Niall Ferguson has written a brilliant book exploring the historic nexus between money, diplomacy, warfare and globalisation. It's called The House of Rothschild: The World's Banker 1849-1998. His new work, The Ascent of Money, written 10 years later, is an altogether different beast.
From its opening sentence - 'Bread, cash, dosh, dough, loot, lucre, moolah, readies, the wherewithal: call it what you like, money matters' - you know this is a TV tie-in. But books and television scripts are not the same. This truth was best acknowledged by a TV book on the same subject as Ferguson's series. 'A book is a book and a television series is a set of television programmes,' wrote Peter Jay in Road to Riches. 'Both have their own demanding disciplines and imperatives; and neither can be made successfully as an image of the other.' While TV glories in the concrete and struggles with the abstract, written history can embrace both. As Jay explains: 'A book may make more demands on its reader and, in return, the reader may expect more matter from the author.' It is not a deal on which Ferguson delivers.
The Ascent of Money is an account of 'moolah' from the Incas to the credit crunch and, with it, an argument for the centrality of finance to all elements of human history. With typical bravado, the thesis is modelled on Jacob Bronowski's masterful series, The Ascent of Man, with Ferguson positioning financial markets as 'the mirror of mankind', magnifying back to us our values, weaknesses and psychoses. 'Money amplifies our tendency to overreact, to swing from exuberance when things are going well to deep depression when they go wrong. Booms and busts are products of our emotional volatility.' And, barring the odd fluctuation, finance has, like Man, in Ferguson's account at least, ascended in good, Whiggish fashion 'unquestionably upwards'. It is a story of relentless progress that might not be wholly obvious to today's HBOS shareholders and Icelandic bank savers.
This virtuous journey is presented to the reader in a barely concealed TV-script format, with all the tropes that discipline demands: the notion of secret discovery ('Behind every great historical phenomenon there lies a financial secret'); the importance of journey ('Read this book and you will understand why... '); the ever shorter, more emphatic sentences and the need for visual scene-setting. There is also a curious, irksome desire to refract the past through the personal: Ferguson's upbringing in Glasgow, his Calvinist heritage and early love of westerns all pepper the narrative.
Such solipsism helps to crowd out the history as we hurtle through the role of money in Roman society, the undoing of the Hapsburg Empire thanks to New World inflation, Shylock and Venice, Florence and the Medici, and the finance bubbles of the 18th century. Inevitably, there are omissions and oversights: the story of social insurance fails to mention the schemes of Thomas Paine and Richard Price to alleviate poverty in the 18th century; finance and the Industrial Revolution receives a single sentence, while Ferguson's account of the 1860s cotton famine relies on fairly old scholarship.
Worse than that is the lack of interest in the intellectual history of capital. George Soros gets more attention than Adam Smith and at a time when we are facing what Eric Hobsbawm has called 'the greatest crisis of capitalism since the 1930s', with Das Kapital a bestseller in Germany, is it credible to devote more space to Goldman Sachs's Jim O'Neill than the works of Karl Marx?
However, when we reach the 19th century, Ferguson's powers are on formidable display. His critique of British imperial hegemony and Edwardian globalisation, and his explanation of the role of bond markets in 1930s German hyperinflation, mix financial, diplomatic and economic history with the fluency and clarity that only Ferguson is capable of. Alone among modern economic historians, he is able to present complex data in a consistently revelatory manner.
The story he tells starkly underlines the ever-growing global dependence on an ever-more complex financial architecture. In 2000, there were 3,873 hedge funds with $490bn in assets. In the first quarter of 2008, there were 7,601 funds with $1.9 trillion in assets. The ins and outs of the Medici family are all very well, but Ferguson the Financial Times pundit is clearly bored by it and wants to move on swiftly to collateral debt obligations, sub-prime mortgages and the alchemy of longing and shorting. He is slavish in his devotion towards modern capital, its ever more innovative mutations and the masters of the universe who send it spiralling around the world. 'Ken Griffin loves risk,' begins a particularly oleaginous account of a hedge funder. 'Among the artworks that decorate his penthouse apartment on North Michigan Avenue is Jasper Johns's False Start, for which he paid $80m and a Cézanne which cost him $60m.'
Ferguson will also brook no criticism of the international organs of finance and their 'Washington Consensus'. As far as he's concerned, the IMF was blameless in its response to the Asian financial crisis of the mid-1990s (which many regard as the nadir of neoliberal policy making), Pinochet saved Chilean democracy by following Milton Friedman's monetarist orthodoxy, while Robert Zoellick of the World Bank quickly metamorphoses into the familiar 'Bob.' The anti-globalisation critiques of Naomi Klein, Joseph Stiglitz and Paul Krugman are clearly in his sights, but Ferguson uncharacteristically pulls his punches in this mostly anodyne text.
Instead of an inquiring history, what we are left with is a reverential panorama of neoliberal capitalism. Above all, there is little investigation of the losers in the zero-sum game of money's ascent. The only possible cloud Ferguson spies on the future horizon of finance is democratic accountability, with its 'rules and regulations [that] can make previously good traits suddenly disadvantageous'. Quite where the Bear Stearns bail out and bank nationalisation fit into the picture is unclear.
Indeed, much of this book has been overtaken by history and Ferguson looks like being left stranded as the last great hagiographer of hedge funds. As a trailer for the forthcoming TV series (which starts on Channel 4 on 17 November), his bullish stance works well enough, though I would recommend only watching the Panglossian Ferguson, and reading the more considered Jay. Books and television can complement each other - just not always by the same author.