This page represents only my own views, and not those of any university or other body.
Posted Monday 11th March 2013 at 9.59am
Repetition
Sometimes I have a point of view on something, and I like to read articles that agree with that point of view. I like to talk to people that agree with that point of view. And sometimes I try to convince other people that my point of view is correct. If you read this blog at all regularly, you'll know this.
I have been trained, over the last 10 years or so, to suspend this attitude when I'm working. I spend a lot of my time thinking about how to prove statements mathematically. Occasionally I have what seems to be a good idea, which explains what is happening in the model that I'm thinking about, and allows me to prove what I want to prove. As an undergraduate or masters student, I would write down this argument as best I could and hand it in; someone would then decide whether it was correct or not. As the questions got harder, the proportion of questions that I attempted dropped, but the proportion of those that I attempted that were essentailly correct increased. At PhD level and beyond, the questions have got harder still, to the point where probably 90% of the ideas that I have (and these ideas don't come very often) turn out to be junk. At first it still often needed a PhD supervisor to tell me which ideas were junk. Part of the PhD experience, for me at least, was the process of "internalising my supervisor" (in a metaphorical sense - don't worry, Simon!): learning not to get too excited by what seems to be a good idea; analysing it, checking it from all angles, and then trying to write it up in a rigorous way. And then checking it again, trying to think of simpler alternatives, and testing it against some simple examples and related results. Only then can I feel satisfied that it's really a good idea, and start trying to convince other people that it's a good idea. (In fact I'm still quite bad at this process when watching other people's talks, as the time for checking my arguments is limited - this often leads to me asking stupid questions.)
Politicians, it seems to me - though there are some exceptions of course - don't have this training. In fact, quite the opposite. They are trained (or have a natural ability) to latch onto any shred of evidence that espouses their own cause, and repeat it to anyone they can persuade to listen. George Osborne is now breaking new ground for his kind, and dragging David Cameron along for the ride. Cameron recently gave yet another speech professing that the government's deficit reduction scheme was the only reasonable option for the country, that it has not harmed economic growth, and that the IMF and OBR agreed with him. The OBR responded by pointing out that not only had the prime minister made an unsupported claim, but that in fact the OBR had explicitly disagreed with his claim in every one of its recent forecasts. The response from number 10? "The OBR has today again highlighted external inflation shocks, the eurozone and financial sector difficulties as the reasons why their forecasts have come in lower than expected. That is precisely the point the prime minister was underlining."
The government is trapped by its refusal to listen to evidence until now. It thinks that it is too late to admit its major economic mistake, and therefore has to keep churning out the same tired arguments in the face of all the facts. There has been a leak of support from the government parties over the parliament; I can see the political reason for carrying on down the same path. But I also see a place in politics for playing the long game. Admitting that you're wrong would give a hit in the polls; voters don't like to think that their leaders might get things wrong. But if changing course leads to better results, surely those voters might realise that you made a brave decision and come back? Better to have a chance of that than the slow puncture at the moment.
Return to blog
Comments
Write a new comment: