We learn again, today, that the recession is over. I'm not buying just yet. The people exclaiming that the worst is behind us are, by and large, the same people who kept on insisting that a recession was impossible until almost the moment it was upon us. For instance, here's Congressman Ron Paul in his book End the Fed, talking with Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke on July 18, 2007, two weeks before the collapse of Bear Stearns:
Ron Paul: War, sometimes, is not healthy for a currency for keeping prices down, at least inflation. It's hard to find, in all of history, when war didn't create price inflation because, even in ancient times, countries resorted to clipping coins and diluting values or whatever... And yet, in the seventies, we had consequences of guns and butter. Now we're having guns and butter again (we're having consequences) and it just looks like we may come to a [stagflation situation as in] '79-'80. Do you anticipate that there is a possibility that we'll face a crisis of the dollar such as we had in '79 and 1980?
[At this point, Bernanke maintains that the Fed will maintain stable inflation--whatever that is--so Paul insists he answer the question.]
Ben Bernanke: I'm not anticipating a problem like '70-'80. (pp. 102-3)
Now, it is presently too early to tell whether or not we will see stagflation again, though it remains a possibility. The salient point is that Bernanke could not conceive how such a situation could come about under his reign. Quite obviously, the central bankers didn't have things under control, or they would have been able to steer us past this crisis. There is an argument that they have in fact done so, which we'll get to in a bit; what's inarguable is that they botched things this time around.
I should also add that while I don't think anyone can steer around economic crises by injecting credit into the economy since this is the precise mechanism which causes crises, I take it for granted that the central bankers do believe such a thing is possible. If you're keeping track at home, this means that on the side of possibilities we have an end to the boom-bust cycle, and on the side of impossibilities we have the reemergence of a phenomenon which came into existence as little as thirty years ago.
No one will deny that the crisis caught Bernanke, as well as most mainstream economists, completely unaware. Notes to the meetings at which bankers set monetary policy may be safely hidden (End the Fed, pp. 95-9)--for the good of the people of course--but, until the State finds a way to control it, the Internet provides a record for posterity. One might think, then, that the false prophets who insisted that everything would go on swimmingly--forever--would be ignored. And, in fact, some of them have been regulated to the dustbin of history; but it remains quite advantageous to be optimistic, even over something which one knows nothing about--at least when it comes to the economy.
Perhaps this is merely human nature. We gawk at car accidents; but only if we're not participants. We want to believe that things are getting better, yet this alone is not evidence that things are, in fact, improving. We may hope that the optimists are right. But the pronouncements of those who insist that the worst is behind us, and that the recession is now over, should be met with the same caution which should have greeted those who insisted, scarcely more than a year ago, that the good times would roll on forever.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Endless war
The number of times in which the accepted wisdom differs from the actual facts is not insignificant. This is especially true when it comes to the realm of politics. To give but one example: it is widely bemoaned that Republicans wish to turn back the clock on abortion, forcing reluctant mothers into alleyways to destroy their progeny. In point of fact, very few Republicans care one iota for abortion, as evidenced by their paltry record in curtailing, however slightly, this barbaric practice.
A similar illusion exists when it comes to war. In the minds of most, the Right wages war, while the Left opposes them. Of course, this doesn't comport with the historical data: most wars have been started by Democrats. But setting aside the American paucity of memory, we cannot even be relied upon to stay focused on the narrative long enough to realize that it is a lie. For though we have elected a Democrat, the wars continue.
Setting aside all of the ridiculous non-wars which nonetheless share that appellation, we are presently fighting two. The first, according to the narrative, was the "necessary war" in Afghanistan. The second, the "unnecessary" one, is in Iraq. Following his election, Obama insisted that we would withdraw from Iraq by 2011. But as with his predecessors "mission accomplished", there is more than a little hyperbole in the assertion. 50,000 troops will remain even then, so Iraq will be occupied long after the war is officially over. Sort of like Germany, or Japan, or South Korea, or...
Meanwhile, despite the deadliest month of fighting in Afghanistan since we first invaded, we're still mired in a war which cannot be won. Worse, Obama continues to waver over whether or not he will send more troops to die in the region. I say this not because I support such a measure, but because if you seriously believe the war can be won, you have to take the necessary measures to achieve victory. It's hard to escape the conclusion that Obama is content to allow the war to continue endlessly as long as it doesn't hurt him politically.
(In this vein, I fully expect him to compromise by sending enough troops to the region for his supporters to claim he's working toward victory, while his detractors can insist he's not supporting the troops--but we'll see.)
What's extraordinary to me about this is not the betrayal the more principled, if naive, Obama supporters are bewailing. After all, anyone who was paying attention knew that if Obama was less likely to bomb Iran than was McCain, he was not at all likely to do anything about either of our wars. Instead, what I find amazing is how the narrative hasn't changed. The Democrats are still seen as the pacifists. Would that they were! The wars might actually end.
I wish I could say I see a way out. Alas, so long as otherwise sensible opponents of war are not a threat to go against Obama, he will be able to keep the wars going. After all, antiwar democrats aren't going to vote for the other guy--whoever he is. So Obama gets to act as if he's tough on terror for the affordable price of a hundred or so dead soldiers a month. Is this a great country or what?
A similar illusion exists when it comes to war. In the minds of most, the Right wages war, while the Left opposes them. Of course, this doesn't comport with the historical data: most wars have been started by Democrats. But setting aside the American paucity of memory, we cannot even be relied upon to stay focused on the narrative long enough to realize that it is a lie. For though we have elected a Democrat, the wars continue.
Setting aside all of the ridiculous non-wars which nonetheless share that appellation, we are presently fighting two. The first, according to the narrative, was the "necessary war" in Afghanistan. The second, the "unnecessary" one, is in Iraq. Following his election, Obama insisted that we would withdraw from Iraq by 2011. But as with his predecessors "mission accomplished", there is more than a little hyperbole in the assertion. 50,000 troops will remain even then, so Iraq will be occupied long after the war is officially over. Sort of like Germany, or Japan, or South Korea, or...
Meanwhile, despite the deadliest month of fighting in Afghanistan since we first invaded, we're still mired in a war which cannot be won. Worse, Obama continues to waver over whether or not he will send more troops to die in the region. I say this not because I support such a measure, but because if you seriously believe the war can be won, you have to take the necessary measures to achieve victory. It's hard to escape the conclusion that Obama is content to allow the war to continue endlessly as long as it doesn't hurt him politically.
(In this vein, I fully expect him to compromise by sending enough troops to the region for his supporters to claim he's working toward victory, while his detractors can insist he's not supporting the troops--but we'll see.)
What's extraordinary to me about this is not the betrayal the more principled, if naive, Obama supporters are bewailing. After all, anyone who was paying attention knew that if Obama was less likely to bomb Iran than was McCain, he was not at all likely to do anything about either of our wars. Instead, what I find amazing is how the narrative hasn't changed. The Democrats are still seen as the pacifists. Would that they were! The wars might actually end.
I wish I could say I see a way out. Alas, so long as otherwise sensible opponents of war are not a threat to go against Obama, he will be able to keep the wars going. After all, antiwar democrats aren't going to vote for the other guy--whoever he is. So Obama gets to act as if he's tough on terror for the affordable price of a hundred or so dead soldiers a month. Is this a great country or what?
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Meaningful Meditations
I picked up The Quest for God based on the endorsement—if we may stretch the term to call it that—which the imperturbably irreligious John Derbyshire gave it in one of his pieces for National Review: "I am tempted to say that any believers out there who feel like writing a book of apologetics should imitate P.J.’s approach, if they want to make any impression on the unbelieving reader." Since apologetic tracts seem to have lamentably little influence on those whom they were written to convince, when a casual visitor doesn't run out shrieking in the midst of all the preaching to the choir, the preacher merits further investigation.
In contrast to some of his more opinionated works—Intellectuals, for instance—The Quest for God is largely respectful and even-handed. This is not to say that Johnson avoids the difficulties inherent in a meditation on tricky theological issues, either by avoiding them altogether, or by pretending that they do not exist. Instead, he freely admits that the most important areas of belief are usually those most shrouded in mystery, and confesses his own ignorance and uncertainty. "We may not be able to being to understand God. We may not even be able to believe in him."
While admitting that he wants all to experience the riches of Catholicism, Johnson admits: "I never proselytize, as such... I want to help -I do help when asked or when it is clear my help is needed and will be useful. But I also confess my own woeful ignorance and shortcomings and uncertainties." This is a good approach to take. Our attempts to provide spiritual assistance may be well-intended, but they are not always appreciated. Instead of attempting to cajole reluctant converts, Johnson provides useful thoughts for anyone who is concerned with the questions which vex us all, while also giving incite into the mind of an intelligent believer.
Unfortunately, the book is not exactly orthodox: "Not only do I think there is salvation outside my church; I also think that, for some people, salvation is more likely outside my church - in other churches or no church." Since few people would turn to Johnson for theological certitude, fellow Catholics shouldn't be too bothered with this passage—see instead CCC 816. Of greater concern: one wonders why anyone would become a Catholic if salvation can be had without bothering with all that awful church business. It is a tricky balance to maintain: charitably interpreting the more difficult aspects of Christianity while insisting that truth is nonnegotiable. For the most part, Johnson achieves this by adequately exploring each issue he examines. Death, heaven, hell, purgatory: they're all here--and much more besides.
The closing chapter on prayer he calls "the most important". Although he does not cite Pascal in this context, Johnson maintains that all can and should pray; since our belief in God ultimately has no bearing on whether or not he exists, it is prudent for everyone to do so. This holds even for the agnostic or atheist: "In a way, the prayer for faith is the purest form of prayer." If God exists, and he is at all concerned with human beings, he cannot help but assist those who implore his help. This is why prayer is "the one thing I have found in life that never fails completely."
The Quest for God was enlightening and edifying—as most of Johnson's books are—and it draws one's attention away from worldly things to that which really matters, if only for a brief while. That is the merit of books of this type. There are better reflections out there, but Paul Johnson has contributed a worthy addition.
In contrast to some of his more opinionated works—Intellectuals, for instance—The Quest for God is largely respectful and even-handed. This is not to say that Johnson avoids the difficulties inherent in a meditation on tricky theological issues, either by avoiding them altogether, or by pretending that they do not exist. Instead, he freely admits that the most important areas of belief are usually those most shrouded in mystery, and confesses his own ignorance and uncertainty. "We may not be able to being to understand God. We may not even be able to believe in him."
While admitting that he wants all to experience the riches of Catholicism, Johnson admits: "I never proselytize, as such... I want to help -I do help when asked or when it is clear my help is needed and will be useful. But I also confess my own woeful ignorance and shortcomings and uncertainties." This is a good approach to take. Our attempts to provide spiritual assistance may be well-intended, but they are not always appreciated. Instead of attempting to cajole reluctant converts, Johnson provides useful thoughts for anyone who is concerned with the questions which vex us all, while also giving incite into the mind of an intelligent believer.
Unfortunately, the book is not exactly orthodox: "Not only do I think there is salvation outside my church; I also think that, for some people, salvation is more likely outside my church - in other churches or no church." Since few people would turn to Johnson for theological certitude, fellow Catholics shouldn't be too bothered with this passage—see instead CCC 816. Of greater concern: one wonders why anyone would become a Catholic if salvation can be had without bothering with all that awful church business. It is a tricky balance to maintain: charitably interpreting the more difficult aspects of Christianity while insisting that truth is nonnegotiable. For the most part, Johnson achieves this by adequately exploring each issue he examines. Death, heaven, hell, purgatory: they're all here--and much more besides.
The closing chapter on prayer he calls "the most important". Although he does not cite Pascal in this context, Johnson maintains that all can and should pray; since our belief in God ultimately has no bearing on whether or not he exists, it is prudent for everyone to do so. This holds even for the agnostic or atheist: "In a way, the prayer for faith is the purest form of prayer." If God exists, and he is at all concerned with human beings, he cannot help but assist those who implore his help. This is why prayer is "the one thing I have found in life that never fails completely."
The Quest for God was enlightening and edifying—as most of Johnson's books are—and it draws one's attention away from worldly things to that which really matters, if only for a brief while. That is the merit of books of this type. There are better reflections out there, but Paul Johnson has contributed a worthy addition.
The welfare state
Iamyouasheisme has been kind enough to respond to my recent post in which I attempted to use the thought of Ludwig von Mises to expose some of the flaws in the neo-Keynesianism of Paul Krugman, as well as the Monetarist approach to which the latter rightly objects. I made some quick replies, but I believe the criticism is substantial enough that it is worthy of more substance and length than I gave it.
He writes:
Everything I have heard or read of libertarian economics seems to require - even if it is not acknowledged - a retreat from bigness. Not just in government, but in business.
This appeals to anarchists, populists, back-to-nature hippies, and right wing libertarian types, but not to most people. Call them suckers, but they know what they want. What they really want is the welfare state, without having to pay for it.
First, he is completely correct in that libertariansim requires--I quite like the phrase--"a retreat from bigness". Whatever term we use for the current economic system, it is categorized by bigness. Sure, both parties offer occasional paeans to the small businessman, but the system is designed so that corporations with lobbyists benefit to the exclusion of actual entrepreneurs. There is some virtue in bigness; there are valid arguments against Wal-Mart, but it manages to provide cheap goods for the consumer. At the same time, any large entity will move sluggishly to adapt to the consumer's changing needs. Libertarian theory envisions a system in which small entities react readily to meet these needs.
I think there is a strong argument that can be made for smallness, especially in business. This was a main component of the distributist theory of Belloc and Chesterton. And while we ought not pretend that there is a silent libertarian majority out there somewhere, I think there is an urge for smaller things by many people across the political spectrum. Still, it is apparent that most people are comfortable with the Welfare State, especially if they don't have to pay for it.
It is also true that libertarians tend to assume that the welfare state is much worse than it is. Certainly, one who believes in the free exchange of goods and services on the market, both because it doesn't involve a violation of rights, but also because it tends to increase wealth for all members of society, will be reluctant to endorse the welfare state. Still, the current system is far better than the socialist regime, in which, as Rothbard puts it, the market is violently abolished, and in which a board of advisers must attempt to perform economic calculation in the dark, to the detriment of all its subjects. It is telling that while Ron Paul would readily have abolished most departments of the Federal Government, the majority of his rhetoric was devoted to attacks on the Empire and the Federal Reserve. Returning welfare to the market was much less of a priority.
Charles Murray, a very thoughtful libertarian, explains well the workings of the welfare state:
[T]he European model has worked in many ways. I am delighted when I get a chance to go to Stockholm or Amsterdam, not to mention Rome or Paris. When I get there, the people don't seem to be groaning under the yoke of an evil system. Quite the contrary. There's a lot to like--a lot to love--about day-to-day life in Europe, something that should be kept in mind when I get to some less complimentary observations.
Murray recognizes that it is an exaggeration to suggest that the welfare state does not work. It is plainly false, and thus undermines the good in libertarian theory, in the same way our more paranoid and conspiratorial members give us a bad name. I've been careless on this point; while my critiques have tended to focus on the long run, in the end, unless a fundamental contradiction can be exposed in the system as it exists, such that long run stability is impossible, insisting that a system will not be permanent is merely a trite truism. Of course the United States will not last forever. Nothing does. What must be done is locate the problems with the welfare state and explain how a libertarian system would be preferable.
Let us return to Murray's talk. He draws on Madison's Federalist 62 to argue that: "A good government implies two things: first, fidelity to the object of government, which is the happiness of the people; secondly, a knowledge of the means by which that object can be best attained." Murray argues that Madison is speaking here in an Aristotelian sense. In other words, we are speaking of eudaimonia.
He tries to sketch some framework for this happiness:
To become a source of deep satisfaction, a human activity has to meet some stringent requirements. It has to have been important (we don't get deep satisfaction from trivial things). You have to have put a lot of effort into it (hence the cliché "nothing worth having comes easily"). And you have to have been responsible for the consequences.
He goes on to note that there are four institutions which provide this framework:
family, community, vocation, and faith. Two clarifications: "Community" can embrace people who are scattered geographically. "Vocation" can include avocations or causes.
The critique of the welfare state, then, is that it significantly narrows this framework, and actually encourages its citizens to avoid the human activities which lead to deep satisfaction. To use one of his examples: although it is profoundly challenging, being a parent is rewarding. Yet parenting is precisely the sort of thing the citizens of Europe are no longer doing, and they are avoiding it because the welfare state no longer places a priority on parenting. Absent strong encouragement from the institutions Murray mentions--or discouragement to duck one's responsibility--there is evidently little reason to become a parent, and certainly even less to have a large family.
It is not that Europeans hate children, nor is it that the government doesn't want them. On the contrary, in many European nations one can be paid for having children. For a time, declining birth rates were greeted with approbation, but this has changed. The welfare system will have to be rolled back unless more workers are found to perpetuate the system. In lieu of European babies, immigrants have been imported from Africa and the Middle East. Setting aside any commentary on the prospects of substantially different cultures living in harmony, this method too seems destined for failure. Immigrants have been quick to realize the good in the welfare state without contributing as meaningfully to the number of workers as was expected.
Now, we might argue that being a parent is its own reward, and that people should have children regardless of government policies. In fact, this is my own position. But it appears to be no more popular than libertarianism, as falling birth rates attest. The welfare state is able to provide for the poor; and although this is not my position, it may even do so better than the free market ever could. However, it is incapable of fostering the institutions necessary to the well-being of man. It provides a comfortable material minimum beneath which the lowliest citizens shall not be permitted to slip. Meanwhile, it enervates the human spirit.
The progressives who agitated for the welfare state were no doubt filled with good intentions. Some were truly revolutionary, and wished to replace institutions like the family. But others merely sought to use government to buttress them. What we have found in our decades of social experiments is that this is not the way things work. Attempting to help single mothers provides a disincentive to form families. It may be laudable that single mothers are no longer social pariahs. But concomitant with the acceptance of single motherhood as a viable alternative to married life has been the undermining of marriage. The neglected ghettos of our inner-cities are resplendent with children who can usually eat, thanks to our welfare system, but whose family life is insufficient to provide them the means to live happily. If the State can take credit for providing the food, it also deserves blame for destroying the family.
I said earlier that we learned that the State cannot easily buttress institutions, but what I should have said is that we ought to have learned. There are thoughtful advocates of the welfare state, but many of them seem to ignore the great shortcomings of such a system. It is not enough to insist that welfare policies will have no deleterious effects on the family when we now know that they do. These effects may be a price we are willing to pay, but they must be considered as part of the equation.
Lest I be seen as a mere critic, I will briefly offer some suggestions for a way out, though I am not optimistic that we will take it.
There are two things that must be done to revitalize our way of life. First, we must reduce the size and scope of Government. This is politically impracticable, but it is necessary if we do not wish to lapse into anemia. If the rise of the State reduced the efficacy of essential institutions, reduction of the former will provide much needed breathing room for the latter. This is not to say that the family would be honored the instant welfare is ended. As it is far easier to let an institution decay than to build it up again, I think it highly likely that, at least during an indeterminable transition period, things will look dark indeed. But the State must be reduced if our institutions are to thrive.
Second, those of us who reject the welfare state must do everything we can to foster the institutions which the State has undermined. The early Christians built a community in the rotting carcass of Rome. When Rome at last fell, civilization did not stop; the torch was passed on. There is no reason we cannot begin to build as well.
He writes:
Everything I have heard or read of libertarian economics seems to require - even if it is not acknowledged - a retreat from bigness. Not just in government, but in business.
This appeals to anarchists, populists, back-to-nature hippies, and right wing libertarian types, but not to most people. Call them suckers, but they know what they want. What they really want is the welfare state, without having to pay for it.
First, he is completely correct in that libertariansim requires--I quite like the phrase--"a retreat from bigness". Whatever term we use for the current economic system, it is categorized by bigness. Sure, both parties offer occasional paeans to the small businessman, but the system is designed so that corporations with lobbyists benefit to the exclusion of actual entrepreneurs. There is some virtue in bigness; there are valid arguments against Wal-Mart, but it manages to provide cheap goods for the consumer. At the same time, any large entity will move sluggishly to adapt to the consumer's changing needs. Libertarian theory envisions a system in which small entities react readily to meet these needs.
I think there is a strong argument that can be made for smallness, especially in business. This was a main component of the distributist theory of Belloc and Chesterton. And while we ought not pretend that there is a silent libertarian majority out there somewhere, I think there is an urge for smaller things by many people across the political spectrum. Still, it is apparent that most people are comfortable with the Welfare State, especially if they don't have to pay for it.
It is also true that libertarians tend to assume that the welfare state is much worse than it is. Certainly, one who believes in the free exchange of goods and services on the market, both because it doesn't involve a violation of rights, but also because it tends to increase wealth for all members of society, will be reluctant to endorse the welfare state. Still, the current system is far better than the socialist regime, in which, as Rothbard puts it, the market is violently abolished, and in which a board of advisers must attempt to perform economic calculation in the dark, to the detriment of all its subjects. It is telling that while Ron Paul would readily have abolished most departments of the Federal Government, the majority of his rhetoric was devoted to attacks on the Empire and the Federal Reserve. Returning welfare to the market was much less of a priority.
Charles Murray, a very thoughtful libertarian, explains well the workings of the welfare state:
[T]he European model has worked in many ways. I am delighted when I get a chance to go to Stockholm or Amsterdam, not to mention Rome or Paris. When I get there, the people don't seem to be groaning under the yoke of an evil system. Quite the contrary. There's a lot to like--a lot to love--about day-to-day life in Europe, something that should be kept in mind when I get to some less complimentary observations.
Murray recognizes that it is an exaggeration to suggest that the welfare state does not work. It is plainly false, and thus undermines the good in libertarian theory, in the same way our more paranoid and conspiratorial members give us a bad name. I've been careless on this point; while my critiques have tended to focus on the long run, in the end, unless a fundamental contradiction can be exposed in the system as it exists, such that long run stability is impossible, insisting that a system will not be permanent is merely a trite truism. Of course the United States will not last forever. Nothing does. What must be done is locate the problems with the welfare state and explain how a libertarian system would be preferable.
Let us return to Murray's talk. He draws on Madison's Federalist 62 to argue that: "A good government implies two things: first, fidelity to the object of government, which is the happiness of the people; secondly, a knowledge of the means by which that object can be best attained." Murray argues that Madison is speaking here in an Aristotelian sense. In other words, we are speaking of eudaimonia.
He tries to sketch some framework for this happiness:
To become a source of deep satisfaction, a human activity has to meet some stringent requirements. It has to have been important (we don't get deep satisfaction from trivial things). You have to have put a lot of effort into it (hence the cliché "nothing worth having comes easily"). And you have to have been responsible for the consequences.
He goes on to note that there are four institutions which provide this framework:
family, community, vocation, and faith. Two clarifications: "Community" can embrace people who are scattered geographically. "Vocation" can include avocations or causes.
The critique of the welfare state, then, is that it significantly narrows this framework, and actually encourages its citizens to avoid the human activities which lead to deep satisfaction. To use one of his examples: although it is profoundly challenging, being a parent is rewarding. Yet parenting is precisely the sort of thing the citizens of Europe are no longer doing, and they are avoiding it because the welfare state no longer places a priority on parenting. Absent strong encouragement from the institutions Murray mentions--or discouragement to duck one's responsibility--there is evidently little reason to become a parent, and certainly even less to have a large family.
It is not that Europeans hate children, nor is it that the government doesn't want them. On the contrary, in many European nations one can be paid for having children. For a time, declining birth rates were greeted with approbation, but this has changed. The welfare system will have to be rolled back unless more workers are found to perpetuate the system. In lieu of European babies, immigrants have been imported from Africa and the Middle East. Setting aside any commentary on the prospects of substantially different cultures living in harmony, this method too seems destined for failure. Immigrants have been quick to realize the good in the welfare state without contributing as meaningfully to the number of workers as was expected.
Now, we might argue that being a parent is its own reward, and that people should have children regardless of government policies. In fact, this is my own position. But it appears to be no more popular than libertarianism, as falling birth rates attest. The welfare state is able to provide for the poor; and although this is not my position, it may even do so better than the free market ever could. However, it is incapable of fostering the institutions necessary to the well-being of man. It provides a comfortable material minimum beneath which the lowliest citizens shall not be permitted to slip. Meanwhile, it enervates the human spirit.
The progressives who agitated for the welfare state were no doubt filled with good intentions. Some were truly revolutionary, and wished to replace institutions like the family. But others merely sought to use government to buttress them. What we have found in our decades of social experiments is that this is not the way things work. Attempting to help single mothers provides a disincentive to form families. It may be laudable that single mothers are no longer social pariahs. But concomitant with the acceptance of single motherhood as a viable alternative to married life has been the undermining of marriage. The neglected ghettos of our inner-cities are resplendent with children who can usually eat, thanks to our welfare system, but whose family life is insufficient to provide them the means to live happily. If the State can take credit for providing the food, it also deserves blame for destroying the family.
I said earlier that we learned that the State cannot easily buttress institutions, but what I should have said is that we ought to have learned. There are thoughtful advocates of the welfare state, but many of them seem to ignore the great shortcomings of such a system. It is not enough to insist that welfare policies will have no deleterious effects on the family when we now know that they do. These effects may be a price we are willing to pay, but they must be considered as part of the equation.
Lest I be seen as a mere critic, I will briefly offer some suggestions for a way out, though I am not optimistic that we will take it.
There are two things that must be done to revitalize our way of life. First, we must reduce the size and scope of Government. This is politically impracticable, but it is necessary if we do not wish to lapse into anemia. If the rise of the State reduced the efficacy of essential institutions, reduction of the former will provide much needed breathing room for the latter. This is not to say that the family would be honored the instant welfare is ended. As it is far easier to let an institution decay than to build it up again, I think it highly likely that, at least during an indeterminable transition period, things will look dark indeed. But the State must be reduced if our institutions are to thrive.
Second, those of us who reject the welfare state must do everything we can to foster the institutions which the State has undermined. The early Christians built a community in the rotting carcass of Rome. When Rome at last fell, civilization did not stop; the torch was passed on. There is no reason we cannot begin to build as well.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Back to Keynes
Paul Krugman is at it again. His column asks a good question: How Did Economists Get It So Wrong? Alas, rather than run to one of the economists who actually got it right, Krugman finds another way to offer a paean to Lord Keynes. It's getting so mind-numbingly predictable that Jeffrey Tucker of Mises economics blog has simply thrown up his hands at Krugman's latest drivel.
I have neither the time nor the inclination to produce a complete take down here, but I want to highlight a couple of problems with this piece. Essentially, Krugman divides economists into two camps: freshwater and saltwater. The former are variously described as monetarists, adherents of Milton Friedman's Chicago school, and "neoclassical purists"; they believe that the market should be trusted, but that a central bank should be used to inject liquidity into a lagging economy by lowering the interest rate. The latter are New Keynesian, and believe that in addition to manipulating the interest rate, Government should also augment unemployment by increased spending. Obviously Krugman is a member of the later camp.
The thrust of his argument is leveled at those who believe that markets are infallibly rational: "But the New Keynesian models that have come to dominate teaching and research assume that people are perfectly rational and financial markets are perfectly efficient." This is apparently the explanation for the economic crisis.
His dichotomy allows him to insist that the freshwater economists are the champions of the free market. Moreover, freshwater theories failed to predict the current problem and are powerless to reverse the current recession. This is because one cannot raise interest rates below zero, and, as Krugman avers, "But zero, it turned out, isn’t low enough to end this recession."--which is true from a monetarist perspective. The implication seems to be that, unregulated capitalism having failed, we can now turn to government stimulus to end the current recession.
However, he fails to note that there is another school of economic thought, namely the Austrian, which rejects both freshwater and saltwater assumptions, and whose theories predicted the current crisis. The difference between libertarian philosophy and Krugman's Big Government are sufficiently obvious, but there is a considerable chasm between Friedman and the Austrians as well, which Murray Rothbard explains here:
[W]e must recognize that this "purely monetarist" approach is almost the exact reverse of the sound – as well as truly free-market – Austrian view. For while the Austrians hold that [Benjamin] Strong’s monetary expansion made a later 1929 crash inevitable, Fisher-Friedman believe that all the Fed needed to do was to pump more money in to offset any recession. Believing that there is no causal influence running from boom to bust, believing in the simplistic "Dance of the Dollar" theory, the Chicagoites simply want government to manipulate that dance, specifically to increase the money supply to offset recession.
It is difficult to see how the market can be seen as free if the State can at anytime create money out of thin air. In fact, Austrians see this as the very cause of the business cycle. I've covered this at least briefly in my review of Meltdown, so I'll not return to it here. Suffice it to say that, however small its number of adherents, and however marginalized its members, the Austrian school did see this coming. For that reason alone, their theories require our attention, if not our allegiance.
Returning to the piece in question, Krugman writes: "To get anything like the current slump into their models, New Keynesians are forced to introduce some kind of fudge factor that for reasons unspecified temporarily depresses private spending. (I’ve done exactly that in some of my own work.) And if the analysis of where we are now rests on this fudge factor, how much confidence can we have in the models’ predictions about where we are going?"
He's absolutely right that the models are flawed, but the solution isn't to introduce a fudge factor: the models should be scrapped altogether. As Ludwig von Mises pointed out long ago, economics is a science, but it is a qualitative one, not a quantitative one. We can derive general trends from economics, but we cannot make any reliable quantitative predictions. Thus we know that unemployment will increase if the minimum wage is raised beyond that which the market can support, but we are powerless to assert how much unemployment will be created, or in what sectors of the economy. As Mises writes in Human Action:
There are, in the field of economics, no constant relations, and consequently no measurement is possible. If a statistician determines that a rise of 10 per cent in the supply of potatoes in Atlantis at a definite time was followed by a fall of 8 per cent in the price, he does not establish anything about what happened or may happen with a change in the supply of potatoes in another country or at another time. He has not “measured” the “elasticity of demand” of potatoes. He has established a unique and individual historical fact. (pp. 55-6)
And again:
The [mathematical economists] devote all their efforts to describing, in mathematical symbols, various “equilibria,” that is, states of rest and the absence of action. They deal with equilibrium as if it were a real entity and not a limiting notion, a mere mental tool. What they are doing is vain playing with mathematical symbols, a pastime not suited to convey any knowledge. (p. 251)
Whatever the criticisms of Mises, it cannot be argued that he was unaware of a reliance upon economic models.
Krugman naturally advises a return to Keynes, but he seems oblivious to the reasons his favorite economist fell out of favor with those of his profession. Given the implications of Keynesian theory--spend as much as you want, at least during a recession--there is no reason the State would ever dismiss him if they weren't absolutely required to do so. Indeed, whatever the actual economic ideas upon which are elected leaders draw, they champion something of an implicit Keynesianism.
I haven't the time to go into this here, but the stagflation of the 1970's did significant damage to Keynesian orthodoxy. When your theory says that something can't happen, and then it does, it's time to change the theory. Given the inadequacies of the monetarist position, it's not surprising that Keynes is back in vogue. But Krugman would do well to realize the tenuousness of his own position. If Keynes has failed before, he can fail again. Perhaps this time we will realize that there is another game in town.
I have neither the time nor the inclination to produce a complete take down here, but I want to highlight a couple of problems with this piece. Essentially, Krugman divides economists into two camps: freshwater and saltwater. The former are variously described as monetarists, adherents of Milton Friedman's Chicago school, and "neoclassical purists"; they believe that the market should be trusted, but that a central bank should be used to inject liquidity into a lagging economy by lowering the interest rate. The latter are New Keynesian, and believe that in addition to manipulating the interest rate, Government should also augment unemployment by increased spending. Obviously Krugman is a member of the later camp.
The thrust of his argument is leveled at those who believe that markets are infallibly rational: "But the New Keynesian models that have come to dominate teaching and research assume that people are perfectly rational and financial markets are perfectly efficient." This is apparently the explanation for the economic crisis.
His dichotomy allows him to insist that the freshwater economists are the champions of the free market. Moreover, freshwater theories failed to predict the current problem and are powerless to reverse the current recession. This is because one cannot raise interest rates below zero, and, as Krugman avers, "But zero, it turned out, isn’t low enough to end this recession."--which is true from a monetarist perspective. The implication seems to be that, unregulated capitalism having failed, we can now turn to government stimulus to end the current recession.
However, he fails to note that there is another school of economic thought, namely the Austrian, which rejects both freshwater and saltwater assumptions, and whose theories predicted the current crisis. The difference between libertarian philosophy and Krugman's Big Government are sufficiently obvious, but there is a considerable chasm between Friedman and the Austrians as well, which Murray Rothbard explains here:
[W]e must recognize that this "purely monetarist" approach is almost the exact reverse of the sound – as well as truly free-market – Austrian view. For while the Austrians hold that [Benjamin] Strong’s monetary expansion made a later 1929 crash inevitable, Fisher-Friedman believe that all the Fed needed to do was to pump more money in to offset any recession. Believing that there is no causal influence running from boom to bust, believing in the simplistic "Dance of the Dollar" theory, the Chicagoites simply want government to manipulate that dance, specifically to increase the money supply to offset recession.
It is difficult to see how the market can be seen as free if the State can at anytime create money out of thin air. In fact, Austrians see this as the very cause of the business cycle. I've covered this at least briefly in my review of Meltdown, so I'll not return to it here. Suffice it to say that, however small its number of adherents, and however marginalized its members, the Austrian school did see this coming. For that reason alone, their theories require our attention, if not our allegiance.
Returning to the piece in question, Krugman writes: "To get anything like the current slump into their models, New Keynesians are forced to introduce some kind of fudge factor that for reasons unspecified temporarily depresses private spending. (I’ve done exactly that in some of my own work.) And if the analysis of where we are now rests on this fudge factor, how much confidence can we have in the models’ predictions about where we are going?"
He's absolutely right that the models are flawed, but the solution isn't to introduce a fudge factor: the models should be scrapped altogether. As Ludwig von Mises pointed out long ago, economics is a science, but it is a qualitative one, not a quantitative one. We can derive general trends from economics, but we cannot make any reliable quantitative predictions. Thus we know that unemployment will increase if the minimum wage is raised beyond that which the market can support, but we are powerless to assert how much unemployment will be created, or in what sectors of the economy. As Mises writes in Human Action:
There are, in the field of economics, no constant relations, and consequently no measurement is possible. If a statistician determines that a rise of 10 per cent in the supply of potatoes in Atlantis at a definite time was followed by a fall of 8 per cent in the price, he does not establish anything about what happened or may happen with a change in the supply of potatoes in another country or at another time. He has not “measured” the “elasticity of demand” of potatoes. He has established a unique and individual historical fact. (pp. 55-6)
And again:
The [mathematical economists] devote all their efforts to describing, in mathematical symbols, various “equilibria,” that is, states of rest and the absence of action. They deal with equilibrium as if it were a real entity and not a limiting notion, a mere mental tool. What they are doing is vain playing with mathematical symbols, a pastime not suited to convey any knowledge. (p. 251)
Whatever the criticisms of Mises, it cannot be argued that he was unaware of a reliance upon economic models.
Krugman naturally advises a return to Keynes, but he seems oblivious to the reasons his favorite economist fell out of favor with those of his profession. Given the implications of Keynesian theory--spend as much as you want, at least during a recession--there is no reason the State would ever dismiss him if they weren't absolutely required to do so. Indeed, whatever the actual economic ideas upon which are elected leaders draw, they champion something of an implicit Keynesianism.
I haven't the time to go into this here, but the stagflation of the 1970's did significant damage to Keynesian orthodoxy. When your theory says that something can't happen, and then it does, it's time to change the theory. Given the inadequacies of the monetarist position, it's not surprising that Keynes is back in vogue. But Krugman would do well to realize the tenuousness of his own position. If Keynes has failed before, he can fail again. Perhaps this time we will realize that there is another game in town.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Reflections on the right
The beast, she wakes. I suppose a libertarian should support anyone who opposes a growth in government, but it's hard to root for the right because it is so impossible to take them seriously. During the Bush years, the deficit was allowed to balloon without the slightest peep of protest from the ostensible champions of limited government. After all, Bush was one of them. He had cut taxes, the surefire panacea for all that ails the right, and an especially useful mechanism if one wishes to war with everyone with the help of the country's credit card.
That bills must eventually be paid apparently escapes the right, for whom monetary policy is a matter of absolutely no interest. Blame is placed on those who raise taxes in an attempt to close our ever-growing budget deficit. It should instead be placed on those who ran up such egregious deficits in the first place.
But the Left, it will be said, spends even more than the Right. Lamentably, it is true. Less than a year into the his presidency, as Pat Buchanan avers, "Obama is making that Great Society Republican president [Bush II] look like Ron Paul." But, as I evidently never tire of saying, that the Left is wrong does not make their opponents correct. It is preposterous to insist that John McCain, who stopped his campaign to bailout the banks, or George W. Bush, who oversaw a larger increase in non-defense discretionary spending than did Clinton, or any other Republican for that matter, would somehow govern in a fiscally responsible manner. There is simply no evidence that any GOP leader since Coolidge is capable of reducing government spending.
On the other hand, the Republicans do present, if not an actual obstacle, at least a cacophony of loudmouths, to the ever-growing leviathan. But this, more than anything, demonstrates the absurdity of the modern conservative movement. The only thing they are even reasonably effective at doing is slowing down the rate at which the Democrats expand State control. This is a good thing, but it cannot be the only thing. Once a program has been put in place, the Republicans do not even try to end it. They seldom even talk about it. Often, they expand it.
Just once, I would like to see a mainstream Republican--Ron Paul does not count, alas--or a conservative commentator advocate the complete dissolution of a Federal Department. I'm not in the least particular as to which one goes: Education, Labor, Energy, Homeland Security, Agriculture--few, if any, have merit. For goodness sake, look at this list of agencies. I cannot fathom how it can be so difficult to insist that a few overpaid bureaucrats get real jobs. On the other hand, being bureaucrats, they may not have any actual skills, so we may need to train them.
Obama has been an unmitigated disaster. It's not even one year in, and he's already run up the largest deficit in history. In his defense, he has two losing wars which are eating up a large portion of the budget, but which he cannot end, for reasons of cowardice. This is not to say that I envy the man his position, or fail to appreciate the difficulty of the decision. On the other hand, it's hard to empathize with someone who refuses to end a war, so costly in blood and treasure, because it would be politically inexpedient to do so.
The vicissitudes of politics being what they are, the Republicans may be poised to regain power at some later date. This, assuming they can refrain from shooting themselves in the foot, as is their wont. But I see absolutely no hope that the GOP will represent a return to fiscal sanity. Cutting government programs is even less practicable than ending wars. As John Derbyshire is to argue in his soon to be released book: We Are Doomed.
That bills must eventually be paid apparently escapes the right, for whom monetary policy is a matter of absolutely no interest. Blame is placed on those who raise taxes in an attempt to close our ever-growing budget deficit. It should instead be placed on those who ran up such egregious deficits in the first place.
But the Left, it will be said, spends even more than the Right. Lamentably, it is true. Less than a year into the his presidency, as Pat Buchanan avers, "Obama is making that Great Society Republican president [Bush II] look like Ron Paul." But, as I evidently never tire of saying, that the Left is wrong does not make their opponents correct. It is preposterous to insist that John McCain, who stopped his campaign to bailout the banks, or George W. Bush, who oversaw a larger increase in non-defense discretionary spending than did Clinton, or any other Republican for that matter, would somehow govern in a fiscally responsible manner. There is simply no evidence that any GOP leader since Coolidge is capable of reducing government spending.
On the other hand, the Republicans do present, if not an actual obstacle, at least a cacophony of loudmouths, to the ever-growing leviathan. But this, more than anything, demonstrates the absurdity of the modern conservative movement. The only thing they are even reasonably effective at doing is slowing down the rate at which the Democrats expand State control. This is a good thing, but it cannot be the only thing. Once a program has been put in place, the Republicans do not even try to end it. They seldom even talk about it. Often, they expand it.
Just once, I would like to see a mainstream Republican--Ron Paul does not count, alas--or a conservative commentator advocate the complete dissolution of a Federal Department. I'm not in the least particular as to which one goes: Education, Labor, Energy, Homeland Security, Agriculture--few, if any, have merit. For goodness sake, look at this list of agencies. I cannot fathom how it can be so difficult to insist that a few overpaid bureaucrats get real jobs. On the other hand, being bureaucrats, they may not have any actual skills, so we may need to train them.
Obama has been an unmitigated disaster. It's not even one year in, and he's already run up the largest deficit in history. In his defense, he has two losing wars which are eating up a large portion of the budget, but which he cannot end, for reasons of cowardice. This is not to say that I envy the man his position, or fail to appreciate the difficulty of the decision. On the other hand, it's hard to empathize with someone who refuses to end a war, so costly in blood and treasure, because it would be politically inexpedient to do so.
The vicissitudes of politics being what they are, the Republicans may be poised to regain power at some later date. This, assuming they can refrain from shooting themselves in the foot, as is their wont. But I see absolutely no hope that the GOP will represent a return to fiscal sanity. Cutting government programs is even less practicable than ending wars. As John Derbyshire is to argue in his soon to be released book: We Are Doomed.
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Plato's Republic, Book X
Despite the love and respect he has for Homer, Socrates resumes his talk concerning the prohibition of certain types of poetry, for "no one is to be honored or valued more than the truth." So much for the noble lie.
He transitions to a discussion of his theory of forms. As everyone who has studied philosophy knows, there is a rather large, and seemingly unbridgeable chasm, between the world of the mind and the world of the senses. Various philosophers have emphasized one of these worlds, though most strive to unite the disparate realms. For instance, Plato is an idealist, who places a premium on the mind, whereas Aristotle, largely in reaction to his teacher, emphasizes the world of sense.
Socrates argues that to make a bed, the craftsman had to have the form (idea) of the bed in his mind. There are actually three beds, the one "in nature", made by the god, the one which is the work of the carpenter, and the one made by the painter. Moreover, while the carpenter may make many beds of similar quality, and likewise with the painter, the god has no need of replicating an already perfect form. The painter, meanwhile, is an imitator, for his product is the third from the natural one, that is, the perfect form of the god.
The objection which Socrates has to the poet is that he, like the painter with the bed, imitates mere appearance rather than things as they are. He argues that imitation of appearance is far inferior to the production of things as such. Since this is so, anyone who is an imitator can have no knowledge of real things; if he did, he would not waste his time imitating. For instance, a poet who writes about doctors cannot know how to be a doctor, or he would spend his time in doctoring. William Carlos Williams might disagree.
May we uncharitably suggest that Socrates knows nothing about living, seeing as he spent all of his time pestering people with questions? It strikes me as unjust to suggest that all of our time must be spent either in action or in philosophy to be deemed profitable. If memory serves, Socrates himself engages in this dialogue on a return from religious festivities, at which, again, if memory serves, plays were acted.
Moreover, there are those truths which are difficult to convey without recourse to poetry, or, at least, which may be better understood through this medium. In addition, the great poets, including a few contemporaries of Socrates himself, were often those with a very keen grasp of human nature. Dare we claim that Shakespeare was an imitator who knew only the world of appearance?
Returning to the dialogue, "there are three crafts, one that uses it, one that makes it, and one that imitates it." Only the user of the craft has knowledge of the thing he uses. The imitator, meanwhile, is bound to distort the thing he is imitating. Our senses can be unreliable; for instance, they tell us that a stick in water looks crooked. But the best part of our soul, the rational part, knows that this is not true. Likewise, our reason tells us that the poets are mere imitators; the part of our soul which rejoices in imitation must be subordinate to the part which studies things as they actually are. Poets cannot be let into the city because they agitate the people, removing the careful balance between the parts--both of the citizens, as well as that within their souls.
It would be a mistake, however, to think that poets influence the masses only. Decent men may be corrupted by them, too. In praising the unmanly behaviors of the characters of a tragedy, courage in the face of misfortune becomes less esteemed. For this reason, the only poetry allowed will be that which praises the good, in accord with truth.
Socrates notes, almost in passing that the soul is immortal. Glaucon, evidently tiring of being agreeable, makes him attempt to prove it. Socrates notes that "bad is what destroys and corrupts, and the good is what preserves and benefits." We should thus seek out a thing which "has an evil that makes it bad but isn't able to disintegrate and destroy it"; for then we have found something incapable of destruction. But the evils which attack the soul, cowardice and the like, clearly do not destroy it. Injustice, for instance, never kills souls by itself, though the unjust man may be killed in body by others.
While as a Christian I agree with Socrates about the immortality of the soul, I remain unmoved by his argument. If he prefers this line of argument, I'd like some way of knowing how we'd tell if a soul were dead, assuming such a thing is possible. Since God is the only necessary being, He alone is necessarily immortal, though it seems that, for reasons that would take us into the realm of theology, He suffices to imbue souls with being incessantly, rendering them, for all intensive purposes, undying. In any event, if St. Thomas or another has proven the immortality of the soul from reason alone, the proof has failed to penetrate my sometimes thick skull.
Returning to the Republic, we must forsake the study of the soul in the prison of the body and use philosophy to truly study it. (This is one of the points in which Aristotle and St. Thomas break with Plato. For the latter, faith in the resurrection of the body required a reinterpretation of its relation to the soul.)
Socrates returns to the theme of justice to determine how the unjust and the just will be in relation to the gods. They will love the just and hate the unjust. Even when it seems as if the just suffer, like Job, the gods have a plan, which will become clear in the end; in the long run, the unjust cannot triumph. Again, while I cannot follow the reasoning of Socrates completely, ultimately, I agree with him. At the very least, in this fallen world, what sweet consolation to believe that good will eventually triumph. Though I will add that it does no good if such consolation only amounts to self-deception.
Our philosopher then recounts the story of Er. He dies, but is revived twelve days later, allowing him to describe the abode of the deceased. Regarding the dead: "For each in turn of the unjust things they had done and for each in turn of the people they had wronged, they paid the penalty ten times over, once in every century of their journey... But if they had done good deeds and had become just and pious, they were rewarded according to the same scale." Those sufficiently evil were condemned to pay back their wrong for eternity.
Er goes on a journey, and sees a complicated collection of spinning and lit whorls, reminiscent, perhaps, of the Paradiso. The Fates, daughter of Necessity, command the souls to choose a life from a panoply before them. Socrates counsels: "And we must always know how to choose the mean in such lives, and how to avoid either of the extremes, as far as possible, both in this life and in all those beyond it. This is the way that a human being becomes happiest." May it be so for us.
Here ends the Republic. My thanks to those who participated, especially PJ.
He transitions to a discussion of his theory of forms. As everyone who has studied philosophy knows, there is a rather large, and seemingly unbridgeable chasm, between the world of the mind and the world of the senses. Various philosophers have emphasized one of these worlds, though most strive to unite the disparate realms. For instance, Plato is an idealist, who places a premium on the mind, whereas Aristotle, largely in reaction to his teacher, emphasizes the world of sense.
Socrates argues that to make a bed, the craftsman had to have the form (idea) of the bed in his mind. There are actually three beds, the one "in nature", made by the god, the one which is the work of the carpenter, and the one made by the painter. Moreover, while the carpenter may make many beds of similar quality, and likewise with the painter, the god has no need of replicating an already perfect form. The painter, meanwhile, is an imitator, for his product is the third from the natural one, that is, the perfect form of the god.
The objection which Socrates has to the poet is that he, like the painter with the bed, imitates mere appearance rather than things as they are. He argues that imitation of appearance is far inferior to the production of things as such. Since this is so, anyone who is an imitator can have no knowledge of real things; if he did, he would not waste his time imitating. For instance, a poet who writes about doctors cannot know how to be a doctor, or he would spend his time in doctoring. William Carlos Williams might disagree.
May we uncharitably suggest that Socrates knows nothing about living, seeing as he spent all of his time pestering people with questions? It strikes me as unjust to suggest that all of our time must be spent either in action or in philosophy to be deemed profitable. If memory serves, Socrates himself engages in this dialogue on a return from religious festivities, at which, again, if memory serves, plays were acted.
Moreover, there are those truths which are difficult to convey without recourse to poetry, or, at least, which may be better understood through this medium. In addition, the great poets, including a few contemporaries of Socrates himself, were often those with a very keen grasp of human nature. Dare we claim that Shakespeare was an imitator who knew only the world of appearance?
Returning to the dialogue, "there are three crafts, one that uses it, one that makes it, and one that imitates it." Only the user of the craft has knowledge of the thing he uses. The imitator, meanwhile, is bound to distort the thing he is imitating. Our senses can be unreliable; for instance, they tell us that a stick in water looks crooked. But the best part of our soul, the rational part, knows that this is not true. Likewise, our reason tells us that the poets are mere imitators; the part of our soul which rejoices in imitation must be subordinate to the part which studies things as they actually are. Poets cannot be let into the city because they agitate the people, removing the careful balance between the parts--both of the citizens, as well as that within their souls.
It would be a mistake, however, to think that poets influence the masses only. Decent men may be corrupted by them, too. In praising the unmanly behaviors of the characters of a tragedy, courage in the face of misfortune becomes less esteemed. For this reason, the only poetry allowed will be that which praises the good, in accord with truth.
Socrates notes, almost in passing that the soul is immortal. Glaucon, evidently tiring of being agreeable, makes him attempt to prove it. Socrates notes that "bad is what destroys and corrupts, and the good is what preserves and benefits." We should thus seek out a thing which "has an evil that makes it bad but isn't able to disintegrate and destroy it"; for then we have found something incapable of destruction. But the evils which attack the soul, cowardice and the like, clearly do not destroy it. Injustice, for instance, never kills souls by itself, though the unjust man may be killed in body by others.
While as a Christian I agree with Socrates about the immortality of the soul, I remain unmoved by his argument. If he prefers this line of argument, I'd like some way of knowing how we'd tell if a soul were dead, assuming such a thing is possible. Since God is the only necessary being, He alone is necessarily immortal, though it seems that, for reasons that would take us into the realm of theology, He suffices to imbue souls with being incessantly, rendering them, for all intensive purposes, undying. In any event, if St. Thomas or another has proven the immortality of the soul from reason alone, the proof has failed to penetrate my sometimes thick skull.
Returning to the Republic, we must forsake the study of the soul in the prison of the body and use philosophy to truly study it. (This is one of the points in which Aristotle and St. Thomas break with Plato. For the latter, faith in the resurrection of the body required a reinterpretation of its relation to the soul.)
Socrates returns to the theme of justice to determine how the unjust and the just will be in relation to the gods. They will love the just and hate the unjust. Even when it seems as if the just suffer, like Job, the gods have a plan, which will become clear in the end; in the long run, the unjust cannot triumph. Again, while I cannot follow the reasoning of Socrates completely, ultimately, I agree with him. At the very least, in this fallen world, what sweet consolation to believe that good will eventually triumph. Though I will add that it does no good if such consolation only amounts to self-deception.
Our philosopher then recounts the story of Er. He dies, but is revived twelve days later, allowing him to describe the abode of the deceased. Regarding the dead: "For each in turn of the unjust things they had done and for each in turn of the people they had wronged, they paid the penalty ten times over, once in every century of their journey... But if they had done good deeds and had become just and pious, they were rewarded according to the same scale." Those sufficiently evil were condemned to pay back their wrong for eternity.
Er goes on a journey, and sees a complicated collection of spinning and lit whorls, reminiscent, perhaps, of the Paradiso. The Fates, daughter of Necessity, command the souls to choose a life from a panoply before them. Socrates counsels: "And we must always know how to choose the mean in such lives, and how to avoid either of the extremes, as far as possible, both in this life and in all those beyond it. This is the way that a human being becomes happiest." May it be so for us.
Here ends the Republic. My thanks to those who participated, especially PJ.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Plato's Republic, Book IX
Book IX contains a description of the tyrannical man, and three arguments that he will be the least happy of men. Plato/Soc then proceeds to extrapolate from these results to make a case for paternalistism.
In order to characterize the tyrannical man, Plato/Soc introduces a distinction between lawful and lawless desires. Lawless desires are present in everyone, as is evident in the disordered state of even the best people's dreams. The tyrant is the man in whom the lawless desires reign supreme; he does not use reason to organize his life in accordance with the good. This is to say that he is constantly indulging in "feasts, revelries, luxuries, girlfriends, and all that sort of thing" (573d). He shrugs off responsibilities and steals whatever he needs to feed his various appetites.
As his first proof that a tyrant is the most unhappy of men, Plato/Soc argues that such a man should be described as a slave to base and arbitrary desires, to the part of him least human. Furthermore, even when such a man wins political control, he is so hated that in order to protect himself he must pander to the ugliest sorts of people in order to protect himself from the others whom he subjects to continuous abuse. He debases himself and lives in constant fear of his underlings, who he knows would like to see him dead.
The second proof draws on the earlier distinction between the three parts of the soul. Each part, it is now added, acquires from its object a distinctive sort of pleasure. Depending upon which part of the soul holds sway, a person will be profit-loving, honor-loving, or wisdom-loving, and will judge objects accordingly. These pleasures are arranged hierarchically, each more comprehensive than the last. The argument, then, is that the philosopher understands the pleasures of tyranny and can weigh them correctly, but the tyrant does not understand the pleasures of philosophy and uses the wrong standard when he tries to judge them. So if philosophers report themselves as most happy, we are compelled to take their word for it.
The third proof incorporates an additional premise to the second argument in order to get a similar, but more ontologically substantive result. The new premise is that pleasure and pain are always relative one to the other; to give a crude example, intense pain in your past might make pleasurable for you an experience that is painfully boring to someone of a more sheltered upbringing. Hence all of the pleasures have their place on a single continuum and can, at least in principle, be quantitatively assessed, one against the other. We are said to be most pleased by what most fills us as the kind of being that we are, i.e., rational beings. Knowledge of what is is eternal provides a far more substantial pleasure than profit or honor, which pass away and must be continually renewed. These things have more being, Plato claims, and so the pleasures they afford are more truly pleasurable. The majority of people, unacquainted with the forms, live at the low end of the pleasure scale and have a consequently distorted experience of the world. In fact, with the aid of some screwball math, Plato/Soc. is able to inform us that the tyrant lives 729 times less pleasantly than the king. (My translator, for what it's worth, contends that Plato fudges the numbers and that, really, the tyrant lives only 125 times less pleasantly.)
Yet, we must remember, even philosophers must attend to the lower parts of the soul. The appetitive and spirited parts of the soul are to be ruled, not replaced, by the rational part. Furthermore, it needs to be emphasized that rational pleasures, for philosophers, are not simply tacked onto the other kinds of pleasures enjoyed just as much by non-philosophers. Philosophers are able to most effectively direct their lower desires in order to maximize pleasure afforded and to avoid frustration or excess. Disordered desires, as we've seen, lead to unhappiness.
From this, Plato/Soc extrapolates an argument for a strongly paternalistic form of government:
"Therefore, to insure that someone like that [i.e., like those irrational people who are slave to their appetites] is ruled by something similar to what rules the best person, we say that he ought to be the slave of that best person who has a divine ruler within himself. It isn't to harm the slave that we say he must be ruled, which is what Thrasymachus thought to be true of all subjects, but because it is better for everyone to be ruled by divine reason, preferably within himself and his own, otherwise imposed from without, so that as far as possible all will be alike and friends, governed by the same thing." (590c-d).
I've a few questions still to respond to from the previous Book. I'll get to them as soon as I can. Sorry about the delay!
Cheers, PJ
In order to characterize the tyrannical man, Plato/Soc introduces a distinction between lawful and lawless desires. Lawless desires are present in everyone, as is evident in the disordered state of even the best people's dreams. The tyrant is the man in whom the lawless desires reign supreme; he does not use reason to organize his life in accordance with the good. This is to say that he is constantly indulging in "feasts, revelries, luxuries, girlfriends, and all that sort of thing" (573d). He shrugs off responsibilities and steals whatever he needs to feed his various appetites.
As his first proof that a tyrant is the most unhappy of men, Plato/Soc argues that such a man should be described as a slave to base and arbitrary desires, to the part of him least human. Furthermore, even when such a man wins political control, he is so hated that in order to protect himself he must pander to the ugliest sorts of people in order to protect himself from the others whom he subjects to continuous abuse. He debases himself and lives in constant fear of his underlings, who he knows would like to see him dead.
The second proof draws on the earlier distinction between the three parts of the soul. Each part, it is now added, acquires from its object a distinctive sort of pleasure. Depending upon which part of the soul holds sway, a person will be profit-loving, honor-loving, or wisdom-loving, and will judge objects accordingly. These pleasures are arranged hierarchically, each more comprehensive than the last. The argument, then, is that the philosopher understands the pleasures of tyranny and can weigh them correctly, but the tyrant does not understand the pleasures of philosophy and uses the wrong standard when he tries to judge them. So if philosophers report themselves as most happy, we are compelled to take their word for it.
The third proof incorporates an additional premise to the second argument in order to get a similar, but more ontologically substantive result. The new premise is that pleasure and pain are always relative one to the other; to give a crude example, intense pain in your past might make pleasurable for you an experience that is painfully boring to someone of a more sheltered upbringing. Hence all of the pleasures have their place on a single continuum and can, at least in principle, be quantitatively assessed, one against the other. We are said to be most pleased by what most fills us as the kind of being that we are, i.e., rational beings. Knowledge of what is is eternal provides a far more substantial pleasure than profit or honor, which pass away and must be continually renewed. These things have more being, Plato claims, and so the pleasures they afford are more truly pleasurable. The majority of people, unacquainted with the forms, live at the low end of the pleasure scale and have a consequently distorted experience of the world. In fact, with the aid of some screwball math, Plato/Soc. is able to inform us that the tyrant lives 729 times less pleasantly than the king. (My translator, for what it's worth, contends that Plato fudges the numbers and that, really, the tyrant lives only 125 times less pleasantly.)
Yet, we must remember, even philosophers must attend to the lower parts of the soul. The appetitive and spirited parts of the soul are to be ruled, not replaced, by the rational part. Furthermore, it needs to be emphasized that rational pleasures, for philosophers, are not simply tacked onto the other kinds of pleasures enjoyed just as much by non-philosophers. Philosophers are able to most effectively direct their lower desires in order to maximize pleasure afforded and to avoid frustration or excess. Disordered desires, as we've seen, lead to unhappiness.
From this, Plato/Soc extrapolates an argument for a strongly paternalistic form of government:
"Therefore, to insure that someone like that [i.e., like those irrational people who are slave to their appetites] is ruled by something similar to what rules the best person, we say that he ought to be the slave of that best person who has a divine ruler within himself. It isn't to harm the slave that we say he must be ruled, which is what Thrasymachus thought to be true of all subjects, but because it is better for everyone to be ruled by divine reason, preferably within himself and his own, otherwise imposed from without, so that as far as possible all will be alike and friends, governed by the same thing." (590c-d).
I've a few questions still to respond to from the previous Book. I'll get to them as soon as I can. Sorry about the delay!
Cheers, PJ
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Resisting the Totalitarian Temptation
Even after a second read, Liberal Fascism is almost as difficult to evaluate as the term fascism is to define. Parts of the book are quite excellent. For instance, Jonah Goldberg is generally successful in proving that Italian Fascism is a phenomenon of the left. His chapters on Wilson and Roosevelt are not only quite engaging; they are also persuasive. Still, the book possesses a number of flaws. It was a mistake to approach the subject both chronologically and thematically: the result is a good deal of repetition.
In the introduction, George Orwell laments: “The word Fascism has now no meaning except in so far as it signifies 'something not desirable'.” (p.4) In modern discourse, this often means anyone who is not sufficiently progressive. This is a tendency Liberal Fascism seeks to rectify. To an extent, Goldberg avoids slinging around the term Fascism as a generic pejorative. However, he has the annoying habit of pointing out insignificant coincidences between fascists of yore and modern liberals. This not only detracts from his more substantial arguments, it also ensures that almost everyone fits under the ever-expanding definition of fascism.
One gets the impression, then, that Goldberg is confused about his subject. Granted that fascism is a bit nebulous, one would hope that the writer of a book on the matter would be able to use the term correctly—or at least consistently. He gives the following definition: “Fascism is a religion of the state. It assumes the organic unity of the body politics and longs for a national leader attuned to the will of the people. It is totalitarian in that it views everything as political and holds that any action by the state is justified to achieve the common good.” (p. 23)
Proceeding with his definition, it is unclear how a number of the examples Goldberg cites can be construed as fascistic. While the students in Dead Poets Society may invite parallels to a militarized culture (pp. 373-4), they cannot be seen as fascists since the State nowhere enters into the picture. Likewise in V For Vendetta, “The villains and the hero alike are all fascists.” (p. 375) In what manner dismantling a totalitarian regime is fascistic I leave for the exasperated reader to decide.
The book ends by urging conservatives not to avoid adopting a religious significance about the State. This is a laudable endeavor, but it would have been more successful had Goldberg presented a clearer alternative to fascistic government. He explains that “if libertarianism could account for children and foreign policy, it would be the ideal political philosophy.” (p. 344) However, since political philosophy deals with imperfect man, flaws will be inherent in any system. But this is no reason to dismiss libertarianism. After all, it is difficult to see another group in America which better recognizes that there is a realm outside the State, and which is, therefore, better suited to resist the temptations of totalitarianism.
There are, it is true, extensive references to “classical liberalism”, usually in the context of explaining how it differs from progressivism. He notes that conservatism “is the conviction that a properly ordered republic has a government of limited ambition.” (p.402) But I have trouble remembering the last time conservatism thought such a thing. Although they are not fascistic, the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq—which Goldberg supports—are hardly indicative of “limited ambition.”
Blemishes aside, Liberal Fascism provides a good history of the Left. It is now time for conservatives to begin the introspection Liberal Fascism insisted that liberals take. Justin Raimondo's Reclaiming the American Right provides a good place to start.
In the introduction, George Orwell laments: “The word Fascism has now no meaning except in so far as it signifies 'something not desirable'.” (p.4) In modern discourse, this often means anyone who is not sufficiently progressive. This is a tendency Liberal Fascism seeks to rectify. To an extent, Goldberg avoids slinging around the term Fascism as a generic pejorative. However, he has the annoying habit of pointing out insignificant coincidences between fascists of yore and modern liberals. This not only detracts from his more substantial arguments, it also ensures that almost everyone fits under the ever-expanding definition of fascism.
One gets the impression, then, that Goldberg is confused about his subject. Granted that fascism is a bit nebulous, one would hope that the writer of a book on the matter would be able to use the term correctly—or at least consistently. He gives the following definition: “Fascism is a religion of the state. It assumes the organic unity of the body politics and longs for a national leader attuned to the will of the people. It is totalitarian in that it views everything as political and holds that any action by the state is justified to achieve the common good.” (p. 23)
Proceeding with his definition, it is unclear how a number of the examples Goldberg cites can be construed as fascistic. While the students in Dead Poets Society may invite parallels to a militarized culture (pp. 373-4), they cannot be seen as fascists since the State nowhere enters into the picture. Likewise in V For Vendetta, “The villains and the hero alike are all fascists.” (p. 375) In what manner dismantling a totalitarian regime is fascistic I leave for the exasperated reader to decide.
The book ends by urging conservatives not to avoid adopting a religious significance about the State. This is a laudable endeavor, but it would have been more successful had Goldberg presented a clearer alternative to fascistic government. He explains that “if libertarianism could account for children and foreign policy, it would be the ideal political philosophy.” (p. 344) However, since political philosophy deals with imperfect man, flaws will be inherent in any system. But this is no reason to dismiss libertarianism. After all, it is difficult to see another group in America which better recognizes that there is a realm outside the State, and which is, therefore, better suited to resist the temptations of totalitarianism.
There are, it is true, extensive references to “classical liberalism”, usually in the context of explaining how it differs from progressivism. He notes that conservatism “is the conviction that a properly ordered republic has a government of limited ambition.” (p.402) But I have trouble remembering the last time conservatism thought such a thing. Although they are not fascistic, the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq—which Goldberg supports—are hardly indicative of “limited ambition.”
Blemishes aside, Liberal Fascism provides a good history of the Left. It is now time for conservatives to begin the introspection Liberal Fascism insisted that liberals take. Justin Raimondo's Reclaiming the American Right provides a good place to start.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Wisdom and Innocence (and Charity, and Truth, and...)
There is a bumper sticker that reads: God, please save me from your followers. Just as the disciples of the Deity often present the most considerable obstacle to knowing Him, a like argument can may be made for the earnest devotees of Gilbert Kieth Chesterton. This is most unfortunate, since we merely aim to be grateful to one who has offered us spiritual strength, and may have even led us to God. To his fans, Chesterton is a brilliant writer whose (almost) every line demonstrates his profundity. We discover that he had an epigram for everything: one which conveys an essential truth in a way that is always witty and seldom inconsiderate. We laugh at his jokes and groan at his puns, and we are always edified. As Pearce's writing attests, if we try to write, we betray the master's influence, what with our semi-colons, alliteration, and attempted paradoxes.
But it would be a mistake to allow poor imitation to ruin one of "the giants of twentieth-century literature". The most obvious place to begin a study of such a giant is with the man's own books; I would recommend The Everlasting Man. But another splendid place to start is Joseph Pearce's well-written and thoroughly researched biography, Wisdom and Innocence: A Life of GK Chesterton. Pearce maintains a good balance between telling the tale of Chesterton and providing selections from his writings—poetry, essays, books, novels—which are integral to understanding the man, and which greatly increase one's admiration of him. As might be expected from Pearce, who has since penned a number of similar works on Catholic literary figures, focus is placed on Chesterton's relationships with members of the literary world. Much is made, for instance, of his friendships with Hilaire Belloc and Fr. Ronald Knox, but also of those with George Bernard Shaw and H. G. Wells, with whom he frequently disagreed. We also learn about the ways in which C.S. Lewis, Evelyn Waugh, Dorothy Sayers, and George Orwell—among others—were influenced by him.
The charity with which Chesterton conducted himself, even while arguing, is not only the primary reason he was capable of maintaining friendships with so many different personalities, it is a major attraction of his writings today. He also gives the Faith an intellectual respectability of which his fellow Catholics ought to be aware, but which its opponents rarely fathom. To Shaw, for instance, Chesterton was not simply a delightful companion; he was also a worthy opponent.
Pearce readily demonstrates Chestertonian charity towards his subject, to the point where we might suspect that he is overly reluctant to criticize him. He nonetheless pronounces against a book if he believes it was written poorly, or against a point if he believes it was wrongly made. For instance, when speaking of The Resurrection of Rome "The prose wanders off in all directions, following endless theological or historical tangents"; and Four Faultless Felons was "completely forgettable and not worthy of the author." After letting Shaw and Chesterton argue it out over the pacifism of the former, Pearce concedes that: "With the wisdom of hindsight it is difficult to side with Chesterton against Shaw on the issue of the First World War."
One is left to conclude that Chesterton is criticized so infrequently because he rarely deserves more than his self-deprecating wit already provided. Often, he deserved much less. We find ourselves siding with Etienne Gilson: "Chesterton was one of the deepest thinkers who ever existed; he was deep because he was right; and he could not help being right; but he could not either help being modest and charitable."
It is difficult to say which offers the greater appeal: his depth of thought or his charity towards others. Thankfully, we need not choose: Chesterton's large frame left ample room for both. In a world that has forgotten both how to think and how to love, Pearce offers welcome insight into a man who could do much to help us remember.
But it would be a mistake to allow poor imitation to ruin one of "the giants of twentieth-century literature". The most obvious place to begin a study of such a giant is with the man's own books; I would recommend The Everlasting Man. But another splendid place to start is Joseph Pearce's well-written and thoroughly researched biography, Wisdom and Innocence: A Life of GK Chesterton. Pearce maintains a good balance between telling the tale of Chesterton and providing selections from his writings—poetry, essays, books, novels—which are integral to understanding the man, and which greatly increase one's admiration of him. As might be expected from Pearce, who has since penned a number of similar works on Catholic literary figures, focus is placed on Chesterton's relationships with members of the literary world. Much is made, for instance, of his friendships with Hilaire Belloc and Fr. Ronald Knox, but also of those with George Bernard Shaw and H. G. Wells, with whom he frequently disagreed. We also learn about the ways in which C.S. Lewis, Evelyn Waugh, Dorothy Sayers, and George Orwell—among others—were influenced by him.
The charity with which Chesterton conducted himself, even while arguing, is not only the primary reason he was capable of maintaining friendships with so many different personalities, it is a major attraction of his writings today. He also gives the Faith an intellectual respectability of which his fellow Catholics ought to be aware, but which its opponents rarely fathom. To Shaw, for instance, Chesterton was not simply a delightful companion; he was also a worthy opponent.
Pearce readily demonstrates Chestertonian charity towards his subject, to the point where we might suspect that he is overly reluctant to criticize him. He nonetheless pronounces against a book if he believes it was written poorly, or against a point if he believes it was wrongly made. For instance, when speaking of The Resurrection of Rome "The prose wanders off in all directions, following endless theological or historical tangents"; and Four Faultless Felons was "completely forgettable and not worthy of the author." After letting Shaw and Chesterton argue it out over the pacifism of the former, Pearce concedes that: "With the wisdom of hindsight it is difficult to side with Chesterton against Shaw on the issue of the First World War."
One is left to conclude that Chesterton is criticized so infrequently because he rarely deserves more than his self-deprecating wit already provided. Often, he deserved much less. We find ourselves siding with Etienne Gilson: "Chesterton was one of the deepest thinkers who ever existed; he was deep because he was right; and he could not help being right; but he could not either help being modest and charitable."
It is difficult to say which offers the greater appeal: his depth of thought or his charity towards others. Thankfully, we need not choose: Chesterton's large frame left ample room for both. In a world that has forgotten both how to think and how to love, Pearce offers welcome insight into a man who could do much to help us remember.
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