Overshadowed by the appalling news from Ukraine, Chancellor Rishi Sunak presented the annual Mais Lecture in London a couple of weeks ago. Traditionally used by Chancellors (and, sometimes, Shadow Chancellors) as a space to fill out the detail of their economic plans, and (they hope) give the impression of some depth of thought behind them, this was, as other commentators have pointed, out a comparatively rare insight into Sunak’s mind a few weeks of what will be, for him, another Spring Statement severely rattled by external events.
Battered by the pandemic, and subject to the whims of a once all-powerful Prime Minister, Sunak has spent two years in office cranking up government spending whilst offering variations of St Augustine’s prayer: “Lord, make me fiscally conservative, but not yet!” Mais Lecture was no different in this respect, once again promising the faithful that he would soon, very soon, start cutting taxes.
And of course you have to read the whole thing through a potential Conservative Party leadership battle. It helps to read British politics in general through the prism of a never-ending Tory leadership contest: like other semi-democracies, squabbles amongst factions in the ruling party matter far more than debates between the ruling party and the tolerated opposition – whatever the likelihood of any actual changes at the top.
But with Liz Truss letting her Tory MMT tendencies be known early on, judiciously making sure news of her indifference to deficits was leaked to the Times just ahead of Tory Party Conference last year, Sunak had to establish some clear blue water on the question of spending. Truss wants to cut taxes, regardless of the impact on government borrowing. Sunak “firmly believes” in low taxes but is “disheartened… by the flippant claim” that taxes pay for themselves. Tut tut. Once again, low taxes, but not yet.
What’s more striking is, as per usual, what Sunak doesn’t talk about. For a decade Tories noisily insisted that the government debt and the government’s deficit were the most important problem in the world, and that all other government spending could be sacrificed to shrinking both. Former Chancellor George Osborne used his own Mais Lecture to spell out the argument for immediate action on government spending, back in 2010. Osborne offered a cogent and closely-argued case for finding the poorest and most vulnerable in society and fiscally waterboarding them for a decade.
Never mind that the gurus he cited, Kenneth Rogoff and Carmen Reinhart, turned out to have made a spreadsheet error in their calculations on the impact of government debt on growth which rendered their most eye-catching claims useless. And never mind, too, that by the time he left office, Osborne had overseen the longest decline in living standards since the dawn of industrial capitalism, even as the government debt burden continued to rise. What matters here is the intellectual framing of the discussion around the role of government in the economy as entirely negative: that government, with its shocking debts and yawning deficits, was little more than a deadweight on a long-suffering private sector, yearning to be free. Aided and abetted by a compliant media, who didn’t know better, and the Institute of Fiscal Studies, who should’ve known better, the economic illiteracy of the story mattered less than its political purpose in justifying the reshaping of the British economy back around the interests of its financial system in the years after the 2008 crisis.
So tightly were austerity’s mind-forged manacles that it took the triple shock of Brexit, Jeremy Corbyn and covid to break them. Brexit gave us a Tory Prime Minister who wanted to talk about the “burning injustices” of the economy. Corbyn, in turbulent years after the 2017 election, gave us a different Tory Prime Minister who consistently increased spending. And covid has given us a Tory Chancellor who scarcely references the government debt.
The contrast between Osborne and Sunak, then, is stark. The current Chancellor reflects a new consensus, apparent across the business press in recent months, that government spending in the future is going to be higher: on (his words) “health, pensions and social care” for an ageing population; on the “legacy of covid” in annual vaccination programmes, antivirals, and testing; on education; on government infrastructure investment, praised by Sunak; and of course on the military, where demands have been raised for a 25% increase in the current budget.
This isn’t the austerity economics of the 2010s. It is a higher-spending, bigger-state Toryism that means, come 2024, the difference between the two main parties’ spending plans – widening in elections 2015 onwards – is likely to be substantially reduced. Reduced, too, will be their rhetoric on the fundamentals of the economy: both accept a significantly increased role for government investment, including on renewable energy; both accept the need for intervention in the economy to address inequality, beyond using the tax system alone (aka “Levelling Up”); both accept the idea that intervention can address the productivity problem. And both have decided to foreground economic growth as the key to a successful economy.
Market morality
It’s here that Sunak gets interesting, once we get past the boil-in-a-bag Treasury policy prescriptions for growth. Sunak wants to cut taxes on investment by businesses, invest more in “adult skills”, and spend more on R&D – so far, so familiar, although Sunak at least throws in the possibility of scooping up “entrepreneurs and highly skilled people” from all over the world, post-Brexit.
Instead it is when Sunak tells us about his desire to create a “new culture of enterprise” that we should be paying more attention. Sunak’s carefully-curated public image has been of a man somewhat wary of big ideas and book-reading (“all my favourite books are fiction”), but it is to Adam Smith he turns to make the link between culture and economic growth: not via the Wealth of Nations, but its forerunner, the Theory of Moral Sentiments: that a free market not only ensures outcomes that are economically efficient, but that markets themselves are grounded in morality, Sunak here referencing the late Jonathan Sacks’ own Mais Lecture. The process of market interaction itself (says Sunak) shapes morals and therefore culture. “Moral responsibility,” he claims “can only come from being exposed to the consequences – whether good or bad – of our own actions.”
This isn’t a conventional, libertarian-inclined defence of the free market, often associated with the Wealth of Nations, in which freely-transacting individuals are magically guided by the “invisible hand” to produce the best possible outcome for society. This “invisible hand”makes no claims about the morality of your choices, simply that everyone’s preferences will be met best if we allow it do work its mysterious magic. Sunak says this is reading Smith wrong: “Smiths account of the market economy, is not as some have suggested a values free construct which rationalised social choice.”
But this argument for market morality is also not quite that of Sacks’ original Mais lecture, which was a slightly more conventional take on how free markets, desirable as they for producing economic growth and productive cooperation, also require stable social institutions: family, religious organisations, community groups, and so on. We get on with our social interactions, the market sorts out that section of them we call the economy, and the greatest happiness of the greatest number is ensured. We learn our morals and “habits of cooperation” in “the domain of families, congregations, communities, neighbourhood groups and voluntary organisations”.
The invisible hand of Sunak, on the other hand, has a decidedly morally interventionist streak. We will have better moral characters if we allow a market-type process of rewards and punishments to shape them, facing the “consequences… of our own actions”. Happily, the shaping of our characters in turn shapes a culture which then creates the conditions for economic growth through the “universal and laudable desire to better the condition of ourselves and those we love”. A free market fosters an “enterprise culture” which will, in turn, make Britain more receptive to economic growth delivered by a succession of terrific new technologies, lead by Artificial Intelligence (as always).
Note the firm limits to “laudable” bettering here, and what it should be aiming for; and whilst Sunak identifies the need for government to provide some minimum level of support where needed, the boundaries for government action are constrained. Whereas Sacks suggests that economic growth, engendered by the free market, is just one part of a what makes a good society, and that this culture provides the necessary foundations of the market, Sunak’s rather darker argument is that the desirable culture is one that produces growth, and that market outcomes themselves are crucial to shaping that culture.
Sunak may talk up economic growth. He suggests he is an optimist on its future. But if the growth pessimists he cites are right, we left with only the moral claims. What he establishes here looks more like the moral and intellectual framework for a low-growth and significantly more authoritarian version of capitalism.