The title of the Christmas skit presented by the Graduate Economic Association players at MI.T. in December 1951 , “God and Keynes at M.I.T”, is a clear reference to the political screed, God and Man at Yale (1951), by the young and future conservative pundit, William F. Buckley, Jr. This is one of many MIT skits found in the papers of Robert M. Solow and has been graciously shared for ERVM transcription by Roger E. Backhouse of, most recently, Becoming Samuelson, 1915-1948 fame.
One of the signs you are dealing with truly academic humor is the use of footnotes to provide proper attribution. In particular we find here seven items borrowed (and sometimes modified) from the University of Chicago Political Economy Club repertoire. Thus we see not only were some of the Greatest-Hits of Chicago skit humor “remastered” in the Windy City but also that the G.E.A. of M.I.T. was not above performing “covers” of Freshwater Hits. ERVM has already transcribed a few of these and for the sake of completeness will soon complete this list with the Chicago originals:
There is still plenty of original material in the following skit, and the few modifications worth noting include a key substitution of Keynes (MIT) for Marshall (Chicago) and another substitution of “psychology and sociology” (MIT) for “Macroeconomics and Probability” (Chicago).
________________________
THE GRADUATE ECONOMICS ASSOCIATION
present
The G. E. A. Players
in
GOD AND KEYNES AT M. I. T.
15 December 1951
*Items so marked are modified versions borrowed from the University of Chicago, Political Economy Club.
PROLOGUE
(the scene is set to reveal the young college graduate relaxing in his home. He has made application to M.I.T. for entry to Course XIV. We hear the door-bell ring, and the letter arrives. He reads:)
An economics department great in dignity
In fairest Cambridge, where we lay our scene
Offers to disturb you, from present peace
To come to our proximity.
From forth of this great and new transition
A host of new subjects will take their position;
Econometrics, propensities, and laboristic relations;
Matrices, consumption, and similar sensations.
And if you will survive the economic pains
We’ll make of you another John Maynard Keynes.
So won’t you please say that you will come and stay;
Let me know real soon, signed sincerely, C. P. K.
(the student arrives at Tech, finds the library, and enters the elevator. On the way up to the third floor he hears:)
FIRST EPISTLE UNTO NEW STUDENTS*
- To all who enter through the Gate of Admissions unto the sanctity of the Department, heed ye well one who is wiser and older than thou. For verily I have dwelt in the land of Keynes for many years, and have felt the curse of Generals on my brain.
- Beware the courses called 121 and 122, for they will tax thee sorely. They have been devised that the supply may be known from the demand.
- Present thyself upon the appointed hour, lest the social cost exceed the private gain and the wrath of the Master fall upon thee mightily.
- Shun thou the geometer, for he seeks to seduce thee with curves. His siren song is pleasant but he lacketh rigor.
- Shun thou also the temple of the twin gods, psychology and sociology, for therein dwell the Philistines who worship not the calculus. There wilt thou be set upon with all manner of strange things and thou shalt feel the lash of the complex verbage, and thy head shall whirl with cultural patterns and institutional mores.
- Treasure thy Keynes, for verily all manner of mysteries are set down therein. Read it well and carefully, but say not that thou hast understood.
- Take to thine own bosom the demand curve lest it desert thee in thine hour of need.
- Attend well the lectures called innovation, for there if thou learnest nothing else, shalt thou learn at least one thing and it shall be a contribution to thy general education.
- Shun thou the industrial economist when he is at his data, for he loveth them dearly and will defend them as a lioness her cubs.
- Beware also the statistician who will leave the witless with a pair of dice.
- Shun the welfare economist, for he loveth mightily to stick out his neck and will teach thee his evil ways.
- Shun thou the coffee hour, but study diligently in Dewey lest thou and thy end thy days in Course XV.
- There is a time to speak and a time to be silent. Be thou silent in the presence of the Master, for he shall reveal to thee the secrets of Keynes and there shalt thou solve the riddle of the Sphinx.
(the student steps out of the elevator into the third floor hall. He sees before him many doors, all with different names on them. He decides to investigate each one. First, he comes to:)
“John Maynard Keynes”
(he knocks. The door opens, and out steps an angel, wings, white sheet, and all. The angel says:)
‘He ain’t here; but you’ll meet him in the long run!’
(on to the next door:)
“Paul A. Samuelson”
(the door opens, and the chorus sings:)
They call me a Keynesian, a Keynesian economist
That I can never deny
For I am a heretic, a classicist critic—
Bold little Keynesian, I.
I’ve equations and functions, and marginal assumptions
All here in my little kit bag.
I’ve tricky proposals for income disposals
All lest the economy sag.
To deficit spending and government lending
I give a hearty “Huzzah”.
I distrust automaticity despite its simplicity—
I doubt it would work at all.
For I am a Keynesian, a Keynesian economist
That I can never deny
For I’m a heretic, a classical critic—
Bold little Keynesian, I.
When faced with deflation or misallocation
I feel that the former is worse
I abominate waste with Ricardian distaste
But first things always come first.
And yet they deplore me, criticize and abhor me
For I am the standard straw man
But blows I don’t heed—Oh, I’ll stick to my credo
That a plan is a plan is a plan.
For I am a Keynesian, a Keynesian economist
That I can never deny
For I’m a heretic, a classical critic—
Bold little Keynesian, I.
“Robert Solow”
(scene, his classroom, where the students are singing:)
We must be rigorous,
We must be rigorous,
We must fulfill our role;
If we hesitate
Or equivocate,
We won’t achieve our goal.
We must investigate
Our system, complicated
To make our models whole;
Econometrics brings about
Statistical control.
Our esoteric seminars
Bring statisticians by the score.
But try to find economists
Who don’t think algebra a chore.
O, we must urge them all emphatically
To become inclined mathematically
So that all that we’ve developed, may
Someday be applied.
(repeat first 11 lines)
“Charles P. Kindleberger”
(the door opens, and we hear a voice say:)
Intuition is the basis
on which decisions should be made;
These are really the foundations
On which economics has been laid.
All that’s mathematical
Definitely is tabled;
Even the little diagrams
Never have been labeled.
Be careful, however
That you never neglect
The varied use
Of the Kindleberger effect.
Art or skill
or merely a quirk
This man’s intuition
Does the work.
“Robert L. Bishop”
(the door opens, and we find snow falling. The chorus is on a toboggan, singing:)
Maximize, maximize, that’s the crucial key;
Allocate resources by their productivity.
Equalize V.M.P.’s with their prices, and
Your production function is the finest in the land.
(voice) In the course of industrialization men have observed the alternating rises and falls of economic activity. And, lo, see what befell us:
“Walt W. Rostow”
(the voice continues:)
To shoot, or overshoot, ah, there’s the cycle;
Whether ‘tis nobler from underinvestment to suffer
Than to prolong the period of gestation
And, by consumption end it?
To history! No more of economics; and by the use of it
To end the confusion and million little theories
That economics left us;
That’s the solution we plan to introduce.
(chorus)
To fill the gap
On the Keynesian map
We must again raise taxes;
The prices rise
If we don’t equalize
Savings, investment and taxes.
(solo)
Income grows
In ever rising flows
We must again raise taxes;
In government spends
There seem no ends
Up must go the taxes.
(solo)
dC/dY
Is all awry
We must raise those taxes
The propensity
It’s a calamity
Up must go those taxes.
(chorus)
The interest rate
Is out of date
So we must raise those taxes;
Though bonds recede
We must proceed
To raise again those taxes.
(solo)
The crystal balls
In the third floor halls
Say raise those taxes;
Or you will fret
And long regret
If you don’t raise those taxes.
(solo: and how!)
Flexibility
Cries the C.E.D.
Boys, raise those taxes
Says the N.A.M.
It’s all a sham
Don’t raise those taxes
(chorus)
But God and Keynes
Have the true refrains
Up must go the taxes;
At M.I.T.
We all agree
More savings and more taxes.
(by now, our student has traveled one-half the length of the hall. He approaches the other half, where a voice speaks:)
Friend; first year man; lend me your ear.
I come to convince you that industrial relations
Occupies a so much higher station
That economics—while ’t is good and fine
Must of necessity bow under our sign.
The evil that me do lives after them;
The good is oft interred within their books;
So let it be with economics.
We offer to show you the extent of cooperation
Between management and labor in every relation,
And prove to you that what’er your belief
Our unique methods will give either side full relief.
Economists, you know, often speak of productivity;
But that’s a matter of total relativity
Since our writers—Shultz, Myers, Coleman and Brown
Are the most productive in a many a college town.
“Charlie Myers”
(the door opens, and we see Myers writing vigorously and adding stacks of manuscripts to already huge piles labeled “To Prentice Hall,” “To McGraw-Hill,” and “Rejects—to Technology Press.” Secretary enters:)
Secretary: “Prof. Myers, here’s that book you asked me to write for you.”
Myers: “Good; don’t forget to start on that other one for me.”
(enter George Shultz carrying a manuscript)
Myers: “Hello, George. I see we’ve written another book. Mind if I look at it?”
Shultz: “Not at all, Charlie. I’ve already begun on the other one for us. You know, though, I think we’re getting a bit too abstract. We ought to go down to a level where it’s good and dirty.”
Myers: “In that case, let’s call in Joe Scanlon. Hey, Joe. Come here.”
(the chorus enters, dressed as bums; they sing:)
THE JOE SCANLON SONG
(to the tune of “Union Maid”)
There once was a bright young man
Who thought he had a plan
He studied cost
And jobs he lost
His name is Joe Scanlan
He soon met a man named Phil
Whose work gave him a thrill
He organized and compromised
He always fought up-hill.
This made of him a wreck
And so he came to Tech.
He sells his plan
To all the clan;
You ought to see his check.
CHORUS:
O you can’t scare us, we’re sticking with Scanlon,
Sticking with Scanlon, sticking with Scanlon;
Oh you can’t scare us, we’re sticking with Scanlon,
Sticking with Scanlon, until we die.
When the bosses have no dough
They always call for Joe;
They shed their tears
And buy him beers
And up their profits go—
(repeat CHORUS)
(as the final chorus ends, the door opens, and we see a body on the table)
Bishop: “What’s the matter with him, Morrie Adelman?”
Adelman: “He’s just been brought in; he’s suffering from a severe case of elephantiasis.”
Bishop: “Oh, don’t worry; I’ve got a classical solution. It contains some of Euler’s serum.” (pull up a jug so labeled and apply to patient’s arm)
Adelman: “Well, what do you expect that to accomplish?”
Bishop: “It’ll create perfect competition among the disease germs. What could be better?”
Adelman: (pause) “Well, I don’t see him recovering.”
Bishop: “But it’s not a pure case. Perhaps we should call in Dr. D. V. Brown. He’s had medical experience. (enter D.V.B.)
Brown: “Hi-ja.” (looks at body, and shows surprise) “My goodness, Charlie! I always knew he’s work too hard.” (looks at body more closely) “Looks to me like an impure case of oligopoly.”
Adelman: “O-o-o-oh! Let me see!” (goes over to feel arm) “No, there’s no concentration here. But even if there were, there’s really no harm in it.”
Brown: “Well, I’d like to stay, but I have to dash off to a court case.”
COURT SCENE
Judge: “The court is now in session. Bring in the first case.”
Prosecutor: “Your honor, this man is accused of attempting to overthrow the neo-classical Chicago School.”
Judge: “What’s your name?”
Coleman: “Sir, my name is Jack Coleman.”
Judge: “Prosecutor, define more explicitly what the charge is against this man.”
Prosecutor: “This man is presently collaborating with a well-known group of collectivists.”
Judge: “What proof have you of this?”
Prosecutor: “I have here my star witness.”
Judge: “What is your name?”
Buckley: “Your honor, sir, my name is Ludwig von Buckley.”
Judge: “Speak.”
Buckley: “I have here a book written by Paul A. Samuelson, and it says here on page.–., Oh, well, let’s not bother with the page number now. It says: “…know…conclusively…that…Karl Marx…is…(turn pages back towards front)…correct.”
Judge: “Speak no more. Any man collaborating with the author of such a book must be guilty of attempting to overthrow the Chicago School. I hereby sentence you to six months of solitary confinement, with a copy of Hazlitt’s “Economics in One Lesson.” Next case.”
(Coleman leaves; enter Herb Shepard)
Prosecutor: “Your honor, this man is accused of playing marbles with the fabulous Alex Bavelas.”
Judge: “What is your name?” (say it aggressively)
Shepard: “Say, you’re unusually aggressive today. Has your wife stopped beating you? How’s your libido?”
Judge: “Now that you mention it, I have been feeling rather despondent.”
Shepard: “Judge, I’m a Freud…you’re tending toward a psycho-social orientation that no longer promotes an optimization of gratification.”
Judge: “Noooooo—I’m too JUNG to die!….But what am I saying! Herbert Shepard, for this circumlocutionist behavior, I hereby sentence you to the marble pits in ex-communication.”
(the student next comes to a door marked “reserved for Chicago U. delegates to the A.E.A. Convention.” He knocks, the door opens, and he hears:)
HIS RULES GO MARCHING ON*
(to the tune of the Battle Hymn of Republic)
If you want to pass your prelims
You must listen now to me;
You must learn your catechism
If you want to get your ‘B’
They have flunked the finest people
The department ever had
And they never said ‘too bad.’
CHORUS:
Stick, stick, stick with Henry Simons;
Henry is the man to see you through;
He’s the most consistent [man]
With an economic plan;
His rules go marching on.
He would nationalize the railroads,
He would atomize the firm,
He would then repeal the tariff
And the “E” bonds he would burn;
He would cleanse the banking system
Of the Federal Reserve;
His rules go marching on.
[Repeat] CHORUS:
He is the man who’d fix up
The progressive income tax;
He would fill in every item that
The present structure lacks;
He’d repeal the excise levies
And forget the margarine tax;
His rules go marching on.
[Repeat] CHORUS:
(by now the student will have reached the end of the hall; but questions linger in his mind. He wonders how the student takes all this. And as if in answer, he hears this song between students and faculty:* (to the tune of the ‘Sergeant’s Song’ from the Pirate[s] of Penzance)
Grad Students:
From nine around to nine—Tarantara! tarantara!
We remain in that salt mine—Tarantara!
-Our eyes are growing dim–Tarantara! tarantara!
Our hair is getting thin—Tarantara!
As we while away our youth—Tarantara! tarantara!
In sedate pursuit of Truth—Tarantara!!
Searching stacks and aching backs,
Third degree for a PhD—Tarantara! tarantara! tarantara!
Faculty: (to the tune of “Mabel’s Song” from the Pirate[s] of Penzance)
Go, you students, you’ll not be sorry.
You’ll contribute to MY great story.
You shall live in footnote glory.
Go to immortality!
Go to work and hold off suicide,
For if your work with our needs coincide,
Our reluctance to grant degrees we’ll override.
Go, you heroes, go and work!
(finally, as our student reaches the end of his journey, he meet the one ‘older and wiser than thou’, and listens as he tells of the ‘impending doom’.)
Twas the night before Orals
When all through the room
A feeling forecast
The impending doom.
The facts were placed
In each head with care
In hopes that when needed
They’d surely be there.
The victims then nestled
All snug in their beds
While visions of cost curves
Danced in their heads.
I soon fell asleep
And began to dream
I sat in a room
All filled with steam.
When out in the yard
There arose such a clatter
I sprang from the chair
To see what was the matter.
Over to the window
I flew like a flash
Tore open the shutters
And threw up the sash.
When what to my wondering
Eyes there appears
A miniature sleigh
And eight tiny examineers.
Instead of the four
They usually required
They sent me four more
If the others got tired.
As I drew in my head
And was turning around
In through the window
They came with a bound.
They were dressed all in black
From their head to the toe;
Whose funeral, I asked,
Someone I know?
A wink of their eyes,
A twist of each head
Soon gave me to know
I had plenty to dread.
They spoke not a word
But went straight to their work
Of filling the blackboards
Then turned to the jerk.
The questions commenced
Like machine gun fire;
I couldn’t keep straight
The seller from buyer.
Now sir, please listen
One of them said
Try to imagine
All this in your head.
Nansen and Johansen
Have only one sled;
They’re at the North pole
And have not bread.
Suddenly there appears
A giant Tartar
Coming from Siberia
Looking to barter.
They can bake some bread
At increasing cost
Yet without a compass
They’ll certainly be lost.
He has a compass
And they have bread
And without exchange
They all will be dead.
They started to bargain
Until he did tell you
That the Russians decided
The ruble to devalue.
Only Sterling is recognized,
So they start to bake
Instead of the bread
A large pound cake.
Then suddenly Nansen
Thought to remember
That neither of them
Was a union member.
Closed shops were enforceable
As a matter of fact
For this was before
The Taft-Hartley Act.
They went ahead anyway,
They didn’t give a hoot;
It was so cold
They needed a union suit.
Before they acted
Or did anything drastic
They examined their demand curve
To see if it was elastic.
Their cost curve was unknown–
It had never been seen;
How lucky they were
That Nansen was really Joel Dean.
Their consumption function told them
Just how to behave;
They knew what to consume
And how much to save.
Please consider the theories
of Tibor Scitovsky
And the two fisted cowboy
two-gun Baranowsky.
If you remember these facts
And keep them in mind,
The right answer, I know
You certainly should find.
I shivered and shook,
In the chair I did writhe;
Now the question, they said
Who was Adam Smythe?
The leader then yelled
For a decision it’s time;
This man has suffered,
He has paid for his crime.
And laying a finger
Aside of his nose
Out of the window
All eight of them goes.
It was the leader then
That I heard exclaim
As he shouted and whistled,
And called them by name:
Now Myers, now Bishop
Now Shultz and C.P.K.
On Coleman, on Solow,
Let’s now dash and dash away.
They sprang to their sleigh
And away they flew
Like they were speeding
To another rendezvous.
Although some details
Of this horrible nightmare
Still seem a bit hazy
I certainly would swear,
Before I awoke
I heard them say
Merry Christmas to all,
And to all a good day.
EPILOGUE
As disproved by classical economics
All good things much reach an end;
And so we must leave our attempt at comics,
Hoping we’ve pleased both foe and friend.
‘Tis true enough that our little parody
Has given economics unusual clarity,
And that our writers if circumstances permit it
Will prefer to have their names omitted.
So then, since ours must be the last say,
a real Merry Christmas from the G.E.A.
Source: Duke University. David M. Rubenstein Rare Book & Manuscript Library. Economists’ Papers Archive. Robert M. Solow Papers, Box 83, Folders “Economic Skit Parties”.
Image: Cover art from “God and Keynes at M.I.T.” December 15, 1951. Ibid.
