Sometimes an earthquake causes just one ripple on the ground, or a few cracks and fissures in works of art, bridges and buildings. After thousands of years of earthquakes a large crevice appears in the landscape like those in Iceland or the San Andreas Fault in California. After they become visible and are printed on a map, those traces and marks both reveal and hide a giant fault at the level of the lower plates that move slowly but then suddenly break off unseen in tectonic abysses. That fault is the underlying cause of all those surface movements.
This is the subject and outline of my book. The financial and stock market crisis that rocks us today is probably superficial, but it hides and reveals ruptures in time that go beyond the duration of history itself, just like those faults in the lower plates far below what is visible in space. To access those buried causes requires that we leave today’s financial data behind.
We also need to leave our emotions behind. The poor, you and me, urgently had to rescue the rich, through the intermediary of the State. The rich must have become so stupendously rich they seemed as necessary to our survival as the world itself. Today’s crisis has resulted in an explosive short-circuit of a number of volatile currencies manipulated by a few experts and the globalization of concrete reality. This is where I return to the images of the soil and the earth I mentioned at the beginning. I hope this book will enable the reader to judge the situation.
The verb in the preceding paragraph comes in handy. The word crisis comes from the Greek κρίνω (krino), which actually means to judge. To explain the meaning of a term sometimes helps to clarify its significance. For example: a theatre critic gives the summary of a play, a short one to avoid giving the plot away, but ends up calling it excellent or bad, a good or bad production, well done or poorly played; the film critic decides the film is trashy or brilliant. In so doing, he sets up a tribunal.
The word crisis thus reveals its legal origin. It involves a decision made by a jury and their foreman. The word de-cision, of Latin origin, means to cut in two, as with scissors. Yes or no, must we judge the accused guilty or not? At the end of the trial a decision is made; in the past it sometimes involved cutting off a head. Sometimes the critic’s decision determines the work’s success or loss of reputation.
In space, a decision becomes a forking road: we go left or right; the play is a success or failure; the accused is guilty or not, condemned or released. We are told that the young Hercules had to choose between two paths, vice or virtue. So judge and choose for yourself.
Ever since Bayle wrote his Dictionnaire historique et critique, and Leibniz brought God before the court of philosophers on the charge of being responsible for Evil, and also since Kant wrote his famous works, philosophy and history together entered an era where critical approaches became the rule. These two disciplines settled in as supreme judges, themselves exempt from criticism.
The term crisis has become part of the medical vocabulary, and as such has great relevance for our discussion. It describes the state of an organism confronting a growing infectious, nervous, blood or heart disease to the point where its existence is endangered: a nervous collapse, an asthma attack, an apoplexy or epileptic fit, a heart attack… In such a situation, appropriately called critical, the body automatically makes a decision: beyond the limit it has reached, it either dies or takes an entirely different path. It is a fork in the road and also a choice. If it survives the crisis, it goes a different way and recovers.
What should we make of such a recovery? It is never a return to a previous state—the term “recovery” is inaccurate—and does not restore the earlier condition: that would imply a loop-like return to the original course leading to the crisis. Recovery implies a new state, as if remodeled by the organism’s new efforts. A crisis propels the body either towards death or to something new it is forced to invent.
By the way, this is one of the magnificent secrets of life: the possibility of creating automatically, from scratch, an entirely different organization of the organism! Could we, too, do something similar?
If we are really going through a crisis, in the strong medical sense of the term, then a return backwards is no good. The terms “stimulus” or “reform” are irrelevant. If we are really dealing with a crisis then no “recovery” is possible. Like a rehearsal, it would again throw us back into a similarly critical situation as in a cycle, or worse, an unstable and chaotic situation. It could last for some time and the frequent recurrence of the identical would result in similar disruptions. The history of nineteenth-century France gives us a plenty of examples in the numerous restorations and revolutions. If, on the other hand, the usual course of events resumes, then we were not dealing with a real crisis.
I too must choose: there is a real crisis today and so we have to come up with something new. Can I do this? Nothing is less certain. Can we outline other paths? I hope so. Which ones? Nobody knows yet, but in any case there is nothing more exciting than such an investigation.
I must emphasize that the new enters by force. We experienced a dramatic example in 1929 when an economic crisis little by little threw the West and the world into a war in which a hundred million died. It would be preferable to avoid such blindness. Many fear the obligation to invent and we cannot blame them. I have the audacity to delight in it. Why?