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"Had we used the true price index, we would have found a larger contraction due to lockdowns. That means that we understated the cost of lockdowns." ~ Vincent Geloso
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This is the first in a series of remembrances on life and career of the late Susan Sell. When I think about Susan Sell, I think about a life lived unapologetically, beautifully, and gratefully. I think about International Relations theory taught with irreverence and humility. I think about relentless kindness and fiery hope personified. Susan […]
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A recent study definitively rejects that Medicaid expansions reduced either Supplemental Security Income or Social Security Disability Insurance applications or awards. These results counsel humility and prudence on big claims of cross-cutting program savings from large increases in government spending. The post No, ObamaCare Did Not Reduce Federal Disability Rolls appeared first on American Enterprise Institute - AEI.
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I was filling in the latest Reserve Bank Survey of Expectations form the other day. If one ever needed to be reminded that macroeconomic forecasting is a mug’s game, or wanted a lesson in humility, all one needs do is keep a file of one’s successive entries to that survey. Coming on the back of … Continue reading Inflation outlooks
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Perhaps the reversal of a number of favorable post-war trends will usher in a period of labor shortage and economic scarcity. However, it is equally plausible that today's burst in economically disruptive technology will give rise to a situation of excess labor supply, falling wages, and economic plenty. A dose of humility is required before making long-term economic predictions. The post An Age of Economic Plenty or Scarcity? appeared first on American Enterprise Institute - AEI.
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Education entrepreneurs come from all walks of life. Monica Hall, founder of THRIVE Christian Academy near Atlanta, didn't set out to start a school. She was serving as an Army chaplain and gradually realized her soldiers needed more support. This prompted her to open a community center focused on well being. She was also a youth pastor at a nearby church, and people started asking her to add tutoring at the center or start a school. Monica was initially reluctant, but after a few different people suggested something similar, she realized maybe this was what she was meant to do. In 2013, Monica opened THRIVE Christian Academy, which stands for Truth, Humility, Respect, Integrity, Victory, and Excellence—the six pillars of the school. There were initially just two students—both children whose parents helped inspire her to create the school. Because she only had two students, Monica met up with homeschoolers throughout the year for various activities. She finished the school year with three students and gave them each a "brag book" that compiled some of the things they'd done during the year. One of the parents shared photos of the brag book on Facebook where a local teacher saw it. The teacher showed up at Monica's door one day and said she wanted to be part of the school. "I don't have any kindergartners and you teach kindergarten," Monica recalls telling the teacher. The teacher said three of her fellow teachers also wanted to join THRIVE and assured Monica that students would come if she hired the teachers.
She was right—THRIVE opened the new school year with 56 students, pre‐K3 to 5th grade. Enrollment kept growing. Monica added a middle school and then a high school. The first graduating class was 2020—the COVID class they called themselves. In Georgia, things started opening back up from COVID-19 restrictions by the end of May, so they held that first graduation on Juneteenth. Monica expects to have around 300 students when school is back in session this fall. THRIVE utilizes a unique blended curriculum that pairs high‐quality video lessons with in‐person instruction from dedicated teachers. This allows students to have a more tailored, individualized experience. Monica estimates that around 40 percent of her students have special needs. Most of them just need extra attention and are integrated into the general education population. "Some have a significant educational delay, like maybe they're in 6th grade but they read on a 2nd grade level," she says. "So, let's figure out where the stepping stone was missed. Let's fill in that gap, and let's just watch you accelerate." 14 students have more intensive needs and are in their own classroom with a dedicated teacher and aide, which is pretty impressive for such a small school.
The school also offers a variety of extracurricular academic activities, including debate, robotics, geography and spelling bees, a science fair, and math, history, and quiz bowls. Each year, they take an enrichment trip; previous destinations have included Washington D.C., New Orleans, Memphis, Niagara Falls, Baltimore, and Chicago.
Monica wants to make sure THRIVE alum have plenty of options in the future. "We make sure that they apply to at least three colleges, and we have a 100% acceptance rate now," she explains. "So far from the senior classes, probably about 60% of them are in college." The others are pursuing various careers like the Army, EMT, modeling, and entrepreneurship. "For me, the point of requiring them to apply is that they know they always have that option," says Monica. If they start down one path and it doesn't work out, they'll "forever know that push comes to shove I've been accepted to schools before. I can go back and go to college if I decide to do that." Like most of the education entrepreneurs I talk to, Monica says if you have the urge to open your own school, just do it. "It wasn't the ideal time for me when I started THRIVE—my son was two weeks old on the first day. I carried him in there in a car seat, fed him, burped him, put him down, and went next door to welcome two 1st graders for the first day of school," she says. "But the feeling isn't going to leave. You're going to keep feeling this tug until you do it, so you're going to be sleepless anyway. You may as well just go ahead and jump out there and trust God to catch you."
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Is America experiencing a crisis of confidence? That is the assessment of some world leaders from allied and partner nations in recent months. Former NATO Secretary General Anders Fogh Rasmussen criticized the U.S. at the start of the year, "Recent global events in the Taiwan Strait, in the Middle East, in Ukraine are all results of American hesitance to actually lead."As he addressed Congress earlier this month, Japanese Prime Minister Fumio Kishida chided his audience for what he called "an undercurrent of self-doubt among some Americans about what your role in the world should be." One implication of these complaints is that the world would supposedly become more stable and secure if the U.S. simply possessed and demonstrated greater resolve. Given the wreckage created by American hubris during the first part of this century, we know that this is not true. Another implication is that the U.S. should never reconsider or question its "leadership" role, as if the arrangements that were made after 1945 or 1991 are immutable for all time. According to this view, adopting a different strategy, shifting burdens to allies, or reducing commitments are all beyond the pale and a sign of irresolution.The critics are mistaken about all this, and Americans should have the confidence to ignore them.One of the biggest problems with our foreign policy is that U.S. policymakers remain enthusiastic about a "leadership" role that is ill-suited to current realities. American power is in relative decline, but our foreign policy is still defined by the pursuit of dominance in every region. Our political leaders are eager to reaffirm and expand U.S. commitments without any real debate over the risks or the resources that will be needed to make good on those commitments. Consider the last few years. NATO expands as if on autopilot. The president pledges to send U.S. forces to defend Taiwan when we have no treaty obligation to do so. Every commitment to every ally, partner, and client is said to be "ironclad" and therefore beyond serious scrutiny. Is this the behavior of a government that is hesitant and unsure about its international role, or is it the record of one that can't say no to new entanglements? Far from suffering from a crisis of confidence, the U.S. still seems far too sure of itself. The U.S. doesn't need to hear self-serving cheerleading from allies about how "indispensable" it is. It needs sober advice on how it can responsibly unwind the many unnecessary commitments it has accumulated over generations. Instead of cutting back, the U.S. keeps taking on new dependents as if its power and resources were unlimited. The reality of overstretch becomes harder to ignore with each new addition. To the extent that U.S. resolve is being questioned in other capitals, it is the result of spreading around so many promises of support that it becomes difficult to believe them all. Americans absolutely should be questioning our country's role in the world. Besides being an essential part of democratic self-government, a thorough reassessment of our foreign policy is long overdue. One of the reasons why U.S. foreign policy has been so dysfunctional and destructive in so many places is that core assumptions about the U.S. role in the world haven't been challenged and interrogated often enough.The U.S. would avoid a lot of pitfalls if it didn't arrogate to itself the role of dictating terms to other states and policing their behavior. What Prime Minister Kishida calls self-doubt is a hard-earned sense of humility that some Americans have learned from decades of costly and bloody policy failures. U.S. foreign policy has been marred by misguided ideological zeal for so long that we could stand to have a lot more doubting and questioning.A major flaw in our foreign policy debates is that our policymakers often fail to recognize policy failure and insist on plowing ahead with more of the same. The continued U.S. use of broad sanctions is one example of this. Despite considerable evidence over the decades that they achieve none of the government's stated policy goals and cause significant harm to the civilian population of the targeted countries, the U.S. relies on the economic weapon more heavily now than ever before.Waging economic war on recalcitrant states is one of the ways that Washington routinely exercises its "leadership," and in practically every case that exercise of "leadership" has backfired and exacerbated the problem that the sanctions were supposed to ameliorate. The terrible results of the "maximum pressure" campaigns against Venezuela, Iran, and North Korea speak for themselves. If anything should cause people in Washington to doubt U.S. "leadership," it is the repeated failure of sanctions, but nothing like that has happened.Refusing to question the current U.S. role in the world is a path to stagnation and eventually exhaustion. An overcommitted U.S. cannot honor all the promises it makes. If nothing changes, that will set the U.S. up for humiliating climbdowns or dangerous conflicts in the future. It would be far wiser for Washington to begin shifting responsibilities to capable allies now instead of trying to shore up an unsustainable status quo.The U.S. must be able to adapt its foreign policy to present-day realities, and that will necessarily involve reassessing the nature and extent of U.S. involvement in several regions. Clinging to tired dogmas about "leadership" that were created for a different world locks the U.S. into an overly ambitious and dangerous strategy whose costs far exceed the benefits. The U.S. needs to have the confidence to reject a strategy that does such a poor job of advancing and securing American interests.
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The U.S. federal budget deficit for 2018 came in just shy of $800 billion, or about 4% of the gross domestic product (the primary deficit, which excludes the interest expense of the debt, was about 3% of GDP).
As the figure above shows, the present level of deficit spending (as a ratio of GDP) is not too far off from where has been in the 1970s and 1980s. It's also not too far off from where it was in the early 2000s (although, the peaks back then were associated with recessions).
Of course, the question people are asking is whether deficits of this magnitude can be sustained into the foreseeable future without economic consequences (like higher inflation). In this post, I suggest that the answer to this question is yes, but just barely. If I am correct, then any new government expenditure program will have to come at the expense of some other program, or be funded through higher taxes. Let me explain my reasoning.
The Arithmetic of Government Spending and Finance
I begin with some basic arithmetic (I describe here where theory comes in). Let G denote government expenditures and let T denote government tax revenue. Then the primary deficit is defined as S = G - T ( if S < 0, then we have a primary surplus ). The absolute magnitudes involved have little meaning--it turns out to be more useful to measure a growing deficit relative to the size of a growing economy. Let Y denote the gross domestic product (the total income generated in the economy). The deficit-to-GDP ratio is then given by (S/Y). In what follows, I will assume that this ratio is expected to remain constant over the indefinite future (this is what a "sustainable" budget deficit means.)
Let D denote the outstanding stock of government "debt." For countries that issue debt representing claims to their own currency and permit their currency to float in foreign exchange markets, attaching the label "debt" to these objects--like U.S. Treasury securities--is somewhat misleading. The better analog in this case is equity. Companies that finance acquisitions or expenditure through equity do not have to worry about bankruptcy. They may have to worry about diluting the value of existing shareholders if they over-issue equity, or use it to finance negative NPV projects. The same is true of the U.S. federal government (but not state or local governments). The risk of over-issuing treasury debt is not default--it is share dilution (i.e., inflation).
Let R denote the gross yield on debt (so that R - 1 is the net interest rate). If we interpret D as currency, then R = 1 (currency has a zero net yield). If we interpret D as U.S. Treasury debt, then R = 1.025 (UST debt has an average net yield of around 2.5%). Note that in some jurisdictions today, government debt has a negative yield (so, R < 1 ) -- that is, government "debt" is in this case an income-generating asset!
Alright, back to the arithmetic. Let D' denote the stock of debt inherited from the previous period that is due interest today. The interest expense of this debt is given by (R - 1)D' (the interest expense of currency is zero). The primary deficit plus interest expense must be financed with new debt D - D', where D represents the stock of debt today and D' represents the stock of debt yesterday. Our simple arithmetic tells us that the following must be true:
[1] S + (R - 1)D' = D - D'
Let me rewrite [1] as:
[2] S = D - RD'
Now, let's divide through by Y in [2] to get:
[3] (S/Y) = (D/Y) - R(D'/Y)
We're almost there. Notice that (D'/Y) = (D'/Y')(Y'/Y). [I want to say that this is just high school math...except that my son came to me the other night with a homework question I could not answer. If you're not good at math, I understand your pain. But if you need some help, don't be afraid to ask someone. Like my son, for example.]
Define n = (Y/Y'), the (gross) rate at which the nominal GDP grows over time. In my calculations below, I'm going to assume n = 1.05, that is 5% growth. Implicitly, I'm assuming 2-3% real growth and 2-3% inflation, but I don't think what I have to say below depends on what is driving NGDP growth. In any case, let's combine (D'/Y) = (D'/Y')(Y'/Y) and n = (Y/Y') with [3] to form:
[4] (S/Y) = (D/Y) - (R/n)(D'/Y')
One last step: assume that the debt-to-GDP ratio remains constant over time; i.e., (D'/Y') = (D/Y). Again, I impose this condition to characterize what is "sustainable." Combining this stationarity condition with [4] yields:
[*] (S/Y) = [1 - R/n ](D/Y)
Condition [*] says that the deficit-to-GDP ratio is proportional to the the debt-to-GDP ratio, with the factor of proportionality given by [1 - R/n ]. This latter object is positive if R < n and negative if R > n.
The Mainstream View
There is no such thing as "the" mainstream view, of course. But I think it's fair to say that in thinking about the sustainability of government budget deficits, many economists implicitly assume that R > n. In this case, condition [*] says that if the outstanding stock of government debt is positive (D > 0), then sustainable deficits are impossible. Indeed, what is needed is a sustainable primary budget surplus to service the interest expense of the debt.
The condition R > n is a perfectly reasonable assumption for any entity that does not control or influence the money supply: state and local governments, emerging economies that issue dollar-denominated debt, EMU countries that issue debt in euros, federal governments that abide by the gold standard or delegate control of the money supply to an independent central bank with a preference for tight monetary policy.
The only exception to this that a mainstream economist might make is for the case of "debt" in the form of currency. The seigniorage revenue generated by currency (zero-interest debt), however, is typically considered to be small potatoes. Consider the United States, for example. Let's interpret D as currency. Currency in circulation is presently around $1.7 trillion, almost 10% of GDP. So let's set (D/Y) = 0.10, R = 1, and n = 1.05 in equation [*]. If I've done my math correctly, I get (S/Y) = 0.0025, or (1/4)% of GDP. That's about $100 billion. This may not sound like "small potatoes" to you and me, but it is for a government whose expenditures in 2018 totaled about $4 trillion.
The New and Modern Monetarist View
I think of "monetarists" as those who view money and banking as critical factors in determining macroeconomic activity. I'm thinking, for example, of people like Friedman, Tobin, Wallace, Williamson and Wright (old and new monetarists) on the mainstream side and, for example, Godley, Minksy, Wray, Fullwiler on the MMT (and other heterodox) side. A common ground shared by new/modern monetarists is the view of treasury debt as a form of money; i.e., the difference between (say) U.S. Treasury debt and Federal Reserve money is more of degree than in kind. Consider, for example, the following two objects:
Can you spot the difference? The first one was issued by the U.S. Treasury and the second one by the Federal Reserve (the promised redemption for silver has long since been suspended). The Fed is said to "monetize the debt" when it replaces the top bill with the bottom bill. Is it any wonder why the BoJ cannot create inflation by swapping zero-interest BoJ reserves for zero-interest JGBs? (In case you're interested, see my piece here.)
In any case, rightly or wrongly, U.S. government policy presently renders the treasury bill illiquid (in the sense that it cannot easily be used to make payments). Of course, while the treasury bill no longer exists in physical form, every U.S. person can acquire the electronic version of (interest-bearing) T-bills at www.treasurydirect.gov. Just don't expect to be able to pay your rent or groceries with your treasury accounts any time soon. (Though, as I have argued elsewhere, it would be a simple matter to integrate treasury direct accounts with a real-time gross settlement payment system.)
But even if treasury securities cannot be used to make everyday payments, they are still liquid in the sense of being readily convertible into money on secondary markets (and maybe one day, on a Fed standing repo facility, as Jane Ihrig and I suggest here and here). USTs are used widely as collateral in credit derivative and repo markets -- they constitute a form of wholesale money. Because they are safe and liquid securities, they can trade at a premium. A high price means a low yield and, in particular, R < n is a distinct possibility for these types of securities.
In fact, R < n seems to be the typical case for the United States.
The only exception in this sample is in the early 1980s -- the consequence of Volcker's attempt to reign in inflation.
But if this is the case, then the mainstream view has long neglected a source of seigniorage revenue beyond that generated by currency. Low-yielding debt can also serve as a revenue device, as made clear by condition [*] above. How much is this added seigniorage revenue worth to the U.S. government?
Let's do the arithmetic. For the United States, the (gross) debt-to-GDP ratio is now about 105%, so let's set (D/Y) = 1.0. Let's be optimistic here and assume that the average yield on USTs going forward will average around 2%, so R = 1.02. As before, assume NGDP growth of 5%, or n = 1.05. Condition [*] then yields (S/Y) = 0.03, or 3% of GDP. That's about $600 billion.
$600 billion is considerably more than $100 billion, but it's still small relative to an expenditure of $4 trillion. And, indeed, since the budget deficit is presently running at around $800 billion, there seems little scope to increase it without inducing inflationary pressure. (Note: by "increase it" I mean increase it relative to GDP. In the examples above, the debt and deficit all grow with GDP at 5% per year).
Conclusion
What does this mean for fiscal policy going forward? The main conclusion is that the present rate of deficit spending and high level of debt-to-GDP is not something to be alarmed about (especially with inflation running below 2%). The national debt can, will, and probably should continue to grow indefinitely along with the economy. What matters more is how expenditures are directed and how taxes are collected. Of course, this should be done with an eye to keeping long-term inflation in check.
What deserves our immediate attention, in my view, is a re-examination of the mechanisms through which government spending (when, where and how much) is determined. This is not the place to get into details, but suffice it to say that one should hope that our elected representatives have a capacity to reason effectively, have a broad understanding of history, are willing to listen, and do not view humility and compromise as four-letter words or signs of personal weakness. If we don't have this, then we have much deeper problems to deal with than the national debt or deficits.
Once the spending priorities have been established, the question of finance needs to be addressed. If the level of spending is less than 2% of GDP, then explicit taxes can be set to zero--seigniorage revenue should suffice. However, if we're talking 20% of GDP then tax revenue is necessary (at least, if the desired inflation target is to remain at 2%). If the tax system is inefficient and cannot be changed, this may mean cutting back on desired programs. Ideally, of course, the tax system could be redesigned to minimize inefficiencies and distortions. But tax considerations are likely always to remain in some form and, because this is the case, they should be taken into consideration when evaluating the net social payoff to any new expenditure program.
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Karen Litfin on Gaia Theory, Global Ecovillages, and Embedding IR in the Earth System
This is the third in a series of Talks dedicated to the technopolitics of International Relations, linked to the forthcoming double volume 'The Global Politics of Science and Technology' edited by Maximilian Mayer, Mariana Carpes, and Ruth Knoblich
Many debates in International Relations concern struggles regarding what should be the autonomous limits and focus of the discipline itself. However, increasing environmental and climate concerns challenge the self-contained nature of IR on discrete political phenomena, because what IR considers it's exogenous context is threatening to destabilize the premises of the content of international political practice itself. While such concerns often lead to a securitization and politicization of the environment and climate in IR, some scholars argue we should work towards the exact opposite. In this Talk, Karen Litfin—among others—elaborates on the kind of theory in which IR is embedded in, rather than applied to, natural systems; discusses examples of social arrangements that try to translate that theoretical insight into practice; and engages with questions of secularism and mysticism that irrevocably accompany those efforts.
Print version of this Talk (pdf)
What is, according to you, the biggest challenge / principal debate in current IR? What is your position or answer to this challenge / in this debate?
The fact that we can today truly speak of something of a global economy, the central problem now is to formulate the political institutions that are commensurate to these globalized economic institutions. We have far to go on that project. It also means doing so within the carrying capacity of the earth—that is, politically configuring that global economy in such a way that it doesn't exhaust ecological resources. So I would say that the challenge, in terms of actual politics, is to find those institutions.
The challenge for the discipline of International Relations is to do the necessary thinking to facilitate that institutional transition, but few IR scholars even acknowledge that political institutions must attend to the carrying capacity of the earth. In general, the discipline of International Relations, Political Science and even most of social sciences more generally behave as if there are no natural constraints to our behavior. Yet our freedom to even be able to theorize about the international system is completely dependent upon a vast web of life, other people growing our food, and a whole technological infrastructure that we had nothing to do with creating. International Relations talks a lot about interdependence, but do we really take it seriously?
How did you arrive at where you currently are in IR?
I've always been interested in science and technology. As an undergraduate, I studied physics and astronomy, but I didn't finish those majors because I realized, that if I graduated with those degrees I would most likely be working indirectly or directly for the military. I got politicized and I began to see that the political agenda drives the scientific agenda. This was in the 1970s and it was possible at that time that we were going to have an all-out nuclear war. I did not want to be a part of that.
I began to see that there is a dialectical relationship between science and politics. Because science facilitates the technological changes, which make the basic backdrop for politics, it's very important. For instance, the defense department was funding DARPA, which led—without them fathoming that at the time—to the development of the Internet—now a key site where global politics plays out.
Science also provides metaphors through which we understand politics. I did my Masters thesis on the mechanistic worldview and the devitalization of nature in the 17th century—that is, taking living nature out of our systematic theorizing. While others had written on this, I traced it back to the ancient Greek philosophy. A reductionist and mechanistic worldview underpins a lot of IR theory, as well most of our political institutions. We need to really start questioning that. Another way this plays out is that the notion of the global really had a huge jump when we got the image of Earth fromspace. The idea of Earth Day was really closely aligned to the fact that the image of the earth from space just had come out. Gaia Theory came about because James Lovelock was looking for signs of life on Mars. We were interested in extra-planetary life, but weren't looking at our own system or planet. So basically it turned all that science back on the Earth and said 'Oh my Gosh, we do have this kind of atmosphere that has the telltale science of life in it', which tells us that life is hoping to create the atmosphere. Then to have the human mind to conceptualize that is really huge. The idea that we are the Earth becoming conscious of itself is basically what science is telling us. These monitoring systems are one means by which we have the possibility of becoming conscious of that fact.
In terms of personal trajectory, when I started teaching International Relations back in the early 1990s, I started realizing that petroleum holds the whole thing together, the whole global system was held together by petroleum. (You could also say fossil fuels, but coal and natural gas don't power that much transnationally; it's really the petroleum.) Yet hardly anybody in IR talks seriously about petroleum—or energy or biodiversity or soil or the atmosphere. That's what I mean about getting to the material basis. But having said that, I think how we interact with the material basis is a reflection of our consciousness. So I'm not a material reductionist. Rather, I'm looking for a wholeness that understands our approach to material reality as being a reflection of our consciousness.
So this was why I have become interested in biological metaphors. I still think the leaning edge of human thought is understanding human systems as living systems. From this vantage point, we can begin to reshape our institutions in ways that mimic, sustain, and regenerate living systems. There's a long history of natural law and I don't exactly put myself in that camp, but I think there are ways that we need to understand ourselves as thoroughly embedded in natural systems and then move consciously from that place.
What would a student need to become a specialist in IR or understand the world in a global way?
To my mind, these are very different questions because, at least at many universities, becoming an IR specialist often entails ignoring some fundamental global realities. For one, even though most of humanity lives in so-called developing countries, most IR theory pays attention only to the Global North. Likewise, IR is fairly blind to the fact that the lifestyles of the Global North, if globalized, would require between three and six Earths, depending upon whether you are looking at Europeans or North Americans. Again, there is only one Earth! Fortunately, an important subfield has emerged with IR—global environmental politics—that is helping to rectify the situation.
The question I would prefer to answer is: what would a student need to know in order to understand the most pressing challenges facing the world system? To this, I would advise three things. The first would be to dive deeply into a broad and critical reading of the history of modernity, including the interpenetrating scientific, political, commercial, theological and industrial revolutions that characterize the modern era. The second would be to learn about the primary international institutions (the WTO, World Bank, IMF, EU, UN Security Council, etc.), and ask what is working, what isn't, and why? The third would be to do all of this learning while simultaneously learning to think systemically. Take at least one good course on systems theory; one that specifically offers a strong grounding in living systems, and start making connections. Why, for instance, do 'ecology' and 'economics' share the same root (oikos, Greek for household)? What would it mean to consider the international system as a living system and a subset of the Earth system? If we think this world system that we've created of a globalized economy and rudimentary international law is not a part of a living system, we are living in a big delusion. So to actually understand how living systems function, we need the literature on system theory that of course has been used in biology and ecology, but has also been applied a lot in the business world and organizational development. I think it's making its way into IR.
The world is full of technologies and technological systems (and getting more so each day). Could you elaborate on how this is relevant for IR?
I think that's a huge gap: IR doesn't pay nearly enough attention to technological systems—and when they do, it's generally from an uncritical and mechanical perspective. Even though much of the constructivist critique of liberal institutionalism is that the latter is overly materialistic, it actually isn't as if institutionalists talk about economics as if that were a material reality. Economics is a secondary human system overlaid on, but abstracted from, material systems. I think that IR needs to get really serious about understanding the actual material basis for politics. Climate change will probably be the issue that drives that.
So what kinds of technologies and institutions are we going to have to facilitate a global civilization? Now that's a worthwhile question! As I indicated, we now have a more or less globalized economy, but we don't have a global polis; we don't have the institutions that are commensurate to the economy that we have got. So the question is: can we sustain current civilization on the energy budget that is available to us and not wreck the climate?
Technological systems are driven by energy; energy is the master resource. Some energy analysts say that in order to have a global civilization, we need to have an energy return on energy investments of something like 5 to 1—meaning, for instance, that for each barrel of oil we put into getting more oil, we need to get five back. Right now petroleum is getting—depending on where you find it and how it's getting to you—somewhere between 15 and 25 to 1. That's the Middle East. It used to be 100 to 1 at the beginning of the 19th century. And now we are getting, say, 20:1. I've seen analyses of tar sands that put that energy source at somewhere between 3 and 5 to 1. Solar panels, if they work well, they are maybe getting 5:1. So the trend is worsening and we are starting to push that envelope of 5:1 energy return on investment. And if we exploit some of the new unconventional hydrocarbons—like fracking and, worse, methane hydrates—to their maximum potential, we'll fry the planet.
My question is how we can leverage existing technological, economic, financial and political resources to sustain a global civilization. I dearly wish more people were putting their attention on that question. The underlying assumption for most people is that business as usual can continue. Maybe, but not for long.
I'd like to throw in one little term coined by Stephen Quilley, an environmental sociologist: 'low energy cosmopolitanism' (read the paper here). I think this is a huge challenge for us. If it's possible to have a global civilization on the energy budget that we have available, it's going to be some form of a low energy cosmopolitanism, where we make some very conscious choices about what we are going to globalize. For instance, Germany probably wouldn't be importing grapes from Africa and none of us would be going on luxury vacations. We would be making a lot of conscious choices, but if we want to have a global civilization we have to be globalizing something, so what is it that we are globalizing?
How do you see the question of technological determinism when studying technologies?
This is really important to note, because if you just look at human systems as living systems there can be a kind of materialistic reductionism there. People who think like William Connolly, the new materialism understands that we should not be materialistic reductionists and that there is this wildcard of human consciousness. The fact of the matter is, we can assemble all the data we want but we don't know where we are going. But what we do know is that we've created a tremendously complex and complicated world that nobody can actually understand!
I think we need to address that question in a very specific way with respect of specific technologies, but if we stick to one example—satellites—I think the technologies do have certain properties embedded in them. I have written a feminist theoretical critique of earth observing satellites, where I argued that this kind of gaze from space actually does downplay or preclude certain perspectives. But as I thought about it more deeply, I saw very concretely that a lot of people are using those technologies to do what they want—not what the centralized political and scientific institutions that gave rise to the satellites wanted. So I would say the wildcard here is consciousness and human inventiveness, because that's what will shape how people deploy the technologies once there are on the ground.
For example, satellites were devised for spying and are certainly still being used for spying, but they are being used for so much else, such as Google Maps. I think some people might have been able to foresee that kind of development, but most of us didn't have a clue that this sort of thing could come about. Or that you could have indigenous people mapping their traditional lands in order to make land rights claims. So the wildcard really is human consciousness and that's why nothing really is deterministic. The greater the complexity in a living system, the more surprising its emergent properties. Seven billion human brains linked together in global technological and ecological systems are bound to yield surprises!
You indicated that you use biology and living systems as a reservoir for metaphors. Could you elaborate on that?
If I speak about living systems I usually do so through work called Gaia Theory. Looking through the lens of Gaia Theory, we would first understand that we exist within certain spheres such as biosphere, atmosphere and hydrosphere. We have taken geological time and inserted it into human time by digging up fossil fuels. As a consequence, we have kind of checkmated ourselves and are now forced into having to think in geological terms. We have to start thinking in geological time scales, which was never the case before. If we are going to find a way of inhabiting this planet sustainably, particularly if we are going to have anything approaching a global civilization, we have to understand that we live within a living system and then go about the rather daunting but exciting project of developing international law and institutions that reflect that reality.
There is a whole subfield of earth system governance in which Earth system scientists, IR theorists and international legal experts are coming together to think through these questions. The literature on earth system governance starts from the premise that the Earth is a living system and draws heavily on earth system science, which draws heavily from Gaia theory. You cannot separate atmosphere, oceans, lithosphere, and biosphere: they are all intertwined as one big living system—and now humanity is functioning as a geophysical force on a planetary scale. That's the meaning of the Anthropocene, and it will require an entirely new way of going about politics and economics.
So how can we bring the concept of Gaia Theory into practical reality? Besides the emerging field of Earth system governance, we can also do this in a very personal way by beginning to really internalize what it means being a human being at this time. A few years back, I came to the point where I decided that I did not want to theorize about anything I could not live. That turned out to be a huge challenge. After I wrote the 'integral politics' piece (see links below)—and I really do love that piece!—I saw that I couldn't fully live it. It was so big. For me, one of the most important implications of Gaia Theory is that we are the Earth becoming aware of itself. That's a huge implication. If you merely think of it conceptually, it is wonderful mind candy; but if you actually take it to the heart and try to live it, it changes your life. I challenged myself to do this and, at some point, it occurred to me that there must be other people who have traveled farther down that road than I had—in other words, people who had radically changed their lives to reflect their growing awareness that human beings are the Earth becoming conscious of itself. So I found myself traveling around the world to ecovillages which, for me, helped to tie it all together. Why is somebody who's teaching international environmental law and politics wandering around the world visiting these little tiny micro-communities? Because these people are taking the radical implications of Gaia Theory to heart (even if they've never read about it) and collectively changing their material, economic and social lives. That's why I spent a year on the road living in ecovillages. It's a strange thing to be an IR theorist who doesn't want to theorize about anything that she can't live!
Bringing up the issue of how to live your research, could you elaborate on what kind of outlook is necessary to live in accordance to Gaia Theory?
So this leads to the importance of humility for me. The value of humility is that it comes naturally as a consequence of understanding. You do not have to value it in advance; it comes automatically from understanding ourselves as part of this larger living system. In my experience at least, as soon as you grasp that, you automatically have an enormous sense of humility and gratitude. Those two qualities just spontaneously arise from truly grasping that reality. Going back to ecovillages, I asked myself who is living in ways that can actually work for the long run. The result became the eponymous book. I wanted to see collective efforts and particularly larger communities that were generally at least a hundred people, because you can do a lot more collectively, than you can on your own. Some of these communities are reducing their ecological footprint radically. In some cases, we are talking about per capita reductions in material consumption and waste production of 80-90% as compared to their home country averages.
This is very big news—especially given that these communities are still tied to the larger system. They are not tiny isolated enclaves. For instance, they're still using the mass transit of the larger society; most of them have Wi-Fi and high-speed Internet. They're not living in caves and many of them are very much globally engaged. On a material level, they're much closer to living within the Earth's carrying capacity. So in that way, I was very interested in just seeing what are their physical systems. But I began to see that their physical systems were only made possible because of the degree of trust and reciprocity that they have created.
That entails doing a lot of personal work. Diana Leafe-Christian, who has written a number of books on communities, says that 'community life is the longest and most expensive personal growth workshop you'll ever take'. It's true! If you're willing to do the personal work and hang in there through the difficult times and conflicts, you can develop the kind of self that's willing to do some very deep sharing. I would add, though, that this level of sharing is done best when it is respectful of the individualism that we have developed. I don't think that communities should be running roughshod over individualism. There needs to be some balance of privacy and communal life. The communities that work well have figured out a way to do this. To my mind, the communities that work really well are the ones who are working on developing collective forms of consciousness. Which means actually I think going beyond the separative rational mind: it doesn't mean demeaning those qualities, it means using them, but using them in the service of something larger. As I said earlier, progressive change entails transcending and including. Individualism, for all its negative consequences, is a genuine historical achievement.
And I would say on a very practical level, one of the ways that they reduce their footprint is by withdrawing to some extent from the global economy. Having very low consumption and being fairly energy efficient and self-reliant, reliance on food self-sufficiency, but withdrawing from global society. To me, they are answering the question I raised earlier: What would a low-energy cosmopolitanism look like? And they are doing this not just because they consume less and live more simply but because by and large ecovillagers actually have a cosmopolitan identity. They might be growing their own food and composting their shit, but they're also tied into the global system. They're actively engaged in the Internet, sometimes attending global conferences and many of them are politically active on issues such as genetically modified organisms and nuclear waste disposal and human rights.
They are little nodes of positive examples, but they're very small. In fact, hardly anybody lives in an ecovillage, which is why the last chapter of my book is called 'Scaling it up'. I basically look at the underlying principles of ecovillages and talk about how these principles could be scaled up to the level of cities, regions, national government and international norms. I realize this is a big stretch, but I felt that as an International Relations scholar, I at least need to try it. The important misconception you run into that moment is the idea that sustainability needs to be expensive—the idea that somehow we can consume our way into sustainability. Actually, the most sustainable form of consumption is no consumption! Yet this is not what all ecovillages do. There is one community that I visited in up-state New York, in Ithaca, this is the same city that Cornell University is in, where two thirds of the residents have masters degrees or PhDs and their homes are worth more than the average in the area. They have a pretty middle class lifestyle, yet their average ecological footprint is about half the American norm. So they're not sustainable, but they are definitely moving in the right direction. They hired architects and have nice homes, which is a very different approach than that of most rural ecovillages.
In the Global North, the smallest footprints that I saw tended to be in the rural off-grid ecovillages that were more or less self-sufficient in food, energy, and water. In some of these communities, residents were living on as little as 25% of their average national incomes. This is impressive because it tells us that people in affluent countries can live well on far less money and with far less environmental damage than is considered normal in those countries.
Yet the fact of the matter is that most people today live in cities, so it was important for me to also look at urban ecovillages. Los Angeles Ecovillage, for instance, has a very small footprint because it is high-density and automobile use is discouraged. If you lower your transportation footprint by not driving or sharing vehicles, and if you grow your own food or rely upon locally produced food and have and passive solar construction and renewable energy for your buildings, you can dramatically reduce your energy consumption. You can have a much smaller footprint and still have a very comfortable life. People think that you need money in order to live. It seems that we need money in order to live, but actually what we need is food and shelter and transportation and relationships. So if you figure out ways of getting those things without money, you've made a huge step to getting out of the global economy. In a nutshell, that's what ecovillages are doing.
So are ecovillages all the same across the globe? Is it a new 'social form' emerging?
It is different in the developing countries and in the affluent countries, and I think it's important to clarify that at the outset. I visited a number of ecovillages and ecovillage networks in both developing countries and affluent countries. In the latter, there is a greater possibility for what I consider 'post-individualist' that both transcends and includes individualism. A very simple 'post-individualistic' approach to property rights, for instance, would be co-housing, where the land is owned in common and people own their own homes. But their private homes would be a lot smaller because so many amenities are shared. The common house would have a community kitchen, so that, depending upon how much people are willing to share, private kitchens can be very small. If there's a collectively owned guest space, then you don't need a guest room in your house. And if you do a lot of your socializing together, then you can do that in the common house. So your own house could be quite small but you would still have access to all the comforts of a private existence and more. The more people are willing to share, the more will be collectively owned. And that really does require trust, because it's a big problem if the relationships blow up and you have your finances entangled with those people! This is just one example of how property rights can coexist with the softening of boundaries between individuals.
The flipside of this is occurring in developing countries, where the post-individualistic arrangement that I've been making doesn't really apply. And this is important because that's where most people in the world live. There you have cultures where people already have much more of a collective orientation. So we really need to pay attention to what's happening there. Actually, in many cases, their developmental task is to become more individuals. And the question is: how do they become more highly-individualized rather than being subsumed by traditional moral codes—how do they that without over-consuming. In the west, we had a fossil fuel subsidy that enabled us to become highly individualized, as I said before, the only reason we can be having this interview is because somebody else is growing our food.
In developing countries, the real task is to find a way for people to become more individualistic without over consuming. And so this is why I was impressed by the model I saw in Sarvodaya, a Sri Lankan participatory development network that belongs to the Global Ecovillage Network. There, fifteen thousand villages are trying to apply ecovillage principles to create what they call a "no-poverty/no-affluence society." Their programs in micro-finance and women's literacy, for instance, give villagers—especially women—an incentive to stay in the village because they have a livelihood. And when people stay in their villages, they tend to live a lot more sustainably. As the women becoming literate, they begin making choices for themselves and therefore becoming more individualized. So it's a way of hopefully leap-frogging urbanization in order to sustain rural village life.
I should say that you can apply these principles anywhere you live, in cities as well as rural areas. I visited quite a few ecovillages in cities. One of the most important things that the Global Ecovillage Network is doing is training people, wherever they live, to apply ecovillage principles in their urban neighborhoods or wherever they find themselves. There have been some amazing projects coming up in the Brazilian favelas and in China. GEN has developed a course called 'Gaia Education' that's being offered all over the world and especially in developing countries. There's now a Global Ecovillage Network for Africa. There are basic principles of sustainability that, if you live in an ecovillage, you can apply more intentionally, but they are applicable everywhere.
In a way, 'Gaia theory' sounds very spiritual—and for that reason the Gaia concept was initially very much opposed by many physicists and climate scientists. In a way, Gaia theory entails a critique of modernist secularism and faith in technology; how do you see that in your work?
I have mentioned the critique of mechanization in the early modern era, but in fact the early modern scientists, such as Newton, were all looking for God. Now many of the hard sciences are moving in the direction of mysticism—I would speak of mysticism rather than spirituality—but it's not a mysticism that is simply a projection of the human psyche onto the cosmos; rather, it is empirically derived. I think that's a kind of postmodern development that would have been impossible in the pre-modern era. That's what I was saying about transcending and including, that the ideas that we have of who we are in the cosmos are so different as a consequence of modern science. We can transcend those ideas but also include them. From the Big Bang and the evolution of species, we came out of all of that! And implicit within this fact, if you take it deeper, is that there is a secret oneness to it all. I think that the lessons we have to learn politically and economically now are about interdependence. But if you take interdependence to its depths, it too implies a secret oneness. Most importantly for the current evolutionary crisis: that oneness is embedded in our consciousness and we can access that. That is the reason why I don't want to theorize about anything that I can't live; I'm working at that level as well.
It's interesting, because that also has implications for my teaching. I teach in a fairly direct way when I have living bodies and inquiring minds right in front of me and can engage them at a personal level. I give them my big picture view of politics as a subset of living systems and also being a kind of living system. I get them to inhabit that in themselves through doing contemplative and reflective exercises in the classroom. For instance, I'm teaching a class called political ecology of the world food system and we talked about the globalization of different food commodities and where chocolate comes from for instance, where it originally came from, who processes it, how much do the farmers get from all of that. I brought in raw cacao nibs, which most of the students had never tasted before. We talked about where these came from and how expensive they were even though cacao is not processed, because raw cacao is a something of a delicacy. Then I gave them this very highly processed chocolate without sugar and with alternative sweeteners in it. I invited them to really be present to tasting each of these things as I talked about them and I left some significant gaps of silence, they could actually be present to experience of themselves inhabiting the living system and now being the beneficiary of a world food system. How did we come to have cacao from West Africa and stevia from Paraguay in our mouths? What are sociopolitical and biotic networks that have made this possible? And can we allow ourselves to truly experience what it means to be the beneficiary of these living systems? And what of our own as living system? When I am in the classroom it is actually quite easy to teach what I call person/planet politics. I never teach anything as if it is just 'out there'. Whenever I teach anything, I want the students to inhabit it in their bodies, in their experience. And I try to do that as best as I can by living what I teach as best I can.
It is a little embarrassing, but I don't know how all of this applies to IR; I am just trying to do it as best I can in my own life, as it is presented to me. And I write about it and I publish things—I have a piece coming out on localism that basically makes the case for what I call organic globalism, which is a globalization that is premised upon the earth as a living system and international institutions being designed very consciously on that basis. I don't quite know what it looks like but I have a sense of its rightness. To be honest with you, I am better with that in the classroom that I am at the level of large-scale institutions. Because I am beginning to inhabit this in my own being and I can communicate it to students. Maybe the next challenge is to be able to communicate it at a larger level.
So isn't there a tension between living sustainably and participating in a globalized world that is hard-wired in terms of technology?
Consciousness does not at all preclude technology. For example, I think us having this dialogue is on some level contributing to a certain kind of consciousness and it's completely facilitated by technology. Without Skype we wouldn't be having this conversation. What's helpful to me, about what I call E2C2 (ecology, economics, community and consciousness) is that these are four lenses through which to view any phenomenon—and that includes technology. For instance, we can view our Skype conversation through the lens of ecology in terms of the amount of energy that's used. Economically, we might consider what is being produced and what its value is. It's probably a pretty good economic deal since you and I are virtually paying nothing for it! So economically it's a good deal. In terms of the communitarian lens, we are developing a dialogue that will hopefully be in a relational field with many other people, perhaps thereby also contributing to a certain growth of consciousness.
E2C2 offers four lenses through which we can look at technology; they are not mutually exclusive. For me, the question is: to what extent are our technologies beneficial in terms of each of the lenses. Denis Hayes, the guy who started Earth Day, said the basic principle of sustainability is that you leave your molecules at home and export your photons. This brings us back to the concept of low energy cosmopolitanism. It's a huge question: what are we going to globalize? If we are going to have a global civilization we need to have global communication. The Internet is a tremendous achievement in that regard, and could to function as a kind of global brain, though its roots are in its military applications and today it is primarily dominated by commerce. (And I understand that pornography is a big part of it as well.) Despite its limitations, the Internet provides an infrastructure that could enable us to be in communication globally, which is very important if you want to develop a global consciousness and a global civilization. But we need to understand that our technologies must operate within the limits of the Earth system. In other words, technologies—like all human systems—are also living systems.
Last question. So how can we relate this back to IR?
I think one of the ways this is happening is that some pockets of IR are actually returning to foundational concepts. For instance, Alexander Wendt (Theory Talk #3) has started this Journal International Theory. People are seriously looking at the bigger and deeper questions, so uniting more with political theorists for instance. This idea that we are coming up against real limits is a very frightening idea from the perspective of a certain idea of freedom rooted in liberal politics. We really need to rethink the meaning of freedom in an era of limits. My own feeling is that human beings are kind of hard-wired towards unlimitedness—but the world is now pressing us to interrogate this impulse. We don't do well with limits. But the fact of the matter is, we are not evolutionarily adapted to abundance, we don't even know what to do with abundance. We are squandering resources in the most absurd ways. So we really need to rethink what freedom is in a world of limits.
It's not all together a bad thing that we are facing these limits. Those of us who have at least the privilege of being well fed and reasonably comfortable, can actually turn our attention to this question of consciousness. Because this question of 'what is freedom' is a problem of human consciousness. Rather than turning our desire towards mastery—I think as human beings we have an innate desire towards mastery – rather than turning that desire onto the external world, we've pretty well mastered it; except turns out that we live in it so it's coming back to bite us and we are facing huge climate change most likely. When we shift the focus of this desire for mastery to our own psyches, then lots of things open up. And I don't think only people who live in industrialized countries need to do this or are doing this. One of the things I saw in my ecovillage book is that people living in developing countries are also quite aware of it and are doing it at the places they live as well. There is a global awakening, at least in small pockets, to the fact that we live within a limited Earth system and a serious inquiry into what it means to be a human being at this juncture between modernity and the Anthropocene.
Karen Litfin (Ph.D., University of California, Los Angeles, 1992) is an associate professor in the Department of Political Science at the University of Washington. She specializes in global environmental politics, with core interests in green theory, the science/policy interface, and what she calls "person/planet politics." Her first book, Ozone Discourses: Science and Politics in International Environmental Cooperation (Columbia University Press, 1994), looks at the discursive framing of science in the ozone treaties. Her second book, The Greening of Sovereignty in World Politics (MIT Press, 1998), explores how state sovereignty is being reconfigured as a consequence of global environmental politics. Some of the topics of her recently publications include: the politics of earth remote sensing; the political implications of Gaia Theory; the relationship between scientific and political authority in the climate change negotiations; the politics of sacrifice in an ecologically full world; and holistic thinking in the global ecovillage movement.
Related links
Faculty profile at the University of Washington Read Litfin's Thinking like a planet: Gaian politics and the transformation of the world food system (2011 book chapter) here (pdf) Read Litfin's Towards an Integral Perspective on World Politics: Secularism, Sovereignty and the Challenge of Global Ecoloy (Millennium, 2003) here (pdf) Read Litfin's The Status of the Statistical State: Satellites and the Diffusion of Epistemic Sovereignty (Global Society, 1999) here (pdf) Read Litfin's The Gendered Eye in the Sky: Feminist Perspectives on Earth Observation Satellites (Frontiers 1997) here (pdf)
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My first post described a few anecdotes about what a warm person Bob Lucas was, and such a great colleague. Here I describe a little bit of his intellectual influence, in a form that is I hope accessible to average people.The "rational expectations" revolution that brought down Keynesianism in the 1970s was really much larger than that. It was really the "general equilibrium" revolution. Macroeconomics until 1970 was sharply different from regular microeconomics. Economics is all about "models," complete toy economies that we construct via equations and in computer programs. You can't keep track of everything in even the most beautiful prose. Microeconomic models, and "general equilibrium" as that term was used at the time, wrote down how people behave — how they decide what to buy, how hard to work, whether to save, etc.. Then it similarly described how companies behave and how government behaves. Set this in motion and see where it all settles down; what prices and quantities result. But for macroeconomic issues, this approach was sterile. I took a lot of general equilibrium classes as a PhD student — Berkeley, home of Gerard Debreu was strong in the field. But it was devoted to proving the existence of equilibrium with more and more general assumptions, and never got around to calculating that equilibrium and what it might say about recessions and government policies. Macroeconomics, exemplified by the ISLM tradition, inhabited a different planet. One wrote down equations for quantities rather than people, for example that "consumption" depended on "income," and investment on interest rates. Most importantly, macroeconomics treated each year as a completely separate economy. Today's consumption depended on today's income, having nothing to do with whether people expected the future to look better or worse. Economists recognized this weakness, and a vast and now thankfully forgotten literature tried fruitlessly to find "micro foundations" for Keynesian economics. But building foundations under an existing castle doesn't work. The foundations want a different castle. Bob's "islands" paper is famous, yes, for a complete model of how unexpected money might move output in the short run and not just raise inflation. But you can do that with a half a page of simple math, and Bob's paper is hard to read. It's deeper contribution, and the reason for that difficulty, is that Bob wrote out a complete "general equilibrium" model. People, companies and government each follow described rules of behavior. Those rules are derived as being the optimal thing for people and companies to do given their environment. And they are forward-looking. People think about how to make their whole lives as pleasant as possible, companies to maximize the present value of profits. Prices adjust so supply = demand. Bob said, by example, that we should do macroeconomics by writing down general equilibrium models. General equilibrium had also been abandoned by the presumption that it only studies perfect economies. Macroeconomics is really about studying how things go wrong, how "frictions" in the economy, such as the "sticky" wages underlying Keynesian thinking, can produce undesirable and unnecessary recessions. But here too, Bob requires us to write down the frictions explicitly. In his model, people don't see the aggregate price level right away, and do the best they can with local information. That is the real influence of the paper and Bob's real influence in the profession. (Current macroeconomic modeling reflects the fact that the Fed sets interest rates, and does not control the money supply.) You can see this influence in Tom Sargent's textbooks. The first textbook has an extensive treatment of Keynesian economics. It's about the most comprehensible treatment there is — but it is no insult to Tom to say that in that book you can see how Keynesian economics really doesn't hang together. Tom describes how, the minute he learned from Bob how to to general equilibrium, everything changed instantly. Rational expectations was, like any other advance, a group effort. But what made Bob the leader was that he showed the rest how to do general equilibrium. This is the heart of my characterization that Bob is the most important macroeconomist of the 20th century. Yes, Keynes and Friedman had more policy impact, and Friedman's advocacy of free markets in microeconomic affairs is the most consequential piece of 20th century economics. But within macroeconomics, there is before Lucas and after Lucas. Everyone today does economics the Lucas way. Even the most new-Keynesian article follows the Lucas rules of how to do economics. Once you see models founded on complete descriptions of people, businesses, government, and frictions, you can see the gaping holes in standard ISLM models. This is some of his stinging critique, such as "after Keynesian macroeconomics." Sure, if people's income goes up they are likely to consume more, as the Keynesians posited. But interest rates, wages, and expectations of the future also affect consumption, which Keynesians leave out. "Cross equations restrictions" and "budget constraints" are missing. Now, the substantive prediction that monetary policy can only move the real economy via unexpected money supply growth did not bear out, and both subsequent real business cycles and new-Keynesianism brought persistent responses. But the how we do macroeconomics part is the enduring contribution. The paper still had enduring practical lessons. Lucas, together with Friedman and Phelps brought down the Phillips curve. This curve, relating inflation to unemployment, had been (and sadly, remains) at the center of macroeconomics. It is a statistical correlation, but like many correlations people got enthused with it and started reading it as stable relationship, and indeed a causal one. Raise inflation and you can have less unemployment. Raise unemployment in order to lower inflation. The Fed still thinks about it in that causal way. But Lucas, Friedman, and Phelps bring a basic theory to it, and thereby realize it is just a correlation, which will vanish if you push on it. Rich guys wear Rolexes. That doesn't mean that giving everyone a Rolex will have a huge "multiplier" effect and make us all rich. This is the essence of the "Lucas critique" which is a second big contribution that lay readers can easily comprehend. If you push on correlations they will vanish. Macroeconomics was dedicated to the idea that policy makers can fool people. Monetary policy might try to boost output in a recession with a surprise bit of money growth. That will wok once or twice. But like the boy who cried wolf, people will catch on, come to expect higher money growth in recessions and the trick won't work anymore. Bob showed here that all the "behavioral" relations of Keynesian models will fall apart if you exploit them for policy, or push on them, though they may well hold as robust correlations in the data. The "consumption function" is the next great example. Keynesians noticed that when income rises people consume more, so write a consumption function relating consumption to income. But, following Friedman's great work on consumption, we know that correlation isn't always true in the data. The relation between consumption and income is different across countries (about one for one) than it is over time (less than one for one). And we understand that with Friedman's theory: People, trying to do their best over their whole lives don't follow mechanical rules. If they know income will fall in the future, they consume a lot less today, no matter what today's current income. Lucas showed that people who behave this sensible way will follow a Keynesian consumption function, given the properties of income overt the business cycle. You will see a Keynesian consumption function. Econometric estimates and tests will verify a Keynesian consumption function. Yet if you use the model to change policies, the consumption function will evaporate. This paper is devastating. Large scale Keynesian models had already been constructed, and used for forecasting and policy simulation. It's natural. The model says, given a set of policies (money supply, interest rates, taxes, spending) and other shocks, here is where the economy goes. Well, then, try different policies and find ones that lead to better outcomes. Bob shows the models are totally useless for that effort. If the policy changes, the model will change. Bob also showed that this was happening in real time. Supposedly stable parameters drifted around. (This one is also very simple mathematically. You can see the point instantly. Bob always uses the minimum math necessary. If other papers are harder, that's by necessity not bravado.) This devastation is sad in a way. Economics moved to analyzing policies in much simpler, more theoretically grounded, but less realistic models. Washington policy analysis sort of gave up. The big models lumber on, the Fred's FRBUS for example, but nobody takes the policy predictions that seriously. And they don't even forecast very well. For example, in the 2008 stimulus, the CEA was reduced to assuming a back of the envelope 1.5 multiplier, this 40 years after the first large scale policy models were constructed. Bob always praised the effort of the last generation of Keynesians to write explicit quantitative models, to fit them to data, and to make numerical predictions of various policies. He hoped to improve that effort. It didn't work out that way, but not by intention. This affair explains a lot of why economists flocked to the general equilibrium camp. Behavioral relationships, like what fraction of an extra dollar of income you consume, are not stable over time or as policy changes. But one hopes that preferences, — how impatient you are, how much you are willing to save more to get a better rate of return — and technology — how much a firm can produce with given capital and labor — do not change when policy changes. So, write models for policy evaluation at the level of preferences and technology, with people and companies at the base, not from behavioral relationships that are just correlations. Another deep change: Once you start thinking about macroeconomics as intertemporal economics — the economics that results from people who make decisions about how to consume over time, businesses make decisions about how to produce this year and next — and once you see that their expectations of what will happen next year, and what policies will be in place next year are crucial, you have to think of policy in terms of rules, and regimes, not isolated decisions. The Fed often asks economists for advice, "should we raise the funds rate?" Post Lucas macroeconomists answer that this isn't a well posed question. It's like saying "should we cry wolf?" The right question is, should we start to follow a rule, a regime, should we create an institution, that regularly and reliably raises interest rates in a situation like the current one? Decisions do not live in isolation. They create expectations and reputations. Needless to say, this fundamental reality has not soaked in to policy institutions. And that answer (which I have tried at Fed advisory meetings) leads to glazed eyes. John Taylor's rule has been making progress for 30 years trying to bridge that conceptual gap, with some success. This was, and remains, extraordinarily contentious. 50 years later, Alan Blinder's book, supposedly about policy, is really one long snark about how terrible Lucas and his followers are, and how we should go back to the Keynesian models of the 1960s. Some of that contention comes back to basic philosophy. The program applies standard microeconomics: derive people's behaviors as the best thing they can do given their circumstances. If people pick the best combination of apples and bananas when they shop, then also describe consumption today vs. tomorrow as the best they can do given interest rates. But a lot of economics doesn't like this "rational actor" assumption. It's not written in stone, but it has been extraordinarily successful. And it imposes a lot of discipline. There are a thousand arbitrary ways to be irrational. Somehow though, a large set of economists are happy to write down that people pick fruit baskets optimally, but don't apply the same rationality to decisions over time, or in how they think about the future. But "rational expectations" is really just a humility condition. It says, don't write models in which the predictions of the model are different from the expectations in the model. If you do, if your model is right, people will read the model and catch on, and the model won't work anymore. Don't assume you economist (or Fed chair) are so much less behavioral than the people in your model. Don't base policy on an attempt to fool the little peasants over and over again. It does not say that people are big super rational calculating machines. It just says that they eventually catch on. Some of the contentiousness is also understandable by career concerns. Many people had said "we should do macro seriously like general equilibrium." But it isn't easy to do. Bob had to teach himself, and get the rest of us to learn, a range of new mathematical and modeling tools to be able to write down interesting general equilibrium models. A 1970 Keynesian can live just knowing how to solve simple systems of linear equations, and run regressions. To follow Bob and the rational expectations crowd, you had to learn linear time-series statistics, dynamic programming, and general equilibrium math. Bob once described how tough the year was that it took him to learn functional analysis and dynamic programming. The models themselves consisted of a mathematically hard set of constructions. The older generation either needed to completely retool, fade away, or fight the revolution. Some good summary words: Bob's economics uses"rational expectations," or at least forward-looking and model-consistent expectations. Economics becomes "intertemporal," not "static" (one year at a time). Economics is "stochastic" as well as "dynamic," we can treat uncertainty over time, not just economies in which everyone knows the future perfectly. It applies "general equilibrium" to macroeconomics. And I've just gotten to the beginning of the 1970s. When I got to Chicago in the 1980s, there was a feeling of "well, you just missed the party." But it wasn't true. The 1980s as well were a golden age. The early rational expectations work was done, and the following real business cycles were the rage in macro. But Bob's dynamic programming, general equilibrium tool kit was on a rampage all over dynamic economics. The money workshop was one creative use of dynamic programs and interetempboral tools after another one, ranging from taxes to Thai villages (Townsend). I'll mention two. Bob's consumption model is at the foundation of modern asset pricing. Bob parachuted in, made the seminal contribution, and then left finance for other pursuits. The issue at the time was how to generalize the capital asset pricing model. Economists understood that some stocks pay higher returns than others, and that they must do so to compensate for risk. The understood that the risk is, in general terms, that the stock falls in some sense of bad times. But how to measure "bad times?" The CAPM uses the market, other models use somewhat nebulous other portfolios. Bob showed us that at least in the purest theory, that stocks must pay higher average returns if they fall when consumption falls. (Breeden also constructed a consumption model in parallel, but without this "endowment economy" aspect of Bob's) This is the purest most general theory, and all the others are (useful) specializations. My asset pricing book follows. The genius here was to turn it all around. Finance had sensibly built up from portfolio theory, like supply and demand: Given returns, what stocks do you buy, and how much to you save vs. consume? Then, markets have to clear find the stock prices, and thus returns, given which people will buy exactly the amount that's for sale and consume what is produced. That's hard. (Technically, finding the vector of prices that clears markets is hard. Yes, N equations in N unknowns, but they're nonlinear and N is big.) Bob instead imagined that consumption is fixed at each moment in time, like a desert island in which so many coconuts fall each day and you can't store them or plant them. Then, you can just read prices from people's preferences. This gives the same answer as if the consumption you assume is fixed had derived from a complex production economy. You don't have to solve for prices that equate supply and demand. Brilliantly, though prices cause consumption to individual people, consumption causes prices in aggregate. This is part of Bob's contribution to the hard business of actually computing quantitative models in the stochastic dynamic general equilibrium tradition. Bob, with Nancy Stokey also took the new tools to the theory of taxation. (Bob Barro also was a founder of this effort in the late 1980s.) You can see the opportunity: we just learned how to handle dynamic (overt time, expectations of tomorrow matter to what you do today) stochastic (but there is uncertainty about what will happen tomorrow) economics (people make explicit optimizing decisions) for macro. How about taking that same approach to taxes? The field of dynamic public finance is born. Bob and Nancy, like Barro, show that it's a good idea for governments to borrow and then repay, so as to spread the pain of taxes evenly over time. But not always. When a big crisis comes, it is useful to execute a "state contingent default." The big tension of Lucas-Stokey (and now, all) dynamic public finance: You don't want any capital taxes for the incentive effects. If you tax capital, people invest less, and you just get less capital. But once people have invested, a capital tax grabs revenue for the government with no economic distortion. Well, that is, if you can persuade them you'll never do it again. (Do you see expectations, reputations, rules, regimes, wolves in how we think of policy?) Lucas and Stoney say, do it only very rarely to balance the disincentive of a bad reputation with the need to raise revenue in once a century calamities. Bob went on, of course, to be one of the founders of modern growth theory. I always felt he deserved a second Nobel for this work. He's absolutely right. Once you look at growth, it's hard to think about anything else. The average Indian lives on $2,000 per year. The average American, $60,000. That was $15,000 in 1950. Nothing else comes close. I only work on money and inflation because that's where I think I have answers. For us mortals, good research proceeds where you think you have an answer, not necessarily from working on Big Questions. Bob brilliantly put together basic facts and theory to arrive at the current breakthrough. Once you get out of the way, growth does not come from more capital, or even more efficiency. It comes from more and better ideas. I remember being awed by his first work for cutting through the morass and assembling the facts that only look salient in retrospect. A key one: Interest rates in poor countries are not much higher than they are in rich countries. Poor countries have lots of workers, but little capital. Why isn't the return on scarce capital enormous, with interest rates in the hundreds of percent, to attract more capital to poor countries? Well, you sort of know the answer, that capital is not productive in those countries. Productivity is low, meaning those countries don't make use of better ideas on how to organize production. Ideas too are produced by economics, but, as Paul Romer crystallized, they are fundamentally different from other goods. If I produce an idea, you can use it without hurting my use of it. Yes, you might drive down the monopoly profits I gain from my intellectual property. But if you use my Pizza recipe, that's not like using my car. I can still make Pizza, where if you use my car I can't go anywhere. Thus, the usual free market presumption that we will produce enough ideas is false. (Don't jump too quickly to advocate government subsides for ideas. You have to find the right ideas, and governments aren't necessarily good at subsidizing that search.) And the presumption that intellectual property should be preserved forever is also false. Once produced it is socially optimal for everyone to use it. I won't go on. It's enough to say that Bob was as central to the creation of idea-based growth theory, which dominates today, as he was to general equilibrium macro, which also dominates today.Bob is an underrated empiricist. Bob's work on the size distribution of firms (great tweet summary by Luis Garicano) similarly starts from basic facts of the size distribution of firms and the lack of relationship between size and growth rates. It's interesting how we can go on for years with detailed econometric estimates of models that don't get basic facts right. I loved Bob's paper on money demand for the Carnegie Rochester conference series. An immense literature had tried to estimate money demand functions with dynamics, and was pretty confusing. It made a basic mistake, by looking at first differences rather than levels and thereby isolating the noise and drowning out the signal. Bob made a few plots, basically rediscovered cointegration all on his own, and made sense of it all. And don't forget the classic international comparison of inflation-output relations. Countries with volatile inflation have less Phillips curve tradeoff, just as his islands model featuring confusion between relative prices and the price level predicts. One last note to young scholars. There is a tendency today to value people by the number of papers they produce, and how quickly they rise through the ranks. Read Bob's CV. He wrote about one paper a year, starting quite late in life. But, as Aesop said, they were lions. In his Nobel prize speech, Bob also passed on that he and his Nobel-winning generation at Chicago always felt they were in some backwater, where the high prestige stuff was going on at Harvard and MIT. You never know when it might be a golden age. And the AER rejected his islands paper (as well as Akerlof's lemons). If you know it's good, revise and try again. I will miss his brilliant papers as much as his generous personality. Update: See Ivan Werning's excellent "Lucas Miracles" for an appreciation by a real theorist.
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Daniel Levine on Hidden Hands, Vocation and Sustainable Critique in International Relations
Daniel Levine is part of a new generation of IR scholars that takes a more pluralist approach to addressing the hard and important questions generated by international politics. While many of those interviewed here display a fairly consistent commitment to a certain position within what is often referred to as 'the debate' in IR, Levine straddles the boundaries of a diverse range of positions and understandings. Time to ask for elaboration.
Print version of this Talk (pdf)
What is, according to you, the biggest challenge / principal debate in current IR? What is your position or answer to this challenge / in this debate?
The question I'd like us to be asking more clearly than we are is, 'are we a vocation and, if so, what kind of vocation are we'? This points to a varied set of questions that we, as scholars, gesture to but spend relatively little theoretical time developing or unpacking. There's an assumption that the knowledge we produce is supposed to be put good for something, practical in light of some praiseworthy purpose. Even theorists who perceive themselves to be epistemologically value-free hope, I think, at least on an intuitive level, that some practical good will emerge from what they do. They hope that they are doing 'good work' in the sense that some Christians use this term. But, there is not really a sustained project of thinking through how those works work: how our notions of vocation might be different or even mutually exclusive, and how the differences in our notions of vocation might be bound up in non-obvious ways to our epistemological, methodological, and theoretical choices.
Moreover, except for a few very important and quite heroic (and minoritarian) efforts, we don't really have a way to think systematically about the structure of the profession: how it influences or intervenes or otherwise acts on particular ideas as they percolate through it, and how those ideas get 'taken up' into policy. Brian Schmidt has done work like that, so has Inanna Hamati-Ataya, Ole Waever, Ido Oren, Oded Löwenheim, Elizabeth Dauphinee, Naeem Inayatullah, and Piki Ish-Shalom; and it's good work, but they are doing what they are doing with limited resources, and I think without due appreciation from a big chunk of the field as to why that work is important and what it means.
When I started writing Recovering International Relations, I had wanted to recover the 'view from nowhere' that many social scientists idealize. You know, that methodological conceit where we imagine we are standing on Mars, watching the earth through a telescope, or we're Archimedes standing outside of the world, leveraging it with distance and dispassion. I had worked on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict for a long time, was living in Tel Aviv, working for a think tank, and was—am—an Israeli citizen and an American citizen. I had this somewhat shocking discovery right after the Second Intifada broke out. Most of my senior colleagues were deploying their expertise in what seemed to me to be a very tendentious way: to show why the second Intifada was Yassar Arafat's fault or the Palestinian Authority's fault—or, in a few cases, the Israelis' fault. There were some very simplistic political agendas that were driving this research. People were watching the evening news, coming into work the next morning, and then running Ehud Yaari's commentary through their respective fact-values-methods mill. Or if they were well-connected, they were talking to their friends on the 'inside', and doing the same thing.
It was hard to admit this for a long time, but I was very naïve. I found that very unsettling and quite disillusioning. That's why the view from nowhere was so appealing. I wanted to be able to talk about Israel and Palestine without taking a position on Israel and Palestine—but without eschewing the expertise I had acquired along the way, in part because I was a party to this conflict, and cared about its outcome. I was young, inexperienced, and slightly arrogant to boot—neither yet a scholar, nor an 'expert,' nor really aware of the game I was playing. So my objections were not well received, nor did I pose them especially coherently. To their credit, my senior colleagues did recognize something worthwhile in my diatribes, and they did their best to help me get into graduate school.
As the project developed, and as I started engaging with my mentors in grad school, it appeared that the view from nowhere was essentially impossible to recover. With Hegel and with the poststructuralists, we can't really think from nowhere; the idea of it is this kind of intellectual optical illusion, as though thinking simply happens, without a mind that is conditioned by being in the world. Therefore, there needs to be a process by which we give account of ourselves.
There are a variety of different ways to consider how one might do that. There's what we might call the agentic approach, in which we think through the structure of thought itself: its limitations, our dependence on a certain image of thinking notwithstanding those limits—thought's work on us, on our minds. This is closest to what I do, drawing on Adorno and Kant, and Adorno's account of how concepts work in the mind; how they pull us away from the things we mean to understand even as they give us the words to understand them. And drawing on Jane Bennett, William Connolly, Hannah Arendt, Cornel West, JoanTronto, and JudithButler to think through how one conditions oneself to accept those limitations from a space of love, humility and service. Patrick Jackson's (TheoryTalk #44) Conduct of Research in IR is quite similar to this approach; and so is Colin Wight's Agents, Structures and International Relations; though they use more philosophy of science than I do.
One could also do this more 'structurally.' One could say 'this is how the academy works and this is how the academy interconnects with the larger political community' and then try to trace out those links: I mentioned Hamati-Ataya, Oren, and Ish-Shalom, or you could think of Isaac Kamola, Helen Kinsella, or Srdjan Vucetic.
Any of those approaches—or really, some admixture of them—would be pieces of that project. I would like us to be doing more of that—alongside, not instead of, all the other things we are already doing, from historical institutionalism to formal modeling, to large-N and quantitative approaches, and normative, feminist and critical ones. I would like such self-accounting to be one of the things scholars do, that they take it as seriously as they take methods, epistemology, data, etc. Driving that claim home in our field, as it's presently constituted, is our biggest challenge.
How did you arrive at where you currently are in IR?
I'm 42, so the Cold War was a big deal. I'm American-born, and I was raised in a pretty typical suburb. John Stewart from the Daily Show is probably the most famous product of my hometown, though I didn't know him. My view of history was a liberal and progressive in the Michael Waltzer/Ulrich Beck/Anthony Giddens, vein, but I was definitely influenced by the global circumstances of the time, and by the 'End of History' discourse that was in the air. I thought that the US was a force of good in the world. I was a nice Jewish boy from New Jersey. I really wanted to live in Israel for personal reasons, and the moral challenge of living in Israel after the Intifada seemed to go away with the peace process. So, it seemed to me that it was a kind of golden moment: you could 'render unto Caesar what was due to Caesar', and do the same for the Lord. I could actually be a Jewish-Israeli national and also a political progressive. (That phrase is, of course, drawn from the Gospels, and that may give you some sense of how my stated religious affiliations might have differed from the conceptual and theological structures upon which they actually rested—score one for the necessity of reflexivity. But in any case, those events were important.)
I moved to Israel when I was 22 and was drafted into the military after I took citizenship there. In the IDF, I was a low-level functionary/general laborer—a 'jobnik', someone who probably produces less in utility than they consume in rations. Our job was to provide support for the combatants that patrolled a certain chunk of the West Bank near Nablus—Shechem, as we called it, after the biblical name. I was not a particularly distinguished soldier. But we were cogs in a very large military occupation, and being inside a machine like that, you can see how the gears and pieces of it meshed together, and I started taking notice of this. Sometimes I'd help keep the diary in the operations room. You saw how it all worked, or didn't work; or rather, for whom it worked and for whom it didn't. All that was very sobering and quite fascinating.
I once attended a lecture given by the African politics scholar Scott Straus, and he said the thing about being present right after genocide is that you come across these pits full of dead bodies. It's really shocking and horrific—there they are, just as plain as day. Nothing I saw in the sheer level of violence compares to that in any way—I should stress this. But that sense of it all just being out there, as plain as day, and being shocked by this—that resonated with me. Everyone who cared to look could understand how the occupation worked, or at least how chunks of it worked. So I would say in terms of events, those things were the big pieces that structured my thinking.
Here's two anecdotal examples. Since I was a grade of soldier with very limited skills, I was on guard duty a lot. We had a radio. I could hear the Prime Minister on the radio saying we are going to strike so-and-so in response to an attack on such-and-such, and then I could see helicopters pass overhead to Nablus, and then I could see smoke. Then I could see soldiers come back from going out to do whatever it was the helicopter had provided air support for. I'd see ambulances with red crescents or red Stars of David rush down the main road. It began to occur to me that there was a certain economy of violence in speech and performance. I didn't think about it in specifically theoretical terms before I went back to graduate school, but Israelis had been killed, political outrage had been generated. There was a kind of affective deficit in Israeli politics that demanded a response, and some amount of suffering had to be returned—so the government could say it was doing its job. I found this very depressing. My odd way of experiencing this—neither fully inside nor outside—is certainly not the most important or authentic, and I'm not trying to set myself up as an expert on this basis. I'm only trying to account for how it made me think at the time and how that shows up in what and how I write now.
Later, when I was in the reserves, I was in the same unit with the same guys every year. One year, we were lacing our boots and getting our equipment for our three weeks of duty in a sector of the West Bank near Hebron, I think it was. I remember one guy, one of the more hawkish guys, said 'we'll show 'em this time, we'll show them what's what'. Three weeks later, that same guy said 'Jeez, it's like we're like a thorn in their backside; no wonder they hate us so much.' (He actually used some colorful imagery that I can't share with you.) I remember thinking, 'well, ok, he'll go home and he'll tell his family and his friends; some good will come of this.' The next year, I saw the same guy saying the same thing at the start, 'we'll show those SOBs.' And then three weeks later, 'oh my God, this is so pointless, no wonder they hate us…' So after a few years of this I finally said to him, 'tagid, ma yihiyeh itcha?'—Like, dude, what's your deal? 'We've had this conversation every year! What happens to you in the 48 weeks that you're not here that you forget this?' And I think he looked at me like, 'what are you talking about?'
I thought about that afterwards: we have these moments of experience when we're out of our everyday environment and discourse, the diet of news and fear, PR and political nonsense—that's when these insights become possible. So, when this guy comes in and says 'ok, we'll get those SOBs,' he's carrying with him this discourse that he has from home, from the news and TV, from his 'parliament' with his friends where they get together and talk about politics and war and economics and whatever else—and then a few weeks of occupation duty disrupts all that, makes him see it in a different light, and he has these kinds of fugitive experiences which give him a weirdly acute critical insight. Suddenly, he's this mini-Foucault.
In a few weeks, though, he goes back to his life, there's no space or niche into which that uncomfortable, fugitive insight can really grow, so it just sort of disappears or withers on the vine, its power is dissipated. This is a very real, direct experience of violence and it's covered over by all of this jibber-jabber. So there's a moment where you start to wonder: what exactly happens there? What happens in those 48 weeks? What happens to me during those weeks? You can see how a kind of ongoing critical self-interrogation would evolve out of that. Again, none of those things are exactly what my book's about, but it gives you a sense of how you might find Adorno's kind of critical relentlessness and negativity vital and important and really useful and necessary. You can see how that might inform my thinking.
In terms of books, as an undergraduate, I had read, not very attentively, Said and Foucault, and all of the stuff at the University of Chicago we had to take in what they called the 'Scosh Sequence,' from sociologists like Elijah Anderson and William Julius Wilson to Charles Lindblom and Mancur Olsen: texts from the positive and the interpretive to the post-structural. I had courses with some very smart Israeli and Palestinian profs—Ephraim Yaar, Salim Tamari, Ariela Finkelstein. And of course Rashid Khalidi was there at that time. Once I was in the military, the Foucault and Said suddenly started popping around in my head. Suddenly, this sort of lived experience of being on guard duty made the Panopticon and the notion of discipline go from being a rather complicated, obscure concept to something concrete. 'Oh! That's what discipline is!'
When I went back to graduate school, I was given a pretty steady diet of Waltz, rational deterrence theory, Barry Posen, Stephen Walt (Theory Talk #33), and Robert Jervis (Theory Talk #12). Shai Feldman was a remarkable teacher, so were Ilai Alon in philosophy, Shlomo Shoham in sociology and Aharon Shai in History. Additionally I had colleagues at work who were PhD students at the Hebrew University working with Emanuel Adler; they gave me Wendt (Theory Talk #3), Katzenstein's (TheoryTalk # 15) Culture of National Security, Adler and Barnett, and Jutta Weldes' early article on 'Constructing National Interests' in the EJIR (PDF here). My job was to help them publish their monographs, so I got really into the guts of their arguments, which were fascinating. I am not really an agency-centered theory guy anymore and I am not really a constructivist anymore, but that stuff was fantastic. I saw that one could write from a wholly different viewpoint, perspective, and voice. This is all very mainstream in IR now, but at the time, it felt quite edgy, very novel. Part of the reason why the middle chapters of Recovering IR has these long discussions about different kinds of constructivism is that I wouldn't have had two thoughts to rub together if it was not for those books. I do disagree with them now and strongly, but they were very important to me all the same.
What would a student need to become a specialist in IR or understand the world in a global way?
I'd be more comfortable answering that question as someone who was, until relatively recently, a grad student. I've not been productive long enough to say 'Well, here's how to succeed in this business and be a theorist of enduring substance or importance' with any authority. But I can say, 'here's how I'm trying to be one.' There's a famous article by Albert O. Hirschman called 'The Principle of the Hiding Hand,' (PDF here) and in it he says that frequently, the only way one can get through really large or complicated projects is to delude oneself as to how hard the project is actually going to be. He takes as an example these ambitious, massively complicated post-colonial economic projects of the Aswan High Dam variety. The only way such enormous projects ever get off the ground, he says, is if one either denies their true complexity or deludes oneself. Otherwise you despair and you never get it done. From the first day of seminar to dissertation proposal to job—thank God I had no idea what I was in for, or I might have quit.
Also, the job market being what it was, we had to be very, very passionate scholars who wrote and argued for the sheer intellectual rush and love of writing. And yet, we also had to be very practical and almost cynical about the way in which the academic market builds on the prestige of publications and the way in which prestige becomes shorthand for your commodity value. At least in the US, the decline of tenure and the emergence of a kind of new class of academics whose realm of responsibility is specifically to engage in uncomfortable kinds of political and moral critique—but without tenure, and at the mercy of a sometimes feckless dean, an overburdened department chair or fickle colleagues—that's very scary. If you're doing 'normal science', it's a different game and the challenges are different. But if your job is to do critique, in the last ten years, it's a very big deal. Very difficult. I'm very fortunate in that regard; at Alabama I've had great support from my department, my chair, and my college.
I was a Johns Hopkins PhD, and my department was fantastic in terms of giving me support, encouragement, getting out of my way while throwing interesting books at me, reading drafts that were bad and helping me make them good—or at least telling me why they were bad. We did not get particularly good professional training, because I think they did not want us to get professionalized before we found our own voice. I'm really grateful for that, truly. But then there's this period in which you have to figure out how to make your voice into a commodity. That's really tough, it's a little bit disheartening—even to discover that you must be a commodity is dismaying; didn't we go into the academy to avoid this sort of logic? But just like Marx says, commodities have a double life, and so do you. The use-value of your scholarship and its exchange-value do not interlock automatically and without friction. So you spend all this time on the use-value of it—writing a cool, smart, interesting dissertation—thinking that will translate into exchange-value, and it turns out that it sort of does, but a lot of other things translate into exchange-value too that aren't really about how good your work is necessarily. And many of your colleagues, if what you're doing is original, won't really understand what you're doing; the value or the creativity of it won't be apparent to them unless they spend a lot of time sifting through your bad drafts of it, which only a few—but God bless those—will do. So how you create exchange-value for yourself is important. So is finding people who will care about you, your project, your future—and learning when to take their advice, when to ignore it, and how to do so tactfully.
If all that's hard, you're probably doing it right. It's unfortunate that that's how it is, but at all events, that's how it was for me.
Would you elaborate on the concept of vocation and why this is so important to the view from nowhere? It is important to say that the view from nowhere is perhaps difficult. So is vocation, or a kind of Weberian approach, a way to articulate that for you?
There's a quote in a book from a Brazilian novelist named Machado de Assis. His protagonist is this fellow Bras Cubas, who's writing a posthumous memoir of his own life. He's writing from beyond the grave. From there, he can view his whole life and his entire society from outside; he's finally achieved positivism's view from nowhere. But the thing about this view—and the book means to be a sendup of the Comtean positivism that was fashionable in Brazil in those days—is that it gives him no comfort. He now knows why he lived his life the way he did; how he failed and what was—and what was not—his fault. The absurdity of it all makes sense. But it changes nothing: he has died unfulfilled, unloved, and essentially alone: a minor poet and back-bench politician who was ultimately of little use to anyone nor of much to himself. All he knows is how that happened.
In the end, if we're all playing a role in how a world comes into being and it's in some sense our job simply to accept this, and our job as scholars merely to explain it, this gives us no comfort in the face of suffering, in the face of violence and evil. To some extent as scholars, and to some extent as a discipline, we exist as a response to evil, to suffering, to foolishness, to folly; it's not a coincidence that the first professorship of IR is created in Britain in the wake of WWI, and that it's given to someone like E. H. Carr.
If we don't have a view from nowhere because we've given up anything like a moral sense that can't be reduced to fractional, material, or ideological sensibilities, and if we know that sometimes those 'views from somewhere' can provide cover for terrible kinds of evil or justify awful kinds of suffering, then the notion of vocation seems to come in at that point and say well, 'here's what I hope I'm doing', or 'here's what I wish to be doing', or 'here's what I'd like to think I'm doing', and then allowing others to weigh in and give their two cents. Vocation, in the sense of Weber's lectures, comes out of that. It's Kant for social scientists: What can I know? What should I do? For what may I hope? In other words, what the necessity and obligation of thinking is on the one hand, and on the other what its limitations are.
This is a way to save International Relations from two things: one, from relativism and perspectivism, and the other, from a descent into the technocratic or the managerial. I am trying to stand between the two. My own intellectual background was in security studies at Tel Aviv University in the 1990s: the period immediately after Maastricht, in the period of the Oslo Process, the end of Apartheid. My hope back in the days when the peace process seemed to me to be going well was that I'd be able to have a kind of technocratic job in Israel's Ministry of Foreign Affairs or Defense. Counting tanks, or something similar. I thought that would be a pretty good job. I would be doing my part to maintain a society that had constructed a stable, long-term deterrent by which to meaningfully address the problem of Jewish statelessness and vulnerability, but without the disenfranchisement of another people. I could sit down and count my tanks with a clear conscience, because the specter of evil was being removed from that work. The problem of the occupation was being be solved. Again, it's somewhat embarrassing to admit this now.
I would say in the US academy, there is definitely a balance in favor of the technocrats. We have enormous machines for the production and consumption of PhDs in this country. The defense establishment is an enormous player. Groups like the Institute for Defense Analysis need a lot of PhDs, the NSF funds a lot of PhDs (for now, at least), and that tips the balance of the profession in a certain way. My ability to use ideas compellingly at ISA won't change that fact all by itself, there's a base-superstructure issue in play there.
In Europe, it's a different story, for a bunch of reasons. The defense establishments of the EU member states aren't as onerous a presence. And, there are more of them; so there's a kind of diversity there and a need to think culturally about how these various institutions interlock and how people learn to talk to each other: the Martha Finnemore-to-Vincent Pouliot-to-Iver Neumann (Theory Talk #52) study of ideas and institutions and officials. Plus, you have universities like the EUI and the CEU, which are not reducible to any particular national interest or education system; creating knowledge, but for a political/state form that's still emergent. No one knows exactly what it is, what its institutions and interests will ultimately be. Because of that, it's hard to imagine the EUI producing scholars with obviously nationally-inflected research programs, like Halford Mackinder, Mahan, Ratzel from a century ago. There will still be reifications and ideologies, but there's more 'give' since the institutions are still in play. And there's fantastically interesting stuff happening in Australia, and in Singapore—think of people like Janice Bialley-Mattern, Tony Burke and Roland Bleiker.
Critique has a long and controversial history in our discipline. Could you perhaps elaborate, as a kind of background or setting, how critique can be used in IR and why you've placed it at the center of your approach to IR theory?
Critique as term of art comes into the profession through Robert Cox (Theory Talk #37) and through the folks that were writing after him in the '90s, including Neufeld, Booth, Wyn-Jones, Rengger, Linklater and Ashley—though pieces of the reflexive practice of critique are present in the field well before. For Cox, the famous line is that theory is always 'for something and for someone.' The question is, if that's true how far down does that problem go? Is it a problem of epistemology and method, or is it a problem of being as such, a problem of ontology? Is it fundamental to the nature of politics?
If the set of processes to which we refer when we speak of 'thinking' is inherently for someone and for something, and that problem harkens back to the idea that all thinking is grounded in one's interests and perspectives, i.e., that all practical or systematic attempts to understand politics are 'virtuous' in the Machiavellian sense (they serve princely interests) but not necessarily in the Christian sense (deriving from transcendent values), then we have a real problem in keeping those two things separate in our minds. Think of Linklater's book Men and Citizens in International Relations as a key node in that argument, though Linklater ultimately believes (at least in that book) that a reconciliation between the two is possible. I'm less convinced.
Now recall the vocation point we discussed before. IR as a discipline has a deep sense of moral calling which goes beyond princely interest. And the traditions on which it draws are as much transcendently normative as anything else. So encoded in our ostensibly practical-Machiavellian analyses is going to be something like a sense of Christian virtue; we'll believe we're not merely correct in our analyses, but really and truly right in some otherworldly, transcendent way. True or not, that sense of conviction will attach itself to our thinking, to the political forces and agendas that we're serving. We'll come to believe that we are citing Machiavelli in the service of something greater: whether that's 'scientific truth' or the national interest, or what have you. Nothing could be more dangerous than that. Critique, as an intervention, comes here: to dispel or chasten those beliefs. Harry Gould, Brent Steele, and especially Ned Lebow (Theory Talk #53) write about prudence and a sense of finitude: these are the close cousins of this kind of critique.
If we take seriously the notion that people sometimes fight and kill in the service of really awful causes while believing they are doing right, and that scholars sometimes help them sustain those convictions rather than disabuse them of them—even if they do not intend this—then critique becomes an awfully big problem and it really threatens to undermine the profession as such. It opens up a whole new level of obligation and responsibility, and it magnifies what might otherwise be staid 'inside baseball'—Intramural scholarly or methodological debates. Part of the reason why the 'great debates' were so great—so hotly fought—had to do with this: our scholarly debates were, in fact, ideological ones.
It undermines the field in another way as well. If we take critique seriously, there's got to be a lot of moral reflection by scholars. That will make it hard to produce scholarship quickly, to be an all-purpose intellectual that can quickly produce thought-product in a policy-appropriate way, because I will want to be thinking from another space, and of course precisely what policy-makers want is that you don't think from some other space; that you present them with 'shovel ready' policy that solves problems without creating new ones.
So you now have not just a kind of theoretical or methodological interruption in the discussion of, say, absolute or relative gains. You now have to give an account of yourself. And for me, that's what critique in IR means. To unpack the definition I gave above, it's the attempt to give an account of what the duties and limits of one's thinking are in the context of politics, given the nature of politics as we understand it. Because IR comes out of the Second World War, we're bound to take the most capacious notions of what political evil and contingency can be; if we are not always in the midst of genocide and ruin, then we are at least potentially so. And so contingency and complexity and all the stuff that we're talking about must face that. I want to hold out that Carl Schmitt and Hans Morgenthau might be right—in ways which neither they, nor I, can completely fathom. Then I have to give accounts of thinking that take a level of responsibility commensurate with that possibility.
In that vein, when I look at accounts of thinking in the context of the political, when I look at what concepts are and how they work and how they do work on the world so that it can be rendered tractable to thought, I realize that what we come up with when we're done doesn't look very much like politics anymore. We have tools which, when applied to politics, change it quite dramatically; they reify or denature it. To be critical in the face of that, you're going to be obliged to an extensive degree of self-interrogation and self-checking, which I call chastening.
That process of chastening reason, is, in effect, what remains of the enlightenment obligation to use practical reason to improve what Bacon called the human estate. What's left of that obligation is to think in terms of the betterment of other human beings as best as you can, knowing you can't do that very well, but that you may still be obliged to try.
That's really hard to do and it's an odd form of silence and non-silence. After all, if I were to look at the Shoah while it was happening, or look at what happened in Rwanda, and say 'well, I don't really have a foundational position on which to stand so I can't analyze or condemn that'—that would not be a morally acceptable position. Price and Reus-Smit (TheoryTalk #27) say this in their 1998 article and they are absolutely right. But then there's the fact that I don't quite know what to say beyond 'stop murdering people!' The world is so easy to break with words, and so hard to put back together with them—assuming anyone cares at all about anything we say. So I am obliged to respond to those kinds of events when I see them, and I am also obliged to acknowledge that I can't respond to them well, because my authority comes from the conceptual tools I have, and they aren't really very good. Essentially, what I'm doing as scholar of IR is the equivalent is using the heel of my shoe to hammer in a nail. (That's a nice line, no? I wish it was mine, but it's Hannah Arendt.) It will probably work, but it will take a while, and the nail won't go in so straight. To chasten one's thinking is to remind oneself that the heel of one's shoe is not yet a hammer; that all we're doing is muddling through—even when we do our work with absolute seriousness and strict attention to detail, context and method—as of course we should.
You discuss IR theory in terms of different reifications. In which was does that also lead you to take a stand against a Weberian understanding of IR?
I think where I depart from Weber is that he has more faith than I do that, at some point, disenchantment produces something better. There is faith or hope on their part that the iron cage that we experience as a result of disenchantment and as a result of the transformation from earlier forms of charismatic and traditional authority to contemporary rational ones won't always be oppressive, not forever. New forms and ways of being will emerge, in which those disenchanted modes actually will fulfill their promise for a kind of improvement in the human estate. If it's a long, complicated process—hence the image of slow boring into hard wood—but faith is still justified, good things can still happen.
For me, the question is how would you manage a society that is liable to go insane or to descend into moments of madness because of the side-effects or intervening effects of disenchantment and modernization, while holding fast to the notion that at some point, this is going to get better for most people? I'm a bit less certain about that than I read Patrick and Weber being. I think that even if they're right, it makes sense morally as scholars, not necessarily as citizens or individuals or people, to dwell in the loss of those who fall along the way.
I find myself thinking about the people who are gone a lot. My ex-wife teaches on slavery, and I think a lot about this terrible thing she once told me. On slave ships, when there was not enough food they would throw the people overboard because ship masters got insurance money if their property went overboard, but not if human beings succumbed on-ship. There's a scene depicting this in Spielberg's film Amistad and it haunts me. I find myself thinking about those people, dragged under with their chains. I wonder what they looked like, what they had to say. I wonder what they might have created or how their great-great grandchildren children would have played with my child. I wonder if my best friend or true love was never born because her or his ancestor died in this way. An enormous number of people perished. I can't quite believe this, even if I know it's true.
Yoram Kaniuk, the recently deceased Israeli novelist, wrote that the Israeli state was built on the ground-up bones of the Jews who couldn't get there because it was founded too late. I wonder about them too. And when I taught course modules on Cambodia, I would find myself looking at the photographs made of the people in Tuol Sleng before they were killed, the photo archives which the prison kept for itself. There is a mother, daughter, father, brother, son, and I find myself drawn into their eyes and faces. I don't want those people to disappear into zeros or statistics. I want somehow to give them some of their dignity back, and I want to dwell in the tragic nature my own feeling because it bears remembering that I cannot ever really do that. If I remember that, I will have some sense of what life's worth is, and I won't speak crassly about interventions or bombings or wars—wherever I might come down on them. I would say that it's almost a religious obligation to attend to the memory of those people. My desire to abide with them makes me very, very suspicious of hope or progress. I want this practice of a kind of mourning or grief to chasten such hope.
There's a problem with that position. Some will point out to me that this will turn into its own kind of Manichean counter-movement, a kind of Nietzschean ressentiment. Or else that dwelling in mourning has a self-congratulatory quality to it. And there are certainly problems with this position at the level of popular or mass politics. We do see a lot of ressentiment in our politics. On the left, there's a lot of angry, self-aggrandizing moral superiority. And you can think about someone like Sarah Palin in the US as a kind of populist rejection of guilt and responsibility from the right.
But as social scientists, we might have space to be the voice for that kind of grief, to take it on and disseminate the ethics that follow from it; to give that grief a voice. That kind of relentless self-chastening is what I'm all about. I think it opens you up to new agendas and possibilities. I think it's a much deeper way to be 'policy relevant' than most of my colleagues understand this term. If we are relentlessly self-critical as scholars, and if we relentlessly resist the appropriation of scholarly narratives to simplistic moral or political ends and if we, as a society, help to build an intolerance of that and a sense of the mourning that comes out of that, we also open our society up to say things like, 'ok, well what's left?'
And then, well, maybe a lot of things are left, and some of them are not so bad. Maybe we start to imagine something better. That's where I'd rejoin Jackson and Weber; after that set of ethical/emotional/spiritual moves. I think, by the way, that Patrick mostly agrees with me; it's only a question of what his work emphasizes and what mine has emphasized. On this point, consider Ned Lebow's notion of tragedy. He and I disagree on some of the details of that notion. But on top of his remarkable erudition, he's a survivor of the Shoah. I suspect he has thought very deeply about grief and mourning, and in ways that might not be open to me.
The final question I want to pose to you is a substantive one: Your understanding of critique somehow does relate to sustaining progress, in a way. Perhaps on the one hand, you are not so optimistic as Weber was, but on the other hand, your work conveys the sense that it is possible to bridge the gap between concepts and things. I'm not sure if it's possible, but perhaps you can relate it to the substantive example of how your work relates to concrete political situations. I think the example of Israel-Palestine comes to mind best.
Again, I don't think I am as optimistic as that. In my heart of hearts, I desperately wish this to be the case. To think of the people who were most influential on my intellectual development—my cohort of fellow grad students at Johns Hopkins and our teachers, to whom as a group I owe, really, everything in intellectual terms—I was certainly in the minority view. Most of them were, I think, working in the Deleuzian vein of making 'theory worthy of the event.' I just don't believe that's possible; or anyway I think it's really, really, really hard, the work of a generation to tell that story well and have it percolate out into our discipline and our culture. In the meantime, we must muddle through. I hope I'm wrong and I hope they're right. I'm rooting for them, even as I try to give them a hard time—just as I give Keohane (Theory Talk #9) and Waltz and Wendt and everyone else I write about a hard time. But I'd be happy, very happy, to be wrong.
What I do think can be done is that you can sustain an awareness of the space between things-in-themselves and concepts, and by extension some sense of the fragility and the tenuousness of the things that you think and their links to the things that you do. Out of this emerges a kind of chastened political praxis.
You mentioned Israel and Palestine, which I care a great deal about and am trying to address more squarely in the work I'm doing now, partly on my own and partly in pieces I've worked on with my colleague Daniel Monk. What we observe is that though the diplomatic negotiations failed pretty badly twelve and a half years ago, we're still looking at the same people running the show: the same principal advisers and discussants and interlocutors: in the US and Israel and in the Palestinian Authority. The same concepts and assumptions too. Just a few days ago, Dennis Ross published a long op-ed about how we get the peace process back on track, and you might think that you're reading something from another time—as though the conflict were a technical challenge rather than a political one. You know that Prince song about 'partying like it's 1999'?
I don't know what a peaceful, enriching, meaningful Israeli-Jewish-Arab-Palestinian-Muslim-Christian collective co-existence or sharing of space or world looks like, but I know that this pseudo-politics ain't that. When I see something that's just a re-hashing, I can say, 'come on guys, that is not thinking, that's recycling the old stuff and swapping out dates, proper nouns and a few of the verbs.' Nor is it listening to other voices who might inspire us in different ways, or might help us rethink our interests, categories and beliefs. Lately, I've been listening to a band called System Ali, hip-hop guys from Jaffa's Ajami quarter, who sing in four languages. What they say matters less to me than the fact that they really seem to like another, they trust each other, they let each voice sing its song and use its words. They have something to teach me about listening, thinking, acting and feeling—because it's music after all—and that can produce its own political openings.
Of course, there are pressure groups, from industry and AIPAC to whatever else in the US, and those groups merit discussion and debate, but I'm also wary of the counter-assumption which follows from folks who talk about this too reductively: that there actually is an American interest, or a European or Arab or Israeli one, which somehow transcends partisan interest—one that can be recovered once the diaspora Jews, the oil moguls, the arms dealers or the Christian 'Left Behind' people are taken out of the picture. That feels like the same heady brew that Treitschke and Meinecke and the German realpolitik scholars poured and drank: that the national state has some transcendent purpose to which we gain access by rising above or tuning out the voices of the polity or its chattering classes. Only with a light liberal-internationalist gloss: Meinecke meets David Lake (Theory Talk # 46), Anne-Marie Slaughter or John Ikenberry.
I can also go meet starry-eyed idealists who want to hold hands and sing John Lennon, I can say to them yes, I want to hold your hand and sing John Lennon, but I am also enough of a social scientist to know that if a policy does not respond to real and pressing problems—water, land, borders etc.—that any approach that does not respond to those things will be hopelessly idealist. It will be what my granny called luftmentsch-nachess—the silly imaginings of men with their heads in the clouds, like the parable about Thales and the Thracian maiden. I am not interested in being either a luftmentsch nor a technocrat. So what does that leave with you with? You need to balance.
You can look at groups at the margins of political culture to see what they can tell you. In Israel and Palestine, it's groups like Ta'ayush, Breaking the Silence and Zochrot, and this settler leader who recently died, Rabbi Frohman, who was going out and meeting every Palestinian leader he could because for him, being a Jew in the land was not, in the first instance about his Israeli passport. There were and are possibilities for discussion that feel really pregnant and feel very different from the conversation we are sustaining now; which reveal its shallowness and its limitations and its pretentiousness. These other voices are of course not ideal either, they are going to have their own problems and limitations, their own descent into power and exclusion and so on, but they reveal some of the lie of what we're doing now.
I guess in the end, social scientists make a living imagining the future on the basis of the past. I also spend a lot of time reading novels and watching books and films. Partly because I am lazy and I like them. Partly because I'm looking for those novels and films to help me imagine other possibilities of being that aren't drawn from the past. Art, Dewey tells us in The Public and its Problems, is the real bearer of newness. Maybe then, I get to grab onto those things and say ok, what if we made those them responsive to an expansive materialist analysis of what an Israeli-Palestinian peace would need to survive? What if we held the luftmentsch's feet to the materialist/pragmatic fire, even as we held the wonk's feet to the luftmentsch's fire? Let them both squeal for a while. There's possibility there.
Daniel J. Levine is assistant professor at the University of Alabama. Among his recent publications (see below) stands out his book Recovering International Relations.
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Faculty Profile at U-Alabama Read the first chapter of Levine's Recovering IR (2012) here (pdf) Read Barder and Levine's The World is Too Much (Millennium, 2012) here (pdf) Read Levine's Why Morgenthau was not a Critical Theorist (International Relations, 2013) here (pdf) Read Monk and Levine's The Resounding Silence here (pdf)