Saturday Book Review: Tomas Sedlacek

Tomas Sedlacek, Economics of Good and Evil: The Quest for Economic Meaning from Gilgamesh to Wall Street (Oxford University Press, 2011), 352 pp.

Reviewed by Wesley Vander Lugt

I am no economist, but as student of theological ethics, I know a thing or two about good and evil, which is why I was interested to see how Tomas Sedlacek would tell this story. And I also know Tomas, or at least had the privilege of spending a week with him last summer, and find his voracious appetite for ideas and vigor for living infectious, which I had no doubt would leave its mark on this book. Plus, as the Chief Macro-Economist of the largest Czech bank, the former advisor of former Czech president Václav Havel, and one of the “five hot minds in economics” according to the Yale Economic Review, I knew this would be an important book to digest.

As a warning to enthusiastic readers, however, make sure you leave plenty of time for digestion, because this is a dense book. There is more philosophy and theology in this book than economics, which illustrates Sedlacek’s overall thesis that what economics needs most is more meta-economics. We live in the Debt Age, drugged on consumption and obsessed with progress, and part of the problem is that we have ignored the stories that undergird current economic theory and practice. As an attempt to provide a corrective to the current malaise, therefore, Sedlacek interacts with major stories and ideas from Western culture and relates them to economics, including the Epic of Gilgamesh, the Old Testament, ancient Greek philosophy, Christianity, Enlightenment rationalism, and the thought of significant figures such as Bernard Mandeville and Adam Smith.

The breadth of material Sedlacek deals with is jaw-dropping, but it is not always cleanly organized or well-written, which makes for a fascinating yet frequently dizzying read. In addition, while there are some fascinating observations about how the Old and New Testaments contain and impacted economic thinking, some of these observations are based on simplistic proof-texting without considering the literary genre or historical context of a text. For example, Sedlacek observes that in a passage like Deut. 7:12-16, economic cycles are given moral explanations (66), but this is not situated within the larger context of the redemptive and missional drama of Deuteronomy and the rest of the Pentateuch. An excellent example of a more contextually sensitive, exegetically careful approach is Christopher Wright’s treatment of economics in Old Testament Ethics for the People of God.

A similar dynamic exists in the chapter on Christianity, which contains valuable insights, but makes some unfounded conclusions, like the gospel being “a small payment for the conveyance of good news,” rather than (more correctly) the good news itself (133). There is also a remark that the kingdom of God as preached by Jesus was foreign to Judaism, which is strange, considering that Jesus frequently retold the story of Israel in his parables (143). In fact, grasping the actual similarities and differences between the story of Israel and Christianity would have helped Sedlacek organize these two chapters in a more coherent and helpful fashion. But this weaknesses does not negate the main strength of telling these stories, which is that economics is actually “closer to Thomas Aquinas than it is to Isaac Newton” (132).

When addressing thinkers closer to his own field of economics, however, Sedlacek is more accurate, and corrects a popular myth that Adam Smith thought self-interest is the ultimate motivation for economic activity. In reality, Smith had a much more nuanced view, believing that many motives—including sympathy and loving benevolence—combine to create our economic climate. If anyone espoused a view of pure economic egoism, it was Bernard Mandeville, who argued that vices are indeed virtues. But this approach has only contributed to the debt crisis and increased our addiction to consumption. What is the way forward?

For Sedlacek, the way forward it “Sabbath economics,” which means economists and consumers alike need to follow the rule: “do not always optimize” (245). In other words, “we should change the way we drive from MaxSpeed to MinDebt, and slow down to Economy drive” (248). Adopting this kind of economic practice and policy, however, means adopting a new economic model that takes seriously issues of meta-economics. We need to scrap models prioritizing progress at all costs, constant consumption, and feverish optimization, and adopt a model that puts us in “economic retro,” pursuing pleasure with moderation during the good times while truly putting aside reserves for the bad times, instead of spiraling into deeper debt.

In other words, what Sedlacek is advocating, even though he doesn’t use this phrase, is slow economics. Just as the slow food movement critiques fast food, industrialized agriculture, and alienation from the time-consuming and pleasurable processes of food production and consumption, Economics of Good and Evil critiques fast economics and advocates a more measured, thoughtful, conscientious, and pleasurable economy. Wendell Berry would be proud, and Christians should give a hearty “amen.” In supporting this perspective, however, Sedlacek is content to borrow from any story or system of ideas, whether Hebraic or Hobbesian, Cartesian or Christian. Since, according to Sedlacek, all stories are fictional, we should not be concerned whether or not they correspond with reality, as long as we recognize the unavoidable role of faith and seek after a beautifully coherent worldview. Whereas this might be a big step forward for secular economists, this is unsatisfying for me as a Christian who believes that the truth of Christianity coheres and corresponds with reality. What if slow economics is not just a beautiful idea, but corresponds with how God created the world and how he is in the process of re-creating it? Maybe Sedlacek agrees, but that would take quite another book, and one even more daring.