Events also leave their marks on people and on their theories. Scholars pick up on catastrophes and cataclysms, trying to understand and explain them, and theory changes correspondingly. All economic theory is thus historically bound, both in terms of the real-life events behind it and the trajectory of theory itself, as Schumpeter points out. Looking back at the past century, there are only a couple of events from an economic point of view that qualify as having had this kind of importance. The first, and foremost, was the Great Depression. Samuelson, Phelps, Solow, Arrow and Smith all cited it as the most serious economic catastrophe so far. It will be interesting to see whether the current crisis will have a comparable motivational impact on academia. 

Can you survive as a lone wolf in academia — or do you have to be a group animal faithful to the tribe? How much co-operation and interaction is needed in order to be successful? My interviews show that "anything goes", as Paul Feyerabend put it. Samuelson, for example, certainly isn't a lone wolf. He has co-authored a lot, and much of his work — if not most — has been triggered by other people's papers. Buchanan co-authored extensively, too, and derived from it as much inspiration as despair, usually having to bring the discipline to bear. Smith clearly isn't a lone wolf: he has always worked out his experiments within groups. Reinhard Selten, however, the one German laureate in the group, denies that kind of disposition. "I'm not so dependent on external inspiration," he says. And North is "sure I have learnt a lot from other people...but in terms of where my ideas come from, I have been very much a loner". In an age of globalisation when co-authoring has become the rule rather than the exception in academia, the lone wolf may be on the verge of extinction.

The muse also kisses whomever and whenever she chooses. Crucial ideas are a gift. They tend to be inspired by the most unlikeliest things, at the most unlikely moments. Buchanan traces back his approach mainly to a dusty old book he stumbled on by chance in the library: Knut Wicksell's Finanztheoretische Untersuchungen. Smith owes his inspiration to a course taught by Edward Chamberlin, but the ensuing illuminating idea came later: "In the middle of the night, in 1956 at Purdue, I wake up and I have this idea." Becker remembers puzzling about the "economics of marriage" while sitting on his own in a hotel room. North tells the story of how some serious criticism by a student prompted him to stay up all night drinking brandy and reflecting on the topic. Arrow remembers how painfully long it was before he left the starting blocks, yet in the end, his dissertation came "just like that". And Samuelson acknowledges that many of his topics came up because somebody else had written something that he felt an irresistible urge to straighten out. 

And finally, the area of research seems to be to a large extent predetermined by individual character. From the point of view of self-marketing, it is more promising to place oneself in a new field or even to create one from scratch: who would not prefer to be a big fish in a small pond rather than to be a small fish in a big pond? In order to prevail in academia, one should try to come up with a truly pioneering idea, a fruitful approach that one can expand. But breaking free from the mainstream is a risky investment, and few scholars have the guts to undertake it — although becoming the mainstream should be a big reward. To differing degrees, most Nobel laureates have indeed been rebels against the established mainstream at some point. Becker rose against the narrow scope of economics. Smith rebelled against the black or empty holes in general equilibrium theory. Buchanan spoke against the missing regard for the public sector and collective decision-making. In Selten's case as well, his rebellious character predisposed him to swim against and beyond the mainstream wherever he went. As he admits, "I have always mistrusted majority opinion." 

The decisive truth in this observation, which also helps to answer the initial question about economics as a science, is that it is always outside a given "orthodoxy" that human reason finds the most difficult — and therefore also the most promising — challenges. All such "heterodoxy" in fact requires mental freedom, an independent mind, self-confidence and perhaps a rebellious character. It takes courage to be a dissident. Enlightenment does indeed wait at the end of the road for those intellectual entrepreneurs who are not only equipped with intelligence, curiosity and patience, knowing how to ask relevant questions and how to use their insights in a well-balanced way, but who also follow a more universal scholarly impulse, leading to a broader perspective.