and a surveillance state rather than care workers and medical equipment?

Now, you might quibble with my individual judgments of particular cases. But I think the distinction I'm making between cost savings and cost transfers is robust and important. What we must ask is not whether the government needs to find savings, but other questions: what costs must be borne by the state and which by individuals? And what goods and services do we want more of, and what less?

(Non) lessons of the fiasco

All of us tend to interpret political events as confirming our prior beliefs. We must, however, resist this temptation when thinking about the now-reversed Kwarteng/Truss Budget. There are two interpretations of this fiasco which are not as robust as you might think.

The first one is that it shows that small state conservatism is impossible. I don't think this inference is warranted.

Imagine that Budget had been announced at a time of recession when inflation was below target and both short and long-term interest rates near zero. In such circumstances, I suspect markets would applaud: looser fiscal policy is the right thing to do then - as many of us were saying in 2010-12. Yes, bond yields would rise - but that's natural and desirable as a consequence of escaping recession, and it's possible that gilt losses would be accompanied by share price rises.

Of course, we would quibble with the redistributive impact of cuts to top taxes, and we'd argue that spending rises would be better at reflating the economy than tax cuts. But in macroeconomic terms, the Kwarteng-Truss Budget would have been acceptable.

And a few years after the Budget, Kwarteng/Truss could claim not only that they had averted recession, but also that subsequent growth had been good. Yes, orthodox economists would reply that this was due more to standard accelerator effects and diminished uncertainty than to supply-side effects of tax cuts. But that's the point: we would be debating whether tax cuts had worked. We wouldn't be claiming that the Kwarteng/Truss approach had been refuted.

This counterfactual tells us that the fatal flaw in the Kwarteng/Truss Budget was its macroeconomic judgement, not its supply-side measures.

Let's try another counterfactual. Imagine their Budget had been announced after a positive supply shock - something that had both boosted growth and reduced inflation. Tax cuts would then look "affordable", because the stronger economy had reduced government borrowing. Nobody would panic. The way to shrink the state, remember, is to have a strong economy.

What would such a supply shock be? One candidate would be sharp reversal of this year's oil and gas price rises. The right, however, might add another candidate: non-fiscal supply-side measures such as planning reform. On that view, the Kwarteng/Truss error has been to do policy in the wrong order: tax cuts should have followed other supply-side policies, not preceded them.

Now, personally I am of course very sceptical that cuts to top tax rates would greatly stimulate the supply-side. But this scepticism is not enhanced by the Tories' latest fiasco. What this proves is that their macroeconomic and market judgement is atrocious. It does not prove that rightist supply-side measures are always doomed to fail. To establish that, you need other evidence.

There is another hypothesis which I think is unproven by recent events. This is that, contrary to the claim of modern monetary theory, bond markets are in themselves a constraint on government borrowing.

My problem with this idea is that we've seen bonds sell off at a time of high inflation. It is possible that what gilt markets are worried about, therefore, is not a flood of issuance but simply that tax cuts will further add to inflation. On this view, MMTers are right. It is indeed inflation that is the constraint upon government borrowing. Bond markets are merely a mechanism through which this constraint becomes obvious to government.

Of course, something would refute MMT - if we were seeing bonds sell off at a time of low inflation. But this is not what's happening.

There is, however, a wrinkle here. What we've seen since the summer is not just a rise in nominal gilt yields but also a sharp rise in real ones too. You might think this consistent with the market fearing a glut of debt, not just inflation - that markets are, in Paul Krugman's words, pricing in a "moron risk premium."

Possibly, but not certainly.

For one thing, this risk premium might reflect not the quantity of debt but rather the manner of conducting policy: in sacking Sir Tom Scholar and sidelining the OBR, Kwarteng/Truss signalled that they were heedless of dissonant voices. That's just bad policy-making.

For another, higher real yields are themselves a sign the markets fear inflation. Real yields are higher because markets expect higher real short-term interest rates. Which is just what should happen as the Bank tries to reduce inflation.

And for a third thing, even now real yields are well below their 1990s levels. In a longer-term context the bond market vigilantes are still softies.

This issue matters for how the left should think about fiscal policy. If the problem is indeed too much borrowing then there might be a case for wealth taxes merely to raise revenue. If, however, the problem is inflation then wealth taxes are a less good solution: insofar as the rich don't spend their wealth, such taxes won't much reduce inflation.

My point here is to try to lean against the old habit of seeing our prejudices confirmed everywhere. Macroeconomics and politics are often afflicted with the Duhem-Quine problem, that hypotheses can never be tested in isolation. Recent events do not prove that small-state supply-side policies are impossible, and nor do they prove that the bond market and not inflation is the constraint upon borrowing. Maybe they are, maybe not - but this fiasco does not establish so much.

Instead, it proves just one thing - that the Tory reputation for economic competence was not justified. And perhaps it never was.

Origins of the Tory implosion

The implosion of the Tory party suggests I was wrong.

I had thought that economic stagnation - which has seen real wages fall below 2007 levels - would benefit the Tories. As Ben Friedman showed, a weak economy leads to illiberalism and reactionary politics which creates a constituency for culture war politics and attacks on migrants, "wokesters" and the EU. Also, the low real interest rates caused by stagnation sustain house prices thus giving older home-owners an illusion of wealth, whilst at the same time boosting the profits of some financiers who back the Tory party.

This seemed to be the case until recently: the Tories led Labour in the polls until this year, and even in the summer had only a small deficit. But no longer. Labour now has a 30pp lead, predicting the wipeout of the Tory party at the next election.

So what changed?

Putin, that's what. His invasion of Ukraine caused energy prices to soar, with the result that the cost of living crisis increased in salience, whilst culture wars diminished. Which has revealed a division in the Tory party.

This division arises from a brute economic fact. You can have both low taxes and decent public services only if you have a strong economy: history tells us that the shares of taxes and state spending in GDP are driven more by economic fluctuations than by government ideology.

Fifteen years of economic stagnation therefore forces Tories to choose: you can have tax cuts, or you can avoid cuts to welfare benefits and public services. But you cannot have both.

For years, the Tories have dodged this question by talking little about economics and more about culture wars, of which Brexit is a part. That is now no longer an option: those Tory MPs who moan about migrants and Harry Potter courses at universities merely embarrass themselves.

Kwarteng tried to dodge this question by pretending that tax cuts would stimulate growth or that the government could easily borrow to cut taxes. Neither claim survived more than a few days.

For one thing, there is little (pdf) evidence that lower taxes do stimulate growth. The UK economy grew much better when the Kinks complained that "the taxman's taken all my dough" than it did in the years after Nigella's dad cut the top rate to 40%*.

And for another, government borrowing has gotten more expensive: five-year nominal yields have jumped from 0.8% to over 4% so far this year. That's partly because of a rise in global yields, and partly because we are now closer to full employment and the point at which looser fiscal policy leads to inflation rather than real growth. It's also because the government has reduced confidence in UK assets by sacking Sir Tom Scholar and sidelining the OBR; the US can afford to elect a braindead ideologue because it has exorbitant privilege but the UK cannot be so cavalier about international perceptions and so doesn't have that option.

The Tory dilemma is therefore acute: tax cuts or public services? Of course, many Tories have an ideological instinct for tax cuts. But they also have a predilection for "sound finance" and - even more so - for getting elected. And with voters not wanting a smaller state (pdf) they cannot have all three.

Let's be clear, though. The issue here is not only ideology and electoral considerations. Underpinning it is 15 years of economic stagnation. Just as poverty-stricken individuals face horrible choices, so too do countries. In fairness to them, Truss and Kwarteng realize this - hence their concern to raise economic growth. Sadly, though, they are unaware that achieving this requires years of hard slog and that the enemies of growth exist in their own party - in Brexiteers, nimbys and financiers and rentiers who benefit from the low interest rates that stagnation usually brings.

The Tories had the luck or skill to avoid these choices for years by fostering culture wars, which led me to think stagnation would continue to benefit them. I was wrong, because economics has now become the centre of party politics again. Tory divisions and unpopularity are not just the unfortunate result of having profoundly inadequate personnel. They are the product of underlying economic forces.

* Between 1948 and 1971 (when the top income tax rate averaged 90%) UK real GDP grew by an average of 3.3% a year: since 1988, when it was cut to 40%, it has grown only 1.9%.

Another thing. All this, I think, is an example of a point the great Jon Elster made in Nuts and Bolts for the Social Sciences. The social sciences, he wrote, are a box of mechanisms. But we often cannot foretell which mechanism will operate more strongly. So whilst there are some mechanisms linking stagnation to Tories thriving, there are others linking it to their demise. What we've seen is a shift from one to the other. As Elster wrote, "sometimes we can explain without being able to predict." (Personally, I don't see this as a great defect in the social sciences - but that's another story.)

The full employment question

"Never mind the public finances. Look after the economy and the deficit will look after itself." For years, critics of George Osborne such as me echoed Keynes' old line. At last, the Tories are, by their own lights, heeding this call. And financial markets hate it. Does this mean the Keynesian advice was wrong all along?

No. There's a big difference between the 2010s and now.

This difference is not that Kwarteng is mistaken to think that tax cuts will stimulate long-term productivity growth. He probably is, but this isn't the main problem. Even if he had announced the best supply-side policies imaginable, these would not have a significant impact on the economy in the next few months simply because it takes time for capital and labour to learn of new and better opportunities and move to them. As Banerjee and Duflo showed in Good Economics for Hard Times, economies are sticky and slow to adjust to change.

Instead, we are closer to full employment now than we were ten years ago. And full employment changes how macro policy should be conducted. When there is unemployment any fiscal policy that boosts aggregate demand will lead to the greater utilization of unemployed assets (capital and labour) and hence to increased real output. At full employment, however, this cannot happen and so we get inflation instead. Tax cuts might have boosted growth ten years ago when there were idle resources, but now we are nearer to full employment they are more likely to lead to higher inflation.

Which is what financial markets expect. Their fear of higher inflation has driven five-year gilt yields up to 4.4%, compared to only 1.4% as recently as May*.

This raises three issues.

One is: how much will this fiscal stimulus add to demand? In this context, the fact that the tax cuts are skewed to the rich is a good thing: the rich have a high propensity to save and so won't boost aggregate demand and inflation much. But even so, the impact is positive - as of course is the impact of capping energy prices**.

A second issue is: how close are we actually to full employment? The official jobless level is just over 1.2m. That's less than the number of vacancies, and its lowest since 1975. On top of this, though, there are 1.7m people out of the labour force who would like a job. Adding these to the officially unemployed gives us a level of 2.9m, which is the lowest since data began in 1992. Official figures show that there are also 2.8m people who are working fewer hours than they'd like - although this is the lowest number since before the financial crisis.

Whether such numbers mean we are actually at full employment is moot: there's always some frictional unemployment and under-employment simply because of mismatches between supply and demand***. What we can say, though, is that we are much closer to full employment than we were ten years ago. Back then there were one million more under-employed and two million more unemployed and inactive wanting a job. Which means it is plausible that a given boost to demand now will lead to a worse output-inflation mix than it would have done in 2012.

Thirdly, even if we are at full employment, is this inflationary? In the past companies have responded to high demand by figuring out (pdf) ways to raise productivity. That's one reason why full (male!) employment in the 50s was not inflationary. But markets can be forgiven for doubting whether a repeat is possible. For one thing, forty years of mass unemployment has made bosses lazy: in relying upon abundant labour they've lost the habit of thinking how to raise productivity. For another, high policy uncertainty deters companies from investing in the capital equipment that might raise productivity. And for yet another, high demand now is less likely to lead to a big influx of migrant labour, in part because sterling wages no longer buy so much in foreign currency.

It's likely, therefore, that a fiscal stimulus today will be more inflationary and less good for output than it would have been ten years ago. Hence the market reaction.

It's in this context that Sunak's health and social care levy made sense. if we want more health and social care the question is not: where will the money come from? It can be borrowed. Instead, it is: where will the real resources come from - the carers, nurses and premises for care homes?

When there is mass unemployment, the answer's simple: they come from the dole queue and vacant property. At full employment, however, the answer is different: they must come by shifting people from one employment to another. The logic for higher national insurance contributions was that it would do this: it would depress consumer spending and hence facilitate a shift in labour from retail and hospitality to the care sector.

Granted, the implementation of the policy should have been better, for example in helping people more to retrain as health and care workers. But the macroeconomic logic was sound, assuming we were near full employment. Today's Tories are rejecting this logic. That wouldn't be a problem if there was significant unemployment. But there might not be, and indeed Kwarteng's attempts to cajole UC claimants into working more suggests that he believes there is not.

Now, you might question the facts here. Maybe we are still some way from full employment, or maybe our nearness to it won't be as inflationary as feared.

For my purposes, however, this is not the point. The point is that the policy that's right for unemployment is not the same as that which is right for full employment. Macroeconomic economic policy should be a merely empirical matter, not a matter of ideology or sloganeering. In this respect, however, the Tories have been consistent: they were wrong in the 2010s, and might well be wrong in the 2020s. But that's the thing about them: they are so much more ideological than we Marxists.

* Granted, all the rise is due to a rise in real yields: Bank data shows that inflation expectations have actually come down since then. But that is because markets expect rate rises to curb inflation: higher mortgage rates will crater discretionary consumer spending.

** Yes, the price cap cuts inflation as a mathematical fact. But it raises it as a behavioural one: because we'll have more money to spend than we otherwise would, demand will be higher which is potentially inflationary.

*** From a macroeconomic point of view, "full employment" is defined as the unemployment rate at which inflation takes off. This need not be the same as full employment from a human point of view.

Why do we want free markets?

There's a paradox: Liz Truss's government contains many members who claim to be free marketeers, and yet the first policy of her premiership has been to freeze energy prices and subsidize energy suppliers.

This poses the question: what does it mean to be a free marketeer today? One way to consider this is to ask what's so good about markets anyway, and whether these values can be strengthened (or even salvaged) in today's economy.

First, though, let's remember what are not arguments for free markets.

It is not the case that they yield "optimal" outcomes. Yes, they do so in theory, but only under conditions which have never actually existed.

Nor is it the case that free markets are "natural" and government "interventions" therein artificial. As Jesse Norman wrote in his excellent Adam Smith: what he thought and why it matters: "It makes no sense to speak of humans in a state of nature prior to society, because humans are social by nature." And in Free to Choose (pdf), Milton Friedman said: "There is nothing 'natural' about where my property rights end and yours begin." Sensible defenders of a market economy have always acknowledged that it rests upon the foundation of a well-functioning state.

Still less is it the case that markets deliver economic stability. Perhaps the nearest we have come to a free market was in 19th century England and the US. But both saw frequent recessions: 15 in the US between 1857 and 1914 according to the NBER, whilst the UK saw 13 calendar years of falling real GDP between 1846 and 1914. Still less do markets deliver social stability: an essential feature of them is the creative destruction that wipes out the industries on which some communities depend.

If these are not the virtues of markets, what are?

Let's start at the beginning, with Adam Smith. His phrase, "the invisible hand" appears only once in the Wealth of Nations as an almost throwaway remark. Instead he, like his kindred spirit Edmund Burke, devoted far more time to excoriating monopoly - the East India Company. It, he said, not just "oppresses and domineers" Indians but also impoverishes the English:

Since the establishment of the English East India Company, for example, the other inhabitants of England, over and above being excluded from the trade, must have paid in the price of the East India goods which they have consumed, not only for all the extraordinary profits which the company may have made upon those goods in consequence of their monopoly, but for all the extraordinary waste which the fraud and abuse, inseparable from the management of the affairs of so great a company, must necessarily have occasioned.

For Smith, the antithesis of the free market was not big government but monopoly and privilege. And well-functioning free markets attack privilege by allowing new companies to compete away the profits of erstwhile monopolies. They are an egalitarian device. Every billionaire is a market failure. As Jesse Norman wrote:

High profits over any sustained period are a sign for Smith of poorly functioning markets...They're associated with poorer, not richer, societies; and with failure not success.

Free marketeers in the Burke and Smith tradition cannot defend water companies which, like the EIC, are pure monopolies. Nor can they be happy with sustained profits of any business, insofar as these might well be signs of barriers to entry and inadequate competition.

Smith saw another virtue in well-functioning markets. For him - as Norman stresses - markets both require and cultivate sympathy. If you want to thrive in a competitive market you must put yourselves in the shoes of the customer by asking: what does he want? This simple act leads to a fellow-feeling in a way that relations of domination and subjection do not. And repeating the act leads naturally to an extension of that fellow-feeling into other domains. Which is why Montesquieu thought that commerce “polishes and softens barbaric ways.” Richard Cobden, for example, was not just an anti-Corn Law campaigner but also a pacifist.

One manifestation if this today is "woke capitalism": in an effort to shift product, some companies profess to support liberal causes. Granted, such claims can be hypocritical - hypocrisy is the tribute vice pays to virtue - but no free marketeer in the Montesquieu tradition can object to them.

The opposite of a great truth, though, is another great truth. G.A. Cohen has said that markets lead us to view others as either threats or potential sources of enrichment which are, he wrote, "horrible ways of seeing other people." This is more likely to be true when markets don't function well. Water companies pouring shit into the sea; Royal Mail bosses taking big bonuses whilst demanding that workers take pay cuts; and scammers looking for new marks validate Cohen's view more than Smith's.

Another virtue of free markets - stressed by Friedman and Hayek - is that economic freedom is associated political freedom. As Friedman put it:

A predominantly voluntary exchange economy...has within it the potential to promote both prosperity and human freedom. It may not achieve its potential in either respect, but we know of no society that has ever achieved prosperity and freedom unless voluntary exchange has been its dominant principle of organization (Free to Choose, p11)

Smithian sympathy is one mechanism here. If our economic transactions lead us towards a fellow-feeling for others, we'll be more likely to want him to have political freedom. And if we are free to choose our butcher or coal merchant, we will want to be free to express our political or religious opinions.

This argument for freedom, however, runs into the obvious Marxian objection. Whereas markets are, he said "a very Eden of the innate rights of man", they lead to the exploitation, domination and unfreedom of the worker, who "is bringing his own hide to market and has nothing to expect but - a hiding." The free marketeer who values real freedom will thus support measures which prevent workers being forced into egregiously degrading work - such as policies to promote full employment or a basic income.

Well-functioning free markets don't just foster equality, freedom and civility, though. They can also enhance economic efficiency.

One way they do so was stressed by Hayek. A great virtue of markets is that they aggregate dispersed, fragmentary and fleeting information into one simple fact - a price - and so facilitate better, quicker decision-making:

We need decentralization because only thus can we insure that the knowledge of the particular circumstances of time and place will be promptly used...in a system in which the knowledge of the relevant facts is dispersed among many people, prices can act to coördinate the separate actions of different people.

Of course, this doesn't always work effectively. In asset markets especially agents can misinterpret prices thereby "chasing noise" and creating bubbles. But for free marketeers following Hayek, it is an advantage over state direction.

There are, however, some corollaries of this from which some free marketeers resile.

One is that a lot of private sector economic activity consists in overlooking dispersed localized information. Large companies are centrally planned economies in which workers' knowledge is ignored or effaced: Harry Braverman's beef with scientific management was that it destroyed craft knowledge. There's a Hayekian case for worker democracy (pdf).

Another is that oligarchic mass media might have a pernicious influence. Insofar as it gives excessive weight to a few very similar points of view it over-rides localized dispersed knowledge and causes ideas to become more correlated across people. That weakens the conditions necessary for there to be wisdom in crowds.

A further way in which markets facilitate efficiency is by sharpening incentives. Friedman said that when you spend your own money on yourself "then you really watch out what you’re doing, and you try to get the most for your money." By contrast:

If I spend somebody else’s money on somebody else, I’m not concerned about how much it is, and I’m not concerned about what I get. And that’s government.

It's for this reason that free marketeers should be queasy about the government's plan to cap energy prices. Yes, there's a case for intervention: gas prices are high largely because of Putin's invasion of Ukraine, which is not market activity. But the cap means that rather than spending our own money on our energy, the government is spending other people's money on it. That weakens incentives to curb energy use. Sunak's policy of letting prices rise but giving lump sums to every household was, from this perspective, closer to a free market solution.

But, but, but. Not all private sector economic activity consists of us spending our own money on ourselves. Fund managers spend somebody else’s money on somebody else - which is why hedge funds thrive despite poor returns. Likewise, the investment decisions of large companies mean people spending other people's money, with often lacklustre results.

The point here is that not all private sector economic activity delivers the goods of liberty, equality or efficiency. Where there is monopoly, or the opportunity for egregious exploitation, or agency failure, then the case for free markets diminishes. You can therefore be a free marketeer whilst opposing private sector monopolies such as the utilities, favouring financial regulation or supporting institutions such as trades unions. Markets best facilitate the virtues claimed for them when they operate within the right cultural and institutional framework. As Jesse Norman wrote:

Markets are sustained not merely by incentives of gain or loss but by laws, institutions, norms and identities.

Economies performed much better - in terms of faster and more equitable growth - in the post-war period than they have since the 1980s, not least because norms and institutions (one of which was strong trades unions) facilitated that.

As Edmund Burke said:

Circumstances (which with some gentlemen pass for nothing) give in reality to every political principle its distinguishing colour, and discriminating effect. The circumstances are what render every civil and political scheme beneficial or noxious to mankind.

From this perspective, free marketeers must be saddened by rising energy prices just as they bewail increased state spending - because both mean that the proportion of economic activity devoted to beneficial market activity is shrinking.

By now, some of you will think I'm being horribly naive. "Free marketeers", you might say, are not those who believe that some markets, in some conditions, promote virtues. Instead, they are just shills for monopolists and rent-seekers. You'd be right. Just as the left should reclaim the cause of freedom from the right so too should it reclaim the cause of free markets. To the faux free marketeers on the right we should paraphrase the Muslim speaking to the terrorist: "You ain't no free marketeer, bruv".

In praise of Enough is Enough

One of the few silver linings to the cost of living crisis has been the re-emergence of trades union power and the start of the Enough is Enough campaign. These could potentially be the start of a new and better politics.

As Enough is Enough say:

We can’t rely on the establishment to solve our problems. It’s up to us in every workplace and every community.

This is a challenge to Labourism, in which as Ralph Miliband put it, the Labour party "have treated the voters not as potential comrades but as possible clients." It is a rejection of retail politics, in which people are victims of policy and not contributors to it, mere passive consumers who wait until a general election to make their choice.

Which is to be welcomed, because what matters in politics is not intellect but power. Brexit did not come to dominate the agenda because it was the best idea around, but because it had influential and rich supporters. Living standards cannot be adequately protected merely by appeals to decency or reason. They must be protected by force. A stronger, more organized and more vocal working class is one such force.

The right has for decades practiced extra-parliamentary action, through "think" tanks; control of the mass media; corporate lobbying; regulatory capture; the promise of lucrative jobs to MPs on leaving office; and so on. Which is why the interests of the richest 1% dominate policy-making. To believe that Labour can win office and implement pro-worker policies in the face of the pressures created by such action is like thinking you can win a marathon by turning up in your brogues without doing any training.

Policy-making is driven by the fear of losing office. We need the Tory and Labour parties to fear the working class as much as they have feared the racist rabble aroused by Farage. In this sense, the trades union movement is what J.K. Galbraith called a countervailing power - a balance to the influence upon government of capitalists, racists and assorted fantasists. It was this that humanized the Tory party under Macmillan in the 1950s. Owen Jones is surely correct to say that it is the fear of the mob on the streets that inhibits attacks upon people's living standards. As Tony Blair said, what matters is what works.

Such countervailing power, however, brings something else - cognitive diversity. As Peter Allen argues in The Political Class, "inclusive decision-making results in better outcomes than its exclusive counterpart". A voice for the organized working class forces the Westminster bubble to heed real problems such as living standards rather than culture war fantasies. It reminds politicians and journalists that there is more to politics than the voices in posh people's heads.

From this perspective, the re-emergence of working class voice is the start of a reversal of a project begun under Thatcher, well discussed by Phil Burton-Cartledge in Falling Down. He describes how she wanted to restore state authority so that the relationship between state and individual was unmediated by any other independent authority, be it local government, a neutral civil service, or trades unions. You can interpret the Tories' hold over the BBC, its dismissal of experts, and the Daily Mail's describing judges as "enemies of the people" as extensions of this tradition. Believers in limited government should therefore welcome Enough is Enough as a constraint upon government.

So too should democrats. The value of democracy lies to a large extent in the idea of political equality. This requires that a worker have as much political influence as a newspaper proprietor. Stronger unions nudge us slightly towards this direction.

Of course, in saying all this I might be claiming too much. Enough is Enough is, as Phil says, only a beginning. We've seen activist movements come and go before: think of Occupy. Whether the revival of unionism can withstand the coming recession and rise in unemployment - not to mention the capitalist media backlash - remains to be seen. Nevertheless, it offers hope - and that, right now, is scarce and valuable.

Energy bills: rentiers vs entrepreneurs

Everybody knows that soaring utility bills will plunge millions of people into desperate poverty in the autumn. Even those who don’t care about those on low incomes, however, should worry – because such huge price rises are a threat to economic dynamism, entrepreneurship and the free market.

I say so for a trivial reason – that if we are handing more cash over to utility companies, we’ve less to spend elsewhere. Even if you are on a decent income, having to spend an extra £150 a month on gas and electricity will cause you to cut your discretionary outgoings.

For some, these outgoings will be savings or pension contributions: they will pay for their electricity by working later into life. For others, it will mean less spending on goods and services. Already people are cutting subscriptions to streaming services whilst non-petrol retail spending has fallen steadily over the last 12 months. Such cut-backs will intensify in the autumn. I wouldn’t want to be a publican or restaurateur facing the double danger of soaring costs and falling discretionary spending.

What we’re seeing, then, is a transfer of real resources away from competitive entrepreneurial sectors of the economy towards rentiers – those who can get rich merely by owning scarce assets such as gas and oil fields.

This could reduce economic dynamism and productivity, simply as more of our spending goes on sectors with low productivity growth and less on higher-growth sectors.

My chart provides context here, showing real wages since 2000 relative to some CPI items. The point is that there have been enormous changes in relative prices, even before October’s leap in utility bills. Relative prices of goods such as clothing, TVs and phones have fallen sharply this century – so much so that an average wage will now buy almost twice as many of them as it did in 2000. Prices of gas and electricity (and to a lesser extent petrol) have, however, risen sharply, so that wages buy only half as much of them as they did in 2000*.

As we spend more on the latter, however, the weight in the economy of dynamic sectors declines. The upshot is that productivity and dynamism dwindle.

What I’m suggesting here echoes an old idea – David Ricardo’s theory of rent and profits. As the population expands, he said, so too will demand for food. That means that the most fertile land would become more scarce, allowing its owners to charge monopoly rents:

By bringing successively land of a worse quality, or less favourably situated into cultivation, rent would rise on the land previously cultivated, and precisely in the same degree would profits fall; and if the smallness of profits do not check accumulation, there are hardly any limits to the rise of rent, and the fall of profit.

In a similar way, growing economies need more gas and oil, which means that worse-quality gas and oil fields must be employed – those where the products are more difficult to extract or those located in hostile countries such as Russia. The result is a transfer of real resources to the rentiers who own better-quality fields and away from incomes in the rest of the economy. The effect of that might well be to “check accumulation” – to depress growth. As Ricardo said:

The interest of the landlord is always opposed to the interest of every other class in the community.

Which is why I say that anybody who values dynamism, entrepreneurship and a thriving market economy should be alarmed by soaring oil prices – even if they don’t give a damn about the poor. They are also a threat to all non-energy businesses, especially if they use a lot of energy or are dependent upon discretionary consumer spending.

The danger isn’t only at the economic level, however. It’s also political. Soaring energy prices will bring into question both the fairness and efficiency of our neoliberal** system. So far, the discontent is manifesting itself only in pockets of wage militancy, but it could spread further.

So, what’s the solution?

The government could freeze the energy price cap: give households more cash: or cut VAT or green levies. The first entails energy suppliers borrowing during the crisis, the other two government borrowing. Both, however, are predicated upon assuming that high energy costs are only temporary. Yes, they might be, but such an assumption overlooks the fact that real wages were stagnating (and falling relative to gas and oil prices) before Russia invaded Ukraine.

Nor is nationalization, in itself, an answer. It is, at best, a device for ensuring that energy companies serve socially-determined ends. To do this, however, we need to decide what those ends are: for example, do we want high prices to encourage people to economize on fuel alongside income support; do we want lower prices and the greater energy usage they stimulate; how much extra investment do we need, and in what?

There is, though, something else – something in the spirit of Ricardo. For him, the problem was that landlords were owners of a monopoly asset (fertile land) and so could extort high rents. The answer to this, he thought, was to weaken that monopoly either by technical progress which improved less fertile land or by allowing the free import of corn. Both, in effect, created competition to that best land and so reduced its monopoly power ***.

In the same vein, what we need is greater competition to gas and oil suppliers. As Eric Lonergan has brilliantly shown, we need to create substitutes for them by greatly stimulating the supply of renewable energy and technologies that use less carbon such as electric cars:

You need perfect substitutes and a small price advantage, or near-substitutes and a large price advantage, to dramatically affect behaviour…. We need to mobilise investment in substitutes, ensure they are ‘close’ enough for the user and that they are priced more favourably than the emissions intensive option.

This, I suspect, requires a broad spectrum approach including tax incentives, state aid and an attack nimbyism: there’s no reason why our motorways shouldn’t be lined with windmills or solar panels. The point is to attack the monopoly power of rentiers whose interests are “opposed to the interest of every other class in the community.”

In this sense, Tories face the same question now that they did in the 1840s when the conflict described by Ricardo fuelled fierce debate about whether to abolish the corn laws; are they on the side of rentiers who are blocking economic growth, or that of entrepreneurs? Not only are they not answering this question, however, they do not even seem aware of its existence.

* You might wonder what’s happened to rents. The answer is: not much. These have risen roughly as much as wages over time – perhaps because landlords have always charged as much as they can.

** I know some of you don’t like that word. But I can’t think of better: what we have now is certainly not a free market system.

*** Ricardo saw free trade and better technology as being very similar. Which they are: both give us cheaper access to things that were previously expensive or unobtainable.