I cannot claim that this is in any sense the Director’s Cut—the actual
Democracy Journal review is a very different beast entirely. I was supposed to write a 2000-word review of John Cassidy's
Capitalism & Its Critics. I wrote 10,000, which I then boiled down to 7,000. I then started over again, and wrote 2000, which is what is going to appear. But there is enough good thought here that I want to let it out into the world…
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Self-described as “a sweeping, dramatic history of capitalism as seen through the eyes of its fiercest critics…”, John Cassidy’s new book Capitalism & Its Critics has a very strong trinity of blurbs:
Capitalism and its Critics is everything that we’ve come to expect from John Cassidy. He weaves an engaging and trenchant discussion of key critics of capitalism over its more than 200 years into a history of capitalism itself. The battle is not only about economic ideas, but about the VERY nature of our society. Especially now, when some see the failures of capitalism as more than a little responsible for the Trumpian oligarchy, while others see its successes as ushering in a new era of AI-led prosperity, this is an illuminating and essential read. — Joseph Stiglitz , winner of the Nobel Prize in Economics and author of The Road to Freedom: Economics and the Good Society.
And:
Fascinating and informative. The history of capitalism is told through the eyes and legitimate concerns of its most articulate critics. This is intellectual history at its best. Essential reading for anyone who wonders how the modern world wandered off course. — Simon Johnson, winner of the Nobel Prize in Economics and coauthor of Power & Progress.
And
John Cassidy’s Capitalism & Its Critics is an impressive history of arguments about capitalism, from the industrial age to our time. Clear and accessible, it is an invaluable touchstone for current debates about economic renewal in our post-globalization moment. — Michael Sandel, author of The Tyranny of Merit.
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What do I think? Cassidy has written a panoramic intellectual journey through the turbulent, often tragic chameleon’s progress of something called capitalism. It is not an ordinary history—it’s a kaleidoscope of dissent, where the voices of critique echo overwhelming and loud. Cassidy’s cast of characters helps us rethink the system we often take for granted. Critics have always claimed they are heralds of its funeral, but the system keeps mutating. And so critiques of capitalism aren’t just academic, they are survival tools.
Cassidy opens with the story of William Bolts and the East India Company–not the usual starting point for histories of capitalism, but a brilliant one. Bolts, a former Company man turned whistleblower, exposed the violent contradictions of a corporation that had become sovereign in Bengal. Cassidy’s point here is not simply that early capitalism was brutal (it was), but that from the beginning, capitalism’s critics recognized the perils of combining monopoly, military force, and private profit. The themes of rent extraction, corporate overreach, and regulatory capture that Bolts illuminated in the 1770s echo loudly in our own age of Amazon, Google, Facebook—and Trump.
Throughout, Cassidy maintains a commitment to telling capitalism’s history through the eyes of its critics. This is, he admits, a conceit. But it is one that pays off handsomely. Consider his treatment of Marx. Cassidy focuses on Marx’s intellectual evolution—from the romantic alienation of the 1844 Manuscripts to the attempt at rigor trying to build an analytical theoretical orrery of surplus value and commodity fetishism. He sets Marx in motion–both literally, across Paris, Brussels, and London, and intellectually, in dialogue with Ricardo, Hegel, and the tumultuous world of 1848 and after. Marx is not an all-wise Dante-like guide here; he is a man struggling to understand the whirling, contradictory dynamism of capitalist development.
Cassidy’s Keynes, similarly, is rescued from the caricature of technocratic demand-management. The Keynes we meet is the architect of a fragile compromise—a world where markets are tamed but not abolished, and where the state becomes capitalism’s housekeeper. Cassidy gives us Keynes the moralist, Keynes the Cassandra of Versailles, Keynes the designer of Bretton Woods—ever wary of instability, ever distrustful of laissez-faire, but never tempted by revolutionary rupture. The contrast with his intellectual foil Friedrich von Hayek, who makes his appearance in the Thatcherite chapter, is deftly drawn.
When I was grouchy, I found myself regretting Cassidy’s decision to organize the chapters as largely discrete profiles. It makes for vivid storytelling. It sacrifices analytical coherence, and any semblance of a bottom line. And if a book is to stay in your memory, it needs a bottom line on top of which you an construct a palace of memory so that you can recall individual elements of the book when appropriate.
Transitions from one thinker to another are abrupt. There is no attempt to build a sustained theoretical framework across the chapters. (Of course, such an attempt would fail.) And I wished for a fuller reckoning with the role of labor and left-wing political movements—not merely their intellectuals, but their mass bases and their political and economic leaders. Trade unionism, party-building, and strikes were and are critics of capitalism too. They did forge twentieth-century social democracy. It is a choice to focus on ideas rather than movements. But is that really the right choice?
Cassidy’s Capitalism and Its Critics is not a single melody but a note-rich polyphony. Cassidy is marvelously inclusive in the range of the critics he surveys, and they are in turn remarkably broad in their approaches and their critical assessments. However, he refuses to settle on a synthesis. That speaks well for his pluralism. Perhaps it also speaks for, or of, our current near-paralysis as far as directions for reform of human society?
All, however, is not lost as far as our ability to draw conclusions, rather than simply say “it’s complicated”, is concerned.
First, the book is a study that is not so much a history of capitalism as a history of people who tried to imagine something else—or at least to mitigate what they saw as its most corrosive effects. For let us be clear: this is not a standard economic history. Cassidy does not rehash productivity growth figures, national accounts, or trade balances–though he gestures toward them when needed. Rather, this is a gallery of portraits: a series of intellectual and political biographical sketches, each of which stands as a window onto a mode of critique. The method is synthetic, literary, and political. Cassidy draws from original writings, memoirs, and scholarly studies to give us both the thinker and the world that made the thinker think.
Second, the book does have repeated themes that are sounded again and again as Cassidy traverses 250 years and thirty-odd observers and critics of capitalism. For, in Cassidy’s words:
The central indictment of capitalism has remained remarkably consistent: that it is soulless, exploitative, inequitable, unstable, and destructive, yet also all-conquering and overwhelming…
Cassidy circles, and rightly so, around the curious phenomenon that capitalism’s critics—while not composing any kind of coherent ideological coalition—remain voices we would be very foolish indeed to ignore. They are, to borrow a phrase from Thomas Carlyle—one of the voices of Cassidy’s book—not proposers of systematic alternatives but rather conduits of what he called “popular commotions and maddest bellowings.” Yet these bellowings–discordant, contradictory, and deeply unsystematic–are nonetheless signals of real social stresses and contradictions, which, if not properly addressed, do not simply dissipate. They fester. They erupt. They threaten to become, in the absence of reforms that somehow leave at least some stresses and contradictions unaddressed as others grow, revolution. And the refusal to listen risks very much.
from Peterloo to the Place- de-Grève… [are] inarticulate cries as of a dumb creature in rage and pain; [and] to the ear of wisdom… [are] prayers: ’Guide me, govern me! I am mad, and miserable, and cannot guide myself!’…
I think we should be much more charitable than Carlyle’s sneering ventriloquism of Chartist activists. Rather than “maddest bellowings” I prefer to say that the system of capitalism violates what our friend Dan Davies sets as one of the first sine quo non requirements of effective human organizations:
Big corporations and states need to have information channels… “red-handle signals”… [to] bypass the normal hierarchy and get information to the decision making centre, in time…. The lack of that… has caused so many schemes to fail, and its continued presence… highly unsatisfactory and attenuated… accounts for the fact that the democratic industrialised world still does kind of work, a bit…
But in capitalism there is only one information channel: the price. And—no matter what the Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde genius-idiot Friedrich von Hayek may have claimed—that is not enough to keep any large-scale societal network-system from going off the rails.
And there is no consensus about what kind of, at a minimum, red-handle signals need to be built in. As John Maynard Keynes wrote a century ago in an earlier systemic crisis of the applied-science society capitalism of his age:
We lack more than usual a coherent scheme of progress, a tangible ideal. All the political parties alike have their origins in past ideas and not in new ideas…. No one has a gospel…
As him then, so us now. We have been unable to even begin the process of thinking and choosing a coherent scheme of progress, a tangible ideal for the future. That we need to do so has been clear at least since the post–2007 breakdown of the authority of North Atlantic political economy’s Neoliberal Order. But we have been frozen in place.
And so Capitalism and Its Critics is a sprawling, erudite, and absorbing intellectual history of capitalism’s discontents. Cassidy has one deeply astute master insight: that capitalism is not merely an economic system but an ideological regime—a worldview, a moral grammar, a set of institutional and behavioral expectations that shape what we imagine to be possible. And it has always been this. The very word “capitalism” entered popular use in the 19th century with a pejorative charge, focusing on its rapacity, inequality, commodification of life, ecological heedlessness, and recurrent crises. All these continue to resonate, Cassidy argues, not merely because of their rhetorical appeal but because capitalism has continued to make good on its worst promises as well as its best.
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Capitalism and Its Critics is also a call to take seriously the possibility that the discontent may this time be justified—that we may be living not at the end of history, as Fukuyama hoped in 1989, but rather at a hinge point between epochs. Cassidy’s narrative begins with Adam Smith’s lamentations about the East India Company and ends with present-day worries about platform monopolies, economic precarity, and climate crisis, threading through two and a half centuries of argument, protest, and reform. Cassidy’s choices of protagonists and emphasis hint that, at last, finally, 250 years after he starts his survey, capitalism is ending with fragmentation and incoherence.
But that strikes me as completely wrong.
Yes, Cassidy has a bill of particulars:
Nearly half of Americans today will tell you, if asked, that capitalism is on the wrong path.
Now new conservatives have joined the left-wing critiques of globalization and financialization.
Now leftists and conservatives alike are blaming capitalism for collapsed communities and cultural degradation—admittedly with very different ideas of what “degradation” is.
Now we have believers in state-guided capitalism believing that a new state-dominant system is needed.
Now they fight laissez-faire anarchy techno-utopians hoping cyberspace will route around all governments.
We have seen vanishing of the New Deal Order dominant coalition of labor, scale-economy mass-production industry, and Keynesian technocrats.
And we have also seen the decline of the Neoliberal Order alliance of globalization-embracing educated elites and free-market ideologues;
Hopes that we might be saved by teamwork-based open-source with a “gig economy” a source of liberation are now dead: now we have worker speedup, with the Amazon delivery drivers peeing in bottles as they bring things to my house; now we have semi-legal wage theft, my last Uber driver getting only 25% of what I paid the app).
Now we have the strange (and in my view fraudulent) right-wing anti-capitalist populism of the billionaires.
Now we have left-wing protest encampments, cooperatives, and artisanal networks pushing for “degrowth”, commons-based activism, and gift economies.
Yet capitalism has almost always been thus: unpopular and not legitimatee. People would have brought a similar bill of particulars in the mid–1930s, not seeing the New Deal Order of mass-production capitalism sprouting all around them. People did say the same thing in the 1970s, not understanding the speed with which capitalism was transforming itself into its globalized value-chain variant that would then so strongly underpin the Neoliberal Order.
Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels in 1857 may well have been the first to mistake the birth pangs of a new mutation of capitalism for the beast’s final death throes. Consider their letters, which Cassidy quotes in his “Introduction”—Marx in London to Engels in Jersey, October 20, 1857:
DEAR Frederick, You must excuse my long silence. In the first place… visitor…. In the second, much work…. The American crisis—its outbreak in New York was forecast by us in the November 1850 REvue—is BEAUTIFUL and has had IMMEDIATE repercussions on French industry, since silk goods are now being sold in New York more cheaply than they are produced in Lyons. The lamentations of the English MONE Y ARTICLE WRITERS, who complain that, while their English TRADE is SOUND, their customers abroad are UNHEALTHY, are as original as they are diverting. How are the Manchester manufacturers getting on? Those in Glasgow have, it now transpires, sent off a great deal on consignment…
And then Engels in Jersey to Marx in London on October 29, 1857:
The AMERICAN CRAS H is superb and not yet over by a long chalk. We still have to see the collapse of the better part of the import houses; so far only one here and there would appear to have crashed. The repercussion in England would seem to have begun with the Liverpool Borough Bank. Tant mieux. That means that, for the next 3 or 4 years, commerce will again be in a bad way. Nous avons maintenant de la chance_…
Engels in Manchester to Marx in London on November 15, 1857:
What promises this crisis a brilliant future is the immediate necessity of suspending the Bank Act at the first impact. The direct effect of this will be to land the Bank itself in Queer Street. In 1847 it was still possible to let things drag on as they had done since 1845, and not to resort to this measure until the very last and grimmest moment. The extension and prolongation of the crisis are also assured….
We can only hope that this ‘improvement’ in the crisis from the acute to the chronic stage sets in before a second and really decisive blow falls. A period of chronic pressure is needed to get the people’s blood up. The proletariat will then fight better, with better connaissance de cause and in greater unison, just as a cavalry attack succeeds much better if the horses have to cover the first 500 paces at the trot before arriving within charging distance of the enemy. I shouldn’t care for anything to happen prematurely before Europe as a whole has been affected; the subsequent struggle would be harder, more tedious and fluctuating. Even May or June would be somewhat too early. The long period of prosperity is bound to have made the masses damned lethargic. However, sight drafts for a revolution will now be presented to us by our friends Kinkel & Co. for payment; that is to be expected, but NEVER MIND, we shall honour them soon enough, as these gentlemen will see….
In 1848 we were saying: Now our time is coming, and so IN A CERTAIN SENSE it was, but this time it is coming properly; now it’s a case of do or die. This will at once give a more practical slant to my military studies. I shall apply myself without delay to the existing organisation and elementary tactics of the Prussian, Austrian, Bavarian and French armies, and apart from that confine my activities to riding, i.e. fox-hunting, which is the best school [for revolutionary war] of all….
In Failsworth, 4 miles from here, a manufacturer by the name of Liddle was yesterday hanged in effigy optima forma while a weaver dressed as a parson read the BURIAL SERVICE. In place of the words ‘MAY THE LORD HAVE MERCY UPON YOUR SOUL’ he read: ‘MAY THE LORD BLAST YOUR SOUL’.–Now is THE TIME FOR JONES, if only he knows how to make use of it…
But Marx and Engels were far from the last to triumphantly say that capitalism faced imminent doom in their day, echoing the St. Paul who with certainty expected the Return of the LORD, the Last Judgment, and the Theomakhy of the Eskhaton in years if not months, and in months if not days.
Don’t make their mistake.
And Cassidy, I think, almost does. The looks at our own moment—with discussions of Thomas Piketty, the AI revolution, ecological collapse, and the apparent exhaustion of the neoliberal order—focus on the scale of the challenges: platform monopolies, algorithmic management, inequality, ecological overshoot. He comes very close to concluding that, this time, they are overwhelming.
Yet Cassidy—after a large chunk of the book seems to be setting up for a conclusion that capitalism’s Götterdammerung is nigh—at the end pulls back away from the wrong imminent death of capitalism expected to capitalism is mutating once again.
And here Cassidy is very right to emphasize—insistently and effectively—that capitalism mutates. It does not evolve in any smooth trajectory. It undergoes periodic, punctuated metamorphoses—transformations so profound and variegated that I have long since abandoned the use of the undifferentiated term “capitalism” as an analytical category. Instead, I find myself compelled to disaggregate: to speak not of “capitalism” but of capitalisms. There is the commercial capitalism of the classical Mediterranean world; the feudal-commercial amalgam that was mediæval capitalism; the landlord-tenant surplus-extracting regime of agricultural capitalism; the extractive and coercive structures of colonial capitalism; the tariff- and navy-buttressed circuits of mercantile capitalism; the coal-and-iron centered juggernaut of steampower capitalism; the late-nineteenth-century leap into applied-science capitalism; the Henry Ford and Alfred Sloan assembly-line world of mass-production capitalism; the hyperextended web of global value-chain capitalism; and now, arguably, something new again: an attention-surveillance-biology-infused infosphere capitalism.
To presume continuity through a single term is to mistake the chameleonic for the constant. The notion that one can draw a single meaningful division between “capitalism” and some “late capitalism” alone now seems to me rather like bringing a knife to a gunfight—a gesture, but not a strategy.
Because capitalism mutates, transforms, and reinvents itself in successive techno-economic instantiations, no single configuration of political economy can be expected to endure as both effective and legitimate across these shifts. The Belle Époque’s semi-liberal, semi-democratic steampower-era regime may well have provided, as Keynes famously claimed, an “economic El Dorado”—a moment in which sustained growth, expanding enfranchisement, and the partial erosion of traditional hierarchies coincided to give western Europe and its satellites a golden half-century. But that order was crafted for a particular technological substrate and socio-economic context. When the substrate changed–when steampower capitalism gave way to applied-science capitalism–the operating system of political economy could not adapt. The result? An unraveling: World War I, a failed postwar restoration, and the Great Depression, which opened the door to fascism, Naziism, Stalinist industrial gigantism, and Japan’s imperial embrace of the West’s most virulent ideological exports.
To look back and imagine that the neoliberal turn of the late twentieth century—substituting financial discipline and global integration for the solidarity and full-employment commitments of the New Deal Order—was a successful response to capitalism’s next mutation, from Fordist mass production to globalized value chains, requires a studied detachment from the lived experience of inequality, dislocation, and precarity it left in its wake.
And now, as capitalism mutates again—this time into something perhaps best termed attention-surveillance info-bio tech capitalism—we find ourselves without a political economy that even pretends to be adequate. The genome of the system changes. The institutional superstructure lags. And humanity is left to improvise in the dark.
Cassidy sees capitalism delegitimizing itself—a phenomenon he believes to be significantly intensified in the current moment. But I think he may be seeing ghosts where there were never saints. He may be falling prey to an optical illusion—a form of historical myopia. The truth is that capitalism has rarely, if ever, commanded broad normative legitimacy. It has been endured, deployed, feared, admired for its power, sometimes celebrated for its results—but rarely embraced as just. Even during its ideological high tide, the neoliberal moment from Reagan through Clinton to Bush II—bookended by Volcker disinflation and the Global Financial Crisis—the claim was not that capitalism was morally right but merely that it worked, and alternatives did not.
Even Friedrich von Hayek—perhaps the most eloquent defender of capitalism as we have known it—made no pretensions that the market order was fair. His case was altogether more somber: (a) capitalism, through decentralized decision-making and private property, is a machine for crowdsourcing near-optimal solutions to the central economic questions of what to produce and how; (b) the machine is blind, however, to merit, virtue, or need, and instead rewards contingency—those lucky enough to possess the assets or positions of advantage at the right time; (c) alternatives—whether command economies or technocratic socialism—may aim at justice, but they fail, and ultimately deliver neither prosperity nor freedom nor equity, delivering instead poverty and the prerogatives of power to bureaucratic castes or entrenched aristocracies; (d) thus, we must accept capitalism as a kind of cosmic lottery—a cruel but generative algorithm.
Even in von Hayek’s schema, capitalism is not to be embraced for its justice—indeed, any claim to distributive fairness would be a category error–but rather accepted as the least intolerable of the possible. It is not that capitalism is good; it is that every attempt to replace it with something betterhas thus far opened the door to something worse. Like the Biblical character Job upon his dungheap, we are asked to endure: “Capitalism giveth, capitalism taketh away: blessed be the name of capitalism.” To protest the outcomes of the market is not merely to misunderstand its logic, but to court disaster. For to challenge the invisible hand is to risk loosing the visible fists of commissars, colonels, or the cunning men of some newly-risen managerial caste.
Thus von Hayek offers us not a hymn to freedom, but a liturgy of resignation: a theology of the market that makes necessity a virtue, and treats despair—so long as it is orderly—as the foundation of liberal policy.
It was only at the height of the Neoliberal Order—roughly from the early Reagan years through the mid–2000s, give or take a tech crash or two—that the ideological veil was torn away in a peculiar direction. Only then did one see serious attempts to sacralize the market not merely as a mechanism for coordination or a generator of prosperity, but as the sole arbiter of merit, the ultimate moral tribunal. Greed, once tolerated as a regrettable spur to effort, became good per se. Success in the marketplace-—PO, hedge fund alpha, corner office—was no longer merely admired, but reified as evidence of intrinsic virtue and social deservingness.
Outside this anomalous window, capitalism has never carried much claim to legitimacy in itself. It has instead required a surrounding architecture: a democratic polity to channel and tame it, or, failing that, a supervisory class—a patriciate of education, wealth, or technical expertise—to manage its consequences and blunt its rough edges. That capitalism must be governed has been the default assumption across regimes. Only briefly did a generation forget this–and they were promptly reminded by a financial crisis bearing subprime mortgage-backed securities as its horsemen.
And there are many more subordinate themes in this book of 260,000 covering thirty-odd observers and critics of the thing “capitalism” across two and a half centuries. For let us be clear: this is not a standard economic history. Cassidy does not rehash productivity growth figures, national accounts, or trade balances–though he gestures toward them when needed. Rather, this is a gallery of portraits: a series of intellectual and political biographical sketches, each of which stands as a window onto a mode of critique. The method is synthetic, literary, and political. Cassidy draws from original writings, memoirs, and scholarly studies to give us both the thinker and the world that made the thinker think.
Perhaps I can give you a sense of them by listing the speakers he brings forward as capitalism’s critics (and defenders). Some of the portraits are canonical—Smith, Marx, Keynes, Polanyi, Hayek, Friedman. Others are welcome recoveries from the margins: Anna Wheeler, J.C. Kumarappa, Silvia Federici, Flora Tristan. And still others represent critical nodes in global debates too often omitted from Western economic historiography: Samir Amin, Raúl Prebisch, Eric Williams.
They comprise:
(1) A number of authors and thinkers at the head of currents of thought I know very well indeed:
Adam Smith,
Ned Ludd,
Friedrich Engels,
Karl Marx,
Rosa Luxemburg,
John Maynard Keynes
Michel Kalecki,
Joan Robinson,
Raul Prebisch,
Milton Friedman,
Stuart Hall,
Friedrich von Hayek,
Samir Amin,
Dani Rodrik,
Joe Stiglitz, and
Thomas Piketty.
(2) Other thinkers of whom I have my scant knowledge and largely unformed views:
Thomas Carlyle,
Henry George,
Thorstein Veblen,
John Hobson,
Paul Sweezy, and
Raymond Williams.
(3) Seven thinkers who make me aware of my unprofessionalism—truly important guys whom I readily do not know, and have no excuse for not knowing: Bolts, Thompson, Wheeler, Tristan, Kondratiev, Kumarappa, Georgescu- Roegen, and Federici.
And each of them has their own take:
Samir Amin A Marxist theorist with a global perspective, Amin located capitalism’s structural imbalances not only within national economies but in the world system as a whole. His concept of “delinking” was a plea for peripheral economies to escape the exploitative grip of global capital.
William Bolts A former East India Company servant turned whistleblower, Bolts decried the Company’s transformation into a monopolistic, extractive leviathan. His writings are an early and vivid critique of corporate overreach and colonial capitalism’s predatory form.
Thomas Carlyle A moralist more than an economist, Carlyle’s complaint was with capitalism’s reduction of all values to cash. He coined the phrase “dismal science” to describe economics and prophesied the spiritual decay wrought by Mammon worship.
Friedrich Engels Engels chronicled capitalism from within and without–as both a factory-owner and revolutionary. He, with Marx, diagnosed capitalism as a system driven by internal contradictions that would ultimately consume its own productive forces.
Silvia Federici Federici critiques capitalism’s hidden foundations in unpaid domestic labor, especially that of women. Her feminist materialism exposes how capitalism relies on reproductive labor while denying its value, making her critique both foundational and ongoing.
Milton Friedman Friedman saw capitalism as a system that, while imperfect, offered the most freedom. But his vision of unregulated markets as self-correcting and virtuous underestimated both systemic risk and the institutional scaffolding markets need to function equitably.
Henry George George believed land monopolies were the original sin of capitalism. His proposed remedy, a single tax on land value, sought to rectify unjust wealth accumulation without dismantling the market system.
Nicholas Georgescu-Roegen As the prophet of ecological economics, Georgescu-Roegen introduced thermodynamics into economic thought. He warned that capitalism’s growth imperative runs afoul of the Earth’s entropy constraints, making sustainability a mathematical impossibility within the system.
Stuart Hall A cultural theorist more than an economist, Hall saw capitalism as a system of ideological dominance. He was especially attentive to how neoliberalism reshaped subjectivities and reduced political possibility, particularly in Thatcherite Britain.
Friedrich von Hayek Hayek argued that the price system is a decentralized information processor, a miraculous mechanism for coordinating dispersed knowledge. But he conceded that capitalism is neither moral nor fair–just the least coercive of feasible systems.
John Hobson Hobson diagnosed imperialism as the economic safety valve of capitalism–an outlet for surplus capital that domestic markets could no longer absorb. His underconsumptionist theory saw capitalism as prone to stagnation without external expansion.
John Maynard Keynes Keynes saved capitalism from itself by insisting that aggregate demand matters. In times of crisis, only public intervention could maintain full employment and social stability. Capitalism could be good–if wisely managed.
Michał Kalecki A contemporary of Keynes, Kalecki independently arrived at similar conclusions but emphasized the political constraints on full employment. The capitalist class, he argued, would oppose policies that empowered labor, even at economic cost.
Nikolai Kondratiev Kondratiev theorized long economic waves of boom and bust–“K-waves”–within capitalism. His analysis implied systemic rhythms to capitalist crises, though Stalinist Russia rewarded his insight with execution.
J. C. Kumarappa A Gandhian economist, Kumarappa championed “economics of permanence”: small-scale, village-based production as morally and ecologically superior to industrial capitalism. His critique was civilizational, not merely institutional.
Ned Ludd A symbolic figure rather than a real one, Ludd represents artisanal resistance to industrial capitalism. The Luddites were not anti-progress, but anti-destruction of livelihoods without compensation or negotiation.
Rosa Luxemburg Luxemburg extended Marx by arguing that capitalism required continual expansion into non-capitalist regions. Imperialism, in her view, wasn’t an aberration but a necessity.
Karl Marx Marx theorized capitalism as a dynamic but doomed system, governed by the drive to accumulate surplus value. His historical materialism traced the exploitative core of capitalist production and foresaw its transcendence through proletarian revolution.
Thomas Piketty Piketty revived political economy by showing how capital tends to concentrate in the absence of policy intervention. His empirical work calls into question capitalism’s compatibility with democratic equality.
Raúl Prebisch Prebisch argued that the global trading system structurally disadvantaged developing countries. His “center-periphery” model laid the groundwork for dependency theory and justified calls for import-substitution industrialization.
Joan Robinson Robinson critiqued neoclassical orthodoxy and championed the Cambridge capital controversy. She believed that imperfect competition and power relations, not equilibrium, defined real-world capitalism.
Dani Rodrik Rodrik is a contemporary critic of hyperglobalization. He defends markets, but insists that democratic polities must have space to set their own rules–a trilemma between globalization, democracy, and national sovereignty.
Adam Smith Although Smith is often cited as capitalism’s patron saint, he was in fact deeply concerned about concentrated economic power. His critique of the East India Company and monopolizing merchants reflects a broader worry about the corruption of markets by privilege. For Smith, competitive markets are a public good, not a natural state, and require active policing.
Joe Stiglitz A Nobel laureate and former World Bank chief economist, Stiglitz argues that markets often fail spectacularly. His critique focuses on information asymmetries, rent-seeking, and inequality–all endemic to unregulated capitalism.
Paul Sweezy A Marxist economist, Sweezy saw monopoly capitalism as increasingly sclerotic. He diagnosed stagnation and financialization as symptoms of a mature system incapable of productive dynamism.
William Thompson A utilitarian socialist, Thompson anticipated many Marxist insights but retained a more cooperative vision. He believed rational planning and shared prosperity were both feasible and desirable.
Flora Tristan A feminist and socialist, Tristan called for a universal workers’ union inclusive of women. She saw capitalism as doubly exploitative–both class-bound and patriarchal.
Thorstein Veblen Veblen coined “conspicuous consumption” to describe capitalism’s performative irrationality. His satire skewered the leisure class and exposed how economic behavior was shaped more by status than utility.
Anna Wheeler A pioneering feminist, Wheeler believed women’s subordination was reinforced by capitalism’s patriarchal structures. She collaborated with Thompson to sketch out early visions of socialist feminism.
Raymond Williams Williams, a cultural critic, emphasized capitalism’s role in shaping not just economies but meanings. His Marxism was attuned to literature and media, seeing them as sites of ideological struggle.
It is worth pausing here to note one of the book’s great strengths: its sensitivity to historical contingency. Cassidy repeatedly highlights the paths not taken: the Owenite cooperatives dismissed as utopian; the self-sufficient village economy envisioned by Kumarappa; the radical potential of the 1945 moment, when the welfare state could have become something more than Keynesian patchwork. This sensitivity is not mere wistfulness. Cassidy’s point is sharper: that capitalism has always faced alternatives. Yet, somehow, it has a durability that stems from repeated political victory.
This theme is developed most compellingly in his discussion of the postcolonial world. The chapter on Eric Williams, for example, shows how anti-imperial critiques of capitalism emerged not merely as moral outrage but as systematic accounts of accumulation and underdevelopment. Williams’s Capitalism and Slavery, long marginalized, is here restored to its rightful place as a key text linking Atlantic slavery, industrial takeoff, and racial capitalism. Cassidy’s engagement with Latin American dependency theory—Prebisch, Furtado, Cardoso—is generous. But Cassidy is not blind to the shortcomings of dependencistas. He recognizes that the dependency theorists misread the possibilities of autonomous national development in a globally integrated system. Their critique of terms of trade was sound; their institutional vision less so. In acknowledging this, Cassidy manages the difficult feat of honoring their insights without romanticizing their limitations.
The book’s gender politics is similarly welcome. Cassidy devotes chapters to early feminists like Anna Wheeler and Flora Tristan, as well as to Silvia Federici’s more recent work on reproductive labor. He argues, rightly, that even friendly portrayals of capitalism’s critics have submerged the importance of capitalism as a system that intensifies the the gendered extraction of value. His treatment of Sylvia Federici is especially strong. The “Wages for Housework” campaign of the 1970s, long dismissed as a fringe movement, is here presented as a prescient challenge to the structure of capitalist social reproduction. The feminists have long claimed that, historically, domestic labor was not merely ancillary to the economy—it alwys was and remains its precondition.
How did John Cassidy–one of the very best economic journalists we have here in the world today, and one of the very few who does not work for a business élite-oriented publication–come to write this book?
Cassidy tells us he initially set out to write, in his words:
a shortish history of contemporary capitalism and… economic debates… from the collapse of the Soviet Union… to the present…
But–as so often happens when one peers into the abyss of the present–it was the past that stared back, demanding its due. And so he found himself, as one does, tugged inexorably backward: from supply chains and central banks to Adam Smith’s indictment of the East India Company for its “privileged position and egregious self-dealing,” and from there further still, into the pre-industrial soil from which the capitalist order itself first sprang. The result? A tableau of thirty-odd thinkers and arguments, each a signpost in the longue durée of capitalism’s intellectual and moral discontents.
Having myself produced a doorstop of nearly 190,000 words–after excising only a portion of my original half-million-word manuscript–I feel a strong, almost guilty kinship with Cassidy’s own struggle to stay concise. The scope and ambition of such a project resist compression. But this does pose a practical challenge to readers. In audiobook form—at a reasonably brisk 1.5x speed—it runs twenty-eight hours. For a typical Democracy Journal reader, perhaps seventeen. I am, I suppose, unusually swift and compulsively focused: I managed seven hours, cover to cover. But I was also primed. Cassidy’s byline has long been a fixture in my mental index: “The Fountainhead,” “Smoke Signals,” “Motown Down,” “A World of Woes”–each one a smartly constructed dispatch from the economic front.
Yet merely reading such a book–whether in seven hours or twenty-eight–is not enough. If we are to learn anything durable, anything truly worth retaining, we must do more than read: we must read actively. The black squiggles on the page must become, in our minds, a sub-Turing instantiation of the author himself. We must emulate Cassidy’s thought patterns, run his argumentative operating system on our own neural wetware, and spar with it. In the shower. On a walk. Between sips of coffee. This—_this_—is the path to understanding, and to internalizing what we read so it may join the armory of ideas we carry with us. And that, ultimately, is how I spent my twenty hours with John Cassidy and this book: not simply scanning text, but arguing, reflecting, assimilating. And then after that, having already spent more than a third of a workweek on it, I sat down to write this review. And have spent the same amount of time again on it.
Was it worth me spending my time on this, rather than on something else?
I think so.
For me, Cassidy’s book gave me:
a visa to seven thinkers who are important guys whom I readily did not know, and ought to have: Bolts, Thompson, Wheeler, Tristan, Kondratiev, Kumarappa, Georgescu- Roegen, and Federici.
the opportunity to revisit and rethink my scant knowledge and unformed views about six more: Carlyle, George, Veblen, Hobson, Sweezy, and Williams.
and the John Stuart Millian impulsion to take seriously what a smart person who thinks differently than me thinks about issues and authors that I think I know very well indeed–Smith, General Ludd, Engels, Marx, Luxemburg, Keynes, Kalecki, Robinson, Prebisch, Friedman, Hall, Hayek, Amin, Rodrik, Stiglitz, and Piketty.
Reading Cassidy, reflecting upon him, and then committing these thoughts to prose has, for me, been a worthwhile endeavor—more than worthwhile. Perhaps I feel, in some way, like Yakov at the ford of Jabbok, grappling all night with a shadowy adversary who turns out to be none other than the High God El himself. The contest is illuminating, exhausting, and, in the end, instructive. Yakov only loses because El cheats at the break of dawn. But the match leaves him changed, strengthened—and blessed.
Cassidy’s book has offered me something like that—intellectual engagement at a high level, with an interlocutor who knows the terrain. It was, in short, a pleasure and a privilege to wrestle with it. And not merely because Democracy Journal has pledged to pay me $850 for the review, although that certainly sweetens the pot in our late-capitalist reality.
But what if you know that you are not going to read Capitalism and Its Critics cover-to-cover? Should you buy it to keep it within arm’s reach, to be dipped into now and again? My answer again is yes, if your book budget allows for the inclusion of texts that serve not merely as complete reads but as reference points—mental furniture for your ideological living room—Cassidy’s book belongs on your bookshelf. Even if you will never read more than a quarter of its 260,000 words, it is valuable not as a gargantuan meal meal but as a well-stocked pantry: something to draw from when capitalism’s latest mutation once again leaves you in need of nourishment—or defense.
For book ends not with despair but with a kind of open-ended optimism. Cassidy’s ultimate wager is that the history of capitalism’s critics is not merely a record of failure, but a reservoir of ideas and strategies for the future. His message, ultimately, is that critique matters: that it shapes institutions, reforms policy, and occasionally bends history. Cassidy’s Capitalism and Its Critics is an act of intellectual retrieval. It is a reclamation of the long tradition of those who insisted that the world could be otherwise, and that a better world is possible.
(Very Incomplete) References:
Cassidy, John. 2025. Capitalism and Its Critics: A History, from the Industrial Revolution to AI. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
Davies, Dan. 2024. “Seeing Like a State Machine.” Back of Mind (Substack), March 30. <https://backofmind.substack.com/p/seeing-like-a-state-machine>.
Davies, Dan. 2024. The Unaccountability Machine: Why Big Systems Make Terrible Decisions–and How the World Lost Its Mind. London: Profile Books. <https://profilebooks.com/wp-content/uploads/wpallimport/files/PDFs/9781788169547_preview.pdf>.
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