The lesson of Ireland’s fall from grace is that we must relearn how money and finance really work

Felix Martin's "Real Money" column.

The publication by the Irish Independent on 24 June of taped telephone conversations between senior executives of Anglo Irish Bank in the days after the collapse of Lehman Brothers in September 2008 has served up a sad reminder of the catastrophe that has befallen the country that was once the European Union’s star performer.

 Asked how he had come up with the figure of €7bn for the emergency funding that was being sought from the Irish government, the bank’s then head of capital markets boasted that he had “picked it out [of] my arse” and admitted “. . . the reality is that actually we need more than that”. Asked why they were taking this loan from the public purse, he joked: “This is a €7bn bridging . . . it is bridged until we can pay you back . . . which is never.”

Of all the disasters of the eurozone debt crisis, Ireland’s fall from grace was the most spectacular. Until 2008 Ireland was the “Celtic Tiger” – a rare example of a European economy in which productivity growth rates exceeded those of the US and the government balanced its books. The crisis suddenly uncovered a very different picture: a Ponzischeme economy that had been built on a property bubble, inflated by hypertrophied banks run by a bunch of shysters.

Fortunately, Ireland has another and more positive claim to fame in this context. It happens to be blessed with one of the richest and most enterprising concentrations of economic academics and journalists in Europe today. If understanding what has gone wrong is the first step to building a better future for the eurozone, then Ireland is in the vanguard. An important new book, The Fall of the Celtic Tiger, by Donal Donovan and Antoin E Murphy, is a case in point.

Donovan and Murphy represent the strength and breadth of contemporary Irish economics. Donovan is an experienced technocrat, a veteran IMF staffer with scars from many financial crises to prove it. Murphy is a distinguished economic historian, as well as one of the world’s leading authorities on the history of monetary thought.

The great virtue of their book is that it does not flinch from asking the question that has been uppermost in the general public’s mind from the start but that has proved mysteriously elusive in most official discussion: who or what, at root, was responsible for the crisis? It is a question that is just as urgent in Britain and the US as it is in the eurozone and Donovan’s and Murphy’s study of Ireland provides a compelling answer.

Yet the answer is one that will seem counter-intuitive to many. This is because, as is the case in the rest of the world, there is already a well-entrenched conventional wisdom about the origins of Ireland’s crisis. This is that a cabal of venal financiers colluded with corrupt politicians to bamboozle incompetent regulators. The subtitle of the journalist Fintan O’Toole’s bestselling exposé Ship of Fools (2009) says it all: How Stupidity and Corruption Sank the Celtic Tiger. Or, as the American director Charles Ferguson put it in the title of his Oscar-winning documentary about the US financial crisis, it was all an Inside Job.

There is ample truth to that version of events, as the recently exposed Anglo Irish tapes have once again demonstrated. Yet how was it that these individuals were able to dominate proceedings? How was the presence of a few bad apples able to spoil the whole harvest?

It is in addressing this crucial question that Donovan and Murphy make their most valuable contribution. The answer to what caused the Irish crisis, they argue, is to be found not at the level of vested interests but at the level of ideas.

The problem in Ireland – a problem that will sound familiar to those in the UK, the US and most other developed countries – was not just “a largely passive government, reckless banks and greedy property developers”. Underlying all of these was “the climate of public opinion”, which not only tolerated but actively endorsed the way these institutions operated.

Where did this unhealthy climate originate? Drawing on financial history, Donovan and Murphy show that Ireland is hardly the first society to get caught up in the idea that innovation and endlessly inflating asset prices are sure signs of success.

Drawing on the history of economic thought, they also show that what is distinctive about the 2008 crisis is that, on this occasion, these mistaken judgements were not just improvised in the heat of the moment, as they usually are. They were given the rigorous approval of a uniquely powerful analytical framework for understanding the economy that a generation of policymakers and the general public alike had imbibed with their mothers’ milk: modern, orthodox macroeconomics. The sin was principally one of omission. This dominant conceptual apparatus “saw little role for investigating the inner workings of the financial system since, ultimately, markets could be largely trusted to self-regulate”.

This analysis of what was ultimately responsible for the Irish crisis is of major significance because it urges a different cure from the ones that are usually offered. If the fun - damental problem was at the level of ideas, then it is at the level of ideas that reform is necessary. Economics must relearn how money and finance work and communicate that understanding to the public.

That might not sound as sexy or as im - mediately satisfying as shaking up the regulators, turfing out the politicians and putting the bankers on trial. Yet Donovan and Murphy are right that without an intellectual shift of this sort nothing will change in the long run.

In a summer when already the governments of Portugal, Greece and Cyprus have been straining once again under the pressure of the crisis in the eurozone, that is a message with wide significance.

A man walks past a Bank of Ireland cash machine. Photograph: Getty Images

Macroeconomist, bond trader and author of Money

This article first appeared in the 15 July 2013 issue of the New Statesman, The New Machiavelli

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Inside Big Ben: why the world’s most famous clock will soon lose its bong

Every now and then, even the most famous of clocks need a bit of care.

London is soon going to lose one of its most familiar sounds when the world-famous Big Ben falls silent for repairs. The “bonging” chimes that have marked the passing of time for Londoners since 1859 will fall silent for months beginning in 2017 as part of a three-year £29m conservation project.

Of course, “Big Ben” is the nickname of the Great Bell and the bell itself is not in bad shape – even though it does have a huge crack in it.

The bell weighs nearly 14 tonnes and it cracked in 1859 when it was first bonged with a hammer that was way too heavy.

The crack was never repaired. Instead the bell was rotated one eighth of a turn and a lighter (200kg) hammer was installed. The cracked bell has a characteristic sound which we have all grown to love.

Big Ben strikes. UK Parliament.

Instead, it is the Elizabeth Tower (1859) and the clock mechanism (1854), designed by Denison and Airy, that need attention.

Any building or machine needs regular maintenance – we paint our doors and windows when they need it and we repair or replace our cars quite routinely. It is convenient to choose a day when we’re out of the house to paint the doors, or when we don’t need the car to repair the brakes. But a clock just doesn’t stop – especially not a clock as iconic as the Great Clock at the Palace of Westminster.

Repairs to the tower are long overdue. There is corrosion damage to the cast iron roof and to the belfry structure which keeps the bells in place. There is water damage to the masonry and condensation problems will be addressed, too. There are plumbing and electrical works to be done for a lift to be installed in one of the ventilation shafts, toilet facilities and the fitting of low-energy lighting.

Marvel of engineering

The clock mechanism itself is remarkable. In its 162-year history it has only had one major breakdown. In 1976 the speed regulator for the chimes broke and the mechanism sped up to destruction. The resulting damage took months to repair.

The weights that drive the clock are, like the bells and hammers, unimaginably huge. The “drive train” that keeps the pendulum swinging and that turns the hands is driven by a weight of about 100kg. Two other weights that ring the bells are each over a tonne. If any of these weights falls out of control (as in the 1976 incident), they could do a lot of damage.

The pendulum suspension spring is especially critical because it holds up the huge pendulum bob which weighs 321kg. The swinging pendulum releases the “escapement” every two seconds which then turns the hands on the clock’s four faces. If you look very closely, you will see that the minute hand doesn’t move smoothly but it sits still most of the time, only moving on each tick by 1.5cm.

The pendulum swings back and forth 21,600 times a day. That’s nearly 8m times a year, bending the pendulum spring. Like any metal, it has the potential to suffer from fatigue. The pendulum needs to be lifted out of the clock so that the spring can be closely inspected.

The clock derives its remarkable accuracy in part from the temperature compensation which is built into the construction of the pendulum. This was yet another of John Harrison’s genius ideas (you probably know him from longitude fame). He came up with the solution of using metals of differing temperature expansion coefficient so that the pendulum doesn’t change in length as the temperature changes with the seasons.

In the Westminster clock, the pendulum shaft is made of concentric tubes of steel and zinc. A similar construction is described for the clock in Trinity College Cambridge and near perfect temperature compensation can be achieved. But zinc is a ductile metal and the tube deforms with time under the heavy load of the 321kg pendulum bob. This “creeping” will cause the temperature compensation to jam up and become less effective.

So stopping the clock will also be a good opportunity to dismantle the pendulum completely and to check that the zinc tube is sliding freely. This in itself is a few days' work.

What makes it tick

But the truly clever bit of this clock is the escapement. All clocks have one - it’s what makes the clock tick, quite literally. Denison developed his new gravity escapement especially for the Westminster clock. It decouples the driving force of the falling weight from the periodic force that maintains the motion of the pendulum. To this day, the best tower clocks in England use the gravity escapement leading to remarkable accuracy – better even than that of your quartz crystal wrist watch.

In Denison’s gravity escapement, the “tick” is the impact of the “legs” of the escapement colliding with hardened steel seats. Each collision causes microscopic damage which, accumulated over millions of collisions per year, causes wear and tear affecting the accuracy of the clock. It is impossible to inspect the escapement without stopping the clock. Part of the maintenance proposed during this stoppage is a thorough overhaul of the escapement and the other workings of the clock.

The Westminster clock is a remarkable icon for London and for England. For more than 150 years it has reminded us of each hour, tirelessly. That’s what I love about clocks – they seem to carry on without a fuss. But every now and then even the most famous of clocks need a bit of care. After this period of pampering, “Big Ben” ought to be set for another 100 or so years of trouble-free running.

The Conversation

Hugh Hunt is a Reader in Engineering Dynamics and Vibration at the University of Cambridge.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.