Time Out with Nick Cohen

Poets and novelists have often tried to describe happiness. Andrew Oswald has found a way of countin

I quickly learned that it was pointless to invite Andrew Oswald to engage in fanciful speculation. He is an economist to his bones, who believes in what he can count - and little else. I saw him at Warwick University, and it felt fitting that he should have found a professorship in a monument to the modernism of the mid-1960s. Warwick's blocks show only straight lines; no place here for the decorative. In Oswald's bright, white office there are few individual touches and no unnecessary clutter. Oswald is at home: a numbers man in a suit and tie with nothing to distract him from his calculations.

Yet this meticulous academic, cooped up in a machine for learning, has released a shockingly hippie version of economics into his dry discipline. When Labour's female politicians worry that the party will lose the next election if it doesn't think about the strains on families, when Iain Duncan Smith talks about the importance of marriage and David Cameron says it is time we looked at general well-being as well as gross domestic product index, they are unconsciously passing on ideas that Oswald developed in the early 1990s.

Novelists, poets and psychologists have always thought about happiness. Oswald has found a way of counting it. And this miserabilist approach, this calculus of contentment whose utilitarianism seems against all the spontaneity we associate with happiness, may be a great intellectual breakthrough, precisely because it translates feelings into figures.

If the political interest and the sales of popular "happiness economics" books are a guide, Oswald has provided a tool that will change the way people think, as his once sceptical colleagues are beginning to realise.

"I just have to click on the internet now, and every week there are new papers on happiness written by people I've never met, never heard of," he says. "It has reached some take-off point, so that if someone were to tell me that economists had taken a random sample of 10,000 Koreans and asked them about happiness and mental health, I could bet you that marriage will come through with the same positive coefficient in Korea as in France and the United States. Edu cation will be as important there as here, and the Koreans' happiness will follow a U-shape through life, with a greater chance of unhappiness in people's thirties, just as it does in every country. Human beings are very similar. We're uncovering something deep about them."

Oswald speaks without bravado. He is too good-natured to brag, even though he has every right to be pleased with himself. His is the classic story of the independent-minded researcher with a new idea, who finally forces his indifferent colleagues to take notice.

He is the son of an academic family - his father taught psychiatry at Edinburgh University - whose intellectual life was determined by the crisis of the early 1970s. "I was very committed in my youth to improving the world. I remember sitting on a train reading in the Guardian about stagflation when I was very young, and thinking: 'Yes, I'm going to work on this. I'm going to solve this problem.'" At the time, the decisive response came from Milton Friedman and the free-market right. One aspect of Friedman's work, which was more of an assumption than a detailed argument, profoundly unsettled Oswald and stayed with him for years. In common with most other economists, Friedman supposed that people were rational. In his work on unemployment that was to win him the Nobel Prize, he took it for granted that inflation made sensible people choose unemployment over work - they simply calculated that more leisure compensated for the loss of income, and went on the dole.

The idea that joblessness was voluntary was incredibly useful for Conservatives presiding over the mass unemployment of the 1980s. Norman Tebbit told the 1981 Conservative party conference: "I grew up in the 1930s with an unemployed father. He did not riot. He got on his bike and looked for work, and he kept on looking until he had found it." By implication, the unemployed who didn't get on their bikes wanted to stay at home and riot, and nothing could be done for them.

Disproportionate misery

Oswald thought Friedman and his acolytes were talking nonsense, but how to prove it? His conceptual breakthrough was to use the statistical technique of regression analysis to isolate and measure the happiness and misery of people's lives. Put simply, regression analysis involves assigning values to variables. For instance, suppose you are asked how happy you are on a scale of one to ten and you say "five". The next year your pay doubles from £20,000 to £40,000 and you say you now feel at "six". If you are fired a year later and your happiness falls to two, the price a statistician can assign to your unhappiness is huge: £80,000. As Oswald and his colleagues found when they did slightly more sophisticated calculations than mine, the effect of unemployment is irrational, out of all proportion to the actual loss of income. People weren't sitting on the dole coolly weighing the benefits of more spare time against loss of wages. They were wracked by a disproportionate misery.

As with unemployment, so with marriage, divorce, being placed under an airport flight path . . . any event or pheno menon that can impact for good or ill. Nor was it hard to find raw data. Most governments in the rich world produced vast surveys of their citizens' contentment. Oswald and his colleagues ran them though their equations and began to churn out figures. A good marriage was far more important than the liberal-minded imagined, they found. Getting married brought happiness equivalent to additional income of £70,000 per year. Good health was hugely important, as might be expected. Widowhood brought a degree of unhappiness that would take, on average, an extra £170,000 per annum to offset. Maybe that was not too surprising. But many of their results were unexpected. Long-distance commuting was like unemployment, for instance, and imposed far more stress than outsiders realised.

As Oswald went through his figures, I made the romantic objection that he was trying to monetise the human condition: to turn its joy and despair into pounds and pence.

Many others have said that to him. And although he tried to take my objection to pricing seriously, it clearly baffled him. "It may be because of my training that monetary units come to mind, but they don't have to. I could say that having your partner die is the same as being unemployed for 17 years. But that would be even stranger than saying a marriage is worth £70,000 in happiness terms. I'm not making a moral judgement about money. I just need to get some units."

Growing prosperity

His colleagues were worried not by the vulgarity of his work, but by the fact of his doing it at all. Economists didn't ask people how they felt, because they weren't concerned with happiness. It took Oswald five years to get a paper published by the American Economic Review, the world's most respected economics journal. The editors sent it back for revision seven times, and, Oswald suspects, published him only when other economists began to replicate his results.

There was a second reason for their suspicion. Oswald was not the first economist to look at happiness. In 1974, Richard Easterlin, a California economist, had examined studies that asked Americans how happy they were and found not a shred of evidence that America's growing prosperity had made Americans happier since 1945. His colleagues dismissed or ignored his work at the time, and a dispirited Easterlin gave up. Everyone knew that the business of governments was to increase national wealth. An oddball's insistence that the effort was futile was not something economists and politicians wanted to hear. Oswald helped rescue Easterlin's reputation, and today "Easterlin's paradox" is a vital issue for the social sciences - the vital issue, according to Oswald.

He thinks there is no way out of it. Once you have removed the fear of famine and thirst and provided security and shelter, increases in the gross domestic product have no effect on contentment, because man is a social animal who compares himself with other members of the species. Oswald's favourite cartoon encapsulates his point. It shows an employee bellowing at his boss: "I was so happy when you gave me a pay rise, then you spoiled it by giving one to everyone else."

"There's only so much rank in society to go around," he explains. "We can look at a society in 1900 and there's just this amount of rank, and look at it now and there's the same amount of rank. The way to happiness is to lower our aspirations and concentrate on our relationships."

If the work that Oswald and now hundreds of other economists are producing sounds warmly green and co-operative, it can be like that, but there is no necessity that happiness economics and vaguely leftish sentiments will always march in step. It still makes sense for individuals to seek status and reward, even though if everyone in their group does it, most are likely to end up forlorn. Equally, happiness economics has all the philosophical flaws of utilitarianism. If the Serb residents of a Balkan town say that they would be far happier if the police put the Muslim minority in a concentration camp, the utilitarian who believes in the greatest happiness of the greatest number has no way of objecting to the outrage.

The American economist Paul Krugman pointed out that happiness economics might lead you to advocate government policies that slow down the rat race, impose high taxes on the wealthy, and grant generous benefits, long holidays and short working weeks to everyone else. France has all of these policies, and its unemployment rate is more than twice as high as America's as a result. As happiness economists say that unemployment is a great social evil, which hits people with disproportionate force, conservatives could argue back that their market policies bring greater happiness.

As I thought about the objections, I felt the temptation to shrug my shoulders and conclude that all that the happiness economists have done is to recast the old arguments between left and right without settling them. But that isn't fair. New ways of thinking produce new results. If the government goes ahead with the planned expansion of airports, protesters will now be able to put an exact figure on how much distress living under a flight path will cause - just as those who object to new commuter towns will be able to say that regular long-distance travel is a good route to mental distress.

In the past, economists counted growth figures and household incomes and assumed that if they went up, society's contentment went up with them. Professor Oswald and his colleagues have blown that idea out of the water and forced them to look elsewhere. We are ruled by statistics; by changing what is counted, Oswald is also changing what will count.

Nick Cohen is an author, columnist and signatory of the Euston Manifesto. As well as writing for the New Statesman he contributes to the Observer and other publications including the New Humanist. His books include Pretty Straight Guys – a history of Britain under Tony Blair.

ANDRÉ CARRILHO
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The Great Huckster: Boris Johnson’s reckless distortions of history

As a scholar of Churchill, Boris Johnson could have articulated a constructive vision for Britain and Europe. Instead, he wilfully manipulates and distorts the historical record.

This month, 76 years ago, the defeated British Expeditionary Force was making for the Channel ports. Thanks to the ferocious resistance put up by the garrison at Calais, and Hitler’s hesitation, the bulk of the men were safely taken off the beaches at Dunkirk to fight another day. Whatever their private feelings during those terrible hours may have been, most of them knew even then that they would return to Europe to finish the job.

Their forefathers had been intervening in Europe for as long as anyone could remember. From Shakespeare’s Henry V through to Elizabeth’s support for the Dutch revolt, the Second Hundred Years War against Louis XIV, the French Revolution and Napoleon, and the First World War, London had always been profoundly invested in the continent. Defending the “liberties of Europe” and thus British freedoms was what Englishmen and Britons did. It was part of what they were.

In early June 1944 – on D-Day – the British, Americans and Canadians hurled themselves into northern France as their ancestors had done since the late Middle Ages. At least one British officer tried to inspire his men that morning as the landing craft approached the strongly defended beaches by reading out Henry V’s speech before Harfleur, in which Shakespeare has him exhort the men, “once more unto the breach”. The film version of the play was released that same year, dedicated to the “commando and airborne troops of Great Britain”. In the popular mind, these Englishmen and their North American descendants were part of the continuity of a European story that went back to the medieval English empire in France.

Some of those liberating Europe thought that they could not simply return to “business as usual” after the war. One of them was the later Conservative prime minister Ted Heath, the man who took Britain into the European Economic Community in 1973. He first defended Liverpool as an anti-aircraft gunner and then took the fight to Hitler as an artillery man during the campaign in north-west Europe. Over the course of the next 11 months, Heath and his comrades fought their way across the traditional battlefields of northern France and the Low Countries, including the Walcheren swamps in which their ancestors had been mired in Napoleonic times; and through western Germany into the centre of the Reich. They were to stay there, at the heart of Europe, for some 60 years. They created a stable European order, based on Nato and what was to become the European Union, which remains with us to this day.

Now the Brexit stalwart Boris Johnson, my fellow historian, claims that it was all in vain. “The European Union,” he says, “is an attempt to do what Hitler wanted by different methods.” Worse still, the EU is a German plot, whose currency, the euro, was “intended by the Germans” to “destroy” Italian manufacturing and generally grind the faces of its unfortunate members. Johnson has also invoked the spirit of Churchill in support of his arguments. He has since doubled down on his remarks and has received support from other members of the Brexit camp, such as Iain Duncan Smith, though not apparently from more informed figures such as Michael Gove. Unfortunately, Johnson’s claims are as historically wrong as it is possible to be, comparable in their crassness only to his predecessor as London mayor Ken Livingstone’s suggestion that Hitler supported Zionism.

Far from supporting European political unity, Hitler was violently and explicitly opposed to the idea. This was partly because it was proposed by his opponents on the “left” of the Nazi Party, such as the Strasser brothers. They belonged to the “anti-imperialist” wing of the Nazi Party, which wanted a pan-European front against the Jews and the British empire. Hitler’s hostility to the European project was also in part due to a racial antipathy to the half-Japanese Richard, Count Coudenhove-Kalergi, the author of the widely discussed book Pan-Europa (1923). One way or the other, Hitler condemned the Pan-Europa movement as “a fantastical, historically impossible childishness”, which would be no more than a “Jewish protectorate”.

Nor did he hold back with his alternative view of what the continent should look like. “The solution,” he wrote, “cannot be Pan-Europa, but rather a Europe of free and independent national states, whose spheres of interest are separate and clearly delineated.” Comparisons involving Hitler are usually odious but if one is going to draw parallels, his view of European integration then was much closer to that of the Brexiters today than that of the advocates of the European Union.

Moreover, the European project did not originate in the Nazis’ attempt to mobilise the continent on their behalf but rather in the resistance movement against Hitler. Take Sicco Mansholt, who hid Dutch resisters on his farm during the war, at great personal risk. He subsequently became the Dutch minister for agriculture and one of the fathers of the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP). Take Altiero Spinelli, the Italian anti-fascist who spent ten years in Mussolini’s prisons. It was there, in June 1941, at the height of Hitler’s power, that he secretly wrote his draft manifesto For a Free and United Europe.

Take Paul-Henri Spaak, later prime minister of Belgium, first president of the Common Assembly of the European Coal and Steel Community – the forerunner of the EU – and secretary-general of Nato. He was forced to make a daring escape from wartime Europe in the false bottom of a lorry in order to carry on the struggle against Hitler in exile. Indeed, across Europe there were thousands of men and women who fought, died, were imprisoned or tortured because they believed in a free and united Europe. To suggest that they were trying to achieve the same thing as Hitler by different methods is an outrageous slur on their memory. If Johnson ever makes it to the top of the Conservative Party, and thence to No 10, he will have a lot of explaining and apologising to do in Europe.

***

As if all this were not bad enough, Boris Johnson’s invocation of Churchill flies in the face of everything we know of the great man’s attitude to the European project. To be sure, he began as a Eurosceptic. When army reforms were proposed in 1901 to support the creation of a substantial land force on the continent, the young Winston Churchill was one of the few MPs to oppose them on the grounds that the navy, rather than the army, was of crucial importance to British security. Writing in the Morning Post, Churchill argued that “history” and “geography” showed that the British empire was “essentially commercial and marine”, and had been defended by armies of foreigners.

As the German threat loomed large, however, he changed his mind. Churchill, then first lord of the admiralty, told the Australians and New Zealanders in April 1913 that Europe was “where the weather came from”. It was the terrible storm of the First World War that caused Churchill not only to believe in the centrality of Europe but in the need for European – or at least continental European – unity.

In May 1930, the president of the Pan-Europa Union, the former French prime minister Aristide Briand, made a formal proposal for a “European federal union” based on a “European conference” with an executive to co-ordinate economic and military co-operation. The British government of the time rejected the surrender of sovereignty involved but many were sympathetic to the idea of continental European union under liberal auspices. The arch-imperialist Leo Amery, secretary of state for the colonies and later a powerful critic of appeasement, was a strong admirer of Coudenhove and his projects, which he regarded as the extension of Anglo-Saxon principles to the continent.

Likewise, Churchill, then chancellor of the Exchequer, told parliament in June 1925 that he hoped that one could “weave Gaul and Teuton so closely together economically, socially and morally as to prevent the occasion of new quarrels and make old antagonisms die in the realisation of mutual prosperity and interdependence”. Then, he continued, “Europe could rise again”. Churchill did not believe, however, that Britain should be part of any continental political union. “We are with Europe, but not of it,” he wrote in 1930. “We are linked but not compromised. We are interested and associated but not absorbed.”

In mid-June 1940, however, as western Europe buckled under the Nazi onslaught, Churchill went a step further. He made an unsuccessful offer of union with France – involving joint citizenship and a common government – designed to lock the French into the war effort against Germany or, failing that, to secure their fleet. The Nazi threat was so existential, in other words, that it justified the surrender, or at least the pooling, of British sovereignty.

When the threat of invasion passed, Churchill returned to the theme of continental European integration. In October 1942, he “look[ed] forward to a United States of Europe in which barriers between the nations will be greatly minimised. He “hope[d] to see the economy of Europe studied as a whole”, and the establishment of a council of “ten units, including the former Great Powers [and thus presumably Britain], with several confederations – Scandinavian, Danubian, Balkan, etc, which would possess an international police and be charged with keeping Prussia disarmed”.

Churchill returned to the subject immediately after the war, as the Soviet threat menaced Europe. In a speech at Zurich University in September 1946, he urged the continent to “unite”, with Britain supporting the project from the outside. Once again, including the Germans was central to his conception. Churchill urged no less than the full political union of the continent in a “kind of United States of Europe” under the “principles embodied in the Atlantic Charter”. He again praised the work of Hitler’s bugbear, Count Coudenhove-Kalergi’s “Pan-European Union”.

Churchill demanded an “act of faith”, beginning with “a partnership between France and Germany”, assembling around them the states of Europe “who will and . . . can” join such a union. Its purpose was clear, namely “to make the material strength of a single state less important. Small nations will count as much as large ones and gain their honour by their contribution to the common cause.”

Moreover, Churchill argued, “The ancient states and principalities of Germany, freely joined together for mutual convenience in a federal system, might each take their individual place among the United States of Europe.” In short, the new polity was designed to solve not merely the European question but the German problem, the two being one and the same. Once again, Churchill conceived of this United States of Europe alongside but not including the United Kingdom and the British “Commonwealth of Nations”, that is, the empire. Instead, he believed that Britain should be one of the “sponsors of the new Europe”.

Churchill’s attitude to continental European union was, unlike Hitler’s, highly positive. For Johnson to suggest, therefore, that he is donning the mantle of Churchill to prevent the current European Union from achieving Hitler’s aims through other means is a complete travesty of the historical truth.

Far from being intended to promote German power, the European Union was designed to contain it, or at least to channel it in the right direction. Contrary to what Johnson suggests, the euro was not planned by Germany to subjugate Italian industry or any other European economy. It was insisted on by the French to decommission the deutschmark, which they described as Germany’s “nuclear weapon”. Likewise, the Germans are not incarcerating the Greeks in their European prison: Greeks are desperate not to be released back into the “freedom” of the drachma and the corrupt national politics that they joined “Europe” to escape. If there is one thing worse than being dominated by Germany in the European Union, evidently, it is not being in the EU at all.

Boris Johnson may not have known the details of Hitler’s attitude to European integration, or the European sympathies of many resisters, but he is very well informed about Churchill and Europe. His ignorance is thus not just a matter of making mistakes; we all make those as historians. Nor is it simply a matter of these mistakes being, like bank errors, in favour of one’s own argument. To say that Johnson knows better is not a figure of speech: he has shown in print that he does. His recent book, The Churchill Factor, contains a very balanced account of Churchill’s position on Europe, including most of the statements listed above.

In making his arguments, Johnson is not appealing to the baser instincts of the electorate; it is far worse than that. The deeply ingrained British instinct to fight European tyranny is not base but fine. What Johnson and those who defend his rhetoric have done is to take something virtuous and pervert it. The European Union is not, as we have seen, the continuation of Hitlerism by other means and to suggest so is blatant manipulation.

The shame of it is that there is a perfectly plausible Eurosceptic argument on its own merits. It was well stated by Michael Gove at the start of the campaign. It insists on the historical distinctiveness of the United Kingdom, whose history does indeed set it apart from the rest of the continent. It makes the case for a reform of the EU. It rejects the scaremongering of “Project Fear”, on the cogent grounds that the United Kingdom has the political, economic and military weight to prevail even without the stabilisers of the EU. It scorns President Obama’s impertinent warning that Britain would have to “get to the back of the queue” for a trade deal after Brexit, with a reminder that Britain and her empire defied Nazi Germany for two years before the Americans joined the fray, when Hitler declared war on them (not vice versa). One does not have to accept every detail of this discourse to feel its force. Uniquely among the democratic European powers, the United Kingdom can “stand alone” if it must or wants to.

The Achilles heel of the Brexit campaign, however, is that it has no viable vision for continental Europe. Even Gove falls down here, as his idea of a British departure unleashing a “democratic liberation” of the continent is pure fantasy. It seems odd to have to explain this to Brexiters but Britain really is special. Casting off the bonds of Brussels will not emancipate mainland Europe but let loose the nationalist and xenophobic demons tamed by the integration project. This is clear when we look at the rise of radical anti-European parties in France, Hungary, Austria, Germany and many other parts of Europe as the European project fragments. These developments should not surprise anyone who knows the history of mainland Europe before the mid-20th century and to a considerable sense beyond.

***

 

Most of continental Europe had failed before 1945 and even now the European Union is only failing better. Unlike virtually every other European state, which has at some point or other been occupied and dismembered, often repeatedly, England and the United Kingdom have largely – with very brief exceptions – been subjects of European politics, never merely objects. In this sense, too, she is exceptional. Yet this should not be an occasion for British triumphalism. Whatever the outcome of the referendum on 23 June, the European Union is not an enemy of the United Kingdom. It should best be understood as a modern version of the old Holy Roman Empire; hapless and officious, perhaps, but not malign. It needs help. The failure of the European project and the collapse of the current continental order would be not only a catastrophic blow to the populations on the far side of the Channel but also to the United Kingdom, which would be
directly exposed to the resulting disorder, as it always has been.

In short, the Brexit camp in general and Boris Johnson in particular are missing a great opportunity in Europe. A student and partisan of Winston Churchill, the former mayor of London was qualified to articulate a constructive vision for Britain and the continent. He has failed to understand that the only safe way that Britain can exit from the European Union is not through Brexit – whose consequences for mainland Europe would be dire – but through Euroexit; that is, a Churchillian political union of the continent in close co-operation with the UK.

Instead, in addition to their distortion of the historical record, Johnson and the Brexit camp are committing the cardinal sin of making a decision before they need to. The European Union is not, sadly, a United States of Europe, even though it needs to become one to survive, and is becoming less like one every day. If and when it musters the strength for full political union, there will be plenty of time to leave. Meanwhile, the EU needs all the support that Britain can give it from within.

In 1940, the British forces had been defeated and retreat was the only option. The situation could not be more different today. This is no time to head for the beaches in what will be a legislative Dunkirk of epic proportions, with incalculable consequences not so much for Britain as for the rest of the continent. Unlike in 1940, the United Kingdom is not being forced out of Europe. It has hardly begun to fight there, unless shooting oneself in the foot through Brexit counts as combat. The battle in Britain today is a distraction from the great struggle on the mainland. There is much work to be done in Europe. It is time the British stop tearing themselves apart and return unto the breach once more.

Brendan Simms is a NS contributing writer. His latest book is “Britain’s Europe: a Thousand Years of Conflict and Co-operation” (Allen Lane). He is president of the Project for Democratic Union

This article first appeared in the 19 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Great Huckster