Stumbling and Mumbling

Government spending, profits & capitalism

Simon Clarke, Chief Secretary to the Treasury, says there has been “something of a philosophical shift” in Tory attitudes to public spending. Which poses the question: why?

I’m not sure it is the result of high-falutin and rigorous debate. Instead, I’d suggest something else. To see it, let’s start from the perspective that philosophy follows interests and that the Tory party is emergently intelligent: whilst any individual seems cognitively limited, the party itself has a formidable genius.

If these premises are correct, we have a ready explanation for this “philosophical shift”. It’s that the health of capitalism, for now at least, requires big government. This is true in several ways. I’ll focus on just one – that big government spending is necessary to support profits.

To see my point, recall basic national accounts identities. These tell us that GDP is the sum of consumer spending (C), government spending (G), investment (I) and net exports (NX). It’s also the sum of incomes: profits (P), wages (W), other incomes such as those of the self-employed (O), and taxes on production (T). Rearranging these gives us an expression for profits:

P = (C – W) + (I – O) + (G – T) + NX

This just tells us about the circular flow of income. It says that higher wages don’t necessarily cut profits if workers spend those wages. And it tells us that capital spending is good for aggregate profits, as one firm’s outlays are another’s orders. And so on.

This Is an identity, but it helps organize our thinking.

The lockdown of shops and pubs last year forced us to spend less and save more; the household savings rate, which had for years wobbled between 5 and 10% shot above 20%. And even now it’s above 10%. C – W has therefore nosedived (as indeed has investment as projects have been put on hold). Our identity tells us that, on its own, this would have caused a massive drop in corporate profits.

But we saw no such fall, because the government acted. Increased public spending supported the economy and hence profits. We credit such spending with protecting jobs. Which it did: in the absence of such spending, firms would have slashed employment in an effort to protect profits. The point is that capitalism required higher government spending. The “philosophical shift” to big government was therefore necessary to sustain profits.

My chart summarizes this, by showing the counterparts in my equation. You can see that in 2020 the C – W element collapsed and G – T rose, the net effect of which was to actually slightly raise the share of profits in GDP.

And here’s the problem: will we return to the pre-pandemic world in which C – W supported profits?

The OBR forecasts (shown in my chart) suggest that we will to a large extent. If foresees the savings ratio falling below 5% by 2024. That would mean a rise in C – W which would tend to support profits even if G – T falls.

This, however, is far from certain. The fact that retail sales have fallen since their post-lockdown bounce in April suggests we’re a long way from our old spendthrift ways. Some of us have fallen into more frugal habits. Others might need to rebuild the savings they ran down last year as their hours and jobs were cut.

Hence the need to avoid large cuts in public spending. Imposing these at a time when the prospects for consumer spending are still uncertain (and capital spending too) would jeopardize profits. Instinctively – emergently – the Tories grasp this. Hence their “philosophical shift.”

But note something else about my chart. It shows that the government sector has for years been a big counterpart to profits, even more so during recessions. In fact, apart from a brief spell in the late 80s, it has far outweighed investment counterpart. This was not always the case. In fact, in the 60s the investment counterpart was bigger.

Now, I stress I’m only talking identities here. Perhaps if the government were to shrink significantly, capital spending would surge and so we’d see sustained profits and a small state. This did not, however, occur during the austerity of the 2010s, perhaps because of what Ben Bernanke way back in 2005 called the “dearth of domestic investment opportunities.” The Tories can be forgiven for not wanting to take this risk. There’s a good reason why there are so few libertarians among business lobbyists.

There is, therefore, perhaps a simple and powerful reason (or certainly justification) for the Tories’ conversion to bigger government: it is what capitalism requires.

Markets and freedom

One of the great political changes of my adult lifetime has been the right’s abandonment of free market economics, as illustrated by the government imposing trade frictions within the UK and putting up the tax burden to what the OBR says will be “its highest level since Roy Jenkins was Chancellor in the late 1960s.” Two books I’ve read recently pose a question: might this shift be due in part to an awareness that markets are no longer the foundation of freedom we once thought they were?

To see my point, let’s start with the classical liberals that so influenced Thatcher. They thought free markets were essential for a free society. As Friedman wrote:

Historical evidence speaks with a single voice on the relation between political freedom and a free market. I know of no example in time or place of a society that has been marked by a large measure of political freedom, and that has not also used something comparable to a free market to organize the bulk of economic activity. (Capitalism and Freedom (pdf), p9)

Or, as Hayek said in The Road to Serfdom, “a directed economy must be run on more or less dictatorial lines.”

And a market economy is itself liberating. As Friedman put it:

So long as effective freedom of exchange is maintained, the central feature of the market organization of economic activity is that it prevents one person from interfering with another in respect of most of his activities. The consumer is protected from coercion by the seller because of the presence of other sellers with whom he can deal. The seller is protected from coercion by the consumer because of other consumers to whom he can sell. The employee is protected from coercion by the employer because of other employers for whom he can work, and so on*. (Capitalism and Freedom, p14)

Two recent books, however, challenge this perspective. Here’s Martin Hagglund:

To lead a free life it is not sufficient that we are exempt from direct coercion and allowed to make choices. To lead a free life we must be able to recognise ourselves in what we do, to see our practical activities as expressions of our own commitments. This requires that we are able to engage not only in choices but also in fundamental decisions…This is why capitalism is an inherently alienating social institution. To lead our lives for the sake of profit is self-contradictory and alienating, since the purpose of profit treats our lives as means rather than as ends in themselves (This Life, p299-300).

There are (at least) two distinct problems here. One is that free markets are a cover, behind which lie exploitation and oppression. The labour market, Marx wrote, is “a very Eden of the innate rights of man” wherein “both buyer and seller of a commodity, say of labour-power, are constrained only by their own free will.”  Once the transaction has occurred, though, things change:

He, who before was the money-owner, now strides in front as capitalist; the possessor of labour-power follows as his labourer. The one with an air of importance, smirking, intent on business; the other, timid and holding back, like one who is bringing his own hide to market and has nothing to expect but — a hiding.

Secondly, markets themselves are a form of what William Clare Roberts calls “impersonal domination”:

Because they are dependent for their lives upon the market, as slaves are dependent on their masters, producers of wares for sale must keep a ‘weather eye’ out for changing market conditions, which are, at bottom, nothing but the will and caprices of their customers and competitors. (Marx’s Inferno, p57)

This dependence afflicts capitalists as well as workers. As Marx famously wrote:

Free competition brings out the inherent laws of capitalist production, in the shape of external coercive laws having power over every individual capitalist.

You might think all this is a mere philosophical debate. Far from it. Four big developments since the 80s vindicate Marx, Hagglund and Roberts against Friedman and Hayek.

One was the financial crisis. This showed that mortgage derivatives –products intended to reduce risk – actually increased systemic risk (pdf) and made the financial system as a whole less manageable. Such products were, in the title of Richard Bookstaber’s book, a demon of our own design.

That phrase echoes perfectly Marx’s idea of alienation, of how man-made structures come to exercise impersonal domination over us:

The object which labour produces – labour’s product – confronts it as something alien, as a power independent of the producer…It means that the life which he has conferred on the object confronts him as something hostile and alien.

Secondly, casualization in academia, greater stress among teachers and doctors, the rise of bullshit jobs, falling relative pay in journalism and deadly working hours in investment banking are all facets of a single phenomenon – the degradation of erstwhile good jobs. People in jobs that were once “middle class” experience less freedom at work. Yes, the dark satanic mills have shut and terrible working conditions diminished, but more people now experience labour markets as a front for domination and alienation. And they vote accordingly.

Thirdly, there’s the housing market. In the 80s we young people regarded this as a source of liberation. After just a few years work, we could buy our own place and so free ourselves from the uncertainty caused by dependence upon the rental market. Today’s young people have much less chance. For them, this important market confronts them as an alien force, thwarting their hopes and subjecting them to domination by landlords.

Fourthly, there are globalization and deindustrialization. Many in the US and UK experienced these as causes of and decline, as processes of uncontrolled domination rather than liberation. The vote for Brexit was in large part an expression of frustration by the “left behind.”

That slogan “take back control” tapped in brilliantly to those feelings. To a Hayekian or Friedmanite, the slogan should seem weird: haven’t 40 years of marketization given people more control of their lives? From the perspective that markets aren’t liberating, however, its appeal is clear.

Of course, the slogan took a reasonable feeling and diverted it towards a pointless end. The challenge for our time is to give it more useful expression. How can we increase economic democracy and people’s real control over their economic lives without damaging too much the genuine good that markets do as technologies of allocation? Hardly anybody in politics, however, is interested in this.

* Note that Friedman’s argument only applies to imperfect markets. In the textbook case of perfect competition all sellers and all employers are the same.

Productivity in late capitalism

In the debate about how to increase productivity, everybody seems to be making an assumption that I find questionable - that feasible policy changes can make a significant difference.

We need some historical context here. My chart shows that big, sustained productivity growth is in fact very rare; growth of over 2.5 per cent a year was only seen over lengthy periods between 1945 and 1990. Our idea that rapid growth is normal and stagnation not  might owe more to the influence of our formative years than it does to the wider historical evidence.

To see why strong growth should be so unusual, imagine an industry could treble its productivity over ten years. If it accounted for two per cent of the economy, it would add less than 0.3 percentage points to total annual productivity growth. This tells us that a few dynamic sectors are not enough to achieve good aggregate growth. Productivity growth was minuscule in the early decades of the industrial revolution because fast-growing sectors were only a small part of the economy.

Which is the problem we face now, in modified form. The economy is dominated by services, in many of which efficiency gains are terribly difficult to achieve: teachers, waiters, care workers and hairdressers have few ways of significantly improving productivity: this is Baumol’s cost disease. As Dietrich Vollrath writes:

Most service industries have relatively low productivity growth, and most goods-producing industries have relatively high productivity growth. As we shifted our spending from goods to services then, this pulled down overall productivity growth. (Fully Grown, p5)

Perhaps, then, strong productivity growth was the aberration and stagnation is the norm. Certainly, this is what classical economists thought. All of them foresaw a “stationary state” in which growth ceased because the forces of diminishing returns outweighed technical progress. As John Stuart Mill wrote:

It must always have been seen, more or less distinctly, by political economists, that the increase of wealth is not boundless: that at the end of what they term the progressive state lies the stationary state, that all progress in wealth is but a postponement of this, and that each step in advance is an approach to it. 

Marx’s view that a falling rate of profit would ultimately lead to capitalist stagnation was essentially an elaboration of his predecessors’ thinking: Marx’s admirers and detractors both under-appreciate the kernel of truth in Paul Samuelson’s gibe that he was a “minor post-Ricardian.”

It’s not just Baumol’s disease and diminishing returns that limit productivity improvements, however. There’s also a collective action problem. Companies will only invest to raise profits if they believe (rationally or not) that there’s a profit for themselves in it. This obviously limits investments that have spillovers: as William Nordhaus showed, firms capture only a “miniscule fraction” of the total returns to innovation. It can also curb investment if firms fear that future change will render today’s technologies obsolete: why spend £1m on a robot today if it will be competing against a £500,000 one in a few years’ time? And then there’s the likelihood that a series of crises – the tech crash, financial crisis and pandemic – have depressed animal spirits.

All this means that even if productivity-enhancing technologies are available, companies have good reason not to use them.

There’s another obstacle to productivity growth. As thinkers such as Mancur Olson and Joseph Schumpeter pointed out, economic growth produces powerful groups with vested interests in blocking further progress. Joel Mokyr calls this Cardwell’s law:

Technological progress encounters resistance from various groups that believe they stand to lose from innovation. These pressure groups will try to manipulate the political system to suppress successful innovation….Under fairly general conditions, it can be shown that the single economy will move inexorably to an absorbing barrier of technological stagnation.

So, for example, big companies push for harsh intellectual property laws to preserve their monopoly profits, at the expense of expanding knowledge: there’s a reason why that link to Mokyr’s paper takes you to Scihub. Bosses prefer to use new technologies for surveillance and guard labour (pdf) rather than for expansionary or liberationary purposes. And bankers want high-powered incentives that boost their incomes even if these come at the risk of financial crises that contribute to years of stagnation.

Such conservatism is especially restrictive in our rentier-dominated economy. Rentiers oppose some changes that might raise productivity, such as shifting taxes from incomes to land. They also want low interest rates rather than the high aggregate demand that might drive productivity gains. In the post-war years General Motors needed a large well-paid working class; the latter-day Goldman Sachs does not. All of which blocks productivity improvements because it is this minority of people who have disproportionate political power.

There’s a reason why Johnson’s attempt to raise productivity by restricting immigration is so daft: more intelligent ways of doing so are countermanded by our political system.

All of which suggests that Marx might have been right:

At a certain stage of development, the material productive forces of society come into conflict with the existing relations of production or – this merely expresses the same thing in legal terms – with the property relations within the framework of which they have operated hitherto. From forms of development of the productive forces these relations turn into their fetters.

Capitalism was once a progressive force, but – especially perhaps in the UK – it no longer is. And this is due not to external shocks but to endogenous developments.

The point of this is of course not to say that if we had a revolution we could all live happily ever after. It is instead to pose a challenge to anybody discussing the UK’s productivity problem. It’s not sufficient to ask what measures might raise productivity: there are countless good candidates. We must also ask: are those policies possible within the constraints of the UK’s political system? Technocrats must take class politics more seriously.

The house price puzzle

Everybody knows that the housing market has become financialized, as Josh Ryan-Collins among others has documented. But what kind of financial asset is housing? The answer is far from straightforward.

In one sense, house prices are like share prices. Both are claims upon future incomes – profits in the case of equities and wages in the case of houses (it’s fair to assume rents are a stable fraction of wages). Both tend to fall in recessions. And both have over the years delivered a risk premium – though how great depends upon which time period you use, how you account for liquidity risk and so on.

But there’s a massive difference between house prices and share prices.

Since the mid-90s house price valuations have soared. In 1998 the average house prices was 3.1x the income of first-time buyers according to the Nationwide. Today it is 6.7x. Equity valuations however (at least in the UK) have not much changed in this time. The ratio of the All-share index to dividends or earnings is much the same as it was in 1997-98. In this sense, house prices have behaved far more like bonds than equities: they have risen as interest rates have fallen whereas share prices have not.

There’s an obvious explanation for this. Lower real interest rates raise the net present value of future rents (or of rents saved if you are an owner-occupier) so they raise house prices. As Bank of England economists say: “the rise in real house prices since 2000 can be explained almost entirely by lower interest rates.” My chart shows that there’s a huge correlation between the house price-earnings ratio and the ten-year index-linked yield. House prices, then, have behaved like bond prices. And if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…

In theory of course, a lower discount rate should have also raised share prices. I suspect it hasn’t because the same stagnation and risk aversion that’s pushed bond yields down has depressed expectations for dividend growth and increased the risk premium investors demand on equities.

But why haven’t these same factors also depressed house prices? Surely increased risk and the prospect of lower rental growth should be bad for them?

The answer might be that, in fact, housing is a safe asset just like a bond.

One way in which this is true is that protects us from future rises in rents: the demand for owner-occupation is a demand for rent control. Also, as Cristian Badarinza and Tarun Ramadorai have shown, foreign investors have regarded the London housing market as a safe haven (pdf) from economic and political risk – just as they regard western bonds.

What’s more, for many of us our house is not wealth so we shouldn’t care if its price falls. And an asset whose price fall doesn’t bother us is similar to one whose price doesn’t fall in the first place.

Put it this way. I grow a lot of kale in my garden, so I never need buy any from the shops. The price of kale therefore doesn’t bother me. If it falls I’m worse off as a kale-grower but better off as a kale-consumer to exactly the same extent. The net impact is zero. As an owner-occupier I’m in the same position. I’m providing housing services to myself. A rising cost of those services benefits me as a supplier and makes me worse off as a consumer with no net effect. As Mervyn King said (pdf) back in 1998:

A rise in house prices leads not only to an increase in wealth but also to an increase in the cost of housing services. Or, to put it another way, if the price of your home goes up, you will not be able to spend more on other things if you wish to carry on living in your home.

This shows that housing like a bond in another sense. A rise in bond prices is ambiguous for bond-holders. Yes, it makes them better off in the sense that their assets are worth more. But it makes them worse off in that they will have to pay more in future to obtain a given income: “higher bond prices” is another way of saying “lower annuity rates”. For many, the net impact is zero.

Obviously, this is not true for everybody. If you are a landlord or someone planning on trading down – that is, on consuming less housing services in future – rising house prices do make you better off.

Such people, though, are a minority. Atif Mian and Amir Sufi estimate that the boom in housing transactions in the US during the bubble of the mid-00s was driven by the 1% of people who bought and sold many houses quickly. The vast majority didn’t behave as speculators – but as Ulrike Malmendier and Adam Szeidl show (pdf) bubbles are generated by minority behaviour.

But for everybody who is long of housing, somebody else is short such as younger people wanting to buy a home. Net, as Willem Buiter pointed out, housing is not net wealth (pdf).

If all this is right, it has an encouraging implication. It suggests that measures to definancialize the housing market such as credit controls, curbs on speculation or land value taxes are – from an economic point of view – a free hit. They would reduce the economic harms done by high house prices such as increased instability (pdf); lower productivity (due in part to encouraging longer commutes); and greater labour market frictions – not to mention the cultural and psychological damage they do. And they’d do so at very little cost: if house prices aren’t net wealth, cuts in them don’t matter.

This is not to say the job is politically easy: the tiny minority for whom house prices are wealth would resist such measures, and it is they who control politics. The point is, though, that what we have here is an obvious cost-benefit win.

But is it right? There’s a different explanation for the contrast between bond and equity behaviour in the face of falling interest rates.

It’s possible that housing speculators have priced in the good news of lower bond yields (a lower discount rate) but not the bad, that they betoken stagnation.

There’s a sort of precedent for this. Back in 1979 Franco Modigliani and Richard Cohn argued that shares had fallen in the 70s because they were only half reacting (pdf) to higher inflation: they were taking on the bad news of higher interest rates and hence discount rates but not the good, that inflation would raise future earnings. Maybe the housing market is also doing some half-pricing in – taking on the good news of lower interest rates whilst ignoring what those lower rates symptomize.

If this is the case (and I don’t know if it is) then prices should eventually fall of the own accord. In which case we don’t need policy to definancialize housing: the market will do it anyway.

Skill as a social construct

Imagine we lived in a society scared of germs, which prized cleanliness not only as a way of ensuring good health but also of improving productivity as people avoided the sniffles and minor ailments. In such a society good cleaners, who could get a place really spotless, would be highly valued and paid.

This isn’t a wholly fanciful example. In industries that need ultra-clean rooms, such as semi-conductor manufacturing, cleaners are indeed well-paid and valorised. It tells us that the value we attach to jobs is a product of culture. A germophobic culture would regard good cleaning as a skill and pay accordingly for it.

You might think such a culture would be irrational. Maybe, maybe not. But the valuations our current society attaches to some jobs is also irrational. City University’s David Blake has shown that “the vast majority of fund managers” are “genuinely unskilled.” If we regard skill as a matter of technique, this is correct: they don’t beat tracker funds. But skill isn’t just about technique. It’s about what gets valued. Those fund managers are paid handsome salaries because they are valued even though they lack technical ability.

Similarly, Nick Bloom and John Van Reenen have shown (pdf) that there is “a long tail of extremely badly managed firms” and Paul Ormerod and Bridget Rosewell have shown (pdf) that “firms have very limited capacities to acquire knowledge about the likely impact of their strategies.” In many cases, therefore, managerial “skill” is technically lacking. But their pay suggests otherwise.

Skill, then, is a social construct – the result not just of technical ability but of what society values, what it sees (which might not be there), and what it doesn’t see. This is a longstanding theory (pdf) in sociology, but a perspective missing from economics. Economists talk about demand curves and value -added. But doing this they are entering the play during the second act, missing the one that describes the cultural formation of value and demand curves and hence of skill.

For example, in the 1960s the women who sewed car-seat covers for Ford were seen by managers as unskilled and paid accordingly. But in fact – and as the women proved – such work was difficult. It was seen as unskilled not because it was technically easy, but because it was women’s work. It’s not obvious that such gender-based perception of skill has wholly vanished: it might explain why care work is under-valued.

Ian Hampson and Anne Junor give us another example, that of an education support worker helping a disabled child (pdf):

She had acquired the haptic skills of having a constant ‘feel’ for the way the child’s muscle system was coping with spells of standing. She contributed to the stable and happy climate of the centre by unobtrusively managing medication, ambulance calls and feeding without interrupting the f low of class activities. She needed negotiation skills at the level of problem-solving and solution-sharing, to shape other children’s responses and to guide parents. She managed awkward ‘upward’ feedback, convincing a higher-status classroom teacher to forego exciting new teaching methods that were actually causing the child to regress. These skills appear mundane, but were subtle sources of social development.

She is, not, though, paid and valorised as a skilled worker.

Philip Moss and Chris Tilly point to another example. Young black men, they say, are perceived as lacking soft skills – the sort that don’t carry formal credentials – and so are under-represented in jobs requiring these. Just as “skill” is gendered, so it is also race-based.

Harry Braverman points (pdf) to yet another example. In the early 20^th century, he says, an ability to ride a horse and carriage was seen as unskilled whilst the ability to drive a car was a skilled job. Today, it is the opposite way round.

We might add to all this David Graeber’s theory of bullshit jobs. Flunkies and box-tickers do jobs which they themselves regard as lacking social value. But they are often paid as skilled jobs because they have private value to their immediate bosses who want to build their empires*.

And of course, there is the matter of unpaid care work. Frances Coppola tweeted today:

Underlying the casual assumption that families can care for relatives themselves is a toxic belief that people - especially older women - who give up work to take on the care of relatives aren't productive anyway.

They aren’t productive because of a social construct – that in capitalism the only labour that has value, and so is productive, is that done for profit. The wages for housework campaign challenges this – and in doing so shows us that other valorizations are possible.

There are several elements of the social construction of skill:

 - Marginal product. This approach is entirely consistent with the idea that wages equal marginal product**. It’s just that our ideas of what is a high marginal product are a matter of taste and ideology. In a fabulous paper (pdf) the late Werner Troesken showed that snake oil sellers were highly productive for decades even though their products were mostly useless, making them much like fund managers today. And footballers (and top sportsmen generally) are much more highly valued now than they were in the 60s or 70s. What’s changed isn’t their technical skill – Fred is not a better footballer than Bobby Charlton was – but our sense of value.

 - Payment for the bare minimum. In some jobs, we pay the bare minimum for the bare quality of work. In others, we pay extra for “talent”. Which it is can be a matter of power and preferences, not just technical ability. For example, although most care-workers are paid the bare minimum, skilled ones can get more by escaping the maw of council sub-contractors and going private. And where “talent” is rewarded it is often not actual ability that matters but the fact of having proven that one is just good enough – which is why many professions are dominated by mediocrities, as Marko Tervio has shown.

 - Management recognition. We’ve all rang up call centres and found that some staff are immensely helpful and efficient and others less so. Such helpfulness, however, doesn’t always bring with it appropriate pay. As Hampson and Junor say, some skills are unrecognised because they “lack managerial authorization.”

 - Avoiding externalities. Oil workers are well-paid and valued – if, that is, you ignore the pollution they generate. Similarly, many bankers seemed skilled before 2008 because we under-rated the risk pollution they were generating. And (some) journalists, columnists and rentagobs have private value, because the intellectual pollution they cause isn’t priced.

My point here is that value and productivity are not exogenous technical data. They are instead the product of societal judgments which valorize some activities and de-valorize or under-valorize others.

Which suggests that both left and right are missing a trick. We can raise the wages of the low-paid not by creating shortages or by hiking up the minimum but by a shift in what we valorize and don’t. It’s easy to imagine – unless you’ve been captured by capitalist realism – a society that is reasonably egalitarian simply because it values cleaners and care workers more and bosses, financiers and bullshit jobs less.

Of course, this isn’t to say we can simply think ourselves richer: I’m talking about relative values here. And of course cultural change takes time. But we should start the process. Which requires us to recognise that skill and productivity are social constructs. And what we build, we can change.

* Graeber’s theory is more economically orthodox than his admirers would want to admit. It’s an example of the point Michael Jensen made in 1989 – that listed companies with dispersed shareholders have inadequate oversight of managers who can therefore pursue their private interests at the expense of shareholders. These interests might include building an empire of bullshit jobs.

** It’s also consistent with Marx’s theory. There’s a reason why he equated value with *socially* necessary labour-time.

In search of the centre ground

In the FT, Robert Shrimsley writes:

Starmer is leading his party back to the centre ground and has positioned it where it needs to be and patently was not under Jeremy Corbyn….The problem in contesting the centre ground is that you do actually have to fight for it and the Tories will not lightly surrender.

This poses the question: what is this centre ground, and how can it be said that the Tories occupy it?

It’s a puzzle.

We could define the centre ground as being what the median voter believes. But the majority of voters want a £15ph minimum wage, higher taxes on the rich, and nationalization of railways and utilities. From this perspective, Starmer is leading his party away from the centre ground which Corbyn and McDonnell claimed – a ground which the Tories don’t occupy.

Clearly, Shrimsley doesn’t have this conception of the centre ground in mind.

But there’s another. It arises from the theory of valence politics.

This says that voters don’t judge parties by the entirety of their manifestos, which only cranks and obsessives read. Instead, they judge parties, and especially leaders, by their performance on what they care about most.

On this view it can be said that Corbyn abandoned the centre ground, despite having many policies popular with the median voter. Median voters saw him as unpatriotic and as unable or unwilling to get Brexit done, defects which outweighed his attractive economic policies. Johnson could thus seize the centre ground in 2019.

But there’s more to valence politics than this. As Peter Kellner has said, valence voters

judge parties and politicians not on their manifestos but on their character. Are they competent? Honest? Strong in a crisis? Likely to keep their promises?

Johnson does not occupy the centre ground on these criteria. But then, nor does Starmer. As Kellner wrote recently: “the average ‘valence’ scores of the two parties are dreadful.”

On this conception, then, nobody in England commands the centre ground.

And, perhaps, nor could they. Median voter theory assumes that voters are distributed along one dimension – traditionally left and right – and so there is some kind of centre: the theory is closely analogous to Hotelling’s Law.  But this might be changing. If voters are divided along other dimensions, such as culture or age, the centre ground becomes much harder to define – which is perhaps why the Lib Dems and ChangeUK lost so heavily at the last election. In 2019, Labour won among under-39 year-olds but lost heavily among older voters. It won the younger median voter but lost the older one. What does the centre ground mean here?

How, then, can Shrimsley be writing anything other than utter guff?

Simple. There’s a third conception of the centre ground.

Which is just the status quo, and minor tweaks thereto.

In the 60s and 70s, for example, the centre ground believed that utilities should be publicly owned. By the late 90s, it believed they should be privately held. And before 2016 the centre ground supported UK membership of EU single market. Now, it opposes them. It is in this sense that “Starmer is leading his party back to the centre ground” – by abandoning support for freedom of movement.

Centrism, then, is parasitic and deferential to the existing order.

These different conceptions of the centre ground explain the intellectual trajectory of centrists during my adulthood.  In 1983 the SDP manifesto wanted a fiscal stimulus to cut unemployment and raise welfare benefits, increased foreign aid and “a major extension of profit sharing and worker share-ownership.” Centrists today are just gimps for billionaires.

This transformation happened because the SDP were using a median voter conception of the centre ground; they tried to split the difference between left and right as they existed at the time. Today, though, centrists see no need to stake out a defined position between left and right. “Moderation” means accepting the status quo.

When columnists like Shrimsley speak of the centre ground, therefore, what they mean is merely “something that doesn’t scare me”.

From this perspective, Starmer is indeed returning to the centre ground, by not challenging the existing capitalist order. However, it is one thing to actively argue for the status quo and another to merely passively accept it without intellectual effort, as Starmer is doing. Worse still, defending capitalism when it is delivering rising living standards and better jobs (as centrists could plausibly claim in the 90s) is very different from defending it when it has delivered a generation of crisis, rentierism, and stagnation. The centre ground is now just a fetid swamp.