The great multinationals are unwilling to face the moral and economic contradictions of their own behavior—producing in low-wage dictatorships and selling to high-wage democracies. Indeed, the striking quality about global enterprises is how easily free-market capitalism puts aside its supposed values in order to do business. The conditions of human freedom do not matter to them so long as the market demand is robust. The absence of freedom, if anything, lends order and efficiency to their operations.
—William Greider
Two thick yet interesting pieces of writing that I happened to read today, from two well-known writers that, ironically, I didn’t know.
I am constantly amazed by how many countless people—friends, thinkers, scholars, dreamers—have profoundly intelligent and courageous views on the world and yet how little we still know about the human condition, human nature—or at least how impotent we are as a group to collectively make things more beautiful, more just, more loving.
By courageous, I mean they speak of the entire world, as if we are sisters and brothers.
There must be, I sometimes think, something to this impotency; part of the journey of being human, of learning to stand in and with this vast network of life, unsure of what one can do or should do, if there even are such absolutes, and yet seeing the wonder of it all, the beauty of it all.
Anyway, if you’re in the mood for a little mind stuff, the interview and the essay detail (with no connection to each other) the change in the collective thought process in America (up to but mostly) after World War II with respect to History and Economics.
Economic historian Philip Mirowski talks of the arising in economics of the neoliberal ideas of a system that supposedly transcends human nature—creating, in a way, the untouchable market, which has a life all its own.
The history piece was written by Walter Karp, a 1980’s article for Harper’s about the watering down of American history in the form of ignoring the politics of history (which is vital to understanding) and pushing on defenseless students—as we all remember, even here in Canada—the dreaded and boring Social Studies.
Called Textbook America: The Teaching of History, here is an excerpt from Karp:
Subverting the Threat of Real Political History
The most popular textbook of the period was American History, by David Saville Muzzey, first published in 1911. It was the antithesis of “industrial education” in every respect, since the grand lesson of Muzzey’s text was that politics matters greatly, and matters to every citizen.
Muzzey’s readers learned, first and foremost, that the actions of people made American history and that the high and the mighty, in fact, have power—a liberating truth in itself.
Moreover, the powerful bore constant watching, for villainy was not unknown in high places.
In Muzzey’s history President Polk, for one, was a bastard who instigated an unjust war with Mexico in order to grab some territory. Readers of Muzzey learned that democracy in America, too, bore watching. Indeed, Muzzey’s history of America is largely the history of the vicissitudes of democracy.
A Yankee Republican of the old school, Muzzey seems to have viewed all modern life as one giant menace to liberty and self-government. The major problem of the age, he warned young readers, was “the corruption of the government by the money power.” American democracy needed defending, and it had nothing to do with industrial cooperation.
Muzzey’s most successful rival was Willis Mason West, whose textbook American History and Government, published in 1913, seems to have been a rejoinder to Muzzey’s. Whereas the latter thought democracy in America had gone from a Golden Age to the dogs, West, more a man of the Left, commenced his history with the bold assertion that “democracy has as yet been tried only imperfectly among us.”
Politically divergent though they were, the two leading texts agreed on the main point. American history was essentially political history, and the dramatic theme of that history, the impulse of political life and the catalyst of action, was the struggle over democracy itself.
While texts such as these were circulating, (often in watered-down revisions), the educational leaders seem to have bided their time until they were powerful enough to eliminate from the curriculum history lessons so inconducive to “social efficiency” and so unlikely to “accommodate youngsters to existing conditions.”
All through the post-Versailles [1919] years the nascent educational establishment, backed by state legislators, strengthened its hold on the public schools and on the schools that train public-school teachers.
During those years the number of local school districts was cut from 120,000 to less than half that number. State educational commissions were established to reduce still further the formal autonomy of the remaining districts.
By a dozen different devices—licensing laws, state guidelines, and so on—control of the curriculum passed completely out of the hands of citizens and into the grip of an increasingly tight-knit, ingrown professional oligarchy.
All it needed to emasculate the lingering “Hundred Flowers” tradition was a sharp change in the political atmosphere.
[Karp describes the "Hundred Flowers" tradition: "Traditional modes of thought, the absence of an educational oligarchy, and the middle-class political revolt combined to produce a surprising result.
Although the new "industrial" pedagogy made rapid headway, America's schools, despite the united urging of big businessmen, trade unions, and leading politicians, refused to let go of history.
Instead they fortified the curriculum with the only American history texts ever used that were not intended to corrupt future citizens.
These texts flourished in the years between 1910 and 1930, which FitzGerald terms the "Hundred Flowers" era of American history texts. Written by trained historians, representing diverse points of view, the new texts, born of the Progressive revolt, were intensely political and remarkably free of cant.
Their virtues are well worth noting, because eliminating those virtues was to be the immediate task of the educational establishment, which had to put off for another generation the extinction of political history."]
With the outbreak of World War II, the oligarchy struck at once, and the tradition, FitzGerald says, came “abruptly” to an end. For the next twenty-five years every new textbook used in the schools was written on the assumption that its readers were potential subversives.
In the new textbooks, which soon swept the country, political history became a hollow and meaningless form. Politics was reduced to acts of government, and villainy in high places vanished from the past.
All American wars were now righteous and all American Presidents virtuous men who did, FitzGerald writes, “as well as could be expected given difficult circumstances.”
Imperialism, a term freely applied in the earlier texts to America’s seizure of the Philippines, was now reserved exclusively for overseas ne’er-do-wells. Jingo nationalism, refreshingly absent in the “Hundred Flowers” era, pulsated through every page of the new propaganda texts.
The full article is here.
The second article is an interview in Challenge Magazine with economic historian Philip Mirowski (Machine Dreams). Entitled A Revisionist’s View of the History of Economic Thought, here is an excerpt:
Question: In one of your recent books, you write, “I find it hard to understand economics as anything other than a subset of moral philosophy.� What do you mean by that?
Mirowski: I mean that to a large degree, orthodox economics has been developed to mimic our dominant theories of nature [my italics—I found that suddenly enlightening and simultaneously obvious—nature being something more and more distant (like a distant God, and so it goes with the "Market"].
And a lot of thinking concerning morality has to do with what some think is the relationship between nature and society or, similarly, the individual and the collective.
For example, is morality based on a natural law, independent of time and place?
Is morality rooted in human nature?
The notion that economics has at some juncture ascended to the status of a neutral natural science, just telling it like it is, and has managed to transcend its inherent moralizing tendencies that date from earliest classical political economy, seems to me about as plausible as the notion that canned statistical packages loaded on personal computers make their users objective and impartial empiricists.
Question: Where does orthodox economics fit in that?
Mirowski: Just after World War II, many American economists took the position that neoclassical economics fostered a separation of facts, or theories, from values, so that a body of neutral doctrine existed independent of the moral or ethical inclinations of the individual economist.
I have written recently about how Milton Friedman’s methodology essays promoted this idea, which made a mockery of the actual historical sequence of events whereby the Chicago School became established.
But his political opponents, such as Paul Samuelson, also partook of this credo, and a version of it spread it to subsequent generations through their textbooks.
They were all essentially united in maintaining a version of moral philosophy that had no grounding in their actual practices, as philosophers such as Hilary Putnam, Alistair MacIntyre, and Charles Taylor now admit.
One potential explanation for the acceptance of this notion is that these folks subscribed to the ideal of an abstract, amoral, neutral science like physics.
If you believe that, then there must be an abstract, amoral, generic truth in economics that mimics those found in amoral nature. In my view, this notion has turned out to have been an important underlying motivation in the development of Western economics.
Just as water seeks its own level, commodities supposedly seek out their most “efficient� uses.
It’s all a bit heady…but goes on:
Question: Could you explain precisely how neoliberalism in its modern connotation differs from neoclassicism?
Mirowski: Neoclassical economics is the physics-based explanation of the economy we discussed earlier. By itself, it says nothing necessary about the government, or politics in general.
Neoliberalism was a movement to revive pro-market conservatism in the mid-twentieth century when it was at its lowest ebb, in the period just after the Great Depression.
It was superimposed on neoclassical economics. It is crucial to understand that neoliberalism does not necessarily oppose the existence of government.
Neoliberalism frequently seeks to use a strong government to foster the spread of “free market� relations everywhere.
So what that involves, among other things in economics, is portraying other kinds of social relations as though they were virtual market relations. That is where public choice theory and social choice theory enter the picture.
Neoliberalism also propounds that almost all other institutions, including corporations, are virtual markets, in the final analysis.
This helps neoliberals assert that corporations can do no wrong.
Question: But doesn’t neoliberalism generally argue for minimizing government?
Mirowski: That is more characteristic of the older conservatism.
The new liberals, what Europeans call neoliberals today, are quite willing to disparage the government in public, but the litmus test is how they treat concentrations of power in practice.
The classical libertarian sees any concentration of power as a problem for individual freedom, even in markets.
A neoliberal claims that power in the marketplace is generally irrelevant, since if it exists, it is merely the result of consumer choice. So let me give you an example.
A classical libertarian would be in favor of antitrust, since market power can obstruct free-
dom just as drastically as a totalitarian state.
A modern neoliberal would say all monopolies tend to be undone by competition anyway, so don’t worry, be happy.
They might phrase this as the proscription that the state should not interfere, but what they really mean is that the state should use its power in what I would argue is a biased fashion. [my italics]
The full interview is here.
Hope that wasn’t all too much before bed, or with your morning coffee.
Love to you, and to reality—and to think we all may have come out of some sort of magical Big Bang seed (or even before), utterly connected, yet individual, like a billion veins on the leaves from the branches of a giant oak tree, arising from the tiniest of seeds. Or who knows from where else…?
Pete