Joel Kovel — The Enemy of Nature — The End of Capitalism or the End of the World?
The author seems to adopt the word commons to denote quite a radical political stance. He argues that Communism failed as a result of not properly understanding the role of money. He gives examples of what he considers to be successful commons, although these are all small-scale. Nonetheless, Kovel is very passionate about his cause and gives a very good explanation of the meanings around capital and money. Note from the title however, the idea that nature and capital are diametrically opposed — a view which, I am suggesting — is unhelpful in trying to resolve our problems.
Hernando de Soto — The Mystery of Capital
Described by one commentator as one of the world’s smartest 75 books, Hernando de Soto’s The Mystery of Capital looks at the less obvious manifestation of capital — namely property. Property rights, he explains, developed sometimes over hundreds of years in Western nations and are so embedded in Western culture that we are mostly oblivious to their impact. As such, when Western nations offer help to poorer countries they overlook the crucial role property plays on the efficient workings of capitalism. De Soto does not claim to be left-wing or right-wing in his politics. Nor does he look to defend or attack the concept of common land. The book however is a very compelling argument for what could potentially lift millions out of poverty. This sets the bar very high for authors such as Joel Kovel, above, who advocate a wholesale adoption of shared land and property.
Robert Skidelsky and Edward Skidelsky — How Much is Enough?
Father and son authors consider the prediction of early economists that the world would by now have reached a point where all human needs are met and capitalism would therefore be redundant. People should no longer have the need to work more than 15 hours per week and would have time to enjoy ‘leisure’. By leisure, the authors mean activities not pursued simply because of the need to make money. This could include work and research pursued simply for their own sake, writing, art, crafts, and much else besides. Therefore, leisure is not simply recreation in their analysis. The authors refer to this definition of leisure as ‘the good life’ and explore historical precedents for defining what this means. They come up with — Health, Security, Respect, Personality, Harmony with Nature, Friendship and Leisure itself. The authors include family under friendship and explain that Harmony with Nature is a better and more honest way of addressing environmental issues. Personality also requires a bit of explaining. Essentially it is about being able to put a personal stamp on one’s work and also through one’s possessions and — importantly for this book — on the places we live.
The authors go on to describe how they hope to encourage people to move from striving towards satisfying ever more — and often artificially induced — wants, to embracing the good life of flourishing and self-realisation. Amongst other suggestions they look at a tax on spending and at Universal Basic Income. They describe these measures as, ‘non-coercive paternalism’.
‘Starhawk’ — Truth or Dare
The author emphasises that value is immanent and as such we all have intrinsic value — we do not have to earn or prove our worth. Also, an excellent exploration of power-over dynamics, which the author contrasts with ‘power-within’ and ‘power-with’. The author explores this within the historical context of agrarian societies, gradually turning from matrilineal cultures to patriarchal and becoming increasingly geared towards warfare. Women in particular became marginalised as societies developed in a state of constant preparation for conflict. Much of the exploration of this Starhawk then applies to the behaviour of small groups of various sorts in our current societies. There are some interesting comments on a possible future society where the problems of power-over dynamics have been addressed and resolved.
Wendell Berry — Sex, Economy, Freedom and Community
A collection of essays, of which the longest shares the book’s title. This essay looks at the difference between private and public morality and argues that the state can only really legislate for public morals and then only in a prohibitive way. Berry argues that ‘community’ bridges the gap between the private and the public, by endorsing suitable behaviours, particularly with regard to sex and relationships. Berry, as in all of his writings, regards community as a people rooted to a particular physical place. The other essays in the book are largely along similar themes. One makes a particularly interesting critique of Christianity and how it largely fails to address issues of ecology and yet many of the key reasons for adopting an ecological approach to life are there within the Bible. Berry’s treatment of place, community, ownership, land use and ecology are of particular relevance to this book.
Theodore Zeldin — The Hidden Pleasures of Life
In this, as in his other books, Zeldin is most interested in the interactions between people. For him, learning the dreams, hopes, fears and motivations of our fellow humans is life’s ultimate pleasure, sparking our imaginations and creativity. One of the most interesting aspects of the book is how Zeldin seeks to re-envisage some established aspects of modern culture, seeing them working in new ways to encourage more interactions between strangers, more travel and more education. Of particular note are his ideas for hotels, shops, schools and universities. Zeldin also looks at how insurance companies might do more to promote travel and education, rather than just protecting us from what might go wrong when we plan our own adventures. With extensive historic references, Zeldin shows us that human cultures have come up with numerous interesting ways of organising our lives in the past. As such, he concludes that our current Western ways are not set in stone.
George Monbiot — Feral
An excellent look at the idea of re-wilding parts of the Earth — Monbiot looks in particular at Wales and Scotland, along with some other countries in Europe. He advocates minimum human interference after the work of re-establishing previously displaced species has been done — along with possibly the removal of invasive species. Nature is left to do the rest — he refers to such places as ‘self-willed’. He contrasts these aims with those of environmentalists in particular, who, in the UK, often seek to preserve a landscape in a state that was never its natural state, but is instead one of a past human intervention. Most notable in the book is the author’s interest in how wild places can spark our imagination and renew our interest in life.
Andro Linklater — Owning the Earth
An extensive summary of land ownership patterns across the world, showing that the same issues have occurred again and again in different ages and cultures. Linklater is particularly interested in how people have sought fairness and equality in their politics and in the distribution of land and other assets. However, this is always set against allowing the rights of people to seek their own fortune through either hard work, ingenuity or exploitation. Every nation, and the politics of every government, must try to strike a balance in this regard.
Linklater himself, as a younger man, has lived in various communities that have aimed at a more equitable distribution of resources. His experiences he likens to that of some of the early settlers of America, where those who worked hard quickly became concerned that others not so inclined to join in with the labour would nonetheless be rewarded equal shares of the produce. Clearly this has not really ever worked out too well. Fairness needs to be a bit more complex, Linklater suggests, than simple equality.
Chris Carlsson — Nowtopia
The book is mostly looking at real-life projects running in the United States. Carlsson nevertheless provides a lot of background about the motivations and aspirations behind such ventures and it’s an entertaining read. His main concern is the scaling up of projects to a size where they might have a serious impact on contemporary culture. Carlsson suggests essentially that larger scale projects must inevitably adopt a bureaucratic structure and eventually become indistinguishable from the businesses of the surrounding culture.
Murray Bookchin — The Ecology of Freedom
One of the main premises of the book is that there was a time when human cultures lived without any kind of hierarchy — hierarchy being the primary enemy for Bookchin. Such a state, he suggests, pre-dated any form of patriarchy, government or political organisations. It is difficult, of course, to verify if such a state of affairs really did ever exist — and, as Bookchin himself points out — when we look at ancient cultures, or today’s ‘organic cultures’, to use Bookchin’s term, we do so through a lens of our own cultural prejudice.
Some specific observations of the book are particularly striking and relevant to the discussions in this book. These are described in the sections below.
Pleasure
Bookchin draws a clear parallel between Hobbes and Freud. For Hobbes, of course, a life lived in a state of nature will inevitably be ‘nasty, brutish and short’. So, for him, nature is discounted as a source of pleasure. With Freud, pleasure is something from which we are cut off at birth. We must try to wrest pleasure from life through control. Control in the form of human culture and civilisation is the alternative — and, more certain — form of pleasure, via the subjugation of nature. Bookchin argues that, by contrast, nature is our only source of pleasure — albeit pleasures that are somewhat random and opportunistic.
Government/Bureaucracy
Bookchin traces the rise of hierarchy and increasing state control through various historic stages. He identifies ‘shame’ as operational in ‘organic’ cultures, which keeps people committed to a community where mutual caring for everyone, whatever their needs, is the norm. Bookchin references contemporary communities where this lifestyle still seems to function well. What is critical, he suggests, is the small size of the community, such that people know each other enough to feel shame if they step out of line. The distinction between shame and guilt, from Bookchin’s perspective, is not entirely clear. One might have considered guilt as the feeling we get from actually committing a misdemeanour, whilst shame is the idea that we are flawed in our character. However, it looks like Bookchin takes guilt to mean the concern over moral precepts (ie. a more abstract concern). The increasing abstraction of personal ethics is a factor in what Bookchin considers to be the insidious rise of state control (cf. Foucalt). Bookchin’s point is that guilt/shame is now an abstraction of the negative feeling into a general oppression, whereas once these feelings served a purpose, and could be resolved, within small communities.
The ‘progression’ from an ‘organic’ culture to our current consumer capitalism has its first step in the suppression of women — in particular, by identifying nature as female and then looking to subdue and dominate her. Patriotism, in turn, gave rise to more organised control.
Bookchin points out that a bureaucracy may exist separately from any kind of political, religious, or state hierarchy — simply as a means of organising complex processes within a developed culture. Whilst there are vestiges of this in many contemporary cultures, it is not the norm. For the most part, state, monarchy and bureaucracy are inextricably mixed up.
Reason/Truth
In looking at ‘reason’, Bookchin identifies ‘objective reason’ and what might be called ‘executive reason’. (Objective reason seems to be roughly equivalent to an ‘essentialist’ or a ‘transcendental idealist’ view of the world, whilst executive reason is what philosophy would normally call ‘pragmatism’.) He identifies objective reason to include philosophy, morality and transcendent value. He suggests however that all objective reason has been reduced to the executive. (So, in a more normal description, we could say that Bookchin suggests we reduce all knowledge to pragmatism — we only view the world in terms of how it is best explained in order to realise human projects.) The executive reason Bookchin divides into technics and science. Following his concerns about the abstraction of values, this again seems to be a rather contradictory stance.
Justice and Equality
Bookchin’s thoughts on these matters take a bit of unravelling. Bookchin points out that no-one is really ‘equal’. The concept, for him, is pure abstraction, tied in with the objectification of morals, described above. ‘Organic’ cultures, Bookchin suggests, respond to people according to their individual needs. Bookchin contrasts this notion of an ‘equality’ of the ‘unequal’ with the idea — so often unconsciously accepted — that we are all equal under the law. At first take, the latter does just seem simple and obvious. But taking a closer look at all forms of ‘equal’ treatment — and laws that try to enforce this — they become somewhat awkward and suspect. By Bookchin’s lights it is hierarchy, state control and big government that try to enforce equality in all things because this goes hand in hand with de-basing the individual into a mere statistic — a number — easily replaced by a similar anonymous non-person.
Technology
Government, state and hierarchies are also technologies, according to Bookchin. In looking at threats to the natural ecology of the planet, we often focus on advanced human technology — development — as the culprit. But Bookchin argues that monarchy, state, government and their related bureaucracies are antecedent to the rise of mechanical technology. An ecological community is not achievable unless concerns over the misuse of technology go hand in hand with changes to the mechanisms of government.
Freedom
Bookchin identifies two types of freedom — ‘freedom from’ and ‘freedom to’. Our culture tends to emphasise the former over the latter. As such, the state seeks to ‘protect’ us from attack on person or property by other people and other nations — even to protect us from nature. When it comes to other freedoms however — the freedom of self-expression, to organise our own affairs, to find pleasure in work — things are a bit more ambivalent. Whilst seeming to promise these freedoms to the individual, the state tends to stamp on any expression of freedom that might undermine its authority.
The Commons
It is interesting to note that references to ‘a commons’ seems to be a conflicted stance for Bookchin. To describe some aspect of nature as commons is, for him, already implicitly commodifying the natural world. There may be fairer or less fair ways of dealing out what humans take from nature, but in a sense, for Bookchin, it is all exploitation.
Ecological Society
Realising an ecological society is Bookchin’s chief aim, and he expresses this mainly in terms of harmony with nature. He sees nature as enlivened, ensouled and enchanted. Whilst he advances various ideas in support of this view of nature, he admits that it is very much contrary to the prevailing scientific, materialist view of dead matter and the development of life just being about increased complexity. Consciousness itself is seen as only an epi-phenomenon. Bookchin refers to such views as ‘scientism’.
Utopia
Along with his view of nature as an enchanted realm, Bookchin also sees a process at work — a long-term aim in evolution, which might be described as self-actualisation. He seems to regard this as self-evident. He looks to James Lovelock’s Gaia theory to partly endorse this view. Along with beauty, creativity and imagination — all worthy aims for human culture — Bookchin also suggests that humanity, as the self-conscious aspect of nature, has a duty to help nature towards self-fulfilment. He does not offer any concrete examples of how this may be achieved. Despite his own criticism of abstract moralising, he seems to offer a very abstract notion of what an ‘ecological society’ might mean.
Bookchin discusses some rather dubious versions of utopia from other thinkers, including Charles Fourier. These are definitely ‘libertine’ in style and give no indications of where the abundant provisions that these utopias seem to enjoy may come from.
We could ask if Bookchin’s views are in any way realisable. As with many utopian views, the problem of scale seems to be evident in his discussions. Even if we accept what he says of ‘organic cultures’ at face value, these are very small-scale compared to industrialised societies. Could Bookchin’s ‘organic’ culture operate on that kind of scale? There appears to be no attempt to address this point. Whilst an anarchist, Bookchin does, at least, accept that a certain level of bureaucracy is necessary for the functioning of society. We have touched on this earlier. The trick would be to separate these necessary functions of government from all aspects of control and somehow still achieve a decision-making process that allows everyone a say. The premise of Bookchin’s views, along with most far-left thinkers, is that everyone possesses a level of personal autonomy, and, given the opportunity, would take sensible responsibility for governing their own lives. Communities would be peaceful, active, social and creative. All worthy aims, but as we have explored in the book, such a situation is not a given, straight from a point where current government arrangements are dismantled. At the very least, there would have to be some kind of peaceful transition to the free society that Bookchin envisages.
Bookchin’s contempt for hierarchy may itself be questioned. For one thing, he sets great store by looking at the process of evolution in nature, and sees this a drive towards more complex and more ‘self-actualised’ being. But, of course, such a view of nature itself implies a hierarchy. If hierarchy is innate in nature, then why would we not also wish to emulate this aspect of nature, since we are being encouraged to emulate nature in other ways? Communities that attempt what Bookchin proposes — in terms of being free of hierarchy — often run into the problem of developing a 'covert' hierarchy instead. Perhaps this is just something intrinsic to human nature — there will always be the leaders and the led. Or perhaps — as, no doubt, Bookchin would have suggested — this is just a carry-over from millennia of dominance and could fade away as society learns new ways. (Bookchin unfortunately refers to people becoming ‘empowered’, which partly speaks against his own ethos — but we can assume he would prefer the ‘power-with’ and power-to’ relations that I have explored in the book.) To be fair though, in other works Bookchin acknowledges the need for hierarchy in governance systems in order to realise a good society — what he calls confederalism.
The slight contradiction in Bookchin’s position is that he eschews regulative values (his contrast of ethics over morals — shame over guilt) but nonetheless seems to advocate the adoption of other regulative values based on a particular view of nature. (What he describes as an ontological view — related to meaning, being and becoming.) One suspects Bookchin would not have regarded this as a contradiction as his value system would all be based on an experience of nature — whether person to person or people to the wider ecology. But his reading of nature suggests otherwise — it suggests the presence of some transcendent value that drives nature towards trying to fulfil self-realisation. It would have been good for Bookchin to have explained how he had arrived at this position.
Despite these criticisms, Bookchin’s work raises many significant issues and remains enormously relevant.
Fawzi Ibrahim — Capitalism Versus Planet Earth
Ibrahim provides a very clear explanation of the workings of capitalism. It is especially interesting to see how he integrates the financial economy into his explanation of how economics works. Ibrahim, also — in my view, correctly — criticises the adoption of ‘natural capital’ by the so-called ecological economists. Herman Daly and Jonathan Porritt come in for especial criticism. Ibrahim points out the flaws in those, like Daly and Porritt, who advocate some kind of adapted capitalism to answer environmental problems.
Regarding natural resources as commodities does not change the system. Setting costs against ‘externalities’, both positive and negative, just adds to the cost of production and these costs ultimately get passed to the consumer. (Ibrahim sees this as a bad outcome, but does not really suggest ways to address the inequality such a situation creates — poorer people being more vulnerable to the price increases than the rich. Rather, he sees this as just an argument for the overthrow of capitalism.) He follows a similar argument for carbon taxes. There is only a passing reference to fee and dividend, which would seem to not face the same issues of penalising the poor, as described above.
Capital is in crisis, according to Ibrahim, because the rate of profit inevitably falls as capital accumulates. There must be continuous growth in order to maintain the rate of profit. He sees no way out of this. So governments become locked into trying to sustain capitalism through such measures as austerity, quantitative easing (printing money) and so on — all of which are, in his view, doomed to ultimately fail. His solution is that growth can only stop if there is no profit; in other words, production with no exchange value — so things have only utility value. Ibrahim does not elaborate too much about what society might be like if such a policy were implemented, except to say that society would be organised around our shared needs for utilities. Ibrahim holds up the UK’s National Health Service as an example of what he has in mind. The NHS obviously has an ‘external’ aim of care-giving and service. In a similar way, Ibrahim seems to be implying that care for the environment would be the concern that would shape how labour and production would be organised in a post-capitalist world. Along with this, he cites certain values that would guide society in the implementation of this project — professionalism and pride in our work as the chief motives — presumably replacing profit.
Ibrahim is rather mocking of the idea that businesses might plough profits back into their work, by way of co-operatives, profit-sharing and so on, so they could sustain themselves without growth. It would need a change in human nature to achieve this. However, it has to be said that the changes Ibrahim is seeking would seem to require an equally radical change in human nature in order to bring them about.
Jason Brennan — Against Democracy
Brennan is indeed against all forms of democracy, as the title suggests. Part of the reason is, he suggests, most people do not have either the interest or the capacity to make the kinds of the decisions needed in political debate. As such, politics should be left to experts — so he is proposing some kind of meritocracy — although the book does not elaborate too much on this. Brennan reserves particular scorn for the types of deliberative democracy that I have been promoting in this book.
One of Brennan’s main points is that allowing ordinary people to vote is like allowing anyone to drive, no matter their competence, or past record of failing or dangerous behaviour and accidents. But I would suggest that the claim people should not have an absolute right to vote because a bad decision may harm others is spurious. It is not the same as not being allowed to drive, because of incompetence or danger. The right to express an opinion does not mean that this opinion will become policy (whilst bad drivers are, by contrast, directly responsible for the harm they cause). Brennan equates ‘democracy’ generally with merely the right to vote. Most of his arguments therefore are meaningful only with regard to representative democracy, not the systems that involve greater participation, such as Parapolity, discussed in this book. However, as noted above, he does make criticisms of deliberative democracy as well, although these are based on the criticism that others have brought to the debate, rather than his own research. We might compare these criticisms with James Fishkin’s, When the People Speak — someone who has genuine experience and direct evidence for the effectiveness of deliberative democracy and the competence of ordinary people, when given the opportunity to consider issues with due care and attention.
Having said all that though, it is always good to listen carefully to the voice of dissent. So, I include Brennan’s work here to give an opportunity to consider the arguments that oppose deliberative democracy and Parapolity.
Charles Eisenstein — Sacred Economics
Eisenstein provides an excellent review of what is becoming the widely accepted view of all that is now regarded as commons. This includes land, air and ocean, but also the intellectual commons, imagination, creativity and even time.
Eisenstein argues that a means of exchange of some sort is fundamental to human life. To dismiss economics therefore as somehow irrelevant to ‘higher’ questions of spirituality and philosophy is mistaken, in his view. The title of the book therefore confirms the author’s belief that the way we exchange and trade with each other is worthy of our highest ideals and respect.
A key element of the book is the author’s belief that the capitalist system is on the brink of collapse. As such, there is a certain urgency to the book’s message. Sooner or later, Eisenstein argues, circumstances will force change upon us. The changes we might make now are preparations for a future when free-market economics have ceased to function.
Eisenstein’s chief solution to this is the establishment of a ‘gift economy’. He provides some historic examples of such a system. Like many with a utopian disposition, the past is somewhat idealised by Eisenstein. A 21st century interpretation of what went on (or goes on) in societies that practice gift exchange is not necessarily offering a full understanding — let alone being able to apply that lifestyle to modern industrialised and computerised societies. The examples given of modern gift exchange seem very small-scale compared to the massive systemic change that would be entailed in the collapse of capitalism. Eisenstein is aware of this, and a consistent theme throughout his work is the notion of individuals changing their viewpoint to embrace the view of how the world might function. A momentum can be built up — he hopes — as people change their view of the world and the influence of these changes begins to spread and grow.
Eisenstein points out, quite reasonably, that what constitutes money and the means of exchange and store of value is purely a social construction arrived at by consensus. This observation leads to one of the strongest features of the book — the linking of money to some of the assets that are regarded as commons — in particular, physical commons. Eisenstein’s arguments for this are difficult to follow, but at least the concept seems to offer some hope of protecting nature by creating strong links between the commons and our means of exchange.
Eisenstein argues that our economy functions now by converting the commons into commodity and into money. In order to achieve ecological balance we must reverse this trend — hence linking money to the preservation and flourishing of the commons.
Amongst other ideas in the book, Eisenstein suggests negative interest on capital (to encourage investment), changes to taxation (taxing capital and land and not labour), and Universal Basic Income.
We would probably place Eisenstein ‘left of centre’, although he appears to believe in private property. Sacred Economics does not really address issues around governance, but we could nonetheless regard the world view it promotes as utopian. Along with other forms of utopianism therefore, we might ask the degree to which people are able to change (or have the potential already within them to live differently). Eisenstein seems to think that the end of capitalism that he envisages will force change upon us. However, even without the future unfolding with the demise of capitalism, there is a lot here to encourage changes in the right direction. Eisenstein’s subsequent book — The Beautiful World Our Hearts Know is Possible — follows up on these themes.
Community, for Eisenstein, is only forged when we have a genuine need for one another. Although it seems that all of our needs can be met through money, in fact, he argues, we long for things that money cannot buy. It is through community that such things can be regained. We may quell a bit at some of the assumptions of what constitute a beautiful life for Eisenstein, but it is difficult to argue with the notion that our use of money and materialism need to be brought back into the realm of the sacred and the beautiful.
Meanwhile, people may seem greedy, selfish and uncaring, but it is scarcity (brought about by interest charged on money and by economic rents) that causes this mindset. Changing the way we use money — changing society from one premised on scarcity to one premised on abundance — will, Eisenstein believes, lead to a change in our mindset and initiate a gift economy.
Likewise, we may question the exact mechanism by which a gift economy might work on a large-scale, but still appreciate the notion that a gift economy meets all that is best in us. Eisenstein offers us a lot of hope. He believes we are by nature generous and want to give the best of ourselves. So whilst we might struggle to see now how complex industrial society can function as a gift economy, nonetheless, for Eisenstein there is hope that ways would be found for this to happen.
Russell Brand — Revolution
This book comes from a different place than other left-leaning utopian texts. Brand refers back to the 1% — 99% split in society that was a significant theme of the Occupy movement. Also, he often cites the statistic that the 85 richest people in the world own as much wealth as the poorer half of the world’s population — more than 3.5 billion people.
The book is perhaps best known for Brand’s insistence that voting is no use. In his view, professional politicians are all within the thrall of big business. As such, a vote for one is no better than a vote for any of the others. In fact, a vote is no use at all as there is no genuine democracy. Hence, Brand suggests, only revolution will suffice — there is no possibility of compromise with politics or accommodation with consumer capitalism.
Brand’s own troubled past leads him to reject materialism as a means to happiness, and indeed, to reject many other paths to superficial pleasure. There is instead a strong spiritual element to the book. The specific type of spirituality or religion seems less important to Brand than just the recognition that our predicament is a spiritual crisis and needs spiritual solutions in order to be properly addressed. What seems to matter most to Brand is an honest seeking and an openness to mystery beyond ourselves.
Brand also advocates secret acts of kindness to others — as part of a transformation of consciousness. He does not seem to be under any illusions about the potential badness and brokenness of human beings. Spirituality and kindness are, for him, essential antidotes to these tendencies.
The revolution Brand is advocating is therefore a peaceful one and he tells us that it also must not be boring! He does not however offer us too many pointers towards the kind of utopia that might fulfil these criteria. Echoing the words of the 1968 Paris uprising, he reminds us simply that a new world is possible. It is up to all of us to define what that new world might be.
As a comedian, Brand often veers off on an anecdotal story, sometimes only vaguely related to the subject matter of the text. Some may find this a distraction, but Brand is a likeable character and his excursions into zany humour add some entertainment to what might otherwise be quite a heavy text.
David Deutsch — The Beginning of Infinity
I’ve included this book because, whilst it is primarily a scientific work, it epitomises what I have described as the Cornucopian outlook in this book. As the title suggests, and like all Cornucopians, Deutsch is optimistic for the future. And his optimism is based on technology. There will always be problems, he warns, but technology will solve them.
A particularly striking argument in the book concerns our survival in the natural world. Deutsch suggests that on a winter’s night in his home town of Oxford, England, he would struggle to survive out of doors. The biosphere, he suggests, has never supported people. Millennia of hunter-gatherers are therefore dismissed out of hand. Deutsch goes on to tell us that even with ‘empty’ space, through technology, humans would be able to put together all that we need to survive. As such, there seems no special place reserved where life might be better or worse for people, it is all down to technology. It is an odd argument — dismissing any contribution from the Earth for our sustenance and also suggesting that searching elsewhere within the solar system or the galaxy for resources may be a waste of time. Deutsch seems to be making an extreme case (we could make everything out of nothing) in order to prove a point. Perhaps the point Deutsch is trying to make is that we will always find ways to survive and to thrive. But the upshot of this view is that all efforts at conserving resources, protecting the environment and cherishing the natural world are pointless. Soon, technology will make fears over climate catastrophe irrelevant, because we are just so clever.
The science is interesting, but the conclusions Deutsch comes to about our future are disturbing. This is a particular brand of science that could lead to thinking that technology could in fact be a curse rather than a blessing. We might usefully contrast David Deutsch with Bill Nye (‘The Science Guy’). With commitment, humour and optimism, Nye takes a ‘good-housekeeping’ view of our planet and its resources. We have to look after this precious Earth, Nye tells us, because right now it is all we’ve got. Without the biosphere, we are all dead.
Steven Pinker — The Blank Slate
Psychologist Steven Pinker looks at three terms that remain as overt or covert influences in our science and culture. Along with the blank slate of the title, he also considers the ‘noble savage’, and the ‘ghost in the machine’.
The term, ‘blank slate’ is understood to mean the idea that there is no innate human behaviour — no ‘human nature’. The way we behave in all aspects of our lives is socially constructed rather than hard-wired into our genetic makeup and brain structure. This idea impacts on a broad range of issues, from perception through gender and child-raising to hierarchy and aggression. Pinker disagrees with the blank slate hypothesis and counters it with considerable back-up from research. Whilst his arguments are on the materialist side of science, they are presented in great depth and with considerable insight.
Aggression is the link to the second term considered — the noble savage idea that human nature, in a ‘primitive’ or ‘primal’ state is essentially peace-loving and tolerant. The evidence presented by Pinker would suggest just the opposite. This in turn has considerable relevance to utopian and some feminist thinking, where the purity and harmony of indigenous cultures (‘organic’ cultures — to use Murray Bookchin’s term) is critical to the argument.
The ghost in the machine (Arthur Koestler’s phrase) relates especially to Pinker’s materialist stance. The ‘ghost’ to which the phrase refers suggests there is some force that animates life over and above the purely physical realm. The idea has its roots way back in human thought, and was most strongly articulated in Western philosophy by René Descartes. Pinker sets up a strong case for rejecting the idea.
All of the problems that those who support one or more of the three ideas considered by the book are dealt with expertly by Pinker. For instance, the loss of free will implied by materialism (ie. no ghost), the related idea that we cannot change if we are innately aggressive as a species and the prospects of co-operation at national and international level if we are not noble savages and we are hard-wired to relate only in small groups. (We might note here that the noble savage contradicts the bank slate, as it suggests we are innately harmonious and peaceful.) Pinker discusses all of these issues and shows quite convincingly that the abandonment of the three ideas that are the book’s subject by no means suggests the abandonment of human value — in fact, often human value is shown to be enhanced.
Even accepting a purely material basis for life and consciousness, this does not mean the abandonment of human value. With each level of complexity, emergent properties appear that are rightly studied as separate disciplines. Psychology, for instance, is not merely reduced to biology and physics.
Jonathan Porritt — Capitalism as if the World Matters
Manfred Max-Neef defines human needs as: Subsistence, protection, understanding, participation, creative expression, identity, freedom and idleness. Porritt examines many such alternative versions of what constitutes a ‘good life’, or, human fulfilment, and asks whether they can really be delivered by the capitalist system whilst still achieving ecological sustainability.
Porritt explains that, in his view, the understanding of ‘capital’ is just land, machines and money. He expands the meaning of capital to include five types: natural capital, human capital, social capital, manufactured capital and financial capital. He further splits natural capital into resources, sinks and services (sometimes known as environmental services).
Economists generally think of capital resources as being interchangeable (fungible). Porritt explains that this is not the case. Natural capital generally cannot be replaced by any of the other forms.
Porritt looks in detail at the various aspects of society that must respond to our current ecological issues if we are to achieve the balanced yet substantial changes needed to achieve sustainability. His conclusion is that capitalism must continue in some form — with careful attention given to integrating the ‘five capitals’ described above — and that this capitalism must include for growth. By growth, he certainly still means economic growth as it is currently understood.
Porritt then moves on to look at what society might be like if we were actually to achieve the kind of balanced, ecologically-sustainable growth that he envisions. He does this under the headings: interdependence, empathy, equity, personal responsibility and intergenerational justice.
Sustainable development differs from environmentalism in that it looks to the well-being of humans (ie. to all of our needs) as well as the needs of the planet. Sustainable development is development towards a state of sustainability. It is not the same as the rather ambiguous phrase — sustainable growth — which might just mean that it is the economic growth rather than natural capital that is being sustained. These are key distinctions to be making, although they are difficult ones. In a way, Porritt is trying to keep all sides happy, but perhaps it ends up being a bit of a compromise — it depends on just how seriously the proposals are taken and how much they may be implemented. However, it is at least a fairly realistic attempt at a solution and has a lot to commend it and a lot that is of value to our ongoing search for ecological balance.
Martin Adams — Land
Going back to first principles, Adams looks at how wealth is created and shows how the value and use of land has been consistently marginalised and misunderstood.
Adams explains that land, labour and capital were traditionally considered as the three means of creating economic wealth. In this analysis, ‘land’ refers to all types of ‘natural capital’, such as water, air, soil, forests and so on.
He goes on to explain that economic wealth means goods and services that have exchange value. He notes that ‘natural capital’ — land, air, water, etc. — is not economic wealth because it is not created by people. Nor, for him, is money, since it is only a means of exchange and not something that has value in itself.
People make a living by either providing goods and services through their labour or by extracting ‘economic rent’ from what others have provided (or directly from natural capital — from land).
The land itself derives its value from its location. This might be in terms of the natural capital it has on or around it or from the work that others have done in terms of buildings, infrastructure, etc. This is referred to as ‘the law of rent’.
Since every piece of land is unique, buying a piece of land is, in effect, entering into an ‘entry monopoly’, as it prevents others from enjoying the benefits that the land offers.
Adams argues that because land purchase and use is always in the situation of creating a monopoly, then there is not really such a thing as a free market. Capitalism, he argues, has never really been practised.
Adams seems to argue that land is not capital. Only human-produced goods — buildings, machinery and tools — should be treated as capital.
Adams goes on to make a crucial point — land values belong to the communities that have created them, ie. land value is socially generated. Building on a piece of land makes no difference to the piece of land itself, but it may indirectly affect the value of other land nearby (because of the improvements to the neighbourhood that the building may create).
Communities benefit from people’s work — which adds to the capital assets of a location — but this wealth is appropriated by those who own land. The land value rises as a result of the improvements in society, but it is private owners who benefit from this, not society at large. Adams implies that this is an even greater injustice than the bourgeoisie owning the means of production and thereby profiting from the labour of others.
Will Storr — The Age of the Selfie
Storr’s book makes an interesting follow-on to Steven Pinker’s The Blank Slate. Storr looks at what we are innately as human beings — what is written into our genes and hard-wired into our brains. But he then goes on to explore the various cultural influences that affect us.
He starts by looking at the increase in suicide, self-harm and eating disorders. Storr sees these phenomena as linked to the pressure of social perfectionism, where culture’s influence on individuals impose impossible burdens of living up to often conflicting ideals.
Storr goes on to trace the emergence of the idea of the individual — starting with our pre-history tribal selves and then exploring ancient Greece, Christianity, industry, science and psychology. He looks finally at our modern Western sense of the self. All the while, he also explores the cultural backgrounds that shape an individual’s sense of who they are and what they feel they need to be like.
Storr emphasises the our lives are stories and are influenced in turn by the stories we share in our culture. From our ancient past, the contrast of selfish with selfless behaviour is one of our strongest influences and this helps to shape all our stories.
From our tribal past, all humans have a desire to ‘get along and get ahead’. Cultural differences emerged later, and Storr contrasts Westerners’ emphasis on freedom and autonomy with Eastern culture’s greater emphasis on harmony and interconnectedness.
Christianity — Storr suggests — may at first seem like a complete change in direction from the Greeks’ emphasis on freedom and autonomy. However, he points out that for many centuries of the religion’s history, the way for individuals to ‘get along and get ahead’ would be to practice subservience to their rulers and masters. He also points out that there remains an element of selfish endeavour as the christian labours on Earth for a reward in heaven.
Storr also points out that Christianity is concerned with ‘orthodoxy’, in other words, with correct thinking, rather than merely correct action. From this point on it is the internal landscape of the mind that has precedence in how we shape our culture and how culture shapes us.
Storr considers Freudian psychology as very much an extension of the christian message. For Freud, we are morally corrupt and in need of a ‘cure’, albeit that it is our minds that need the cure rather than our immortal souls.
The next big change came with the industrial revolution. Western culture, at this point, swaps from seeing our inner being as essentially bad to being essentially good. It is only lack of education, or faith or the results of bad experiences that prevents us from being perfect as individuals. God, in essence, is now inside our heads. Storr however argues that this is a serious error. For him, there is no soul or authentic self — no central command. Not only do we rationalise our actions to ourselves, we have multiple stories about who we are in any given context.
Storr recognises that changing the self is only possible up to a point — through self-discipline. Whilst boosting self-esteem is good for some people, it can lead to narcissism and a sense of entitlement. We should realise, he suggests, that we are largely products of our genes and the chance experiences of our early childhood. As such, we should not beat ourselves up about not being perfect. If anything, self-acceptance — and therefore an acceptance of others — is the order of the day.
Josh Ryan-Collins, Toby Lloyd and Laurie Macfarlane — Rethinking the Economics of Land and Housing
In this detailed study, the authors look at land ownership and then track the changes to the UK economy that have taken place as a result of both economic and political decisions. They start with a review of land ownership and go on to explain that ‘land’ — as one of the three ingredients of classical economics — ‘land, labour and capital’ — is unique. It cannot be created and over time its value tends to appreciate. The appreciation of land value occurs because land becomes relatively more scarce in relation to human population and because of developments going on around particular pieces of land, ie. the benefits from its location. The authors go on to explain how more modern economics tends to conflate land with capital and explain the reasons for this as well as some of the consequences.
The authors look at economists such as Henry George and David Ricardo, who regarded the extraction of ‘economic rent’ from land as unfair. They look at ideas for a land value tax, especially as promoted by George. By contrast, other economists — Marx, in particular — were more concerned with the extraction of economic rent through labour — that is, through the ownership of the means of production. As such, land value tax fell out of favour as a socialist idea. Of particular interest is the way bank credit tends to push up land prices and also takes lending away from borrowing that is not financing property.
The book also introduces the idea of ‘natural wealth’ as opposed to describing both physical space and natural resources as just ‘land’. This is an important distinction that I have picked up in the book.
Apart from a land value tax, the authors provide a number of other ideas for changing our relations to land and property — mainly relevant to the UK economy — but also, more generally.
Michael Albert — Practical Utopia
A standard left-wing text, mainly of interest because the author — in contrast to mainstream Marxist thought — recognises a third class of people between the workers and the bourgeoisie, which he calls the co-ordinator class. Albert includes in this class, doctors, lawyers, economists, accountants and engineers.
Albert examines society in terms of ‘polity’, ‘economy’, kinship’ and ‘culture’. To summarise his understanding of these, we might say that polity is the governance of society, economy is its financial relations and its production and consumption, kinship is the gender identities and sexual preferences of individuals along with our personal relationships with others, and culture is a society’s shared values. Albert asserts that his views on polity, kinship and culture are largely as promoted by feminism, anarchism and communalism.
Where Albert differs from others, he claims, is in his understanding of the economy. The viewpoint taken by Albert is anti-capitalist, but modified to take account of his three classes instead of just two. He sees attempts at getting rid of owners as actually elevating the co-ordinator class. He wants classlessness instead. In particular, the brain surgeon might spend some time working as a cleaner. This example, in particular, may be controversial and we may ask if it is indeed possible or desirable.
Albert identifies seven values he thinks our society should promote — all of which are already present to a degree. These are: solidarity, diversity, justice, self-management, stewardship (towards nature), internationalism and participation. He goes on to apply the seven values to each of the four spheres of polity, economy, kinship and culture.
He begins with the economy, and in applying the values, he defines what he describes as a ‘Parecon’ — Participatory Economics.
Albert’s description of the workings of Parecon is especially interesting with regard to how people are rewarded for work. In an example, he contrasts someone working in a coal mine with someone who becomes a surgeon. In Parecon, the miner may earn as much, or more, than the surgeon. One might think that therefore everyone would opt for the higher-paid, if laborious, job. But if asked (as Albert has done with many audiences) everyone would still prefer to be the surgeon. (Is this perhaps because of status? Albert does not discuss this.)
Under Parecon however, work would be shared out so as to remove the dominance of the owning and co-ordinating classes. So, as we saw earlier, a surgeon would spend some time cleaning and emptying bed-pans, nurses would do some surgery, cleaners would do some nursing, and so on.
Albert goes on to discuss market allocation versus central planning. A company that operated on Parecon values would inevitably fail in a free market. Central planning however, Albert suggests, just creates another type of co-ordinator class, who would hold an increasing authority over distribution. So, by contrast, Albert suggests ‘participatory planning’.
In looking at polity, and in a similar vein to Parecon, Albert promotes a Parapolity — Participatory Politics. Borrowing from Stephen Shalom, he advocates ‘nested councils’ — levels of participatory governance that include all adult members of a society at base level. Each level would have in the region of 25 to 50 members, with each council level sending a representative to the next level up until the highest level governs the whole nation.
Albert looks briefly at feminism (for him, the expression of his kinship sphere and ‘intercommunalism’ — the culture sphere). In examining each sphere, he applies his participatory value for the most part, along with self-management, solidarity, diversity and justice. Albert deals with the remaining value of stewardship through what he calls ‘Parecology’, and also deals separately with internationalism. As he explains, internationalism is really just all the other values writ large.
Although Albert believes in classlessness, he does not say much about the abolition of ownership. It is just assumed in the book that shared ownership of the means of production will be achieved. Also, despite Albert’s example of a surgeon emptying bed-pans, it is difficult to see his co-ordinator class wholesale being willing or able to give up their roles in society. People surely look to be in such professions partly for status reasons. We may hope that such professionals will do much to understand and share in the tasks of those ‘below’ them in their workplaces, but this stops short of the kind of classlessness Albert seems to be advocating. Perhaps it is human nature to always have power structures and hierarchies. Maybe it is kindness within each of our roles that is important rather than the abolition of all structures of power.
Albert does not rule out revolution as a means to social change — indeed he seems to favour it. The problem with revolution is that those who lead it are in grave danger of just usurping the power of the current elite with their own power. Albert has addressed this to a point with his introduction of the third, co-ordinator, class, but this does not see the problem solved. The danger of still having an elite class — the revolutionaries — still remains and contradicts the aim of achieving classlessness. Also, Albert’s views suggest that current elites are irredeemable. This view is itself a contradiction of the values he might hope to espouse — that everyone is open to change and personal growth.
Despite these criticisms, Albert’s book, along with his other works, are of particular resonance. He tackles the problems of society head-on and in depth.
John Holloway — Change the World without Taking Power
This is certainly a difficult book. The promising title belies a rather troubling viewpoint. Holloway starts with a scream! He suggests it is horror and anger at the way the world is that should be our starting point. It is dissonance and negativity. He goes so far as to say that we do not even have a personal identity in this negative state.
Holloway goes on to discuss the means by which change may be brought about. He summarises the various viewpoints as being either reform, revolution or anarchism. Holloway points out that both reform and revolution are about change via state power — either gradual or sudden. The state, according to Holloway, is just one part of the web of social relations in a society and the state’s part is mainly to do with work. Because, Holloway argues, the state organises work along capitalist lines, social change via the state is inevitably frustrated. Holloway also points out that the social relations in which the state is embedded is an international web (because of the nature of capitalism). Therefore, to seek power to be taken from the state in order to serve the interests of the working class within a nation is a mistaken aim. It does not recognise the true scope and significance of the state’s interaction with capital.
Holloway argues that the quest for state power therefore favours nationalism and the two are often blended in the struggle to replace the nation state. The struggle itself, he suggests, fails before it even begins. In fetishising state power, all the other social relations are discounted. The struggle for state power results in the reformers or revolutionaries adopting the same power relations. What the scream was originally about — the abuse of power — is therefore bought into wholesale by those who are allegedly trying to sort the problem. Holloway is instead suggesting revolution by means of dissolving power relations. He refers to anti-power.
Holloway states plainly that we ‘do not know how to change the world without taking power’. He returns to the scream and explains that it is a scream of anger but also of hope — active hope. It is not a scream of despair or cynicism. The active hope is pointing us towards doing. However, for Holloway, the doing is a negative, frustrated doing — it even ‘negates the negation of itself’. The doing then is changing the world by negating that which exists. (Holloway contrasts this with the Biblical ‘in the beginning was the word…’. For Holloway, this is wrong. ‘In the beginning was the scream.’)
For all that this may seem very negative so far, it seems that the ‘negative doing’ that Holloway has in mind nevertheless includes things that we might be forgiven for considering as positives — including pleasure and creativity. Holloway also includes laziness as an ‘active assertion of an alternative practice’ in relation to capitalism. He also regards this negative doing as ‘ecstatic’, creating the world in the negation of what the world already is — it is not creating the same material.
Holloway emphasises our subjectivity and that all doing is social (even for doing largely done alone). Power is related to doing. Doing, he suggests, is ‘power-to’. Power-to becomes ‘power-over’ however, when someone forces another to do on their behalf (to ‘break the social flow of doing’, in Holloway’s words) and therefore denies that person’s subjectivity. Holloway relates this to the worker who is denied the means of production.
Holloway suggests that capitalism, by its emphasis on ‘property’, (this being something that has been done in the past — according to Holloway) makes a greater separation of subject and object. He suggests that our subjectivity is compromised by capitalism’s persistent objectification of our ‘doing’ — our creativity.
The state takes on the role — on behalf of capitalism — of protecting property, and thereby indirectly contributes to the subjugation of people. Holloway nevertheless maintains that the conversion of power-to to power-over happens at the ‘doing’ stage (when creativity is captured and we are deprived of sharing in the means of production). It is not the state, or polities, that initiates power-over, nor are they responsible for it directly.
As well as changing the power relations, Holloway maintains that capitalism also results in ‘breaking the flow of doing’, and therefore results in our separation from each other. We lose our ‘we-ness’ and become objectivised subjects. Capitalism reverses the normal understanding of subject and object. There is a subjectivisation of objects (money, capital) and an objectification of subjects. Doing becomes labour (for those who still do — the workers) and it is an alienating, passive and suffering level of doing. Holloway suggests that the products of such a society become commodity as a result. This, he says, alienates the capitalists as well as the workers.
The system nevertheless still relies on our doing. In this Holloway sees hope. He says, ‘that which exists depends for its existence on that which exists only in the form of its denial’, so he is saying that capitalism can only exist because there is an underlying existence of social doing that is there in opposition to the kind of doing that produces commodity, but which is unacknowledged. Struggle therefore is not to counter power-over with some other kind of power. It is instead to undermine power-over by the re-assertion of power-to. In other words, it is by regaining our subjectivity and by the social flow of our doing. Holloway suggests that the re-assertion of the social flow of doing — of power-to — can only happen as anti-power. We cannot therefore ‘cultivate our own garden’ along side power-over structures. It is only through the struggle of anti-power against power-over that hope exists. Subjectivity can likewise only exist in antagonism to its own objectification. The social sciences, according to Holloway, merely reproduce power-over because they fail to understand (or even acknowledge) anti-power. They also fail by not recognising money’s key role (thereby value, commodity, objectification). Power-over can only exist as transformed power-to — capitalism can only exist because of labour.
Holloway notes that Marxist thought today tends to ignore Marx’s own description of fetishisation. It is the production of commodities that alienates the worker from the product of labour and hence the fetishisation of the object. This process is continued in the valuing of commodities (exchange value, use-value) and their fungability into money and capital.
Holloway goes on to explore some of the implications of all this, and in particular, that it is an assumed state of affairs for most of us — taken as just a given — and thereby frustrating any possibility of revolution. Also, there is an assumption that we are all discrete individuals, involved only in objective transactions with the world and with others. This is even celebrated by our society — the cult of the individual and the deterioration into narcissism and arrogant entitlement. Community, by contrast, would be a ‘social flow of doing’, according to Holloway. A community cannot be just a collection of individuals.
Holloway points out that scientific thought, and academic thought generally, is always in the third person. There are thoughts about ‘something’, with the observer detached — objectified. Holloway suggests that this is the other side of power-over. There is no ‘we’ present in this engagement, no room for hopes or possibilities — all of the things that make us genuine subjects — persons.
The key point here is that even when trying to introduce a moral element to an argument — trying to speak about what ‘ought’ to be — we are confronted by the objective truth of what already is, and this truth always takes precedence. Truth is either formal logical consistency (science, mathematics) or it is just a personal opinion. The two are vastly separated and the logical truth always takes precedence. We are subverted by this process, even while hardly being aware that it is happening.
Holloway seems to be saying that capitalism identifies the subject, but, for him, it is only through negation — ‘not x’ — that we have identity. This is a tricky point, but key to understanding what follows.
The question of identity brings Holloway to a dilemma. How can there be a revolution in a world that is so de-humanised? He offers three possible answers. One is to give up hope and focus on minor changes. The second is to focus on the antagonism between the owners of capital and the working class (the typical solution), which Holloway has already rejected by pointing out that power relations start much earlier than this antagonism, right back at the separation of power-over and power-to. The third — Holloway’s solution — is to find hope in non-identity. By this Holloway seems to mean any practice that asserts human dignity through the negation of the identity that is forced on us by capitalism.
Holloway goes on to explain that if fetishisation is accepted as a given — that came in with capitalism and could only go out with the destruction of capitalism — then we would have to assume that some people — an intellectual or political elite — could step outside the system. They would thereby avoid false consciousness and be able to guide the masses to emancipation. Holloway’s meaning here is not too clear. It seems that this point is partly hopeful (it is possible to see beyond false consciousness) but also that he rejects the notion that only an elite could lead the masses to freedom.
Holloway cites Lukacs and notes that, whilst the bourgeoisie are unaware of the reified nature of their existence (the fetishisation engineered by capitalism) the proletariat could, in some measure, recognise it. By being forced to sell their labour as a commodity, the proletarian may recognise the split within themselves, between objectivity and subjectivity. Whist their everyday work is commodification, the person maintains a subjectivity by their inner self or soul.
Holloway looks at how the problem of recognition may be solved. Lukacs suggests by the ‘Party’ (ie. a political elite). Adorno and Horkheimar suggest via privileged individuals (an intellectual elite) who recognise the situation. Meanwhile Marcuse suggests that outsiders and outcasts may solve the situation. These individuals may be unconscious of their rebellion but nevertheless undermine the capitalist system by their rejection of it and of its values. None of these solutions however seem to be suited to Holloway. He says we must look beyond these classic authors for a solution to fetishisation.
What seems critical to Holloway is that capitalism’s forms (value, money, commodity, state) are not established forms that endure, but rather they are processes. (Fetishism is also therefore a process — fetishisation.) This seems to Holloway to be the reason why there can be an ongoing antagonism within all of us towards the forms of capitalism. If the system of value, money, commodity and state seemed as if it had always existed and was just taken as an established fact, then we would not be aware enough to challenge it. Because, however, these things are processes — open to change — then challenge is possible.
Holloway points out that capital itself is in a ceaseless struggle to control and maintain its existence. He rejects the idea that we struggle against capitalism from below. Rather, because capital must struggle to exist, its position is fragile. As such, he argues, revolution is possible.
Holloway notes that in religion we create an external god out of our own estrangement. Likewise, he suggests, we create capital. We cannot stand outside what we have made. To criticise it is at once to criticise ourselves. For Holloway though, this realisation is a strength and not a weakness.
Holloway continues by pointing out that Marx considered science in a negative sense of challenging fetishisation. Post-Marx though, science is regarded in a positive light. The objectification of nature through science is actively celebrated.
Marx asked how fetishisation can be negated. (This was his scientific stance.) Engels, by contrast, sees the history of social relations as scientific (in the sense that social relations can be studied objectively). Holloway looks at the consequences. Some saw this to mean that the collapse of capitalism was inevitable, others felt that revolution was still necessary, or reform. Holloway though, points out that it requires intelligence to interpret history and to therefore raise the consciousness of the working class so that they become aware of the need for emancipation.
For Holloway then, ‘scientific’ Marxism has been a mistake. True scientific Marxism would be the criticism of fetishisation, therefore this must be our stance, he argues.
Holloway speaks about definitions of class and makes clear that — just as value, money, commodity and state are processes — so too is classification. To define people as a particular class is already to accept the fetishisation of the capitalist system. Thus, the ‘critical subject’ (that’s all of us) is always in a state of antagonism by resisting classification.
Holloway goes on to consider if the struggles of the working class actually determines the development of capitalism, rather than the other way around, as is usually the theory. He notes however that this reversal would put forward working class emancipation as a very positive proposal. This is not favoured by Holloway. He insists that, even with class development leading rather than being led by capitalism, it is nonetheless something negative. It must stand against identity. Only by refusing to be identified and categorised is there hope of a revolution without taking power.
Holloway goes on to explain that it is freedom that allows for the domination of anti-power over power — the worker over capital. The worker is free to sell labour as he or she wishes, but, crucially, also free to withhold labour. It is this potential for insubordination that seems to be the important element to Holloway.
Ultimately, debt is the crisis of capital. Holloway (writing in 1999) often refers to a ‘credit crunch’. ‘Social self-determination’ is ultimately Holloway’s answer, or partial answer to the scream with which the book began. He again emphasises that us is a process — ever-changing and with no final destination in mind.
Over all, the emphasis on negating capital, power and objectification are the difficult concepts that the book takes on board. Holloway is not at all prescriptive as to what kinds of actions this might entail. There are only hints — so far as I can see — that creativity, imagination, self-determination in our work and subtle rejections of the capitalist system are the way to go. But this, in turn, suggests ‘revolution’ by small measures — or a type of reform — which, in some ways, Holloway seems also to reject. (Although, we could argue that it is small-scale political reform that he is rejecting, not individual acts of undermining the system.) Also, there is the danger that capitalism, as an ever-changing process itself, is perfectly capable of co-opting the acts of creative rebellion that citizens may come up with — what is revolutionary may just become the new normal and may be commodified and sold back to us as an ‘alternative’ lifestyle that is just as much a part of the capitalism that it was initially trying to reject. I think this latter point may be the reason why Holloway avoids prescription and stresses negativity. The process of the revolution must be ever-changing, to avoid being co-opted, so any concrete suggestions he might have made (and these would then be positives rather than negations and anti-power) would be in danger of falling into the trap described above. It is a tough stance to take, but Holloway is consistent with it throughout the book.
Peter Barnes — Capitalism 3.0
Barnes divides the commons into nature, culture and community. He suggests three aspects to each of these divisions. Common wealth is the monetary and non-monetary value of all the assets of the commons. Common property is the class of human-made rights that lies somewhere between private property and state property. And the commons sector is an organised sector of the economy, related to common resources.
In a similar way that the Bank of England in the UK and the Federal Reserve Board in the USA can set interest rates independently of government, Barnes suggests an independent body that would regulate our carbon budget — essentially a body that would administer the commons. (This, presumably, is the basis of his common sector, regulating the use of common wealth.)
Through this, common property rights would be the responsibility of trustworthy guardians. In essence, the administrative bodies of the common sector would be appointing common property rights to business — as such, the use of our common wealth would be fully controlled, and controlled independently of government. This trusteeship compares to stewardship. The trustees’ responsibilities would be mandatory and always in the interests of the wider community. For Barnes, the common property and trusteeship suggestions represent a third type of ownership — between private and state. He suggests that ‘public goods’ and ‘eco-system services’ be recognised as ‘common property held in trust’.
The above explanation, I admit, might seem somewhat obscure. However, I have to say that I found Barnes’ book to be one of the most straight-forward and practical of all books I have read relating to the commons. We might disagree on some of the terms he uses (especially ‘common wealth’ and ‘eco-system services’), but the way he proposes to govern the commons seems entirely sensible and possible under almost any form of governance.
Gordon Graham — The Case Against the Democratic State
The book is principally about the power of the state. Graham seeks to answer two questions — why does the state seek legitimacy through democratic means, and, why does the state require to demonstrate its legitimacy in the first place.
Graham starts by questioning the value of the state. He points out that it is the ‘monopoly of legitimate coercion’, ie. the state alone holds the power to force us to do things or to stop us from doing things, and to a large extent, it decides on the rules.
Graham goes on to describe limited and unlimited states. A limited state is one where the power of the state is restricted in some way by a constitution. An unlimited state has no such restrictions and could, in theory, legislate on any aspect of its citizens’ lives. States that are unlimited may nevertheless be benign. It is only where an unlimited state imposes its rule in an aggressive manner that we would be inclined to call it totalitarian. Some theoretically limited states however turn out to be totalitarian as their constitutions fail to exercise sufficient restraint over state power and oppression.
Graham looks at Hobbes Leviathan — the classic text to defend the need of a state. He considers whether the state really does make life more peaceful and safe, as Hobbes and others have claimed. Graham points out that state power, when gone astray, will result in less peace and safety for citizens rather than more.
Graham looks at a further justification for the state — which is essentially to try to avoid the ‘Tragedy of the Commons’, although he does not name it in this way. Here, (as in Garrett Hardin’s essay) the state is brought in to regulate the use of resources to avoid exploitation and conflict. Graham seems to accept, with some reservations, that this is an argument in favour of the state, or at least, the state comes out as neither better nor worse. He does not pursue other ways of resisting the Tragedy of the Commons scenario. He moves on instead to point out that the problems identified with the state — namely the potential abuses of power — are problems of those running the state — that is, government — and not the concept of the state itself. He moves then to look at how bad government can be avoided — and the usual way of resolving this is promoted as being by democracy.
In turning to democracy, Graham suggests three essential elements that define it — the sovereignty of the people, universal suffrage and majority rule.
Graham goes on to look at Plato’s objections to democracy and identifies two in particular — leaving the state open to the decisions of those with no expert knowledge and the danger that those skilled in speaking and persuasion will unduly influence others to take up their views (and thereby become an oligarchy).
Graham looks at ‘means’ and ‘ends’ as a way of deciding what should be open to a democratic vote. The ‘means’ are the technical aspects of implementing a particular policy and should best be left to experts. The ‘ends’ are the outcomes people want to see in society. We might think then that the ‘ends’ of our society should be left open for everyone to have a voice. Graham however points out that a clear distinction between means and ends is difficult to achieve. Also he notes that for any one issue, different people have a stronger or a weaker preference, therefore it is difficult to see how everyone having an equal vote on the matter would be fair. Graham also raises the issue of choices being made through knowledge of the matter to hand as opposed to a choice made from ignorance, or ill-considered or erroneous views.
Graham goes on to consider the ‘paradox of democracy’. Essentially, this comes about by believing democracy to be self-evidently the best system for deciding policy. However, there may be cases where a carefully considered decision is voted down by democracy. We are then in the situation of believing the decision to be good because evidence suggests it to be so, but at the same time believing it to be bad, because the ‘perfect’ system of democracy has decided against it.
Graham goes on to consider representative, as opposed to direct democracy. With regard to representation, he points out the discussion of whether the representative is merely the mouthpiece of those who have placed them in office, or is appointed to deliberate with their own expertise for the public good. However, he sets this question aside to focus on his main topic of whether democracy in itself is a good thing.
In addressing this, his main topic, Graham looks first at how to define universal suffrage, and shows that this is difficult. He considers whether it should mean those affected by a decision, but rejects this as too vague. Then he looks at whether it should be those subject to a policy. This he finds a little bit sharper as a distinction, but still difficult to define. Finally he notes that there are people too young to vote (but who will be affected by policy now or in the future) and people who will die before a policy is implemented, so once more the extent to which a voter will be affected, or not affected by their decision (or lack of decision) is not clear.
Graham goes on to suggest some kind of means-testing of competence as an alternative to universal suffrage. He points out that excluding children from voting — because they are too young to understand the issues involved — leads, logically, to excluding adults who are, for whatever reason, incompetent. Based on what he considers would be straight-forward tests for measuring the ability of people to be informed enough to make political choices, he suggests this would be a fairer solution. (He holds back from referring to these as intelligence tests, or the resulting governance system to be a meritocracy.)
‘Liberal democracy’ was a phrase originally coined to contrast with ‘social democracy’. Social democracy tries to promote socialist values, so far as these might be allowed by democracy. Liberal democracy however, Graham claims, accepts democracy only so far as it does not conflict with liberal values. Graham points out that the term liberal democracy is somewhat contradictory, as in a democracy freedom is curtailed by majority vote and sometimes even by a minority vote. There is no power of dissent or process of contending the existence of the government itself. Government by consent — even tacit, or implied consent — is meaningless.
Graham goes on to conjecture on a liberal state that is run by an oligarchy (presumably by his means-tested meritocracy) rather than on democratic principles. He suggests this would protect liberal values without the need for a concept of democracy. He suggests it is only convention that has resulted in us seeing liberal society synonymous with democracy. However, he points out that a truly liberal society would be unlikely to accept a situation where most people do not have a say in political decision-making.
Graham goes on to point out the irrelevance of a single vote in an election (ie. the power of the people, through voting, is an illusion). He also questions whether the general will of the people is either discernible through common-sense reasoning (in which any type of governance could determine it) or, relies on the democratic process (in which case, our vote once again makes no difference).
Graham then goes back to questions about the state. In the absence of a religious foundation to governance, he asks what the basis might be for the institution of the state today. He considers a morally-neutral state and then a ‘managerial’ state — one which effectively just delivers services, irrespective of the behaviour of its people. These, he explains, are popular conceptions of the state today. But he considers them to be illusory, for three reasons: A morally-neutral state is covertly taking a stand on values within a society (so is not actually neutral): The managerial view relies on what Graham calls the ‘democratic myth’ — that democracy empowers citizens to have a say in the running of society and thus to comment on and modify the ways in which government manages society: And third, the false ideas of moral neutrality and the influence of democracy greatly increases state power.
Despite earlier seeming to promote the idea of a meritocracy, Graham, in his final chapter, arrives at some very odd conclusions. Firstly, he points out that limiting the term of office of a government is of benefit in preventing power from becoming corrupting — uncontentious, and this could apply to any form of governance. However, then he advocates elections — not because, as is usually believed, they allow us to choose who governs us — but to prevent some other means of obtaining power to take hold in society. It is, essentially, the uselessness of the electoral system that is its great strength, according to Graham!
Graham also discusses our involvement in civil society — that is, society outside of either state or business. He argues that our involvement in civil society is vitally important, even although this involvement makes little difference, in practical terms, about how the society functions. He tries to link this to our involvement in politics — participation matters, even if it makes little or no difference to the results.
In looking at how government works in the UK, Graham shows that it is quite undemocratic in practice. Ministerial appointments are made without anyone’s consent and much of government is run by the civil service as a meritocracy.
This is an excellent book, which explains many of the concepts at the heart of theories of state and governance. As such, it is worthy of this long review. However, even although I would be likely to disagree with him, I wish Graham had pursued his suggestions towards a meritocracy more fully, rather than finish the book with the rather vague conclusions that what we do in politics is mostly worthwhile, but not for the reasons that we think.
Guy Standing — Plunder of the Commons
Subtitled, ‘a manifesto for sharing public wealth’, the book starts off by tracing the history of the ‘Charter of the Forest’, a document that accompanied the Magna Carta, and dates back to 1217. Whilst the charter was wholly or partially inscribed in law for around 750 years, its precepts have been gradually eroded by monarchies and governments alike.
Standing goes on to look at the meaning of the commons, commoners, and ‘commoning’. He cites rules for managing the commons, similar to those of Elinor Ostram (arguably the foremost modern authority on the commons). What is important to note from the Charter of the Forest however, is its insistence on the right to subsistence for the commoners.
Standing highlights, in particular, ‘estovar of the commons’, allowing people the necessities to have a minimal level of existence from the commons if they have no other means of support. He compares this to the circumstances of modern people, and in particular, the erosion of ‘social income’, that is, all the ways in which we are helped in our lives outside of the realm of paid employment.
Standing goes on to examine the commons under five main categories: the natural commons, the social commons, the civil commons, the cultural commons and the knowledge commons. The amount of detail is impressive and once again Standing is very good at relating the history of the commons to our current situation, particularly in the UK.
Standing goes on to look at how the principles of the Charter of the Forest might be applied in today’s society and ends with his own ‘Charter of the Commons’.
All in all, this is an excellent book and easily the most accessible of all Standing’s work.
Tom Hodgkinson — How to be Free
Hodgkinson looks at three aspects of life — freedom, merriment and responsibility — in this light-hearted yet insightful book. He adopts the anarchist stance that people are basically good and capable of organising our own affairs without the interference of government. He looks mainly to the past for inspiration. He believes we are already free — we just need to realise our freedom and start living it.
Hodgkinson starts by inviting us to set aside our anxieties and be carefree. He suggests avoiding newspapers and TV news and spending more time reading and talking with friends. He suggests more varied daily activities, mixing physical with mental work. He asks us to walk or cycle rather than to drive or take the underground. Avoid screens. Take up paper and pencil. Play a musical instrument. Eat well. Remember that we are more or less powerless to change anything in the world, so we might as well be carefree. He encourages us to avoid boring work, to get creative, and, most importantly, to create our own entertainments and pleasures rather than have them packaged and sold back to us by capitalism.
Hodgkinson asks us to consider simplicity as a lifestyle option, to avoid, as much as possible, the financial economy. He urges us to abandon consumerism whilst still acknowledging our pleasures. He encourages us to find our gift — our vocation — and to make work into a pleasure. He berates the modern tendency towards career and professionalism. He suggests a more relaxed attitude to time and the idea that ‘time is money’.
Hodgkinson contrasts urban and rural living, mainly favouring the rural — but, going back to his medieval interests — looks at the smaller city as a better type of urban life.
Hodgkinson is not in favour of a classless society, which he sees as boring and in any case probably not possible. He suggests we get over our class-based hang-ups and be uniquely ourselves, so advocates a kind of bohemian attitude to class.
Hodgkinson, in all of the above, is urging us to be fearless in our attitude to life. He is an anarchist in spirit, but does not see the path to anarchism to be through revolution or reform, but to be by just starting to do things for ourselves. As such, alternative ways of living will sit alongside government and eventually show government to be irrelevant. He urges us to get rid of as much technology as we can — the simpler things are, the less likely they are to go wrong.
Hodgkinson looks at the increasing incidence of depression. He notes the contradiction — that our depression is caused by society, but that he is encouraging us to take individual (or at least, small-scale) action to fight the system. But, he argues, this is the paradox of capitalism — we are all individually complicit but also all collectively affected by its evils.
Hodgkinson suggests calling depression by its older name of melancholy and using it creatively. He advises giving up complaining, to be merry, to play. He endorses the freedom we get by giving up the lure of money, thereby freeing ourselves for more leisure, merriment and creativity. Giving up the mortgage, or at least having a smaller house, is a move towards this freedom and if possible, to give up work and become self-employed.
Paul Collier — The Future of Capitalism
Collier recognises three particular problems in contemporary society — disparities in wealth (due mainly to differences in education) — the concentration of wealth in metropolitan areas, and — the erosion of social values. Collier’s examination of our current situation forms the first chapter of the book — of particular note is how he expresses economies as a strange mix of utilitarianism combined with the belief that we are all selfish individuals — homo economicus. Interestingly, he equates utilitarianism with globalisation and ‘Rawlsianism’ (from the theories of Rawls) as favouring victim groups. The aim of the book is to investigate how capitalism may be adjusted to address the problems identified by the author and outlined above.
Collier wants capitalism to have a purpose and he suggests this should be prosperity combined with a sense of belonging and esteem. He sees these values built through narratives, and these apply most strongly, he suggests, in the three main groupings of society — families, firms and states. He sees leadership and authority as important, but these work not through force but by seeking co-operation. Turning to capitalism, he looks to show how leaders may ‘build reciprocal obligations’ that re-configure capitalism to work with rather than against the grain of common value. Obligations, he says, should be more important than rights. ‘Rational economic man’ is replaced by ‘rational social woman’. Collier observes that, from the middle of the 20th century, there has been a divergence of those who derive their esteem from their nation, from those who derive it from their jobs and education. This is the class divide he identified at the start of the book as one of the most divisive — and it occurs across both left- and right-wing politics.
Solutions, for Collier, must be what he calls ‘spatial’, in other words, relevant to local needs and to nations. So he wants to see the trends towards individualism and globalisation reversed and have us embrace nationalism — reversing the trends of the last several decades. But he recognises that nationalism can be dangerous. Collier goes on to look in detail at the three essential relations he has identified earlier — nation, firms and families.
Collier returns to a sense of place and to belonging as a means of rekindling national identity without the dangers of nationalism. He makes the distinction between patriotism and nationalism.
In the chapter about firms, the main focus is on the reckless pursuit of shareholder profit and of short-term gains at the expense of long-term stability. Collier suggests that firms focus instead on promoting the public good through their core skill — whatever that might be. Whilst clearly firms must be financially viable, the main focus is social rather than for profit.
In the families chapter, Collier re-asserts the importance of traditional family structures — especially the extended family. He notes the divergence of abilities — from the educated to the less educated — a trend that only seems to be accelerating and is a key theme of the book.
Collier goes on to discuss what might make for an ethical world — essentially he is considering relations between nations. He describes three precepts — duties of rescue, reciprocal obligations and enlightened self-interest. Collier looks at various world ‘clubs’ — the WTO, IMF, the UN, etc. and finds difficulties with how they have evolved over time. He suggests a new club of China, India, the USA, the EU, Russia and Japan. He looks at specific tasks — refugees, HIV Aids, and ‘the duty of rescue from mass despair’. Collier does not give much detail about any of these, he just seems to regard them as the most pressing of current world issues. The rescue from mass despair seems to be about promoting business ventures in poorer nations so that people there will be encouraged to stay and not to try to find a better life elsewhere. It ties in with his idea of ethical firms.
Collier moves on — in Part 3 — to tackle in detail the problems he has identified at the start of the book. In looking at the diverging fortunes of the metropolis from the poorer hinterland, Collier introduces a strange variation of the concept of economic rent. To give a brief overview of the traditional concept of economic rent, he starts with Henry George. He goes on however to argue that taxing land (as proposed by George) would no longer achieve the aim that George had in mind. For Collier, it is skill and the availability of housing that form the basis of his idea of how to tax more effectively. Collier suggests introducing a progressive tax on those earning high wages in metropolitan areas.
Collier goes on to address the second half of the problem — the poor hinterland. He suggests development banks should help pioneer firms to set up in poorer areas. ‘Investment Promotion Agencies’ would be set up — again, to encourage firms into poor areas. There would be more apprenticeship courses and universities would become more local — working with local firms to help local young people into suitable work.
Collier goes on to explain support for the traditional family structure. He looks at various ideas, from the support of young parents through to pensions — cradle to grave — which are for the most part a return to the social values of the past. Finally, he gives a brief overview of global politics, emphasising the ongoing importance of the nation state.
Is Collier successful in the aim of his book — adapting capitalism to cope with the three problems he initially set out as the results of capitalism gone-wrong? Well, whilst all the suggestions he makes are good, I think we come back to the issue facing all pleas for social reform — are we wise enough to put the ideas into practice? Indeed, are we wise enough to think that his suggestions are good ideas in the first place? Collier tries to evoke the spirit that followed the second world war. It is difficult for us, now, to make this link — most of us are not old enough to have experienced those years. Perhaps the looming threat of climate change may be a more modern impetus for change. But of course it is thus far a slow-moving threat. So, my one criticism of Collier’s book is that he does not really address this question of what will motivate us to make the changes he prescribes.
A C Grayling — The Good State
Grayling sets out his store very clearly. He is concerned with the lack of a constitution in some states (including the UK), the poor results obtained by nations adopting the ‘Westminster Model’ of governance (that is, based on the UK Westminster parliament) and the lack of clear separation between the judiciary, the legislature and the executive. His further concerns are the lack of accountability of those who hold office and also — in his view — the corrosive influence of party politics over governance.
Grayling starts by thinking over the basic principles of governance — that everyone should be afforded the right to vote, that voting should be free and ‘informed’ (that is, we are made fully aware of what candidates really intend, if they were to be elected to office). Grayling mentions briefly other forms of democracy here — direct, deliberative, associationalist (what we might call participatory) and decision-making by a randomly-chosen body via ‘sortition’. He takes up some of the concerns around these later in the book, but he is generally dismissive of any of them achieving better governance. He focuses in on representative democracy — allegedly our current system — as being a necessary component of effective government. The election of representatives should be reflective of the proportion of the votes cast (proportional representation) and be by secret ballot. Grayling seems to feel that the representatives should then govern as experts on behalf of the electorate, so they would not necessarily be acting exactly as the electorate may wish for any particular decision.
Looking at the question of enfranchisement, Grayling seems to think this is straight-forward — the electorate would be all those over 16 who have a ‘material interest’ in the outcome of their vote.
Grayling moves on to look at the purpose of government itself (in particular, democratic government). He starts with the role of government as protection and security for its people. He goes on to tackle the issue of freedom versus fairness. He does not seem to settle this question, but appears to favour Rawls’ method of achieving fairness via a hypothetical state where we have to consider ourselves as potentially the least well-off citizens. Rawls, Grayling points out, took it as a given that a government’s role would be at least the protection and security of its citizens, and perhaps also, as with Locke, the security of property.
Interestingly here, Grayling points out that much of what is written about the purpose of government is conflated with what we might instead regard as the purpose of civil society.
Grayling points out that first-past-the-post systems of democracy are liable to produce two-party systems. He suggests that this amounts to an oligarchy as the leading party’s main purpose is to hold on to power at the expense of the opposition. He says instead that governments should ‘have a conception of the interests of all, of equal concern for all, and of a just balance in the distribution of opportunities and access to social goods’ (p.43). He goes on to expand a little on what these criteria would mean in practice.
Returning to the fairness/freedom debate, Grayling points to other conceptions of the purpose of government and cites those who see it essentially as protecting economic goals (therefore, on the freedom and minimal government side of things). Grayling looks at how this can conflict with what is fair for the poorer citizens and also in terms of the destruction of nature, increased consumption and other factors this approach implies.
Grayling points out that it is civilised society that dictates the need for a minimum threshold of care, rather than politics or government. He suggests that democratic values will, of necessity, include civilised values. This leads Grayling into considering what the purpose of an explicitly democratic form of government might be, in addition to the minimum requirements of security discussed earlier. What might lead a democratic government to promote policies that lead to, say, ‘flourishing’, a ‘noble life’, ‘constructive leisure’, etc.? Grayling returns to Rawls, modifying Rawls’ original argument somewhat, to suggest that a minimum standard for a democratic state would be social justice. He uses the term ‘social justice’ here to include quite a raft of interests, including what we might call ‘flourishing’ and he summarises three on page 56. On the same page, he makes it clear that favouring particular private interests is contrary to the view of democracy — he is essentially separating politics from government here, as he considers politics to be a factional interest (as above for the two-party state, but also more generally). We might have preferred him to distinguish between party politics and ‘true’ politics (being, of the people) and therefore legitimate governance. This might or might not have been clearer. But Grayling’s definitions certainly tap usefully into a general suspicion of the word ‘politics’, so probably serve him better for the argument of the book.
Grayling devotes a chapter to discussing the separation of the legislature, executive and judiciary within a society and gives considerable detail. He sees this separation as essential to democracy but notes it is completely lacking in any ‘democracy’ supposedly operating under the Westminster Model. Grayling points out some of the complexities such a separation would entail (especially in separating the ‘powers’ from the ‘functions’ of each segment) but seems nonetheless to see this as possible, and indeed the most important aspect of democratic government. There may also be a separate fact-checking service to scrutinise the media.
Grayling goes on to look at the ‘fitness’ of voters, politicians, political activists and journalists in the democratic process. He focuses mainly on politicians, and makes a number of recommendations. The stand-out one is to have an independent body to scrutinise the conduct of our elected officials, rather than them being ‘accountable’ only to themselves. Grayling again stresses the separation of governance functions — in particular, here, the legislature and the executive — to achieve greater accountability, avoid careerism in politicians and so ensure more chance of service to the public good. He looks at ways for the electorate to be more informed and interested — not least, to have a system of proportional representation, so that voting is seen as worthwhile — and calls for higher standards of the press in true reporting of political issues, rather than partisanship. Grayling also proposes that an independent body might scrutinise the impacts of proposed legislation, and make this information freely available. It could not strike down legislation as such, but governments enacting proposals that the body advises are irresponsible may be made to think twice. Legislators might only serve one term — to help combat careerism, as there would be no pressure from trying for re-election.
Grayling looks at the need of a constitution to regulate the institutions of government. He points out the lack of a constitution in the UK. He looks briefly at the benefits of a second house of government and at referendums. The latter he considers unconstitutional, as he maintains that under a representative democracy, parliament is sovereign. We may dispute this point of course, by saying that the people are sovereign, by having, at the very least, the power to remove a government as a matter of last resort. On pages 125 and 126, Grayling gives an excellent and concise description of what a constitution for government should entail.
Grayling turns to rights. He insists that a constitution for government is the means of establishing rights that a government should then be obliged to uphold. Grayling sums up the threats to democracy, more or less summarising his thoughts from the rest of the book. Grayling gives a very compelling argument for representative democracy that brings together all of the discussions of the book. If we were to reject the possibility of deliberative democracy (which Grayling discusses, but considers unlikely to succeed) then his reformed democracy would surely be the best option for government that we could devise.
David Fleming — Surviving the Future
The book is an edited version of Fleming’s Lean Logic and edited by Shuan Chamberlin.
The book sets out to describe the process of ‘lean thinking’, and suggests four alternative futures — Growth (what I’ve described as Cornucopia), Continuity (what I’ve called Privatopia), Descent and Collapse (both of which are often features of Ecotopia). The Introduction emphasises that Descent is the chosen path of the book (although, to be honest, this is still premised on an expectation of eventual Collapse). The solutions offered are intended to manage after a collapse, but also to prepare for a collapse, or just to make a better society if no collapse were to occur. The solutions are based on small-scale local communities living sustainably with the resources that are to hand.
Fleming goes on to set out three principles of the book — manners, scale/presence and ‘slack’. Manners seems to just be about listening carefully to all viewpoints, negotiating peacefully, coming to solutions sensibly and respectfully. Scale, for Fleming, is to be small-scale and local. This, he believes, leads to ‘presence’ — the sense that our opinions and our work matter, and the sense of community and friendship. Fleming then explains that business currently is driven by competition, and so it does everything it can to reduce costs and speed up production — so, in Fleming’s terms — it is ‘taut’. He contrasts this with production being about quality, or to spend less time making in order to do other things, or spending longer to make in order to produce things by different means — all of this he refers to as ‘slack’. Fleming explores slack in terms of local community and culture.
Fleming goes on to contrast his ‘lean economy’ with the market economy that is taken as the standard for consumer capitalism today. The lean economy is based on local interaction (protection and trust), product diversity, a small number of sellers and buyers, barriers to entry and exit, multiple aims, barriers to mobility and imperfect knowledge. Each of these is summarised below.
Local interaction.
Protection:- Fledgling businesses need this to get going. Businesses based on different approaches to labour, to care of the environment, choice of materials, local rather than global, need protection in order to survive whilst industrial production still exists.
Trust:- Exchange, Fleming suggests, will become increasingly outside the financial economy. It will not be by transactions but by mutual obligations of trust (the Gift Economy).
Product diversity.
Essentially, trying to recognise and include the bonds of social obligations that go with locally-produced and distributed goods. We will know the farmer, baker, shop-keeper etc. and our relations with these folk count as much as the products that are being exchanged. (I have to say the term ‘product diversity’ does not seem to relate very well to Fleming’s explanation here.)
A small number of sellers and buyers. Speaks for itself.
Barriers to entry and exit. Fleming illustrates by looking at small local economies isolated geographically, but any exclusion from the global economy would count. We may, for short-term gain, see an advantage in stepping out of our local economy, but in the long-term (especially under the conditions Fleming is assuming for our future) it would be to our loss.
Multiple aims. Businesses no longer aiming just for profit, but, for instance, for the ‘triple bottom line’.
Barriers to mobility. Labour (under Fleming’s future) will be scarce, and local resources scarce, so closed access is important. Within this, Fleming lists his version of the various ‘capitals’ and gives us, ‘natural, human, social, cultural, material and financial’. For Fleming’s localised economies, only cultural capital can be shared at a distance, all else is local.
Imperfect knowledge. This last criterion is really to contrast with the current global economy, where ‘perfect’ knowledge (at least in theory) maximises the efficiency of the market. A local economy, by contrast, will have little knowledge of markets elsewhere, but an intense knowledge of the local.
Fleming goes on to explain that the local economies he envisages are based on community and culture. The key ingredient, for him, is trust. For Fleming, a key element of trust is what he calls ‘congruence’. By this, he simply means that each person is truly themselves when dealing with others. Fleming sees congruence and trust to be built up through friendships, play and carnival, that is, through shared culture.
Fleming links carnival to ritual and sees both as preserving a community’s institutions. Carnival momentarily usurps our institutions, to stress that they are a choice. Carnival stresses that our animal natures and our existence endure over time, despite the death of individual community members, and even despite the death of whole communities. Both carnival and ritual reinforce the bonds of mutual obligation that hold community together. Fleming sees seven elements to ritual, which carnival takes up as well, albeit in playful ways. These are: Membership. Emotional Daring. Continuity. Consciousness of Time and Events. Practice. Meaning. Locality. Carnival, in addition, brings peace and suspension of social rank. Fleming explores each of these in turn.
Along with stressing the need of carnival, Fleming also reminds us of the need for the erotic.
Fleming returns to the ‘slack economy’ and looks at the question of employment. The basic message here is that the aim is to increase employment in the informal economy, rather than to reduce unemployment in the formal. This allows Fleming to see a way of avoiding the obvious problem that in a market economy those who work less will inevitably fail, have to rely on benefits, or even starve. Looking at material things as needs and wants, Fleming reminds us that goods used to have much more significance than they do for us today. Rather than condemn consumption and materialism, he suggests we should return to a celebration of the things that we need and want in our lives.
Fleming looks at scale, and notes some advantages to large-scale (especially in production) but many disadvantages. He calls this the problem of ‘intensification’. Intensification means that as scale increases, the amount and complexity of infrastructure needed to sustain a society likewise goes up. Rather than achieving ‘economies of scale’, larger, faster production is often less productive, when infrastructure is taken into account. (Fleming refers to the extra infrastructure as the ‘intermediate economy’.)
Fleming goes on to make a distinction between two fundamental types of capital that he refers to as ‘foundation capital’ and growth capital’. These distinctions span all of the six types of capital Fleming (along with other authors) has identified. Foundation capital is that part of these capitals that needs to be preserved and nourished. Growth capital, for Fleming, is that part of the capitals that needs to be kept in check.
Fleming goes on to stress the need for religion in his future society. This, along with carnival, play, community and other types of culture, is the binding strength (literally, religion = ‘to bind firmly’) that Fleming considers essential to sustain the types of community that will be needed in the future world.
Fleming identifies five types of truth — literal (what he calls material), narrative, implicit, performative and self-denying. Fleming regards religion as benefiting most from narrative, implicit and performative truth, but criticises current religious practice as having sold out to a version of the literal, scientific, material truth that, for him, undermines religion’s own power, beauty and usefulness. Faced with a binary either/or of literal interpretation, it is no wonder most of us choose to say ‘no’ to religion.
Fleming looks at the possibilities of his lean economy coming about in the near or far future. His discussion here becomes quite abstract, but returns mostly to that question of a growing economy needing more and more infrastructure to support it. Instead, Fleming’s world is one he describes as ‘elegant’ — using less labour, less technology, and being more local, craft-based and embedded in community and empathy. It is difficult not to like this book (and the main Lean Logic work from which it is derived). It has to be acknowledge though that the massive changes that Fleming envisages are more likely to be brought about by sudden catastrophe than by a gradual gaining of wisdom by humanity.
Kevin O’Leary — Saving Democracy
The main aim of the book is to suggest a fourth house of government in the USA, made up of members of the public and practising a form of participatory politics. Apart from this, it is also a brilliant exploration of the meaning and purpose of government itself.