Review: The Affluent Society, by John Kenneth Galbraith

Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1958, pp. 368.

John Kenneth Galbraith's starting point in The Affluent Society is the observation that historically the great economic problem was that of "producing enough," a concern enshrined in the mainstream of economic thought (by way of Smith, Malthus, Ricardo, Mill and Marshall, and Marx, Veblen and Keynes for that matter), and by the Social Darwinism that found such a warm reception in the United States (where Herbert Spencer became hugely influential). Accordingly, the stress of economic thought was on the maximization of the output of the essentials of life--food, clothing, shelter, fuel--through the most efficient possible use of the available resources prioritized. As it happened, the items in question lent themselves toward private, individual production and consumption, while proponents of this ideal venerated the free operation of a competitive market as a device for forcing capitalists and employers to make the utmost effort in getting production up and price down. The result was, not incidentally, a tendency to value the private sector, and denigrate the public sector (at least, where goods besides physical security are concerned), a pattern which extended to the view of increased private consumption as a gain to prosperity, and increased public consumption a reduction in it. Going alongside this was the attitude that society had little choice but to tolerate poverty, given the gap between what was produced, and what was needed.1

However, Galbraith contends that by the twentieth century the advanced industrial countries of the Western world had largely solved the production problem, the central issue no longer securing an adequate supply of life's essentials--society now "affluent" in that respect. In making his case Galbraith points to the many ways in which these societies had deeply changed since the Industrial Revolution. The truly poor (those who do not get enough to eat, etc.) had been transformed from the vast majority into a minority. An increased share of production was devoted to satisfying not indisputable physical needs (to a great extent, satiated), but the artificial wants manufactured by consumer culture's unprecedented use of techniques like planned obsolescence and advertising.

This was all as people worked less, the 70-hour week giving way to the 40-hour week, while child labor became a thing of the past, and the retirement of the elderly became routine (all of these, indicators of the reduced urgency of the demand for labor and its longtime principal products). Additionally, rather than the failure of supply the failure of demand, as seen in the Great Depression, came to be construed as the great threat to prosperity, while the continued stress on the maximization of production has been motivated less by the desirability of more goods than of production's role in maintaining full employment. Galbraith even contended that the expansion of production, and with it, general well-being, had gone a long way to diminishing the political charge of the issue of inequality.

As a result, in place of the traditional problems of poverty there were now the side effects of an economy of private affluence. The maintenance of full employment as the norm meant inflationary pressure, while consumer culture brought with it a tendency toward oppressive and unsustainable debt accumulation. At the same time the advent of such private prosperity meant an imbalance with the comparative poverty of the public sector and the public goods it supplied, such as educational, health and policing services, urban planning, and the protection of the natural environment raising new issues, not the least of them the ways in which lacks here undermine the private sector's operation. The remediable failures of the education system, for instance, harm scientific R & D efforts. Likewise, the failures of city planning have an adverse effect on the quantity and quality of the housing stock available to home buyers. And so on.

The solution of the old problems, and their replacement by new unsolved problems (by making the public sector affluent as the private sector had become, to the benefit of both), went largely unrecognized because of the tendency of the "conventional wisdom" (a term Galbraith coined in this book) about the issue to lag behind circumstance.2 Nonetheless, Galbraith was confident that change was possible, even likely, and certainly his argument did find an audience at the time. The idea that there could be economic life beyond flat-out GDP maximization in fact became a commonplace in social science, social comment and futurological speculation during the years that followed, William Appleman Williams, Gunther Stent and Alvin Toffler, among many, many others, all featuring it prominently in their work. Since then, ideas such as "sustainable" growth have gained currency in certain circles, as have broader measures of wealth, like the General Progress Indicator.

However, it seems that we are further than ever from embracing the thinking Galbraith presented, American society regarding itself as far from affluent in the way he suggests (even though per-capita GDP has more than doubled since then). The prioritization of sheer GDP growth as the sole test of economic performance, the identification of the private sector with goods and the public sector with costs, the Victorian severity toward the poor, all remain the predominant assumptions over a half century later.

One has to wonder why, given that there seems a great deal of merit to his argument. Certainly one part of the explanation seems to be Galbraith's underestimation of the extent to which the "good life" would continue to be perceived in terms of more private consumption, and on a related note, the intensely private way in which Americans think about their problems, individual and collective (to which C. Wright Mills, stronger on this score, often pointed). Galbraith also had a tendency to underestimate the power of vested interests to affect public policy, and how the shift in the terms of economic debate in the neoliberal revolution (made possible by a combination of economic crisis in the early 1970s and a politics of cultural backlash) would permit new circumstances to reinforce the conventional wisdom he criticized, leaving the mainstream less open to newer thinking.

At least in part because of neoliberal policies like the lowering of trade barriers, financial deregulation, and the weakening of organized labor and worker protections, the last four decades have been marked by much lower rates of economic growth, as well as intensified international economic competition, recurrent financial crises, higher unemployment, and greater inequality. Americans may have remained privately "affluent"--but the vast majority did not get much more affluent by even the most conventional measures, and they felt less secure in what they did have. If anything, given that their personal budgets were often pressed by inflation sufficient to wipe out the additions to purchasing power represented by rises in their income, the increasingly expensive post-secondary education increasingly seen as a requirement for remunerative employment, the exploding costs of health care, and the mounting private debt loads to which all these added, they had reason to feel less affluent than before.

Meanwhile, the reality of public poverty grew only more pronounced under the same circumstances, as slower growth rates, rising dependency ratios (putting pressure on benefits for the retired or elderly as they had been traditionally organized), and the public portion of the growing tab for educational and health care spending (and the shift away from progressive taxation even as the distribution of wealth became more unequal) squeezed government budgets, making bigger deficits and mounting government debt the long-term trend. And the neoliberal context made all the difference as to how this was perceived.

It is conceivable that under other circumstances the redress of the public sector's problems may have been seen as part of a broader project of reviving overall prosperity. The growing numbers of retirees might have been viewed as relieving the pressure of job creation and inflation, for instance. Expanded public programs in the areas of education and health care might have been seen as a way of relieving those burdens on the individual consumer. And so on and so forth. However, it became the conventional wisdom that the thing to do was not to improve public services, but to turn them into for-profit private services (a drive given greater urgency by the construing of those larger numbers of retirees as a fiscal disaster in the making). And while, despite all the cutbacks, the proportion of government budgets devoted to transfer payments cannot be said to have shrunk there is no doubt that the response of individuals was increasingly to substitute private goods for public ones; to respond to the inadequacies of the public education system by paying more out of pocket to send one's children to private school, for instance.3

This transfer of formerly public burdens to the private individual did that much more to make what could have appeared like private affluence instead appear as private scarcity, and make the prioritization of expanded private consumption (especially with the idea of expanding public consumption delegitimized) appear the solution--with old-fashioned GDP growth the means.4 And of course, the broader social inequality attending the process by which the lives of wage and salary-earners became so strained meant that much more need for a convenient solvent for the resulting tensions, the obvious candidate for which was, again, GDP growth (rhetorically, at any rate).

In retrospect it seems Alain Touraine who, far more than any counterpart of his in the English-speaking world (Galbraith included), was prescient in contending that post-industrial society would be the most growth-driven and GDP-obsessed in history, with the post-2008 economic shock doing surprisingly little to shake up the mainstream's embrace of neoliberalism. Nonetheless, the case for moving beyond the "conventional wisdom" he described, for thinking of public as well as private affluence, and looking beyond the narrow definition of growth so dear to economic orthodoxy, has only grown stronger with the passage of the decades.

1. One irony of this view, not fully recognized in Galbraith's writing, is the role of public support in creating private prosperity even in the eras of Smith and Ricardo and Mill, much of the public preferring to stick with simplistic Horatio Alger and Edisonade images of how fortunes are made, corporate giants born and Third World poverty turned into industrialized affluence. It remains an irony of American political life that those who are most inclined to evoke the Founding Fathers are those most inclined to neglect the lessons of Alexander Hamilton's "Report on Manufactures"; those most inclined to speak of American economic exceptionalism, those least inclined to forget that there was such a thing as an "American School" of economic thought, and the role it played in building the American economy.
2. Among Galbraith's specific, practical suggestions was a delinking of work and income through a more generous, but also more carefully managed, program of unemployment insurance so that less-than-full-employment became an acceptable norm politically, relieving inflationary pressure. He also suggested a sales tax on private consumption for the funding of improved public services. More broadly, he argued for the elimination of toil (unpleasant work performed wholly for pay as it renders no other satisfaction), making all workers part of what he called the "New Class" (in which people have not just jobs, but professions and careers, accessible through education).
3. An even more dramatic example may be the response to the problems of American cities--rather than making them more habitable through sounder urban planning, improved public transport, the redress of poverty and the like, the typical course has been relocation to suburbs and exurbs, which bring associated expenses like greater car ownership, longer commutes, and the private security bills of gated communities.
4. Under the circumstances, such an idea as using a sales tax to divert dollars spent on private consumption into the funding of better public services--as Galbraith proposes--could only have been anathema.

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Review: The New Industrial State, by John Kenneth Galbraith

Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1967, pp. 427.

The conventional view of the American economy is that it is an arena where market forces predominate so that no single buyer or seller exercises significant control over prices; individuals and small business are the principal sources of innovation; and enterprises fight to keep government and organized labor at bay as they pursue that crucial form of feedback, profit, won through their success or failure in the competition to cater best to the wants of the consumer.

However, in his 1967 classic The New Industrial State John Galbraith made the case for quite a different reality. The American economy, Galbraith held, was thoroughly planned--if in a somewhat more diffuse way than contemporaneous Soviet-style economies. Rather than some government bureau attempting to direct the whole, the function was spread among a small number of key actors, in particular the largest industrial corporations. This was because only the large corporation could raise the capital and organize the skills needed to design and produce the highly complex products characteristic of mid-twentieth century technology.1 And even for them, such investments were only viable when the market and its uncertainties were tamed--not least, the tastes of consumers.

Such corporations pursued the reduction of uncertainty at a number of levels, from that of the individual firm (through such methods as vertical integration, or the use of the market power that comes with large size to influence the prices at which they buy their inputs and sell their production), to that of the usually oligopolistic industries of which they were a part (through the avoidance of disruptive competition among firms), to the level of the whole economy through their influence on and cooperation with government (which pays for much R & D, and regulates demand with high public outlays, progressive taxation, and wage and price controls) and their dealings with organized labor (negotiations with which stabilize wage levels, and often bring it into line as an ally when pursuing government contracts). These corporations also made the private consumer a more predictable actor, not only through research of the consumer in advance of the development of the products to be marketed to them, but the advertising molding his or her tastes.2

The corporations, in turn, were dominated by their "technostructures," the assemblages of technicians that made such companies functional, who had to be seen in this collective way because the planning process indispensable to their operations was far too vast and complex to be controlled by a single individual (given the volume and variety of information that had to be collected and processed, and decisions that had to be made). One result was the diminished power of the Chief Executive Officer and other senior management, often reduced to ratifying the decisions of comparatively obscure experts within their firms.3 In their turn, managers (typically salaried employees rather than owner-founders or their heirs) had seen their power grow relative to that of shareholders, while these were even further removed from being able to usefully observe and understand the intricate internal workings of these companies, and their prospects for exercising detailed control over company operations were further diminished by the wide diffusion of stock ownership. The result was that, so long as a company continued to deliver an "acceptable" level of profit, the technostructure enjoyed the degree of autonomy without which its elaborate planning was impossible.

The culture of such "mature" corporations naturally differed from that of such enterprises in their more formative phases, or the businesses of earlier eras altogether. The businessmen of the classic, nineteenth century mold (the Henry Ford type, for example), thoroughly "individualistic," and resolutely anti-intellectual, anti-statist and anti-union in sensibility and policy, were a poor fit with the model of enterprise Galbraith described in this book--and prone to get into trouble when trying to run a mature industrial company (as Ford did in Galbraith's account of his career in his earlier The Liberal Hour).

By contrast the "new" CEOs were more comfortable in an organization, more willing to give expertise some respect, and more pragmatic in their dealings with government and labor, permitting the smoother operation of their businesses and the economy as a whole. They were not unconcerned with profit, but maximizing it was not their sole or even primary object--in part because they were salaried personnel whose own income was less closely connected to their company's short-term fortunes, and in part because other motives had come to the fore, in particular "identification" with the company that gave them their privileged positions, and the satisfaction afforded by the "adaptation" of the company in line with their own, particular ideas about its mission.

Of course, identification and adaptation were not such powerful motives for less senior personnel. However, line workers too were more secure and better compensated than before, living as they did in a time of high employment and rising living standards (affording them much more than life's basics), while they were increasingly trading their blue collars for white ones and the less grinding working conditions that went with them, enabling those factors to influence them in a way they could not have before. The result was to weaken the sense of the employer (at least, in mature companies with a pragmatic attitude toward labor) as an enemy, helping to make the relationship between employee and employer less fraught with insecurity and confrontation, and the softer line of new-style, "enlightened" management toward organized labor that much more viable.

Galbraith's discussions of identification and adaptation assumed company as well as personal goals beyond the merely pecuniary, and Galbraith naturally discussed this matter at length, writing of the "social goals" which are the formal missions of major industrial firms--objects at which they strove to make a profit, rather than having been incidental to profit-making as such. Lest the utopian-sounding rhetoric of privately owned, profit-driven corporations pursuing "social goals" cause confusion, what Galbraith referred to by the term are rising production and consumption, technological advance, and the agendas associated with it: namely the growth of the Gross Domestic Product, and the waging of the Cold War.

This model of the economy's "commanding heights" laid out, Galbraith then proceeded to consider the system's weaknesses, offering an extensive critique of the limits of the goals pursued by the country's technostructures. As he noted, the manner in which government supported R & D and sustained demand was highly militarized, a fact which helped lock in Cold War tensions, and all their dangers (the most extreme of which was major nuclear war). Additionally, values and interests out of line with the accepted goals--like leisure, ecology, aesthetics--were typically denigrated and marginalized. This raised the question of who would promote peace rather than war, protect the environment, or defend intellectual and cultural values, and other such essential goods. Galbraith believed the answer lay in the emergence of what he termed the "educational and scientific estate." The dependence of the technostructure on this "estate" for expert knowledge, technological advance, and the training of the work force, made its members both more numerous, and more powerful, and made them a potential champion of those needs and values so poorly served by the rest of the system.

Taken together these ideas comprise a satisfactorily comprehensive analysis of the heart of the American economy at the time of the book's writing, as well as certain of its key problems and potential palliatives, one which remains relevant today in many ways. What Galbraith's book has to say about how large, high-tech enterprises work is just as true today as it was then--if not more so. The indispensability of the technostructure to the major industrial enterprise, the marginalization of the individual entrepreneur and small business in the economy (and especially in high-tech manufacturing), the fact of oligopoly, the reality of close collaboration between big business and government, are irrefutable facts of twenty-first century life. The long-term decline of organized labor Galbraith recognized is an equally irrefutable fact of American economic history in the past half century.

Yet, there is also no disputing that the "ideology" of the older "entrepreneurial" mentality Galbraith identified with older-style, profit-fixated businessmen resurged in the 1970s with the ascendance of neoliberal economic thought. Of course, for all the rhetoric, small enterprises did not reverse a two century-long trend toward Big Business or Big Government; if anything, the movement in this direction remained as strong as ever. Nonetheless, the associated attitudes profoundly changed the milieu in which the technostructures operate--generally in ways unconducive to their functioning. This has most obviously been the case at the macroeconomic level as deregulation and loose money policies, as well as the abandonment of full employment as a policy goal, intensified some forms of economic competition and made demand less reliable (by holding down wages, encouraging the dependence of consumption on unsustainable borrowing, increasing the incidence of financial crises, etc.). However, it has also been the case in the ways in which individual corporations have been run, by contributing to the dominance of the industries of which Galbraith wrote by a speculation-minded financial sector intent on short-run profit and share price maximization (reinforced by the linking of executive compensation to them). This has led to a preoccupation with cost-cutting (often targeting areas like R & D) directed at making quarterly earnings statements appear more attractive, at the expense of long-range company development; an increasing investment of company resources in mergers-and-acquisitions games as they pursue or fend off takeover attempts, at the expense of other imperatives; and the neglect of a company's core business (i.e. its "social goal") to focus on more profitable speculative finance (as General Motors did).

The economic performance of the advanced industrial nations during this time period, unsurprisingly, has been characterized by technological stagnation (evident in just about every area but IT) and falling growth rates (which compare very unfavorably with the post-World War II period), while the failure of corporate giants has long ceased to be an unheard-of event (as the events of 2008 and after have reminded us all).4 Consequently, even though Galbraith did not anticipate this turn, the economic history of these decades lends a great deal of support to his theory about how high-tech, capital-intensive firms, and the economies founded on them, necessarily operate. Indeed, taken along with the rather weak performance of the scientific and educational estate in the role of "loyal opposition," one can conclude that the principal failure of Galbraith (like many another mid-century American liberal) was his overestimation of the degree to which American political culture would adapt to the economic and technological realities that had become so apparent by mid-century.5

1. Galbraith's ideas regarding the decline of competition, and the emergence of oligopoly and its relationship to technological innovation, were previously (and more fully) elaborated in his earlier American Capitalism: The Concept of Countervailing Power (1952).
2. As their income enables them to go further and further beyond the point of meeting their most basic physical needs (food, shelter, warmth), consumers enjoy an increasing range of choice in their use of their purchasing power--another uncertainty business tries to manage. The result is that instead of being catered to by business, business strives to determine their wants for them. This idea was previously discussed in American Capitalism, and received even fuller treatment in 1958's The Affluent Society (reviewed here).
3. Galbraith remarks that "financial markets have long since accepted the reality of the technostructure as distinct from the entrepreneur," and goes on to jokingly paint an image of how the financial world would hang on "anything affecting his tenure in office," fluctuations in his health major news, and his replacement "handicapped like a horse." Yet, is such fuss not a routine matter where celebrity CEOs like Steve Jobs have been concerned--in part because it remains the norm to identify the achievements of a whole company with its chief?
4. There are those who would point to information technology as a counterexample to Galbraith's analysis of the place of the individual entrepreneur and the start-up in the '70s and after. Yet, the actual history of computing as we know it is dominated by state-subsidized R & D (it was the Defense Department which produced the ARPANet, CERN which gave us the World Wide Web) and the research of established firms like IBM (the hard disk drive, DRAM), Hewlett-Packard (the first to market a "personal computer") and Xerox (the graphical user interface). Additionally, the success of newer firms meant that they quickly fell into line with the model of innovation described here, without which Apple could not have delivered the Ipad, and Google would not be experimenting with driverless cars--the phase of old-fashioned entrepreneurship on closer inspection smaller and shorter-lived than the hype would have it. It is also worth keeping in mind that, even to the extent that it can be construed as exceptional, the sector has received disproportionate attention because of the false impressions created by the inflated share-prices of IT companies (as with Apple and Google right now), the frequent exaggeration of the economic impact of personal computing (the contribution to productivity has been hard to find), and its convenience as ideological fodder (proponents of orthodox economic thinking and purveyors of techno-hype desperately seizing on the myth in their search for some validation of their ideas).
5. Chris Hedges offers a more recent and quite different take on that estate's influence and vitality in Death of the Liberal Class.

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Toward a Post-Fossil Fuel Era: A Note

In 1998 oil prices dropped to their post-energy crisis low of $10 a barrel, and soon enough began their upward climb, especially apparent after 2003. In the half-decade that followed the price of oil increased from that twenty year high by a factor of five, touching $150 a barrel in July 2008 before dropping again. However, it never got anywhere near its 1998 price, generally staying well above even their 2003 price, despite the downward pressure that the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression of the 1930s placed on demand. (The current figure is $92 a barrel, more than six times the 1998 price in real terms, and more than twice the 2003 price.)

Along with the mounting evidence of climate change (receding Arctic ice and glaciers, etc.), other forms of ecological catastrophe (the Deepwater Horizon explosion, etc.), and the heating of international conflict zones by the geopolitics of energy (the U.S.'s relationship with the Middle East, Moscow's relations with its provinces and neighbors in the Caucasus, the ongoing political theater surrounding the Diaoyu/Senkaku/Tiaoyutai Islands, etc.), that price rise reinforced the lesson made clear in the 1970s, but generally unheeded in the 1980s and 1990s: the necessity of shifting the world's energy base away from finite, depleted and dirty fossil fuels. Alas, dismayingly little was done about the matter in the 2000s.

Germany's case merits examination, as it has been demonstrably more ambitious in this area than the other major industrial economies.1 As the situation stands it gets about 25 percent of its electricity from renewables, a number all the more impressive because only a fifth of that comes from long-established hydroelectric power - elsewhere, by far the predominant source of non-fossil fuel, non-nuclear energy (as is certainly the case in China and the U.S.). Germany's recent expansion of its photovoltaic-based electricity production (accounting for 5 percent of German electricity now) has been especially striking, the total output of its solar energy installations exceeding that of the whole rest of Europe, despite the country's northerly location. One result is that, unlike most other countries (like the United States and Britain), the drop in the carbon intensity of the German economy has exceeded the drop in its energy intensity.2

Nonetheless, the picture is not untroubled. Germany's electricity production is particularly coal-reliant, with that reliance actually increased in the wake of the shutdown of several nuclear reactors - and being locked in for decades by the construction of new coal-fired plants. Additionally, Germany's development of a "smart grid" has not kept pace with the expansion of renewable energy with its more variable output, causing issues with grid reliability which media opponents of "green" initiatives like Der Spiegel are using to bolster specious arguments against renewable energy generally. (Simply put, they play up the headaches, which they treat not as technical teething issues in many cases resolvable today, but as somehow unavoidable problems of of these forms of energy production, while totally ignoring the problems raised by the fossil fuels and nuclear power plants they replace - making this a common approach with climate change "skeptics."3)

What emerges is a picture of progress which is slower and less comprehensive than it should be in even the best cases, while most other countries are doing far less than that - and there seems plenty of reason to worry that advances in this area might stagnate, or even be reversed. The European Union is struggling with an economic crisis, and responding to it with austerity, which bodes poorly for major infrastructural programs. Recent hype over Canadian tar sands and the prospects for the extraction of massive amounts of oil and gas from shale are creating the illusion that the market has eliminated the problems of supply and, in the case of the United States, national independence, while the denial of the ecological side of the issue remains a major force in American politics, with the political right increasingly uncompromising on the issue. Japan's abrupt shift away from nuclear power has, at least in the short term, meant more fossil fuel use to keep the lights on, which may give that lobby a wedge to increase its presence in that market on a longer-term basis. Meanwhile, energy in fast-growing China and India remains tied to traditional sources, with the output of their installations of wind and solar dwarfed by their growing overall consumption.

In short, even while the feasibility of, and need for, a much more comprehensive and sustained shift away from fossil fuels and Generation III nuclear power to alternatives (with renewables the most attractive and feasible of these at the moment), is increasingly difficult to dispute, political realities continue to make it highly uncertain that even the wealthiest and most developed nations will travel this road swiftly, safely and successfully.

1. Where the movement past oil specifically is concerned, however, it is Japan that has been the leader, having reduced its oil consumption by an impressive 22 percent between its recent peak in 1996 and 2011. By contrast, Germany achieved a 14-15 percent drop after the peaking of its consumption in 1998. On the other hand, Germany extracts more GDP per unit of oil consumed - consuming one barrel for every $3500, compared with $2800 for Japan (and under $2200 for the U.S.) when Purchasing Power Parity is taken into account. (At market exchange rates, however, Japan is competitve with Germany, making this an issue of which indicator one regards as more appropriate.)
2. According to EIA statistics, the energy-intensity of the German economy dropped 19 percent between 1996 and 2009, while its carbon-intensity fell 26 percent. The comparable figures for the U.S. are 26 and 28 percent respectively, 8 and 7 percent for Japan, 19 and 20 for France, 32 and 32 for Britain. Only Italy, which has followed something closer to the German path, has done similarly well (its figures 6 and 13 percent, respectively).
3. Similarly, there is a tendency to point to subsidies for "green" energy and completely ignore the long history of massive subsidy for the fossil fuel and nuclear sectors (described by John Kenneth Galbraith as "fantastic favoritism") while complaining about market distortions.

Was War Impossible? Remembering Ivan Bloch

In 1898 Ivan Bloch published a study titled The Future of War in its Technical, Economic and Political Relations – widely known in English by the title of an abridged version, Is War Now Impossible?

In that study Bloch considered the evolution of military forces in his time. He paid particular attention to recent advances in weaponry (particularly the skyrocketing increases in the killing power of small arms and artillery in that period, and the advent of smokeless powder), advances in the techniques of fortification, and the size of modern armies – as well as the problems all these factors raised for command and control, logistics and the care of the wounded. He concluded that these factors would combine to make war a matter of prolonged, large-scale and extremely costly sieges, which would shift the advantage from the offensive to the defensive. A similar explosion in the technological sophistication and firepower of warships was simultaneously ongoing at sea, which seemed equally unlikely to prove a decisive instrument in the hands of any of the actors he examined, given the geopolitics of the continental states. (Britain, because of its special reliance on sea power as an island nation uniquely dependent on far-flung colonies and trade, was the only major European state really reliant on its navy, with the others more or less wasting their money – Russia most of all.)

At the same time, he looked at the vulnerability of urbanized, industrialized societies to the disruptions caused by the mobilization of a national economy (like the conscription of much of the labor force), and the cut-off of international trade which the outbreak of hostilities would involve; and to the psychological strain such warfare seemed bound to entail, especially over the course of prolonged fighting, both for soldiers in the field and civilians on the home front. In combination with the rough parity in military power between the two alliances prevailing on the continent (specifically the Triple Alliance of Germany, Austria and Italy, and the Franco-Russian entente), all of this guaranteed that any war would be a long contest of attrition, bound to push economies and populations to the breaking point, with the belligerents driving their societies to the point of collapse (victors as well as losers), and the most likely outcome socialist revolution.

Consequently, war, in the sense of general warfare among the great powers, had become impossible as a rational instrument of national policy. However, Bloch appreciated that the fact would not necessarily stop these nations from fighting exactly this kind of war, and that they might in fact experience the conflict before learning their lesson.

Of course, it was two decades before the war he wrote of actually came, and much did change in that time – with many of the changes rendering the fighting even deadlier. In his book Bloch had been attentive to improvements in rifles and artillery; he did not think of the machine gun or chemical weapons. He only dimly foresaw the advent of submarine warfare, and the advent of the aircraft and the armored tank (fielded only during the conflict) not at all. Despite these developments, the belligerents continued to endure the strain longer than he anticipated – but what he predicted did come to pass in its essentials. On the Western Front, the fighting was indeed characterized by trench warfare of the kind he described, and the war's end saw the collapse of Germany, Austria and Russia, which all saw socialist revolutions on their soil (and the Bolsheviks actually emerging triumphant in Russia).1

The western allies would seem to have suffered less than he suggested they would – but this can be chalked up to a profound shift in the pattern of alliances, with Britain joining the Franco-Russian entente a few years later, Italy following it in 1915, and the United States doing the same in 1917. Nonetheless, after the war Italy suffered a period of upheaval that ended with a fascist takeover – a revolution of its own, albeit from the right. France saw a round of dramatic strikes, and while little came of these, the country was left politically exhausted and divided, and remained so in the decades that followed. Britain, the European belligerent most sheltered from the war, suspended the gold standard, and accumulated a massive debt, while facing turmoil across its empire by war's end – including the rebellion that made Ireland free a few short years later, and labor unrest in England itself. Even the United States, despite its late entry, massive resources and comparative insulation from the fighting, proved not to be immune to the effects of the war on the world's economic system, the accumulation and mismanagement of international debts contributing to a worldwide Great Depression in the 1930s in which it was particularly hard hit.

All of this, of course, helped lead to the outbreak of World War II – that second taste of modern warfare he speculated the great powers might indulge in before recognizing the enterprise's futility. Granted, it was not a simple repeat of World War I, the conflict remembered today for armored offensives and strategic bombing rather than the static style of warfare that prevailed on the Western Front a generation earlier – but also its being an even bloodier, more destructive fight than that of 1914-1918. In fact, that destructiveness was such as to spell the end of the European states on which he'd focused as first-rank international actors, excepting the Soviet Union, which along with the United States (again, protected from the war's effects by its late entry into the war, and its distance from the fighting, as well as its sheer size and wealth) dominated the continent at its end. Western Europe rebuilt with American aid provided on a scale that had seemed unthinkable in the aftermath of the First World War, and their colonial empires dissolved in the following decades, while virtually every one of the European participants saw a new political order established in their territory, allies included – the French Fourth Republic, and in a milder form, "Labor" Britain, as well as post-war Germany (divided between East and West) and Italy. (By contrast, the Soviet Union, which suffered massive human and material losses, is thought by some to have never quite recovered from the war.)

It is notable, too, that Bloch's view that war had "become impossible," which had its adherents in the pre-war period (like H.G. Wells) but had little actual impact on practitioners, only continued to gain credence as the century progressed. In the interwar period, after the advent of strategic bombing and chemical weapons, it was not uncommon to view armed forces as instruments capable of putting an end to the modern world. The advent of the ballistic missile and the nuclear bomb made this outlook the conventional wisdom after 1945, so much so that while the American- and Soviet-led blocs competed globally and militarily, and confronted each other in numerous crises, neither resorted to a direct, open clash of arms with its principal opponent (even as thinkers on both sides continued to theorize and fantasize about how nuclear war might be made winnable).

Consequently, even as the armies grew, the alliance systems expanded and the technology evolved far beyond what he anticipated, the twentieth century bore out his essential predictions about how devastating general war had become, and what its consequences would be – enough, in fact, to show up the tiresome smugness of those who dismiss such predictive efforts out of hand. So far, the twenty-first century has done the same. Just last year I wrote that "the relations of the major powers are less defined by concerns about traditional, state-centered threats than at any time since the nineteenth century, if not earlier." That still seems to me an accurate assessment of the situation. The reality of nuclear weaponry and its associated delivery systems continue to make general war too destructive to be a practical option, among not only the great powers, but a circle of states expanding beyond them as well (as seen in areas like the Middle East and South Asia).

However, the possibility of a reversion to more intense military competition remains. Very large question marks still hang over the international system, and especially the three actors far and away most likely to be involved in a clash between great powers – China, Russia, and the United States. (The South China Sea, for instance, presents a more worrisome picture today than it did a few years ago.) Yet, it might reasonably be hoped that we will manage to avoid the stupidity and waste of such a course, which this increasingly crowded, interconnected and precarious planetary civilization can less and less afford.

1. Notably Russia was the one country where he'd dismissed such a possibility – though in fairness, he'd been writing twenty years earlier, when the country was less developed.

Death of the Liberal Class, by Chris Hedges

New York: Nation Books, 2010, pp. 248.

Phrases like "liberal Establishment" have always struck me as oxymoronic. It is hard to see how anything can be both those things at once. Chris Hedges' latest book, Death of the Liberal Class, would seem to testify to the untenable position of those making the attempt.

As defined by Hedges, a liberal class (in contrast to the corporate-government-military "power elite") could be found holding positions in organized religion, the arts, universities, the media, unions and the Democratic Party.1 Of course, these institutions were never outside the reach of corporate and other conservative influences, the interests of which they usually did represent, but liberal views and voices were sufficiently present to constitute a force there.2

During that time this liberal class occupied the center of American politics, to the right of socialists and Communists, and to the left of the conservative establishment of the business-centered "power elite." It acted as a check on that elite's power, provided some representation for the disenfranchised (the poor and even the middle class), and in so doing made moderate, but meaningful, reforms possible. However, that class was ultimately coopted by the very power elite whose actions it had sought to mitigate, the party of the New Deal giving way to the party of Bill Clinton and Barack Obama, and the journalism of Progressive-era muckrakers to the crude, sadistic drivel of a Thomas Friedman. The result is that when liberals dare to criticize the status quo at all they limit themselves to only the most tepid kinds of critique, discussing tactics rather than goals or principles, and advocating mild reforms that have little meaning in the context of the "inverted totalitarianism" and "participatory fascism" Hedges identifies.3 Especially from the 1970s on this has meant the dismantling of every obstacle and restraint on corporate power, resulting in the juggernaut of neoliberal globalization, with all its destructive economic, social and ecological consequences – which, through climate change, may even threaten the survival of the species. Long reduced to the courtiers of the power elite, the liberals – by this point, given to celebrating corporate power, militarized foreign policies and the like – can hardly do much about it, making them impotent, irrelevant and despised even by the politically weaker groups they were supposed to defend (whom they have failed miserably).

According to Hedges' history, while the liberal elite was always compromised by its embrace of the power elite, its "greatest sin" (p. 15) was its collusion with the right against the left, during and after World War I, then after the left's revival amid the Great Depression, again during the Cold War (the role of these conflicts no coincidence, conditions of "permanent war" being inimical to the liberal class's balancing act). The corrupted remainder even joined in the attack on those within their own ranks who continued to adhere to liberalism's ostensible convictions. (Hedges profiles Richard Goldstone, Norman Finkelstein and Ralph Nader as current examples of jurists, scholars, journalists and activists betrayed in this manner – while also telling the story of how he was himself pushed off the pages of the New York Times, like many a principled liberal before him.)

Crushing the left resulted in the liberals' ending up the new left of center, eliminating their old role and dumping on them a new one they were incapable of filling. In the process the liberals also grew alienated from the very working class that they were supposed to speak for in a variety of ways, including the turn from economic issues to identity politics, or even a broader turn away from politics of all kinds (for instance, in the disengagement of the "beat" ethos in the '50s, and the preoccupation with psychoanalysis and mysticism in the '60s counterculture), all of which worked out in ways quite conducive to corporate power.

Meanwhile, the very institutions the class inhabited were being dismantled. The membership of both the mainline churches and the labor unions declined. Colleges educate more students than ever, but the professors who teach in them have been transformed into insecure part-timers in no position to carry out research or perform broader intellectual functions, while the receding pool of tenured faculty (going the way of unionized steelworkers to use his analogy) sticks to overspecialized study of the obscure and minute, and to theoretical debates inoffensive to those who hold genuine power. Where some have seen in it a source of hope, even the Internet is a problem for Hedges, the image-based culture of the new electronic media being far less conducive to rational, individual thought and debate than earlier print media, while further undermining artists, journalists and the like by making it impossible for them to earn a living, so that culture is turned over not merely to part-timers, but to "part-time amateurs."

As a result, not only has the left been neutralized, but the former center is moribund, leaving a vacuum in American politics which can only be filled from the political right, in the form of a right-wing populism with all its fascistic tendencies (already evident in movements like the Tea Party and the revival in militia activity), actually funded by the same corporate forces that brought about the crisis in the first place. Indeed, as he has done in earlier works (particularly 2007's American Fascists), Hedges draws a comparison between the United States today and Weimar Germany, characterizing the U.S. as now in greater danger than it was in the 1930s precisely because of the absence of the kind of countervailing left-center forces that existed then.

As far as Hedges is concerned, there can be no salvation from a rightist movement, only political regression, with the soft tactics of "inverted totalitarianism" perhaps being supplanted by the more overt ones of the classic kind. This line of development (or degeneration) concludes with an image of broad economic and ecological collapse (driven in large part by climate change) precipitating Roman Empire-style political collapse, and perhaps even species extinction, if the processes he describes are not halted.

Alas, there is little time for bringing about such a halt, and few options with the conventional avenues for dissent and reform ceasing to function. He sees little point in appealing to the conscience or enlightened self-interest of the power elite. While he regards the greatest potential for change as being among the disenfranchised, he is doubtful about the prospect of a mass movement emerging which can challenge that elite successfully, let alone the prospects for more egalitarian structures of power. Instead he advocates (non-violent) resistance in the form of small, individual acts undertaken more for their moral rightness than the chances of their contributing to a happy ending to the story. Those who would go on serving the role that the corrupted liberal class was supposed to would all but take vows of voluntary poverty to pursue their vocations of relieving misery, slowing the slide toward destruction, and upholding values like truth, justice and reason, with Hedges offering the life of Dorothy Day of the Catholic Workers' movement as an example of the kind of action he envisions.

Hedges' subject is a vast one, and a two hundred page book on it is necessarily the short version of the oft-told story of the bankruptcy of liberal institutions like the Democratic Party (Obama's chapter in which is already a well-established subject with the appearance of books like Paul Street's The Empire's New Clothes, Roger D. Hodge's The Mendacity of Hope and Tariq Ali's The Obama Syndrome during the past two years). Indeed, the book might be more appropriately titled Suicide of the Liberal Class, focusing as it does on the ways in which the class contributed to its own destruction. One might add that even here Hedges' focus is on the liberals' corruption by a combination of opportunism (the desire for patronage by the ambitious, the ruin of intellectuals by money) and fear (of appearing unpatriotic, or "soft on Communism"), rather than their strategic or tactical errors (like their elevation of identity politics over everything else, a story Todd Gitlin tells in The Twilight of Common Dreams).

Hedges also devotes little attention to events to both the liberals' left and right, despite the significance of events at both those ends of the political spectrum for the way in which this story played out. The frailty of the American radicalism that was so important to keeping liberals honest and relevant (a theme explored in works like Gabriel Kolko's Main Currents in American History, or Seymour Martin Lipset and Gary Marks' It Didn't Happen Here) is never really examined.4 Likewise, the ascendancy of the far right within the Republican Party (memorably related by alienated Republican insiders like John Dean, Kevin Phillips and Michael Lind), and the way in which their time in government not only shifted the political terrain, but tied the hands of any would-be liberals succeeding them (a process Thomas Frank explored in The Wrecking Crew), is not discussed. The result is that those looking for a really broad, full view of this history will have to supplement Hedges' book with a good deal of other reading.

It may be relevant that far more than is the case in most of these works Death of the Liberal Class is a jeremiad, its author's anger nothing short of scathing, and the severity of its assessment of our situation deeply depressing. (Given that I've been studying societal collapse for a decade now, I don't say this lightly.) Hedges' personal religious beliefs strongly inform his view of the situation, from his harsh criticism of hedonism and the "cult of the self," to the kind of resistance he advocates, which is suggestive of the example of the early Christians. The result is that even readers sympathetic to his broader position who happen not to share those particular beliefs may be put off by much of what he says. Certainly I found myself taking issue with his dismissal of any serious possibility of redressing the world's problems. (This can seem like a rejection of politics akin to those he criticized earlier generations of liberals for, if of a less obviously self-indulgent kind, as well as an abandonment of the responsibility to try and develop materially effective tools and strategies to deal with the situation.) Additionally, he seemed to me to slight the sciences (which can fairly be thought of as a bastion of the "liberal class"), even as he draws on science for his strongest argument for the dangers presented by our current trajectory – the likelihood of climate catastrophe. (I may also add here that it has long seemed to me that science and technology are certain to play a crucial role in any scenario in which we cope successfully with our ecological problems. Unfashionable as it may be, and dismaying as the technological stagnation of the last decade has been, far and away our best bet for a tolerable outcome is a "technological fix" that cuts the challenge down to size.)

Yet, it would be a mistake to dismiss Hedges' book as a rant or a screed. His passion may occasionally get the better of his style, but never his argumentation. Moreover, dire as his assessment is, there is no sense of tactical exaggeration, or the perverse eagerness to be validated by disaster that often appears in warnings of ecological doom. Rather there is a great deal of solid, well-grounded analysis here, informed by an impressive survey of the relevant literature, and Hedges recounts a great deal of history well worth knowing. His diagnosis of our political paralysis, the hollowness of our pieties and the role of liberalism's betrayals in this – the very heart of his critique – are especially compelling, and his defense of the value of the arts and humanities (so often slighted by others) is the strongest I have seen in some time. Indeed, after following Hedges' writing from War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning (2002) on, The Death of the Liberal Class struck me as a summary work, capping off a long period of reflection and study well worth the attention of those engaged by his earlier writing, and by those looking for an introduction to these issues as well.

NOTES
1. By "power elite" C. Wright Mills referred to the men and women "in command of the major hierarchies and organizations of modern society . . . the strategic command posts of the social structure" (The Power Elite, p. 4), corporate, state and military, which Mills viewed as interlocking, placing them in a common group with common interests - and quite distinct from the liberal elite described above.
2. Where the media is concerned, Hedges refers to Ed Herman and Noam Chomsky's critique of the press in Manufacturing Consent, which offers a "propaganda" model of the media in which the press is controlled by a high cost of operation subordinating it to business (from its need for expensive licensing to advertising revenue), its dependence on "sourcing" (e.g. government and business press releases) because of the high cost of investigative reporting, a sensitivity to the organized media criticism termed "flak," and the role "anti-Communism" has played "as a national religion" (Manufacturing Consent, p. 29).
3. Sheldon Wolin's theory of "inverted totalitarianism" describes a totalitarianism which has no demagogues or charismatic leaders, and no revolutionary structures and symbols (key trappings in the "classic" totalitarianism of Germany and Italy), but rather the preservation (and thoroughgoing corruption) of the old institutions and culture to support virtually complete corporate political control. Charlotte Twight's "participatory fascism" refers to a condition in which voter choice is reduced to the irrelevant.
4. American history in this respect is well worth comparing to that of Britain, where the Liberal Party was eclipsed by the left-of-center Labor Party, a story Pulitzer Prize-winner George Dangerfield recounts in his classic The Strange Death of Liberal England.


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Canada's Tar Sands: A Closer Look

It has become a commonplace to term Canada not just the holder of the world's third-largest oil reserves, but the U.S.'s biggest source of oil imports, supplying a quarter of these needs, well over 2 million barrels a day.

The reality is a bit more complex. The U.S. consumes over 19 million barrels a day. The country's net imports come to about 8.3 million barrels a day. Meanwhile, Canada currently produces about 3.5 million barrels a day. However, Canada consumes about 2.3 million barrels a day itself. This leaves its net exports a mere 1.2 million barrels – with the million-barrel difference covered by the country's own imports from Saudi Arabia, Africa and Venezuela. In short, Canada meets a quarter of the U.S.'s energy needs only by meeting its own needs with oil coming in from more traditional producers, and indeed the exact same countries Canadian oil is supposed to delink American energy consumption from. Putting it another way, Canada's production above its own needs supplies 14 percent of U.S. imports, only a bit over half of the more commonly cited figure, and that the situation appears otherwise is due to the Canadian energy market being "subsidized" by cheaper oil imports from elsewhere.

Certainly Canadian production is widely expected to grow, with one EIA forecast positing its expanding from about 3.5 million barrels a day in 2010 to the area of 5 million barrels in 2020-2025, and 6-7 million barrels a day in 2030-2035. Additionally, Canada's consumption is likely to grow at a much slower rate than that during this time frame. Of course, it remains to be seen that production will actually reach these levels, and even were they to do so, Canada might well seek to meet more of its own needs from domestic energy production. Still, this would likely leave a growing surplus available for export.

At the same time, there is considerable optimism about the U.S.'s need for oil imports actually falling between now and then, quite a bit of it having to do with a report from British Petroleum this year (highlights from which were reported in the Guardian earlier this year). The report envisages the U.S.'s consumption falling (as oil use becomes more efficient), and its production of its own liquid fuels increasing (as the long-promised production of shale oil takes off, and biofuels substitute for crude oil). Yet, there is at the very least room for skepticism about the prospect of an imminent shale boom. It is also worth remembering that even if Canadian production was voluminous enough to meet all of the U.S.'s needs, the reality is that Canadian oil production will still be just part of the global pool – so that prices and supplies will still be subject to fluctuations caused by events elsewhere in the world. It is worth noting, too, that the production of oil from tar sands depends on the use of natural gas – another fossil fuel which has grown more expensive in recent years, and which remains concentrated overwhelmingly in Russia and the Persian Gulf region. (And of course, where greenhouse gas emissions and other environmental effects are concerned, non-conventional oil of this type is significantly worse than regular, liquid oil.)

Just as before, the only way to really end U.S. dependence on problematic fossil fuel exporters is to end its dependence on fossil fuels, in favor of energy production from other sources. For the time being, this would mean trading natural resources of one kind for another – given the role of rare earth elements in renewable energy technology, for instance – but, politically and ecologically, that would still be an improvement over burning a constant, massive flow of hydrocarbons.

Toward A Sixth-Generation Fighter: Directed-Energy Weapons

Back in November 2010 the Capability Development and Planning Division of the Aeronautical Systems Center (part of the U.S. Air Force's Materiel Command) issued a presolicitation notice announcing that it was "conducting market research analyses to examine applicable materiel concepts and related technology" for a next generation tactical aircraft with an initial operating capability "of approximately 2030." The fighter was expected to "operate in the anti-access/area-denial environment that will exist in the 2030-2050 timeframe," thought likely to include "advanced electronic attack, sophisticated integrated air defense systems, passive detection, integrated self-protection, directed energy weapons, and cyber attack capabilities."

It is the mention of directed energy weaponry that really got my attention. Predictions regarding directed-energy weapons have proven consistently overoptimistic, with projects like the Nautilus and the Airborne Laser turning out to be serious disappointments. (Indeed, Israel has turned to the guided missiles of the Iron Dome air defense system rather than lasers to shoot down short-range rockets.) Much like the flying car, they have simply not happened. Might that change in twenty to forty years' time? Perhaps.

It also seems noteworthy that the directed-energy weapons are mentioned as part of the threat environment – and not the aircraft's own armament. Some technologies start small and get bigger (as has often been the case with vehicles), while others start big and get smaller (like computers), and directed-energy weapons seem very likely to be in the latter category, as the programs mentioned above indicate. Speaking intuitively, I'd say that the appearance of lasers or microwave weapons small enough to fit inside a tactical aircraft and at the same time powerful enough to justify their weight are extremely unlikely between now and 2050. Though I wouldn't be surprised if they also failed to appear, larger, ground- or sea-based air defense weapons don't seem wholly outside the realm of the possible.

Assuming they do appear, what would that appearance mean for combat aircraft? Obviously speed-of-light weapons cannot be dodged, the way jets dodge surface-to-air missiles. It does not even seem to me likely that the next generation of fighters will even be much faster or higher-flying than they are now (given how unlikely hypersonic flight seems for a multi-mission aircraft like the one discussed in the notice).1 Yet, techniques comparable to those we now have for building stealth aircraft, and mounting "hard" suppressive attacks (like using anti-radiation missiles against radars) could remain on the table. So would the use of decoys and jamming to blind or trick the fire control systems of attacking weapons and other sensors, and it may even be possible to jam the beam of the weapon itself – just as communications and sensors based on lasers and microwaves can be jammed. And just as missile casings can be thickened to make them more resistant to the energy of a laser beam, aircraft might (up to a point) be armored.

Exactly how these factors will interact is at this point beyond the scope of reasonable extrapolation, not least because it depends on still other factors – like the race between stealth technology and radar. However, were laser weapons to prove capable of effectively targeting vast numbers of sophisticated attackers, they might make the use of expensive, high-performance strike aircraft prohibitively costly, and drive a turn to large numbers of simpler, cheaper drones or stand-off missiles instead. Such a turn may make the platforms succeeding the F-22 and its counterparts in their mission so different as to constitute not a sixth-generation jet fighter, but the first generation of something else.

1. The presolicitation notice envisages a multi-mission aircraft, capable of performing not just "Offensive and Defensive Counterair," but "Integrated Air and Missile Defense," "Close Air Support" and "Air Interdiction," and possibly also "airborne electronic attack" and "intelligence-surveillance-reconnaissance capabilities."

Review: Twenty-Three Things They Don't Tell You About Capitalism, by Ha-Joon Chang

New York: Bloomsbury Press, 2010, pp. 286.

Ha-Joon Chang's book Twenty-Three Things They Don't Tell You About Capitalism is a critical analysis of the "free market" (aka, "neoliberal") version of capitalism prevalent for over three decades now, organized around a point-by-point debunking of twenty-three claims of orthodox economic thought.

This school of thought holds that human beings as rational and self-interested actors which most successfully maximize their individual (and by extension, their collective) benefit when the "invisible hand" of the market is given the greatest freedom to allocate resources. Government interventions in this process are held to be injurious because its decisions are necessarily of poorer quality than those of private actors for a number of reasons, including its having priorities besides maximizing the economic gain of its constituents (such as holding on to political power), and the inadequacy of its information (a government bureaucrat presumably knowing a particular situation less well than the businessman actually in the middle of it). Government intervention specifically for egalitarian, redistributive purposes, is harmful in its diminution of the incentive of all actors to create wealth (the rich who will hesitate to invest when they will lose some of their income gains to higher taxes, the poor who will forgo work when they can coast on welfare), while a government's "picking winners and losers" by favoring one enterprise or sector over another (like promoting manufacturing over services, or trying to restrain finance to protect the "real" economy), for the aforementioned reasons, means sub-optimal decisions damaging to economic efficiency. Accordingly, what government should do is get out of the way as much as possible.

By contrast, Chang holds that human rationality is "bounded," limited by such things as the time available in which to make particular decisions, and the finiteness of the individual and collective ability to process information (so that the rationale that a private actor's access to greater information than public policymakers automatically leads to better decisions is doubtful), while human motivations are complex, including not just a selfish pursuit of material gain, but positive traits like self-respect or duty as well (without which, he argues, deceit and mistrust would be so overwhelming as to bring the market to a halt). Moreover, in contrast with the easy confidence that what leads to the maximum benefit of individuals leads to the maximum benefit of society as a whole, there are clashes between the individual and collective interest, evident in such issues as the externalities produced by economic activity (like pollution), while the pursuit of short-term gains may mean losing out on other greater but longer-term gains (as seen in the tendency toward short-termism which has so characterized corporate decision-making in recent decades). The result is that there are many ways in which markets fail, so that there is a role for government to play in economic life far beyond the libertarian minimum of protecting property and enforcing contracts – and government's active and competent performance of that role is crucial to the development, and continued health, of national economies.

Moving past theory, Chang demonstrates that the economic success stories of modern history occurred in precisely those places where economic life did not adhere by the orthodoxy. Those countries which are wealthy generally became that because their governments intervened in their economies in ways like cultivating infant industries – crucial because wealth in the modern world is a function of successful industrialization, an outcome not usually produced by private capital and initiative alone. Britain in the eighteenth century, the United States and Germany in the nineteenth, Japan and South Korea in the twentieth, and China today, all reflect this pattern.1 Moreover, none of these governments ever stopped directing their national economic life, given such realities as national R & D budgets, government control of essential infrastructure and services of various kinds (utilities, the postal service), and immigration policies (a "protectionist" measure directed at the inflow of labor rather than the goods it produces). Additionally, the meritocracy demanded by the imperative of market efficiency requires enough "equalization of outcome" among parents to insure that their children get a fair chance, while social safety nets encourage risk-taking, providing a justification for the welfare state so loathed by the political right. (Indeed, Chang regards the welfare state as the working-class's equivalent of bankruptcy laws for businessmen.)

Equally, the shift to neoliberal policy by the 1980s has been strongly correlated with a sharp drop in the rate of economic growth around the world (something I have repeatedly noted in my own researches). Most pointed is their failure to produce growth in those regions where the reforms have been most aggressive (Latin America and sub-Saharan Africa), which cannot be complacently attributed to problems of geography or culture, as orthodox thinkers would have it. The relationship between development and the received circumstances of geography and culture is in Chang's view actually the opposite of what the orthodoxy posits: development is not a byproduct of favorable circumstances, but rather overcomes unfavorable circumstances like harsh climate or ethnic fragmentation as it proceeds (a pattern seen from Scandinavia to Singapore). The tendency to blame culture can be especially deceptive as the residents of poor countries are, if anything, more entrepreneurial than their rich-country counterparts, as they must be because of the terms of life in the informal economy in which so many of them survive (while the well-paid citizens of wealthy countries are beneficiaries less of their own entrepreneurial talent than the strong institutions their countries developed, and the technological know-how those institutions absorbed, over long periods of time).2

In visiting our most recent troubles Chang does not let orthodox economists off the hook as "innocent technicians who did a decent job within the narrow confines of their expertise until they were collectively wrong-footed by a once-in-a-century disaster that no one could have predicted" (247). Rather he holds that they played a key role in creating the disaster with their simplistic and ideologically-driven prescriptions – which ignored the vast, long-standing and still-growing body of theory and history which made their intellectual errors, and the risks of the course they cheered on, all too clear. He is also quite clear that, despite the hype, recent changes in technology and political economy – the information technology revolution, and the presumed footlooseness of international capital (both overrated in his view) – have not invalidated those earlier lessons.

Those well-acquainted with the subject of economics will appreciate that all of this has been said before, many times, not just by other thinkers from Adam Smith to James Crotty, but by Chang himself, in books like his recent Bad Samaritans.3 Rather than the presentation of original theses, this book's virtue is its accurately and clearly representing ideas gathered from all across the field's vast literature, organized into a coherent critique which is made accessible to the general reader in a series of succinct chapters (each about ten pages long, free of unnecessary jargon and the equations which proponents of orthodoxy use to "blind with science") that make the relevant points and amply support them with germane, concrete examples. In the handy concluding chapter he draws together the many threads of his argument, and outlines an alternative basis for economic policy.

That is not to say that Chang's book is perfect. I found his treatment of inflation and related aspects of monetary policy unpersuasive. Far from tight money having prevailed in recent decades, the loose money policies of Alan Greenspan and Ben Bernanke have played a major role in creating the bubbles so damaging to the American and world economies in recent years (as Matt Taibbi demonstrates in Griftopia). Chang's discussion of financial crisis would also have benefited from some deepening, as he merely references the crucial work of John Maynard Keynes, Charles Kindleberger and Hyman Minsky in passing, rather than using them to present a picture of how speculative bubbles happen, and send economies running off their rails (a twenty-fourth thing he might have told the reader about capitalism). I might also add that Chang does not address the politics of how neoliberalism came to prevail, or how it has remained so dominant after not just decades of nearly complete failure characterized by economic stagnation and recurrent financial crisis, but the disaster of 2008 in which it all came to a head, through which we are still living – but that is a whole story in itself, which can plausibly be regarded as outside this book's purview.

1. Indeed, no country much larger than a Monaco or a Luxembourg can found its prosperity on international finance, with Switzerland and Singapore – ordinarily thought of as models for this approach – actually among the world's most heavily industrialized.
2. For an interesting journalistic account of the informal economy, see Robert Neuwirth's recent Stealth of Nations: The Global Rise of the Informal Economy.
3. Perhaps the most iconoclastic point Chang made is his argument that there has been an overemphasis on higher education as a path to national economic advancement. (As he notes, not only is the correlation weak, but much of what is taught in school is of little use in most lines of work, and much of the knowledge needed for work is acquired on the job - while a rush to increase the numbers of graduates can simply mean the fostering of credentialing crises.)

A Sixth-Generation Fighter: Reading Firefox

Tom Clancy is widely remembered as the inventor of the military techno-thriller, but he was preceded by a century-long tradition of writing about future wars and espionage involving imaginary weapons. Among others, Ian Fleming, Martin Woodhouse and Frederick Forsyth laid crucial groundwork – and Craig Thomas has a claim to being the genre's originator with 1977's Firefox.

That novel had British intelligence sending American Vietnam War veteran, and former aggressor squadron pilot, Mitchell Gant into the Soviet Union to steal a prototype MiG-31 fighter--the titular "Firefox." The MiG-31 is depicted as an extreme long-range fighter capable of speeds of up to Mach 6, controlled by a mind-machine interface and invisible to radar--capabilities which, it was feared, would give the Soviet Union air superiority in the event of a conflict unless the West could match it, necessitating Gant's grabbing it and flying it out of the country.

As is usually the case with stories of the type, technical detail takes a backseat to the demands of storytelling, and our increased sophistication about such matters nearly four decades on (as the capabilities of '80s-era aircraft are no longer wholly a matter of speculation) makes some of his speculations seem rather naive. Still, in line with Thomas's depiction, super-cruising and stealth are now characteristic of fifth-generation fighters, like the American F-22, and the Russian T-50 and Chinese J-20 programs. Indeed, stealth technology has gone beyond what he anticipated, in that stealthy aircraft have reduced infra-red signatures, something the MiG-31 lacked, while their sensors and avionics are in many respects even more advanced (with features like active phased array radars and helmet-mounted sights), and their performance more versatile (with thrust-vectoring enhancing their maneuverability). However, hypersonic speed and control via mind-machine interfaces remain far beyond the capabilities of this generation of aircraft, as does the range of the Firefox (3,000 miles, which it manages in the story despite its full-speed flight, which somehow it manages at low altitude, where it flies for long stretches; its carrying full armament; and its evasive maneuvering during a good deal of aerial combat).

Might such capabilities be part of the sixth generation, however? Certainly the X-15 achieved hypersonic flight almost a half century ago, but (longstanding rumors about the Aurora notwithstanding) such capability has remained the purview of experimental aircraft. Moreover, even were these to be made viable for service, it remains to be seen that a hypersonic-capable aircraft can be made versatile enough for the air superiority mission--able to operate effectively at low altitudes and low speeds as well as high, to dogfight as well as to make high-speed intercepts, let alone perform other tactical missions, like close-air support. Should such planes fail to materialize, hypersonic fighters would only be possible with a return of air forces to a wider assortment of specialized aircraft (like what we saw in the second generation of jet fighters, which was divided between high-speed interceptors like the F-104 Starfighter and "fighter-bombers" like the F-105 Thunderchief). This arrangement, awkward even then, is all the more problematic now as a result of the skyrocketing cost of procurement programs.

Naturally, I have to admit I'm doubtful about either prospect materializing, and suspect that if we do get a generation of high-performance fighters after the F-22, these higher speeds will not be part of the package. That leaves the mind-machine interfaces. Certainly neuroscience is seen as an excitingly dynamic field now, and the gurus of techno-hype are abuzz with speculation about the feasibility of neural control of technology (combat aircraft included), seemingly supported by demonstrations in which the brain activity of people and animals controls electronic devices--but such have been ongoing for quite some years now, without practical consequences. Not only does the well-publicized thought-controlled wheelchair remain in the lab, without anything like an anticipated date for actual availability even mentioned (according to the most recent report I have been able to find, this March 2012 piece from the BBC), but even toys based on the principle (often a precursor to practical applications) seem nowhere close to hitting the market.

That does not mean this is an area which may never yield results--but it is a reminder that this technology's near-term practicality is far from being a resolved matter. Moreover, even if such technology were to come into use as an aid to the disabled, for example (as I hope it will), it remains to be seen that this will be suited to the control of high-performance aircraft in combat situations--quite a different thing. Additionally, if ongoing work in artificial intelligence turns out to yield the results promised for it, that may mean an alternative method of control which may prove superior, or simply more cost-effective than a fighter directly controlled by the human mind. In short, not only must the technology overcome significant hurdles to be usable in this capacity, but it is necessarily in competition with that other technology which may make such a vast difference in how the coming decades plays out, "strong" AI.

Review: White Collar: The American Middle Classes, by C. Wright Mills

New York: Oxford University Press, 2001, pp. 416.

C. Wright Mills is best known for writing The Power Elite, in which he offered an analysis of the uppermost strata of society and its institutions (business, governmental and military). However, it was not his only sociological bestseller, his first being 1951's White Collar, which dealt with many of the same concerns, but focusing on the much vaster "white collar" salariat beneath those strata.

In approaching this subject Mills begins by attempting to situate it in the larger social context as it has traditionally been understood, and in particular as part of the "middle class"--the fuzziness of which term Mills addresses by drawing a distinction between what he terms the "Old" and "New" Middle Classes. The Old Middle Class is characterized by its economic independence, which is based on its ownership of the means of production with which it works--the small farmer cultivating his own land, the merchant running his own store, and the like. The New Middle Class consists of dependent employees who work with means of production owned by others, at the direction of those others, inside of a context of centralized property and bureaucratized and rationalized business operations--as with the personnel of large businesses.

Mills holds that industrialization has sharply reduced and marginalized the Old Middle Class, which is a far cry from the Jeffersonian mythology surrounding it. What remains of small business, contrary to popular belief, is generally an exercise in futility, afflicted by a high rate of turnover as small businesses fail and are typically replaced by other small businesses which fail in their turn. Even this activity is largely confined to particular economic sectors, namely the retail and service industries (by contrast, "Manufacturing is no longer a small business world" (24)), and when even these survive for any length of time, they tend to do so by "becoming direct satellites" of Big Businesses of various kinds (27) (as with retailers which are "maintenance agencies and distributors for big manufacturers"). He also contends that, for all their free market rhetoric, the "scared" small entrepreneur, especially sensitive to the ups and downs of the business cycle, is in practice preoccupied with seeking protection from marketplace competition (through "fair trade" laws, the prices set by national brands, and the like).1 Indeed, Mills argues, the old image of small business persists principally because it serves the big business interests that, despite some imagined solidarity, have in reality pushed them to the fringes of economic life.

The result is that they have largely given way to the New Middle Class as the predominant "middle" group, and its character is the book's focus: the ways in which it works, what that work means to it, and the political significance of these facts. In examining these he finds a number of parallels between the New Middle Class and the Marxist proletariat, extending beyond their mutual lack of property to the terms of their labor. As Mills notes, the office and the salesroom, "the two great locales of white collar activity" (226-227), have become rather more like the factory, and undergone the same evolution in the direction of rationalization, mechanization and deskilling, so that their staff operate machines under the supervision of a small cadre of specialists--the secretary at their typewriter, the cashier at their cash register not so different from employees of a light manufacturing facility. Medicine has traveled the same path, the old-style general practitioners giving way to narrowly specialized, hospital-based M.D.s, backed up by large numbers of less well-trained support staff (the better to hold down the number of working doctors, and restrict the supply of their skills), while the legal profession has followed a parallel line of development with the emergence of the large firms once termed "law-factories."

Given the circumstances of their work, neither the Protestant work ethic, nor the ideal of the Renaissance craftsman, has much relevance to their actual experience.2 Rather they tend to experience their work as alienated labor, time taken away from living instead of a crucial dimension of life, let alone a development of themselves as human beings. (Indeed, Mills even deepens Marx's analysis of worker alienation by considering a new dimension of it--the alienation of white collar workers not just from their labor, but from their very selves as they "sell themselves" in the "personality market."3) Such satisfaction as they derive from their work is a matter of the income, status and personal power the job affords, with the result that satisfaction is strongly correlated with socioeconomic ranking--professionals, for instance, far more satisfied with their positions than clerical workers that are part of the same white collar category.

Mills notes alongside this change in the manner of work, and the attitude toward it--which make the experience of the white collar worker closer to that of the blue collar employee--a tendency to equalization in their incomes and job security. There is also an equalization of their prospects for upward mobility--closed off not just by the aforementioned deskilling and rationalization (which eliminates the chance to, for instance, "learn the whole operation" at an enterprise), but by the rising level of education among the work force (which has created a credentialing crisis, and even talk of "surplus graduates" and the "management" of ambition). Unsurprisingly, older ideals about the pursuit of "success" through a cultivation of traditionally "middle class" virtues associated with Victorian entrepreneurship, or later, the salesman-like attitude and demeanor supposed to make possible a successful ascent up the corporate ladder, seem decreasingly relevant, even discredited. In their place there is a greater willingness to pursue unionization (especially among those most inclined to feel that "the way up" is blocked or inaccessible).4

Nonetheless, Mills rejects the idea that white collar workers will "go politically 'proletarian'" (353), however much their objective circumstances come to resemble those of blue collar workers. The option is simply not on the table, there being no proletariat for the white collars to join, politically speaking, even the organized "blue collars" failing to count as such (in their unions' emphasis on bettering the conditions of their members' employment rather than broader or more principled social change)--which points to the larger factor determining their political future, namely the apathy with which Americans regard politics in the mid-twentieth century. The combination of their relative material contentment, their intensely private way of looking at their concerns and attitudes (a reflection of the history of immigration and American geographical mobility in Mills' view), and their distance from the centers of decision, leaves them detached, scarcely interested spectators. This tendency is reinforced by a mass media which utterly fails (after hardly trying) to make politics comprehensible and meaningful to them--while being consistently excellent at distraction, especially by way of fantasies of personal status and consumption (with which he identifies the content of most pop culture, and leisure activity more generally).5

Moreover, generalized as this apathy is, white collar workers seem even more susceptible to it than other groups. The significant division between Old and New middle class aside, white collar workers' weaker consciousness of themselves as a class, their more limited and more belated organization, their greater response to the kind of distraction he describes, leaves them more atomized and less likely to emerge as an independent political force. Indeed, they seem bound to follow rather than lead, and to do so opportunistically.

In making this case, Mills' book offers a formidable combination of sweep and detail. Portions of the analysis have admittedly dated, perhaps the most significant of these his discussion of unionization--a trend which has long since been reversed. However, this is more than outweighed by what remains valid in Mills' study for our own time, not least the corrective he offers to the pieties of his day, which all too often remain the pieties of our own, regarding such matters as the character of social class in America, the role of small business in the economy, and the prospects for genuine personal satisfaction through post-secondary education and the "right" career (recently characterized by Barbara Ehrenreich as a case of "bait and switch"). Indeed, some of the problems he described have, in line with his expectations, grown only more pronounced, like the problems raised by a credentialing crisis, and the withdrawal of much of the public from political life. The result is a book well worth reading not just for its insights into mid-twentieth century America, but its grasp of our situation now, with which few works written in the six decades since can compare.

1. By contrast, in the world of the large corporation, the "Unseen Hand" of executive decision has to a great degree displaced the "Invisible Hand" prevailing in a less thoroughly organized economic field.
2. Mills refers here to the Renaissance vision of the life of the craftsman as "a fully idealized model of work gratification" entailing no "split of work and play, or work and culture," a laborer's work "and his entire mode of living" instead comprising a single whole (220). This model has its requirements, however, among them the worker's control of "his own working action"; the absence of "ulterior motive," enabling their concentration on the product and process; and in this process, his opportunity "to learn from his work; and to use and develop his capacities in its prosecution" (220); none of which is operative in today's business environment. Indeed, Mills notes that "as practice, craftsmanship has largely been trivialized into 'hobbies,' part of leisure not of work" (224).
3. As he notes, workers are obliged to "instrumentalize and externalize intimate features" of their "person and disposition" (225) as part of the process of production.
4. Mills also identifies an emerging "new style of aspiration" (282) focusing on "the peace of the inner man" (283) rather than material accomplishment (with which he identifies such works as Arthur Miller's play Death of A Salesman).
5. Mills also notes that those who would be intellectuals are co-opted by the ideological machines of vested interests, which they must represent (or to which they must at least make themselves acceptable), or face marginalization. In either case they are reduced to irrelevance as a political force, with one result their tendency to style themselves "technicians" outside or above politics, or succumb to the cult of alienation. (College professors in particular are constrained by the expectations of academic life, not the least of them the expectation of specialization--or in his view, overspecialization.)

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