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These cycles of boom and bust are not, however, pure anarchy. Capitalism, too, has something akin to an economy-wide central planner: the financial system—the first car in the rollercoaster, managing spirits and rationing investment. Economist J. W. Mason, who has developed the idea of finance as planner in a series of articles in Jacobin magazine, writes: “Surplus is allocated by banks and other financial institutions, whose activities are coordinated by planners, not markets … Banks are, in Schumpeter’s phrase, the private equivalents of Gosplan. Their lending decisions determine what new projects will get a share of society’s resources.” Banks decide whether a firm will get a loan to build a new plant, a household a mortgage, or a student a loan for tuition and living expenses—and the terms on which each is repaid. Each loan is an abstract thing that masks something very concrete: work for workers, a roof over someone’s head or an education.
[...] The financial system’s best guesses of ultimately unknowable future profitability, then, govern how concrete resources are set aside. [...]
The financial managers of the global economy—the vast majority working at private rather than central or other public banks—occupy a class, not a control room. They share much in terms of wealth, positions of power, education, and lunches in Davos. But as individuals they have their own histories, ideological leanings and visions for how best to achieve stability for capital. Large-scale planning is mundane, technocratic and systemic, not conspiratorial. Networks of power and ideology replicate themselves without the need for open scheming. [...]
What kinds of transitional demands could such forces make to hasten future socialization? There are relatively small, but meaningful, steps such as creating a public payments system—to ensure that every time you tap your credit or debit card, it is not a private company getting a cut and setting the terms—or a public credit rating agency—to displace the likes of Moody’s or Standard & Poor’s, which play a key role in determining how investment is distributed among competing projects, most recently helping divert a sizeable chunk of it into junk mortgages that nearly crashed the world economy. Then there are bigger public sector projects, like a massive increase in public housing construction—which places land into common ownership, takes housing off the market and ends its role as an investment asset—and its corollary, expanded public pensions. As for those who hold financial power themselves, what better way to disempower them than directly, through proposals to tax away large concentrations of wealth or diminish the role of shareholders and the stock market over the corporate sector—ultimately empowering the workers that produce the goods and services, and the communities that use them. All of these reforms serve to make planning explicit and public, rather than hidden and private as it is today. To quote J. W. Mason once more,
A society that truly subjected itself to the logic of market exchange would tear itself to pieces, but the conscious planning that confines market outcomes within tolerable bounds has to be hidden from view because if the role of planning was acknowledged, it would undermine the idea of markets as natural and spontaneous and demonstrate the possibility of conscious planning toward other ends.
The question is not whether the economy will be planned as a whole, or not at all. Instead, it is whether the present money managers will continue as the capitalist planners of the twenty-first century, or whether we ordinary people will start to remake our economic institutions, introduce democracy into their hearts, and bring the planning that already exists out into the open.
[...] Science and technology could be tools used by workers to help democratically coordinate society, from the bottom up, leaping over the centralization/decentralization dichotomy. Instead of having engineers and operations researchers craft the models of factories, programmers would be under the direction of workers, embedding their deep knowledge of production processes into the software. Instead of the Soviet model of sending large quantities of data to a central command point, the network would distribute, vertically and horizontally, only that amount of information that was needed for decision making. For Beer, Medina writes, Cybersyn offered “a new form of decentralised, adaptive control that respected individual freedom without sacrificing the collective good.”
The danger is that the critical insights of what was called “critical sociology” have been repurposed as the status-quo thinking of “concerned liberalism”—the very thing that it set out to subvert. Thinking of everything as a scripted game show hasn’t led to change. Instead, sociological thinking has hypostatized and celebrated the script. Or to put it another way: hate the players, love the game. Even the sinister David Brooks managed to use (and only partly travesty) Bourdieu, when he suggested that the rise of “bourgeois bohemians” had largely solved the titanic conflicts of the Sixties. In such instances, sociology, which intended to explain in order to criticize the glacial stability of bourgeois society, has passed almost seamlessly into the hands of those wanting to justify that society.
Arguing that an epiphenomenon of an unjust society exists to rationalize that society’s injustice: it’s a silencing maneuver that cultural sociologists have perfected, making them unbeatable on their own terms. The ordinary person, genuflecting before his unfreedom, cries “uncle”—which the sociologist reads as a cry for more sociology. The form of this move can be glimpsed in Guillory’s explanation for the rise of French theory during the period he covers. Theory, according to Guillory, was perfectly in keeping with a “technobureaucratic” turn in intellectual work itself and in the economy overall: “The emergence of theory,” he writes, “is a symptom of a problem which theory itself could not solve.” Well, if theory can’t solve this problem, nobody can. But wait — who’s that tweedy figure in the sky, with his WebCASPAR data sets, coming to save us?
Being no closer to a society free of domination, injustice, and inequality than we were in 1993, we may ask whether the emergence of cultural sociology is a symptom of a problem that sociology itself cannot solve. Anyone who’s spent some time soaking up the discourse can point out that access to critical sociology is now one of the goods people purchase with their tuitions at elite institutions of American higher education. Of course the question and the observation that leads us to ask it turn out to be framed in sociological terms.
not exactly unpretentious but i love it
IT SEEMS THERE’S NO WAY out of sociology; nevertheless sociology cannot provide us with internal reasons for its ever-rising prestige. Surely we want to be able to say that the sociology of culture is valuable because it’s true or insightful. However, a culture that blithely accepts a sociological account of itself is one that appears to have foundered in the straits that have always bedeviled sociology: the attempt to negotiate the relations between structure and subject, or society and agent. How to account for human freedom and also the determining power of the social world? Can we no longer really provide good-faith reasons for our cultural preferences, reasons rooted in private and idiosyncratic experience but articulated in a common language, and therefore also capable of noncoerced, voluntary change?
In spite of the strenuous attempts by sociologists to preserve some autonomy for the acting subject — Bourdieu’s “habitus,” Latour’s “actor-network” theory — popularization has inevitably resulted in more weight being thrown on the structuring side of things, the network over the actor. The only quantum of freedom left then belongs to the sociologist himself. It is the sociologist who is uniquely qualified to provide explanations for us, which have to do with feelings of status or desire for recognition, sublimated self-interest. [...\
[...] the unparalleled success of South Asian immigrants is largely the consequence of a famous peculiarity in subcontinental emigration: a quota system that tended to favor professionals has made the drain from South Asia (chiefly India) almost entirely brain. Both education and capital emigrated to America (though they frequently flew back home to visit); this has meant that the brown people who arrived here were not even very brown in their mother countries. They were often high-caste (if not upper-class) Hindus fluent in English. Unless they were Punjabis whose world had been scythed by Partition, they barely registered the passions and arguments of the independence struggle, knowing only the misery of the subcontinental poverty they had to escape. When they left India, the immigrants fled politics as well as joblessness. When they arrived in cold war–era America, they were prepared to play it safe.
not exactly the same as for east asians (regional specificities), but there are definitely parallels
[...] all new left-wing cultural-political analyses share an old question: is this or that cultural object shoring up an unjust society, or undermining it? The question applies not just to novels, TV shows, new diets, and social media platforms, but also, more uncomfortably, to the essays and books that we left intellectuals write about these things.
The best general formulation of the problem may still be Herbert Marcuse’s essay “The Affirmative Character of Culture” (1937). For Marcuse, even when art or entertainment didn’t flatter power outright, culture as such tended to affirm, rather than negate, the existing social order: the very foretaste of a happier life offered by one kind of art, or the commiseration over present-day reality offered by another kind, helped people to endure the way things were. A dialectician, Marcuse did allow that culture could also, sometimes, negate, and seduce or incite you toward revolution — but his emphasis fell on culture as accommodation to the status quo. And this dominant pessimism about the capacity of culture to do the work of politics, occasionally relieved by a hesitant optimism, could be said to characterize the whole tradition of so-called Western Marxism to which Marcuse and the rest of the Frankfurt School belonged, many of whose unfinished projects and unresolved questions came to be inherited, knowingly or not, by French critical sociology and American cultural studies. Western Marxism (not just Marcuse, Adorno, and Benjamin but Lukács, Sartre, Althusser, et cetera) paid special attention to culture and ideology and correspondingly neglected the issues of political strategy and economic analysis that so preoccupied earlier generations of Marxist thinkers. As Perry Anderson pointed out in Considerations on Western Marxism, this cultural turn, beginning in the ’20s and in full swing by the ’30s, took place amid political disappointment: the defeat of working-class revolt in Germany, the hardening of the Soviet Union into Stalinist deformity, fascist victory in the Spanish Civil War, and so on.
Cultural considerations wax as political hopes wane. [...]
[...] it doesn’t seem too great a stretch to see the American reception of Bourdieu, over the last dozen years or so, as the darkening into starless despair of the gloomy mood typical of Western Marxism: has complaining about the effects of American capitalism merely been our way of amassing cultural capital, meanwhile bolstering capitalism itself?
i like "the darkening into starless despair"