Michael Pollak over at Left Business Observer:
Here is what mainstream economics thinks we know about managing the economy:
There was a debate in the 1920s and 1930s and central planning lost. It was proven, by people like Hayek and others, that central planning couldn’t work. Its outcomes would always be inferior to the market, and usually far inferior. Over the next century, with some fits and starts, everyone eventually accepted this conclusion and that’s where we are today. All that remains is a residual fight between those who think we ought to regulate a little bit around the edges and those who think every little bit hurts. That is the current division of the world’s ruling class, between neoliberals and ultras.
The problem is that large-scale planning is everywhere, and it started pretty much the same time as it was supposedly proven impossible. Admittedly it was still somewhat new even in the very last years of that debate. James Burnham wrote The Managerial Revolution in 1941 with the same air that many people wrote about the computer revolution in our lifetimes: it’s going to change everything. And then it did, vastly accelerated by the large-scale economic planning of World War II.
More here.
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He begins with 

A group of nine mathematicians has proved the geometric Langlands conjecture, a key component of one of the most sweeping paradigms in modern mathematics.
Western intellectuals expected that novelist Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, once safely in the West after his expulsion from the Soviet Union in 1974, would enthusiastically endorse its way of life and intellectual consensus. Nothing of the sort happened. Instead of recognizing how much he had missed when cut off from New York, Washington, and Cambridge, Massachusetts, this ex-Soviet dissident not only refused to accept superior American ideas but even presumed to instruct us. Harvard was shocked at the speech he gave there in 1978, while the New York Times cautioned: “We fear that Mr. Solzhenitsyn does the world no favor by calling for a holy war.”
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Not so long ago, a friend texted me from a coffee shop. He said, “I can’t believe it. I’m the only one here without a tattoo!” That might not seem surprising: a quick glance around practically anywhere people gather shows that tattoos are widely popular. Nearly one-third of adults in the US have a tattoo, according to
Alcove 1 at the City College of New York is surely the most famous lunch table in American intellectual history. No Ivy League dining hall can compete. In the 1930s, a remarkable coterie of students gathered there. (The neighboring alcove, Alcove 2, was a meeting place for students who hewed closer to the party line in Moscow, for the “Stalinists” as they would have been called in Alcove 1.) By now many books and documentaries have been made and written about Alcove 1 and its legacy, which in miniature is the saga of the “New York intellectuals.” They were mostly Jewish, uniformly gifted, and fabulously influential at midcentury. Their history can have the aura of myth.
Its canonical status is hardly in doubt, but at the same time, 20 years after its publication, “The Known World” can still feel like a discovery. Even a rereading propels you into uncharted territory. You may think you know about American slavery, about the American novel, about the American slavery novel, but here is something you couldn’t have imagined, a secret history hidden in plain sight. The author occupies a similarly paradoxical status: He’s a major writer, yet somehow underrecognized. This may be partly because he doesn’t call much attention to himself, and partly because of his compact output. (When I asked, he said he wasn’t working on anything new at the moment, though there was a story that had been gestating for a while.) Jones, who teaches creative writing at George Washington University, is not a recluse, but he’s not a public figure either. Our meeting place was his idea.