#they are fucking words in a language that existed before western consumption of them

[detonizing]

Rules Update!

Sometimes I will use Japanese words in my reply. Just words like sensei (teacher), senpai (upperclassman), or adding “-san” etc. after names. 

This is because I believe the way someone calls another is an important part of characterization. Especially with Katsuki. 

If this bothers you, or if you find this ‘cringe’, do not rp with me

[scotchfields]

Galbraith, Friedman, and the Televised Argument

I recently subjected myself to an entire season of the all-but-forgotten 1977 BBC documentary series The Age of Uncertainty, a drab early version of the now ubiquitous “television documentary”. Filled to the brim with stiff academic talk, thick cigarette smoke, hokey animation, and silly references to the New Wave, The Age of Uncertainty is a neat little time capsule. It was written, produced, and hosted by Canadian-American economist and sensation John Kenneth Galbraith, more than once dubbed “sexiest man alive,” and also remembered as a profoundly radical and influential public economist. Adopting a similar style to earlier television documentaries like Jacob Bronowski’s The Ascent of Man and Kenneth Clark’s Civilization, Galbraith had a big budget, plenty of important names attached, and complete creative control over the show’s content. With the BBC’s backing, and embracing a tongue-and-cheek, at times fiery style, Galbraith launched the first major attempt at a television documentary covering economics.

And in this modern viewer’s hindsight, the result was a complete and utter trainwreck. The Age of Uncertainty is not only boring as fuck – it ranks among the snooziest programs I have ever laid my eyes upon. For all of Galbraith’s sophistication, all of his finesse, the man’s slow monotone tests absolute limits of sustained attention to even the most passionate audience. Still, The Age of Uncertainty is worth talking about, even if it is probably not worth watching. In our day of Netflix, Kanopy, Hulu, HBOGo, et cetera, the television documentary has become a staple of living room background ambience. The Age of Uncertainty was at the apex of the format, brandishing some of its worst and best characteristics. The Age of Uncertainty also spurred unprecedented amounts of debate and rebuttal from public intellectuals. It proved, if anything, that television documentaries could matter in the real world.

Over the course of twelve episodes and three one-hour special interviews, The Age of Uncertainty explores the history of economic thought since the 18th century. Special attention is paid to the ways in which ideas shape institutions, and how history has been fundamentally altered by different notions about how the economy functions. In framing economic thought as profoundly institutional, Galbraith hopes to break down the barriers of academic discourse that, in his view, make economics needlessly complex to ordinary people. By the end of the final episode, Galbraith develops his thesis: markets, far from an abstract, complex concept, actually affect day-to-day material realities, and thus should be put under greater public, democratic control. Galbraith’s argument, rooted in an explicitly neo-Keynesian, left-of-center ideological background, connects form with content. He attempts to use accessible language, along with various methods of viewer-friendly visual storytelling, to reject free-market economics, and to propose an economic order more oriented around human need and participation. Galbraith’s use of animation, skit acting, expensive sets, and various other techniques are hit-or-miss, but do reveal the ideologies informing Galbraith and his opponents, and help us understand the relationship between an economist and the public.

Before exploring the content of the show, it’s important to understand Galbraith’s position within the economics discipline and his views on academia more generally. Indeed Galbraith’s lofty ambition in creating The Age of Uncertainty, and his more implicit desire for audience resonance and participation, both stemmed from his unique relationship to the academy. Galbraith was a recognized and even self-admitted heterodox economist, who tended to break from mainstream economic thinking on a number of important questions. Most notably, Galbraith tended to reject economics as reducible to a set of concrete laws. Human behavior, in Galbraith’s view, was a product of the institutions, communities, and cultures from which it developed, rather than any process reducible to mathematical models. As a result, Galbraith tended to reject many core economic precepts, such as the tendency towards perfect competition in markets. Economic historian Alexandre Chirat has written extensively about Galbraith’s relationship to the economic mainstream, explaining:

“Heterodox economists — and, more specifically, institutionalists — have always dealt with power in economics more than others. Whereas textbooks economists find this notion disappointing at best, Galbraith thinks, as Bertrand Russell,  that power is a fundamental concept in social sciences. According to him, “in eliding power — in making economics a non-political subject — neoclassical theory, by the same process, destroys its relation with the real world.” In other words, it destroys its raison d‘être… It is exactly because of the introduction of power in his analysis that Galbraith gives up on orthodox postulates, on one hand, and deals with the power of economists, on the other.” [2]

Chirat sees Galbraith’s power analysis as the core motive that undergirds his entire worldview. In particular, Chirat brings up Galbraith’s interest in three crucial power dynamics: the sovereignty of the consumer, the sovereignty of the citizen, and the maximization of profits. These three factors, which Galbraith sees as largely ignored by the economic mainstream, introduce elements of uncertainty to economic decisionmaking on a massive scale. Chirat considers Galbraith’s mutli-faceted power analysis as veering towards disciplines like political economy or even social theory, especially in its consideration of “socially-constructed” understandings. “Considering power in economics,” Chirat argues, “leads Galbraith to reflect on the role — and, therefore, the power — of economists.” For Galbraith, the very way academics think about issue areas like education, healthcare, and immigration determines real-world outcomes. Such a self-reflexive notion – breaking down the ideologies that form how decisionmakers think about the economy – leads Galbraith to a “pluralism regarding social purpose.” For Galbraith, “the economy” is not and ought not be synonymous with “public welfare.”

Galbraith’s heterodox economic views are expressed in both the content and form of The Age of Uncertainty. Firstly, with regard to content, the scope of Galbraith’s historical analysis seems to fit his ideological background. Galbraith makes clear the connection between “ideas,” or the economic orthodoxy that he so opposed, and lived, material realities. The history of modern society, in his view, was little more than the net outcome of ideas adopted and ideas rejected. One example comes with Episode 2, “The Morals and Manners of High Capitalism,” an episode almost singularly concerned with the rise of robber barons, and the ideology of “Social Darwinism” that permitted their existence. Galbraith says that “a strong and even dominant current of social thought in the last century set the rich apart and held that they were, indeed, a superior caste.” This current of social thought, Galbraith explains, “protected wealth,” as no entity “could interfere with the essential process” of wealth concentration. Social Darwinism, in Galbraith’s view, is an idea like any other, depending “a little on economics,” a little on “theology,” and mostly on a notion of “biology.” But this simple concept had immense power in the shaping of Western society in the 19th century, justifying the stratified social system under which nations existed. Galbraith goes on in the episode to discuss Thorstein Veblen, Norweigan-American economist and Galbraith’s “main influences.” Veblen’s ideas about “conspicuous consumption,” Galbraith argues, had the effect of beating back the trend of Social Darwinism, and targeting criticism towards the wealthy. Ideas, then, can work both ways.

In fact much of Galbraith’s analysis, from the early days of industrialization in England to the modern, postwar Keynesian period, is concerned with the nature of ideas about wealth, poverty, and inequality. He is especially concerned with how ideas are adopted, and how power relationships impact perception of ideas. In Episode 7, “The Mandarin Revolution,” Galbraith talks about the origin of the Keynesian idea, and the ways in which it fundamentally transformed society. “Keynes,” Galbraith says, “had a solution without a revolution… [When] Washington was cool to Keynes… he captured the United States by way of the universities.” Galbraith discusses how the older generation of economists roundly rejected Keynes’ ideas, while younger economists were quick to adopt them. Eventually, Keynesianism became ubiquitous, and as a result, human welfare improved. During his discussion of Nazi Germany’s response to the Great Depression, Galbraith is sure to invoke this skepticism of “mainstream” academic thought. “The Nazis were not given to books,” he writes. “Their reaction was to circumstance, and that served them better than the sound economists served Britain and the United States.” He discusses how the German motivation to borrow and spend money on public works like the Autobahn massively reduced unemployment. In the end it was nothing short of an economic miracle, where the Germans recovered from the Great Depression much faster than their peers.

In examining the ideological content of The Age of Uncertainty, Galbraith’s analysis should also be contextualized within the historical moment of the Cold War. In particular, Galbraith seems intent on understanding both sides of the conflict, and perhaps even arriving at some sort of a consensus between the two models. One of Galbraith’s main policy ideas, after all, he termed “new socialism,” and involved the extension of various aspects of centralized planning in the United States. While preserving a market-based framework, Galbraith’s “new socialism” adopted elements from the Soviet system regarding  medicine, public utilities, and the industrial sector. The twelfth episode of The Age of Uncertainty captures Galbraith’s attitude towards these two poles of capitalism and communism, concluding with a somber warning about the horrors of nuclear warfare and the common humanity shared by Americans and Soviets. “The Russians are no less perceptive, no less life-enhancing, no more inclined to a death wish than we are,” he explains. “That, indeed, is the highest purpose of politics in both countries, one that far transcends differences in economic of political systems.” While this quote digresses slightly from my point about Galbraith’s search for capitalist and socialist consensus, it still captures his attitude towards the Cold War quite effectively. Galbraith, in final analysis, viewed both systems as having merit. The “great uncertainty” of the show’s title, after all, refers to Galbraith’s view of the ideal economic system as basically undiscovered.

The Age of Uncertainty’s visual style compliments Galbraith’s ideological message by twisting and contorting the traditional science-documentary format. In doing so, Galbraith attempts to break down the barriers between audience and expert that he feels needlessly complicate economics for ordinary people. The ultimate goal, then, is to demystify economics, uncovering the ways in which free-market economic ideas create their own logic and embed themselves within society. For one, The Age of Uncertainty employs animation to visually articulate Galbraith’s lectures.  In the first episode, “The Prophets and Promise of Classical Capitalism,” Galbraith notes how the computer “can be made to reach back in time,” before revealing an elaborate metaphor for serfdom using an animated village. In the animation, buildings represent individual power and status, with a castle atop a hill equalling the state, a less ornate castle representing the landlords, and small houses representing agrarian villagers. The animation is arranged in the form of a pyramid, with the poor villagers at the bottom and houses slowly increasing in size as they move up the hill. The point of the animation, Galbraith explains, is to convey the strict nature of precapitalist society, wherein peasants were locked into their position at the bottom of the pyramid. The animation, however, is rather difficult to understand at first, as the various buildings don’t have obvious meanings. This invites a degree of ambiguity on behalf of the audience. If Galbraith’s goal is to connect on a human level with his audience, his visual materials should probably be more explicit.

The Age of Uncertainty also takes advantage of grand, expensive sets. In the fourth episode, “The Colonial Idea,” Galbraith tries to convey the turbulent and brutal nature of 19th century European politics with a massive, life-sized map of Europe painted on the floor. Atop each country stands a soldier, played by a real actor, dressed in a military uniform appropriate for his particular country and weilding a sword. The actors, apparently representing the military of their respective countries, take turns clashing swords with one another in an almost rhythmic, dance-like fashion. The scene is clearly meant to portray 19th century Europe as rife with aimless, nonstop bloodshed, but mostly comes across as silly and cheesy. Only several minutes later in the episode, Galbraith discusses British Empire, and in particular the 1947 partition of India. Outlining the chaos and bloodshed that occurred in the subcontinent, Galbraith uses what appears to be real archival footage of mass migration and human displacement. Spliced into the archival footage, though, are scenes of actors clashing swords. The juxtaposition of real, tragic archival footage with more obviously fake scenes filmed on set, both following the comical “map of Europe” scene, seems rather tone-deaf.

The public reception to these visual techniques, and The Age of Uncertainty at large, was mixed at best. Some critics dismissed Galbraith’s lectures as overly complex, despite his efforts to use relatively simple language. Others favored his speaking style and appreciated his command of language. The main criticism of the show, though, focused on the sets and animations. Critics tended to dismiss the visual style of the show, which rather than aiding understanding, actually “distracted” them from Galbraith’s message. The Historian Angus Burgin has written about the reception to The Age of Uncertainty on both sides of the Atlantic:

The extravagant and self-conscious visuals in The Age of Uncertainty seemed to have done little to make Galbraith’s arguments more rhetorically compelling for his audience. In America, George Stigler (1977) wrote that the documentary had fulfilled his “fears about the effective use of television” as a  medium for economics, as Galbraith “made no observable attempt to use visual methods to illuminate ideas”: in England, one observer noted that Galbraith’s visuals seemed as though they had been “mischievously” devised by a conservative think tank “to distract attention from his message.” Silent reenactments and composed dances, it seemed, were a disruptive complement to Galbraith’s narrations; in a series on the social sciences, viewers manifested a preference for visual economy rather than excess.

Criticism was also directed towards the ideological content of The Age of Uncertainty. For the most part, ideological criticisms were divided along partisan lines. Prominent figures like Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan, for example, dismissed The Age of Uncertainty as left-wing propaganda. Notably, the American economist Milton Friedman released a ten part series entitled Free to Choose: A Personal Statement as a direct response to Galbraith’s program. Released in 1980, Free to Choose features a loosely similar style to The Age of Uncertainty, with Friedman narrating a variety of historical case studies of economic thought and policy. The main difference is Friedman’s focus on an explicitly political agenda. In contrast to Galbraith’s chronological, step-by-step history, Friedman organizes his program based on specific, hot-button policy topics. Episode titles range from “What's Wrong with Our Schools?,” to “Who Protects the Worker?,” to “How to Cure Inflation.” Where Galbraith maintains a pretense of objectivity, Friedman openly confesses his biases, and essentially outlines how the free market is the solution to the problem of each episode. At the end of each episode, Friedman engages in a debate with a prominent expert on the opposing side of the issue. Friedman’s debating style and overall charisma were praised.

Burgin has written about the relative success of Free to Choose compared to The Age of Uncertainty. Overall, he attributes Galbraith’s failure to a few main elements: Galbraith’s “stiffness,” the “cheesy” production techniques, and perhaps most importantly, the lack of a strong “unifying” theme to encapsulate Galbraith’s ideas. On the latter, Burgin sees Friedman’s message as concise enough to resonate with audiences in a single sentence: the free market works. He explains how Friedman’s charm was based around this simplicity:

“At the center of his appeal, however, lay the force of the market metaphor. While Friedman’s rhetoric aligned well with the requirements of late twentieth century modes of transmission, Galbraith never found a way to distill his views in such simple and broadly applicable terms. As one journalist wrote before the release of either documentary, to be an “economic superstar” it was necessary to arrive at a ‘fixed view of the world, learn to state it forcefully and cast unremitting scorn on those who disagree.’”

Burgin expands:

“Galbraith, as one might expect, was horrified by Friedman’s means of  persuasion. He found the arguments Friedman adopted “simplistic” and perhaps even “purely rhetorical,” relying “almost wholly on passionate assertion and emotional response” (Galbraith 1981b). He marveled at the “radicalism” of economic ideas in the early 1980s, labeling himself a dispositional “conservative” by comparison.”

Burgin’s analysis of the problems that plagued The Age of Uncertainty helps to explain much of why the show failed to gain traction. In addition, his comparison with Free to Choose, a more critically and commercially popular program, helps to underscore the public’s lack of interest in Galbraith’s lecturing style. However, Burgin’s analysis is incomplete insofar as it fails to consider what the proper role of an economist should actually be. Perhaps Friedman is better at concisely communicating his ideas to the public, but is this necessarily better for the public? What is the proper relationship between an expert economist and their audience?

These questions have been debated constantly by economists for decades. It might be useful to view the debate in the context of television history. Galbraith, as evidenced by his show, clearly favored some role for economists in connecting with audiences and ensuring that their ideas received a wide public hearing. However, his “horrified” response to Friedman’s rhetorical style also suggests that he opposed any oversimplification of complex ideas. The scholar George Stigler, cited by Angus Burgin, agrees with Galbraith. Like Galbraith, he sees the economist as needing to straddle a line between maintaining authority and fulfilling a social need. In turn, he sees economists as inherently in conflict with vested interests – be it corporations, or labor unions – who seek to manipulate the public agenda through more sly, unscrupulous tactics. For Stigler, though, the economist ought never sacrifice personal integrity, as academic truth will win out in the end.

One contrasting view on the role of economists, particularly relevant to The Age of Uncertainty, comes from economist Samuel Bowles in his essay “Economists as Servants of Power.” Like Galbraith, Bowles sees economics as inherently political from the outset. In particular, both are interested in how “social constructions” of power shape material realities. However, Bowles takes the discussion further by exploring how the state apparatus, monied interests, and professional economists feed off of one another, and in turn develop ideas symbiotically. Bowles argues that experts, in their close proximity to power, either “figure out ways to ameliorate social conditions which run the risk of being politically explosive,” or outright “obfuscate the roots of inequality and hierarchy,” which in turn “constricts the range of policy alternatives.” As a result, Bowles argues that economists should drop all pretenses of being apolitical, and should assume more activist roles in pursuit of egalitarianism. In short, Bowles not only believes that economists should consider both how power shapes the world, but also that economists’ priorities are shaped by power. The conclusions are significant. While Free to Choose connected Friedman with the public on the surface level of his rhetoric, deeper down, his methodologies were still informed by his close relationships with institutions of power like the Republican Party, the US Treasury Department, think tanks like the Hoover Institution. Thus, in reality, Friedman’s conclusions were actually developed at a distance from the public.

Over the course of twelve episodes and three one-hour special interviews, The Age of Uncertainty explores the history of economic thought since the 18th century. Galbriath’s ultimate objective, which forms the entire trajectory of the show, is perhaps best conveyed in the opening chapter of The Age of Uncertainty’s accompanying book. “What people believe about the workings of markets and their relationships to the state,” Galbraith argues, “shapes history through the laws that are enacted or discarded.” In framing economic thought this way, Galbraith hopes to demonstrate the close proximity of “economics,” broadly understood, to real peoples’ lives. In turn, he hopes to make the economics discipline more participatory and open.

Galbraith’s argument, rooted in an explicitly neo-Keynesian, left-of-center ideological background, rejects mainstream economic thought, viewing power, institutions, and outright “social constructions” by academics and policymakers as crucial in human decisionmaking. A variety of techniques, including animation, skit acting, are used to make this case. These techniques had a mixed reception among critics and audiences, mostly coming off as stiff and tone-deaf. Especially compared to the more charismatic, plainly rhetorical style of Milton Friedman, Galbraith largely failed to fully involve the public the way he wanted, and to connect economic ideas with lived realities. However, the notion of involvement with the public is complex. As scholars like Samuel Bowles have argued, there are different ways in which an economist can be “close” to the public. More important than an easily-accessible communication style is a research methodology that invites participation from various stakeholders from throughout society. In this sense, Galbraith’s desire for a more participatory economics discipline, and one that connects ideas with the material world, might be the more authentically “public” style after all.

Theodore Molina

1 Angus Burgin, Age of Certainty: Galbraith, Friedman, and the Public Life of Economic Ideas

2 Chirat, Alexandre. “When Galbraith Frightened Conservatives: Power in Economics, Economists' Power, and Scientificity.” Journal of Economic Issues 52, no. 1 (2018): 32

3 Chirat, 33

4 Chirat, 35

5 Galbraith, 45

6 Galbraith, 213

7 Galbraith, 342

8 Chirat, 31

9 Burgin, Angus. Age of Certainty: Galbraith, Friedman, and the Public Life of Economic Ideas. In: Tiago Mata/Steven G. Medema (eds.), The Economist as Public Intellectual (= History of Political Economy, annual supplement), Durham 2013. 51

10 Burgin, 50

11 Burgin, 30

12 Bowles, Samuel. "Economists as Servants of Power." The American Economic Review 64, no. 2 (1974): 129-32.