This post will contain all of the posts PJ and I put up in our discussion of John Locke's Second Treatise of Government. The division into parts is arbitrary.
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Monday, June 28, 2010
John Locke: Second Treatise of Govt. (II)
Continuing with Locke, we consider the topic Of Slavery: "freedom of men under government is, to have a standing rule to live by, common to every one of that society, and made by the legislative power erected in it... not to be subject to the inconstant, uncertain, unknown, arbitrary will of another man." (Princeton Readings p. 250)
Two points are crucial here. First, the sovereign, or the legislative power is not set apart from the people; the laws apply to "every one of that society." Second, the legislative power is bound by the law. As yet, its unclear how this would work, but the general idea is clear; the ruling power must answer to something outside of himself. As the Lockean inspired Jefferson was to later say of the men who governed the United States: "bind [them] down from mischief by the chains of the Constitution."
Locke also provides an intriguing defense against voluntary slavery: "No body can give more power than he has himself; and he that cannot take away his own life, cannot give another power over it." (p. 250)
We then come to Locke's defense of private property. Although he quotes the Bible to add to his argument, he notes that both reason and revelation must credit his view: "men, being once born, have a right to their preservation, and consequently to meat and drink, and such other things as nature affords for their subsistence." (p. 250) This isn't very controversial. The contrary assertion is an absurdity which would quickly end human existence.
Locke's invaluable contribution comes shortly thereafter: "Though the earth, and all inferior creatures, be common to all men, yet every man has a property in his own person: this no body has any right to but himself. The labour of his body, and the work of his hands, we may say, are properly his. Whatsoever then he removes out of the state that nature hath provided, and left it in, he hath mixed his labour with, and joined to it something that is his own, and thereby makes it his property. It being by him removed from the common state nature hath placed it in, it hath by this labour something annexed to it, that excludes the common right of other men: for this labour being the unquestionable property of the labourer, no man but he can have a right to what that is once joined to, at least where there is enough, and as good, left in common for others." (p. 251)
Two points here. First, something becomes a man's property when he has "mixed his labor" with it. Thus Columbus cannot stick a Spanish flag into San Salvador and claim the entire island for King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. But if his crew builds a hut on land which has not been touched by the natives, they may claim that property. Similarly, if the natives have cleared the land, they have "mixed their labor" with it, and Columbus can't go building a hut without permission. With this comes disputes; but if it's obvious how private property causes problems, it should also be clear that Locke's provisions makes settling these disputes possible.
Second, Locke gives no evidence to back up his claim that the earth, and all creatures, is common to all men. Certainly there are Biblical texts that one could quote to this effect, but this seems less consistent with the rest of Locke's thought. Rather than positing a primitive communism--which, though theologically sound, seems unnecessary for Locke's theory--one could argue that no ones owns any property until labor has been mixed with it. Indeed, at times Locke seems to argue against his first point. If everything is held in common, must we attain permission from everyone before appropriating a resource? Obviously this is, at a minimum, absurdly impractical.
Later theorists, like Murray Rothbard, were to make property rights absolute, but Locke believed--like Thomas--that they were conditional. "The same law of nature, that does by this means give us property, does also bound that property too. God has given us all things richly... But how far has he given it us? To enjoy. As much as any one can make use of to any advantage of life before it spoils, so much he may by his Labour fix a property in: whatever is beyond this, is more than his share, and belongs to others."
Locke runs into problems here. It's very reasonable to bound property by something; it's another matter entirely to determine how this is to be done. It's a bit unfair to expect Locke to have solved this conundrum himself, but it's worth pointing out lines for further development.
Another possible objection to Locke's idea of property rights is that, as my roommate put it, everything is already owned. If we are limiting everything to land, this is very near true. Locke realizes this to an extent. Hence he emphasizes the need for open land, mentioning colonial America as an example. And yet, while the earth is undoubtedly more crowded than it was in Locke's day, this doesn't invalidate property rights. The difficulty of holding everything in common is not lessened because there are more than six billion people--it is compounded. Further, we should remember that land is but one type of property.
Locke engages in a bit of monetary crankiness. It was only the invention of money which caused man to desire to get more property than he could reasonably use. Later in this section, he writes, "Thus in the beginning all the world was America, and more so than that is now; for no such thing as money was any where known. Find out something that hath the use and value of money amongst his neighbours, you shall see the same man will begin presently to enlarge his possessions." (p. 257) Locke's concern about greedy landowners is admirable, but we should note that money has contributed much to human happiness as well. It has enabled man to move beyond a simple barter economy, which leads to specialization, enriching society in the process--as Adam Smith and others were to show.
He argues--rightly--that gold and silver only have value because men believe they do. Given that the world has abandoned sound money for fiat currency, Locke's statement is prescient.
He also anticipates the labor theory of value: "Nor is it so strange, as perhaps before consideration it may appear, that the property of labour should be able to over-balance the community of land: for it is labour indeed that puts the difference of value on every thing; and let any one consider what the difference is between an acre of land planted with tobacco or sugar, sown with wheat or barley, and an acre of the same land lying in common, without any husbandry upon it, and he will find, that the improvement of labour makes the far greater part of the value." (p. 255) Yet the labor only has value because the sugar, or whatever other product is being cultivated to be consumed or sold, has value. Farmer Locke can plant weeds all day without increasing the value of the land substantially. Again, we musn't blame Locke here, even if the labor theory of value is wrong headed. It is nonetheless interesting to note where we may trace ideas.
I've gone and written too much on property rights. Feel free to add on, otherwise I'll try to put something together on the next few sections during the coming week.
Two points are crucial here. First, the sovereign, or the legislative power is not set apart from the people; the laws apply to "every one of that society." Second, the legislative power is bound by the law. As yet, its unclear how this would work, but the general idea is clear; the ruling power must answer to something outside of himself. As the Lockean inspired Jefferson was to later say of the men who governed the United States: "bind [them] down from mischief by the chains of the Constitution."
Locke also provides an intriguing defense against voluntary slavery: "No body can give more power than he has himself; and he that cannot take away his own life, cannot give another power over it." (p. 250)
We then come to Locke's defense of private property. Although he quotes the Bible to add to his argument, he notes that both reason and revelation must credit his view: "men, being once born, have a right to their preservation, and consequently to meat and drink, and such other things as nature affords for their subsistence." (p. 250) This isn't very controversial. The contrary assertion is an absurdity which would quickly end human existence.
Locke's invaluable contribution comes shortly thereafter: "Though the earth, and all inferior creatures, be common to all men, yet every man has a property in his own person: this no body has any right to but himself. The labour of his body, and the work of his hands, we may say, are properly his. Whatsoever then he removes out of the state that nature hath provided, and left it in, he hath mixed his labour with, and joined to it something that is his own, and thereby makes it his property. It being by him removed from the common state nature hath placed it in, it hath by this labour something annexed to it, that excludes the common right of other men: for this labour being the unquestionable property of the labourer, no man but he can have a right to what that is once joined to, at least where there is enough, and as good, left in common for others." (p. 251)
Two points here. First, something becomes a man's property when he has "mixed his labor" with it. Thus Columbus cannot stick a Spanish flag into San Salvador and claim the entire island for King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. But if his crew builds a hut on land which has not been touched by the natives, they may claim that property. Similarly, if the natives have cleared the land, they have "mixed their labor" with it, and Columbus can't go building a hut without permission. With this comes disputes; but if it's obvious how private property causes problems, it should also be clear that Locke's provisions makes settling these disputes possible.
Second, Locke gives no evidence to back up his claim that the earth, and all creatures, is common to all men. Certainly there are Biblical texts that one could quote to this effect, but this seems less consistent with the rest of Locke's thought. Rather than positing a primitive communism--which, though theologically sound, seems unnecessary for Locke's theory--one could argue that no ones owns any property until labor has been mixed with it. Indeed, at times Locke seems to argue against his first point. If everything is held in common, must we attain permission from everyone before appropriating a resource? Obviously this is, at a minimum, absurdly impractical.
Later theorists, like Murray Rothbard, were to make property rights absolute, but Locke believed--like Thomas--that they were conditional. "The same law of nature, that does by this means give us property, does also bound that property too. God has given us all things richly... But how far has he given it us? To enjoy. As much as any one can make use of to any advantage of life before it spoils, so much he may by his Labour fix a property in: whatever is beyond this, is more than his share, and belongs to others."
Locke runs into problems here. It's very reasonable to bound property by something; it's another matter entirely to determine how this is to be done. It's a bit unfair to expect Locke to have solved this conundrum himself, but it's worth pointing out lines for further development.
Another possible objection to Locke's idea of property rights is that, as my roommate put it, everything is already owned. If we are limiting everything to land, this is very near true. Locke realizes this to an extent. Hence he emphasizes the need for open land, mentioning colonial America as an example. And yet, while the earth is undoubtedly more crowded than it was in Locke's day, this doesn't invalidate property rights. The difficulty of holding everything in common is not lessened because there are more than six billion people--it is compounded. Further, we should remember that land is but one type of property.
Locke engages in a bit of monetary crankiness. It was only the invention of money which caused man to desire to get more property than he could reasonably use. Later in this section, he writes, "Thus in the beginning all the world was America, and more so than that is now; for no such thing as money was any where known. Find out something that hath the use and value of money amongst his neighbours, you shall see the same man will begin presently to enlarge his possessions." (p. 257) Locke's concern about greedy landowners is admirable, but we should note that money has contributed much to human happiness as well. It has enabled man to move beyond a simple barter economy, which leads to specialization, enriching society in the process--as Adam Smith and others were to show.
He argues--rightly--that gold and silver only have value because men believe they do. Given that the world has abandoned sound money for fiat currency, Locke's statement is prescient.
He also anticipates the labor theory of value: "Nor is it so strange, as perhaps before consideration it may appear, that the property of labour should be able to over-balance the community of land: for it is labour indeed that puts the difference of value on every thing; and let any one consider what the difference is between an acre of land planted with tobacco or sugar, sown with wheat or barley, and an acre of the same land lying in common, without any husbandry upon it, and he will find, that the improvement of labour makes the far greater part of the value." (p. 255) Yet the labor only has value because the sugar, or whatever other product is being cultivated to be consumed or sold, has value. Farmer Locke can plant weeds all day without increasing the value of the land substantially. Again, we musn't blame Locke here, even if the labor theory of value is wrong headed. It is nonetheless interesting to note where we may trace ideas.
I've gone and written too much on property rights. Feel free to add on, otherwise I'll try to put something together on the next few sections during the coming week.
Friday, June 25, 2010
John Locke: Second Treatise of Govt.
Locke shares many assumptions with Hobbes, yet was obviously alarmed by his absolutist conclusions. Our selection opens with restatement of a distinction dating back to Aristotle (itself, perhaps, an implicit response to Plato's absolutism). The distinction is between the political and the private, between the polis and the oikos (household). In familial and economic relations, one party may rule another absolutely, as, for instance, parents over young children. (The examples Aristotle and Locke actually give make this way of drawing the distinction appear rather contentious, e.g., master over slave, husband over wife...) Political power, in any case, refers to a different kind of relationship. His definition: "a right of making laws with penalties of death, and consequently all less penalties, for the regulating and preserving of property, and of employing the force of the community, in execution of such laws, and in defense of the common-wealth from foreign injury; and all this only for the public good" (243). He will proceed to argue, however, that this power is always conditional on the government acting according to the trust with which the people endow it (e.g. 275). Indeed, there is a passage at p.250 in which he cleverly turns Hobbes' own assumptions against him. Beginning, as Hobbes does, from the conviction that our passion for self-preservation is the most powerful motivating force in our lives, it is manifestly irrational to place oneself unconditionally under the authority of a potentially arbitrary sovereign.
Like Hobbes, Locke grounds his political theory by appeal to a state of nature. Yet he paints a decidedly rosier picture of this state. We are all equal, he says, not in our ability each to kill the other, but in the free use of the same set of human faculties. He appeals here to the religious conviction that God put us here to prosper, and we ought not to interfere with his intention (244-5). There are also operative assumptions of natural abundance and sociability. The natural law that follows from this description is that "being equal and independent, no one ought to harm another in his life, health, liberty, or possessions" (244). Furthermore, in the state of nature, everyone has the right to enforce this law, punishing offenses proportionally to the degree of transgression (245). He introduces civil government as the proper remedy for the "inconveniences" that arise from the difficulties of judging cases in which we are a party (246). I don't have an OED to-hand, but, compared with what we saw in Hobbes, the language of "inconveniences" is to me strikingly mild (though Locke does acknowledge that this inconvenience might result in quite a bit of violence at p.249).
There is unfortunately little argument in these opening passages to persuade us to accept this picture rather than that of Hobbes. How does he respond to the charge that we are, by natural disposition, inclined toward quarrel, that our interest in gain, safety, and reputation set us continually at odds with one another (Hobbes 208)? I believe that it is Locke's discussion of property that is supposed to help make his view plausible to us.
I am going to stop here for the moment. Perhaps you want to cover his view on property? Or just respond to whatever struck you in the text or the above. I will try to be better about keeping up with this...
Cheers, PJ
Like Hobbes, Locke grounds his political theory by appeal to a state of nature. Yet he paints a decidedly rosier picture of this state. We are all equal, he says, not in our ability each to kill the other, but in the free use of the same set of human faculties. He appeals here to the religious conviction that God put us here to prosper, and we ought not to interfere with his intention (244-5). There are also operative assumptions of natural abundance and sociability. The natural law that follows from this description is that "being equal and independent, no one ought to harm another in his life, health, liberty, or possessions" (244). Furthermore, in the state of nature, everyone has the right to enforce this law, punishing offenses proportionally to the degree of transgression (245). He introduces civil government as the proper remedy for the "inconveniences" that arise from the difficulties of judging cases in which we are a party (246). I don't have an OED to-hand, but, compared with what we saw in Hobbes, the language of "inconveniences" is to me strikingly mild (though Locke does acknowledge that this inconvenience might result in quite a bit of violence at p.249).
There is unfortunately little argument in these opening passages to persuade us to accept this picture rather than that of Hobbes. How does he respond to the charge that we are, by natural disposition, inclined toward quarrel, that our interest in gain, safety, and reputation set us continually at odds with one another (Hobbes 208)? I believe that it is Locke's discussion of property that is supposed to help make his view plausible to us.
I am going to stop here for the moment. Perhaps you want to cover his view on property? Or just respond to whatever struck you in the text or the above. I will try to be better about keeping up with this...
Cheers, PJ
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Angry tea partiers
PJ sent me a link to a piece by J.M. Bernstein about the tea party movement. The title, "The Very Angry Tea Party," gives an idea as to his take. The central flaw with his article, as with many similar articles written on this subject, is that it assumes that the tea partiers must have something which unites them. In a sense this is true; every movement must have some common thread or it will divide into two or more movements. But, so far as I can tell, the only thing that unites the tea party is a sometimes vague and often contradictory notion that government has gotten too big and must be reduced in size. There is certainly anger, but Bernstein downplays the extent to which this may be justified, while at the same time he sees little else in the movement. This is a mistake because, whether or not we support its goals--which remain ill defined--we would do well to understand it.
As readers of the blog well know, I'm an ardent supporter of Ron Paul. As a result, I've been aware of the tea party movement for a very long time. Like the snobbish indie rocker, I was into tea parties before they were cool--only I was never really into them. I supported Paul's campaign to educate the American people about the importance of liberty, sound money and a humble foreign policy, but meet up groups and political rallies aren't my cup of--well, you know. I prefer to read economic treatises and bore my friends with discussions of Austrian business cycle theory.
Two things surprised me about the tea party: first, that they became a big deal; second, that the movement has staying power. Somewhere between the first and the second surprise something happened: the establishment caught on and tried to join the movement. Suddenly, Sean Hannity was pimping for the partiers. This helped raise visibility, but it hurt the movement in the long run. Sean does a grand job of firing up the base about the evil of the democratic party, which is a laudable goal. But he's AWOL when it comes to abuses on behalf of his beloved republicans. He might say some nasty things about Arlen Specter, but Bush can grow government as much as he wants without earning a rebuke from Sean. In other words, Hannity is a partisan hack.
Hannity's tea party is sometimes the one Bernstein discusses:
When it comes to the Tea Party’s concrete policy proposals, things get fuzzier and more contradictory: keep the government out of health care, but leave Medicare alone; balance the budget, but don’t raise taxes; let individuals take care of themselves, but leave Social Security alone.
It's fair to point out the contradictions here because they're rather noticeable. On the other hand, it's nothing new, either. As I once wrote: "[T]he folly of conservatism lies in its defensive nature; it can mitigate the damage done by the forces of liberalism, but it can never prevent their longterm success." Hannity's tea party is fighting against things he will be supporting in twenty years.
I use Hannity to denote the faction of the tea party with which I am in least sympathy, but Palin is the actual leader. As this poll demonstrates, tea partiers are split between Ron Paul and Sarah Palin. Moreover, despite the movement they ostensibly share, supporters of one are not likely to care for the other. This is an important aspect of the movement--one which gets too little attention.
Naturally, I side with the Paul people. I do so for two main reasons. First, Paul advocates a sensible and moral foreign policy. While Palin and company want government to be small, they want defense to be huge. This is problematic because the armed forces are more dangerous to life and liberty than any other aspect of the government--of which, I hesitate to remind Palin, defense surely is a part. It's absurd, too, because the annals of history fail to recommend a single example of an empire--such as we possess--with an insignificant bureaucracy. You want a big army, you have to take the big bureaucracy.
The second reason I side with Paul is that his understanding of the nature of government is so much more complete and consistent. Human beings are capable of exchanging goods and services for mutual benefit. Such exchanges are inherently just because they are voluntary. Contrariwise, the State is force. Its subjects are not allowed to opt out voluntarily; at most, they may move to another State. Instead, they must fight in its wars, or at least pay for them. They must use its currency--which is constantly being debased so as to siphon funds to State coffers. They must give up a large percentage of their income, so as to pay for services they may or may not wish to receive. As the great Ludwig von Mises observed, "Government is essentially the negation of liberty." Hence libertarians do what we can to resist it.
In discussing this resistance, Bernstein's piece insinuates that the tea partiers may become violent:
In truth, there is nothing that the Tea Party movement wants; terrifyingly, it wants nothing. Lilla calls the Tea Party “Jacobins”; I would urge that they are nihilists. To date, the Tea Party has committed only the minor, almost atmospheric violences of propagating falsehoods, calumny and the disruption of the occasions for political speech — the last already to great and distorting effect. But if their nihilistic rage is deprived of interrupting political meetings as an outlet, where might it now go? With such rage driving the Tea Party, might we anticipate this atmospheric violence becoming actual violence, becoming what Hegel called, referring to the original Jacobins’ fantasy of total freedom, “a fury of destruction”? There is indeed something not just disturbing, but frightening, in the anger of the Tea Party.
I cannot speak for the Palin crowd, but the Paulians are not a violent bunch. Philosophically, the opposition to government stems from its opposition to force. To use the State's means against it would be to acknowledge that aggressive force has a place in society, something the libertarian rejects. Instead, we patiently bide our time, educating those among us who are open to the message of liberty. We will also be ready to offer a peaceful alternative when the State strikes out violently against those who are reluctant to abide by its might.
Bernstein has one other point that he offers which I wish to address:
My hypothesis is that what all the events precipitating the Tea Party movement share is that they demonstrated, emphatically and unconditionally, the depths of the absolute dependence of us all on government action, and in so doing they undermined the deeply held fiction of individual autonomy and self-sufficiency that are intrinsic parts of Americans’ collective self-understanding.
This is correct, but it is also misleading. We are dependent because the government compels us to be. We use its currency, and suffer inflation because of it. We must work to pay for two senseless, losing wars. We thus have less money to feed our families, and with which we may strengthen non-compulsory institutions, none of which is more important than the family itself.
Bernstein hints that the tea party may be revolutionary. It is far more likely that it will utterly fail to do much of anything. The American people don't actually hate government. Sure, some of us do, but we're idiosyncratic. The success of Ron Paul's End the Fed notwithstanding, obsessions with monetary policy are signs that you may belong to the remnant of which Albert Jay Nock wrote. Most people will tolerate the government until it oversteps its bounds to the point where the deleterious consequences of governmental interference can no longer be ignored.
This is what we've witnessed recently, and it's a point that we must not forget. Yes, conservatives like Hannity are hypocritical for supporting the State as long as their guy was running it. But this doesn't detract from the fact that the State violates our liberties with impunity, and is patently responsible for the impoverishment of millions of Americans.
Consider what has occurred in the last three or four years. Mainstream economists, pundits and politicians insisted that the economy was doing well. The Austrian school knew better of course. When it was no longer possible to pretend that there was a problem, both major presidential candidates helped transfer billions of dollars, enough money to pay off almost every mortgage in the country, to bail out rich bankers--who then took home huge bonuses. The same buffoons who didn't recognize the housing bubble insisted that the stimulus would fix the economy. They then used meaningless metrics to prove that the recession was over. This happened while unemployment continued to climb. Meanwhile, the State picked up the slack by hiring more people to interfere in the lives of free citizens. We also found out that private sector employees are suckers, who make far less than those who work for the State.
This had the tendency to make people angry. Should we be surprised? Instead of being concerned with the anger of the tea party, I think Bernstein should ask himself why he fails to share their emotions. It's ripping him off, too.
As readers of the blog well know, I'm an ardent supporter of Ron Paul. As a result, I've been aware of the tea party movement for a very long time. Like the snobbish indie rocker, I was into tea parties before they were cool--only I was never really into them. I supported Paul's campaign to educate the American people about the importance of liberty, sound money and a humble foreign policy, but meet up groups and political rallies aren't my cup of--well, you know. I prefer to read economic treatises and bore my friends with discussions of Austrian business cycle theory.
Two things surprised me about the tea party: first, that they became a big deal; second, that the movement has staying power. Somewhere between the first and the second surprise something happened: the establishment caught on and tried to join the movement. Suddenly, Sean Hannity was pimping for the partiers. This helped raise visibility, but it hurt the movement in the long run. Sean does a grand job of firing up the base about the evil of the democratic party, which is a laudable goal. But he's AWOL when it comes to abuses on behalf of his beloved republicans. He might say some nasty things about Arlen Specter, but Bush can grow government as much as he wants without earning a rebuke from Sean. In other words, Hannity is a partisan hack.
Hannity's tea party is sometimes the one Bernstein discusses:
When it comes to the Tea Party’s concrete policy proposals, things get fuzzier and more contradictory: keep the government out of health care, but leave Medicare alone; balance the budget, but don’t raise taxes; let individuals take care of themselves, but leave Social Security alone.
It's fair to point out the contradictions here because they're rather noticeable. On the other hand, it's nothing new, either. As I once wrote: "[T]he folly of conservatism lies in its defensive nature; it can mitigate the damage done by the forces of liberalism, but it can never prevent their longterm success." Hannity's tea party is fighting against things he will be supporting in twenty years.
I use Hannity to denote the faction of the tea party with which I am in least sympathy, but Palin is the actual leader. As this poll demonstrates, tea partiers are split between Ron Paul and Sarah Palin. Moreover, despite the movement they ostensibly share, supporters of one are not likely to care for the other. This is an important aspect of the movement--one which gets too little attention.
Naturally, I side with the Paul people. I do so for two main reasons. First, Paul advocates a sensible and moral foreign policy. While Palin and company want government to be small, they want defense to be huge. This is problematic because the armed forces are more dangerous to life and liberty than any other aspect of the government--of which, I hesitate to remind Palin, defense surely is a part. It's absurd, too, because the annals of history fail to recommend a single example of an empire--such as we possess--with an insignificant bureaucracy. You want a big army, you have to take the big bureaucracy.
The second reason I side with Paul is that his understanding of the nature of government is so much more complete and consistent. Human beings are capable of exchanging goods and services for mutual benefit. Such exchanges are inherently just because they are voluntary. Contrariwise, the State is force. Its subjects are not allowed to opt out voluntarily; at most, they may move to another State. Instead, they must fight in its wars, or at least pay for them. They must use its currency--which is constantly being debased so as to siphon funds to State coffers. They must give up a large percentage of their income, so as to pay for services they may or may not wish to receive. As the great Ludwig von Mises observed, "Government is essentially the negation of liberty." Hence libertarians do what we can to resist it.
In discussing this resistance, Bernstein's piece insinuates that the tea partiers may become violent:
In truth, there is nothing that the Tea Party movement wants; terrifyingly, it wants nothing. Lilla calls the Tea Party “Jacobins”; I would urge that they are nihilists. To date, the Tea Party has committed only the minor, almost atmospheric violences of propagating falsehoods, calumny and the disruption of the occasions for political speech — the last already to great and distorting effect. But if their nihilistic rage is deprived of interrupting political meetings as an outlet, where might it now go? With such rage driving the Tea Party, might we anticipate this atmospheric violence becoming actual violence, becoming what Hegel called, referring to the original Jacobins’ fantasy of total freedom, “a fury of destruction”? There is indeed something not just disturbing, but frightening, in the anger of the Tea Party.
I cannot speak for the Palin crowd, but the Paulians are not a violent bunch. Philosophically, the opposition to government stems from its opposition to force. To use the State's means against it would be to acknowledge that aggressive force has a place in society, something the libertarian rejects. Instead, we patiently bide our time, educating those among us who are open to the message of liberty. We will also be ready to offer a peaceful alternative when the State strikes out violently against those who are reluctant to abide by its might.
Bernstein has one other point that he offers which I wish to address:
My hypothesis is that what all the events precipitating the Tea Party movement share is that they demonstrated, emphatically and unconditionally, the depths of the absolute dependence of us all on government action, and in so doing they undermined the deeply held fiction of individual autonomy and self-sufficiency that are intrinsic parts of Americans’ collective self-understanding.
This is correct, but it is also misleading. We are dependent because the government compels us to be. We use its currency, and suffer inflation because of it. We must work to pay for two senseless, losing wars. We thus have less money to feed our families, and with which we may strengthen non-compulsory institutions, none of which is more important than the family itself.
Bernstein hints that the tea party may be revolutionary. It is far more likely that it will utterly fail to do much of anything. The American people don't actually hate government. Sure, some of us do, but we're idiosyncratic. The success of Ron Paul's End the Fed notwithstanding, obsessions with monetary policy are signs that you may belong to the remnant of which Albert Jay Nock wrote. Most people will tolerate the government until it oversteps its bounds to the point where the deleterious consequences of governmental interference can no longer be ignored.
This is what we've witnessed recently, and it's a point that we must not forget. Yes, conservatives like Hannity are hypocritical for supporting the State as long as their guy was running it. But this doesn't detract from the fact that the State violates our liberties with impunity, and is patently responsible for the impoverishment of millions of Americans.
Consider what has occurred in the last three or four years. Mainstream economists, pundits and politicians insisted that the economy was doing well. The Austrian school knew better of course. When it was no longer possible to pretend that there was a problem, both major presidential candidates helped transfer billions of dollars, enough money to pay off almost every mortgage in the country, to bail out rich bankers--who then took home huge bonuses. The same buffoons who didn't recognize the housing bubble insisted that the stimulus would fix the economy. They then used meaningless metrics to prove that the recession was over. This happened while unemployment continued to climb. Meanwhile, the State picked up the slack by hiring more people to interfere in the lives of free citizens. We also found out that private sector employees are suckers, who make far less than those who work for the State.
This had the tendency to make people angry. Should we be surprised? Instead of being concerned with the anger of the tea party, I think Bernstein should ask himself why he fails to share their emotions. It's ripping him off, too.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Leviathan - Part I
Summer is almost here, which means it's time for another round of discussions of philosophic tracts with PJ and yours truly. This year, we're going to examine some selections from Princeton Readings in Political Thought.
This first post deals with Thomas Hobbes. Naturally, the text contains selections from Leviathan, which I was able to find the time to read in full earlier this year. In addition to the text, I'll also be utilizing Chapter II of Volume V of Frederick Copleston's History of Philosophy, as well as Chapter XX of Will and Ariel Durant's The Age of Louis XIV.
Context is often very helpful in facilitating a greater understanding of a text; it seems especially so in reading Hobbes. From 1641-1651, England was convulsed in civil war. Leviathan was published at the end of this period. Therein, Hobbes argues for absolutism as a check against the civil war of man against man that he saw in his state of nature, and which seemed concomitant with a government which divided power between King and parliament.
Leviathan is divided into four parts: Of Man, Of Common-wealth, Of a Christian Common-wealth, and Of the Kingdom of Darknesse. The text is well-organized, and proceeds systematically; Hobbes's philosophy of man fits with his conception of common-wealth. The reader may experience minor difficulties in reading Leviathan, but no more than he would reading anything else written in the middle of the seventeenth century. For a philosophical text, the writing is quite clear. As Will and Ariel Durant puts it: "One clear debt we owe [Hobbes]: he formulated his philosophy in logical order and lucid prose." (The Age of Louis XIV, p. 564).
One last point about context: some knowledge of the Reformation in general, and the English Reformation in particular, would assist in reading Hobbes. As he was writing, the disastrous and futile Thirty Years War had recently finished; nothing more exemplifies the absurdities of the period than fellow Christians butchering each other for three decades, finally ending in an exhausted draw. While some arguments for toleration were made, uniform religion under one sovereign seemed to lend itself more readily to peace. Factor in the Catholic Church's insistence that temporal power did not trump spiritual power, and we can comprehend the seething criticism Hobbes levels at the Church in the fourth part of the book.
Enough with the background and onto the text. All references are to Princeton Readings in Political Thought unless otherwise noted.
In the introduction Hobbes defines his subject, and also tells us its intention: "Art goes yet further, imitating that rational and most excellent work of Nature, man. For by art is created that great LEVIATHAN called a COMMONWEALTH, or STATE (in Latin, CIVITAS), which is but an artificial man, though of greater stature and strength than the natural, for whose protection and defence it was intended..." (p. 205)
Regarding man, Hobbes speaks of his power, which he defines: "his present means to obtain some future apparent good, and is either original or instrumental." This power can be augmented by that of others, so that a common-wealth, comprised of many men, has more power than a single man--as does a faction. He enumerates that which adds further to power based on this principle: "to have servants... to have friends...riches joined with liberality... reputation of love of a man's country, etc." (p.206)
Hobbes discusses "the Natural Condition of Mankind." Although some men may be stronger than others, nonetheless "Nature hath made men so equal, in the faculties of the body and mind." This is proved because even the strongest may be killed by the weakest, "either by secret machination or by confederacy with others that are in the same danger with himself." (p.207)
This is clear enough, but it strikes me as debatable, though not as much as it was in Hobbes's day. The invention and dissemination of firearms has leveled the playing field between the weak and the strong. Still, it seems to me that the strong are giving up more than the weak, being as the latter have more to gain, when it comes to forming a contract.
Continuing his argument concerning the equality of men, Hobbes writes: "For such is the nature of men that howsoever they may acknowledge many others to be more witty, or more eloquent or more learned, yet they will hardly believe there be many so wise as themselves; for they see their own wit at hand, and other men's at a distance." This is very well put. He goes on: "But this proveth rather that men are in that point equal, than unequal. For there is not ordinarily a greater sign of the equal distribution of anything than that every man is contented with his share." I don't buy this. Granted that no man will readily admit that he is an imbecile, this does not mean that all are equally gifted with intelligence. It may only mean that most have sufficient pride to overcome their want of brains. I harp on Hobbes here because while equality is something we take for granted—especially as good democratic Americans—it strikes me as a difficult thing to prove. I'd be curious to hear your thoughts on this.
This assumption of equality is important for the next argument. Because men are equal, their hope in attaining a desired end is also equal. They therefore become enemies in their competition for this end. This is a reasonable argument to make, but only for goods which can only be attained by one person. For many goods, cooperation will yield greater benefits for all. Whether or not man is wise enough to understand this is another matter, but if Hobbes is right that man is often at war with man, we should emphasize the possibility of man existing peaceably. I do not say this to posit my own state of nature, only to correct what I see as too heavy an emphasis on man's proclivity to war by Hobbes.
Hobbes finds three principle causes of quarrel: competition, diffidence, and glory. No man can secure himself from these quarrels. Hence, "during the time men live without a common power to keep them all in awe, they are in that condition which is called war; and such a war as is of every man against every man." This war is not fighting only, but also "the known disposition thereto." So long as man exists in this state of war, there can be no: industry, navigation, trade, knowledge of the earth, arts, letters, or even society. And in a famous line, "the life of man [is] solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short." (p.208)
Hobbes rejects any sort of natural law for man. "[T]he actions that proceed from [man's] passions [are not sinful] till they know a law that forbids them; which till laws be made they cannot know, nor can any law be made till they have agreed upon the person that shall make it." (p.209) Undoubtedly, this caused much consternation for religious contemporaries of Hobbes. If Christianity has generally suggested that man obey the State, it has also recognized a realm for conscience outside of the State. Hobbes is arguing here that man must agree upon the law—we will learn later that this is by contract—in order for it to be binding on him. This is a far cry from the law which Judeo-Christianity teaches that God has written on the hearts of man.
Later, Hobbes points out that kingdoms maintain a "posture of war" towards one another. He insists that misery does not follow from this, though it does follow when it applies to individual men. (p.209) This strikes me as one of the weakest points of his theory. His argument is that the state of war between men demands that power be given to one man to lord over them. This power will be absolute, but only over a limited area—a nation, let us say. This implies that some balance can be achieved between nations in which the state of war does not destroy civilization. Yet the impossibility of achieving some balance was the very impetus for the monarch in the first place. If a balance can be achieved between States, it's unclear why a balance could not be maintained between individuals as well. Hobbes should have argued that only a world state under one monarch could give peace to the inhabitants of his common-wealth. This would have been an exceptional argument to make in 1651, but it strikes me as more consistent with his principles.
He writes: "To this war of every man against every man, this also is consequent; that nothing can be unjust. The notions of right and wrong, justice and injustice, have there no place. Where there is no common power, there is no law; where no law, no injustice." (p. 209) But, to return to my point from the previous paragraph, how can there be justice between States if there is no law between them?
I've only managed to cover five pages, but I think I'll leave off here for now.
This first post deals with Thomas Hobbes. Naturally, the text contains selections from Leviathan, which I was able to find the time to read in full earlier this year. In addition to the text, I'll also be utilizing Chapter II of Volume V of Frederick Copleston's History of Philosophy, as well as Chapter XX of Will and Ariel Durant's The Age of Louis XIV.
Context is often very helpful in facilitating a greater understanding of a text; it seems especially so in reading Hobbes. From 1641-1651, England was convulsed in civil war. Leviathan was published at the end of this period. Therein, Hobbes argues for absolutism as a check against the civil war of man against man that he saw in his state of nature, and which seemed concomitant with a government which divided power between King and parliament.
Leviathan is divided into four parts: Of Man, Of Common-wealth, Of a Christian Common-wealth, and Of the Kingdom of Darknesse. The text is well-organized, and proceeds systematically; Hobbes's philosophy of man fits with his conception of common-wealth. The reader may experience minor difficulties in reading Leviathan, but no more than he would reading anything else written in the middle of the seventeenth century. For a philosophical text, the writing is quite clear. As Will and Ariel Durant puts it: "One clear debt we owe [Hobbes]: he formulated his philosophy in logical order and lucid prose." (The Age of Louis XIV, p. 564).
One last point about context: some knowledge of the Reformation in general, and the English Reformation in particular, would assist in reading Hobbes. As he was writing, the disastrous and futile Thirty Years War had recently finished; nothing more exemplifies the absurdities of the period than fellow Christians butchering each other for three decades, finally ending in an exhausted draw. While some arguments for toleration were made, uniform religion under one sovereign seemed to lend itself more readily to peace. Factor in the Catholic Church's insistence that temporal power did not trump spiritual power, and we can comprehend the seething criticism Hobbes levels at the Church in the fourth part of the book.
Enough with the background and onto the text. All references are to Princeton Readings in Political Thought unless otherwise noted.
In the introduction Hobbes defines his subject, and also tells us its intention: "Art goes yet further, imitating that rational and most excellent work of Nature, man. For by art is created that great LEVIATHAN called a COMMONWEALTH, or STATE (in Latin, CIVITAS), which is but an artificial man, though of greater stature and strength than the natural, for whose protection and defence it was intended..." (p. 205)
Regarding man, Hobbes speaks of his power, which he defines: "his present means to obtain some future apparent good, and is either original or instrumental." This power can be augmented by that of others, so that a common-wealth, comprised of many men, has more power than a single man--as does a faction. He enumerates that which adds further to power based on this principle: "to have servants... to have friends...riches joined with liberality... reputation of love of a man's country, etc." (p.206)
Hobbes discusses "the Natural Condition of Mankind." Although some men may be stronger than others, nonetheless "Nature hath made men so equal, in the faculties of the body and mind." This is proved because even the strongest may be killed by the weakest, "either by secret machination or by confederacy with others that are in the same danger with himself." (p.207)
This is clear enough, but it strikes me as debatable, though not as much as it was in Hobbes's day. The invention and dissemination of firearms has leveled the playing field between the weak and the strong. Still, it seems to me that the strong are giving up more than the weak, being as the latter have more to gain, when it comes to forming a contract.
Continuing his argument concerning the equality of men, Hobbes writes: "For such is the nature of men that howsoever they may acknowledge many others to be more witty, or more eloquent or more learned, yet they will hardly believe there be many so wise as themselves; for they see their own wit at hand, and other men's at a distance." This is very well put. He goes on: "But this proveth rather that men are in that point equal, than unequal. For there is not ordinarily a greater sign of the equal distribution of anything than that every man is contented with his share." I don't buy this. Granted that no man will readily admit that he is an imbecile, this does not mean that all are equally gifted with intelligence. It may only mean that most have sufficient pride to overcome their want of brains. I harp on Hobbes here because while equality is something we take for granted—especially as good democratic Americans—it strikes me as a difficult thing to prove. I'd be curious to hear your thoughts on this.
This assumption of equality is important for the next argument. Because men are equal, their hope in attaining a desired end is also equal. They therefore become enemies in their competition for this end. This is a reasonable argument to make, but only for goods which can only be attained by one person. For many goods, cooperation will yield greater benefits for all. Whether or not man is wise enough to understand this is another matter, but if Hobbes is right that man is often at war with man, we should emphasize the possibility of man existing peaceably. I do not say this to posit my own state of nature, only to correct what I see as too heavy an emphasis on man's proclivity to war by Hobbes.
Hobbes finds three principle causes of quarrel: competition, diffidence, and glory. No man can secure himself from these quarrels. Hence, "during the time men live without a common power to keep them all in awe, they are in that condition which is called war; and such a war as is of every man against every man." This war is not fighting only, but also "the known disposition thereto." So long as man exists in this state of war, there can be no: industry, navigation, trade, knowledge of the earth, arts, letters, or even society. And in a famous line, "the life of man [is] solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short." (p.208)
Hobbes rejects any sort of natural law for man. "[T]he actions that proceed from [man's] passions [are not sinful] till they know a law that forbids them; which till laws be made they cannot know, nor can any law be made till they have agreed upon the person that shall make it." (p.209) Undoubtedly, this caused much consternation for religious contemporaries of Hobbes. If Christianity has generally suggested that man obey the State, it has also recognized a realm for conscience outside of the State. Hobbes is arguing here that man must agree upon the law—we will learn later that this is by contract—in order for it to be binding on him. This is a far cry from the law which Judeo-Christianity teaches that God has written on the hearts of man.
Later, Hobbes points out that kingdoms maintain a "posture of war" towards one another. He insists that misery does not follow from this, though it does follow when it applies to individual men. (p.209) This strikes me as one of the weakest points of his theory. His argument is that the state of war between men demands that power be given to one man to lord over them. This power will be absolute, but only over a limited area—a nation, let us say. This implies that some balance can be achieved between nations in which the state of war does not destroy civilization. Yet the impossibility of achieving some balance was the very impetus for the monarch in the first place. If a balance can be achieved between States, it's unclear why a balance could not be maintained between individuals as well. Hobbes should have argued that only a world state under one monarch could give peace to the inhabitants of his common-wealth. This would have been an exceptional argument to make in 1651, but it strikes me as more consistent with his principles.
He writes: "To this war of every man against every man, this also is consequent; that nothing can be unjust. The notions of right and wrong, justice and injustice, have there no place. Where there is no common power, there is no law; where no law, no injustice." (p. 209) But, to return to my point from the previous paragraph, how can there be justice between States if there is no law between them?
I've only managed to cover five pages, but I think I'll leave off here for now.
Saturday, May 01, 2010
Towards a Mutual Understanding
I was first introduced to Christopher Dawson while reading a delightful essay written by Dermot Quinn in The American Conservative. I thus decided to pick up The Dividing of Christendom. If this book is any indication Quinn is correct: Dawson ought to be read more readily.
One should be aware of two things before reading this book. First, although it is concerned with Christendom's division, less than half of the book is devoted to a narration of its principle cause, namely the Reformation. Indeed, much of the work focuses on the tremendous effects of Luther's call to revolt, from the rise of Baroque culture, to the colonization of America, up to the Enlightenment, with which the book concludes. This is not meant as criticism, but a reader who is expecting a general history of the Reformation itself should look elsewhere.
The second point is related to the first: although the book is rather short, it is packed with ample density of thought. Dawson will not weigh one down with tendentious academic prose—thank heavens—but his book requires critical engagement, as well as a modicum of knowledge of history
As a Catholic, and perhaps especially as a convert, Dawson is concerned with the disunity of Christendom. While recognizing the importance of theological controversies, he writes: "as an historian, I am convinced that the main sources of Christian division and the chief obstacle to Christian unity have been and are cultural rather than theological." In this sense, The Dividing of Christendom could be considered a work of apologetics, but I think this misunderstands his book, as well as underrates Dawson's power as an historian.
He notes that neither the ecclesiastical historians—who study the theological origins of the schism—nor the secular historians have "paid much attention to the development of the new forms of religious culture which took the place of the old common culture of medieval Christendom." With the rise of secularism, we look to the State and its agents as the supreme actors of history. Any problem which confronts us can be solved by appeal to its authority. But Dawson understands what Alexis de Tocqueville discovered while visiting America: culture is more important than politics. Consequently, Dawson's learned discussions of cultural developments from the Reformation to the French Revolution are well worth one's study.
One of the most important observations in this book is made near the end. Dawson writes: "For a generation—during the last third of the 18th century—the Religion of Nature became a real religion and no mere ideological fantasy, a faith in which men believed with their whole souls and for which they were prepared to die." But then, "the present spiritual crisis of our culture is due not so much to the loss of the traditional faith in Christianity, which had already occurred by the time of the French Revolution, as to the collapse of this new religion which has occurred in the [twentieth] century, especially after two world wars."
The Reformation was made possible because medieval Christianity was sick, and proved incapable of healing itself before it was divided. Whatever one's opinion of the Reformation, in many respects, at least for a time, divided Christendom seemed to lack this sickness. If it often warred amongst itself—as medieval Christianity did—it also produced spectacular works of art and made prodigious industrial advancements. But it cannot be denied that our present civilization is sick, sicker even than the medieval society which Luther sought to reform. After surveying the wreckage of the Reformation, the prospects of unity look bleak. But the alternatives look bleaker still.
Dawson believed that a greater understanding of cultural differences was a necessary prerequisite for cultural unity. Those who share his hopes for unity would do well to foster the understanding which his book so richly provides.
One should be aware of two things before reading this book. First, although it is concerned with Christendom's division, less than half of the book is devoted to a narration of its principle cause, namely the Reformation. Indeed, much of the work focuses on the tremendous effects of Luther's call to revolt, from the rise of Baroque culture, to the colonization of America, up to the Enlightenment, with which the book concludes. This is not meant as criticism, but a reader who is expecting a general history of the Reformation itself should look elsewhere.
The second point is related to the first: although the book is rather short, it is packed with ample density of thought. Dawson will not weigh one down with tendentious academic prose—thank heavens—but his book requires critical engagement, as well as a modicum of knowledge of history
As a Catholic, and perhaps especially as a convert, Dawson is concerned with the disunity of Christendom. While recognizing the importance of theological controversies, he writes: "as an historian, I am convinced that the main sources of Christian division and the chief obstacle to Christian unity have been and are cultural rather than theological." In this sense, The Dividing of Christendom could be considered a work of apologetics, but I think this misunderstands his book, as well as underrates Dawson's power as an historian.
He notes that neither the ecclesiastical historians—who study the theological origins of the schism—nor the secular historians have "paid much attention to the development of the new forms of religious culture which took the place of the old common culture of medieval Christendom." With the rise of secularism, we look to the State and its agents as the supreme actors of history. Any problem which confronts us can be solved by appeal to its authority. But Dawson understands what Alexis de Tocqueville discovered while visiting America: culture is more important than politics. Consequently, Dawson's learned discussions of cultural developments from the Reformation to the French Revolution are well worth one's study.
One of the most important observations in this book is made near the end. Dawson writes: "For a generation—during the last third of the 18th century—the Religion of Nature became a real religion and no mere ideological fantasy, a faith in which men believed with their whole souls and for which they were prepared to die." But then, "the present spiritual crisis of our culture is due not so much to the loss of the traditional faith in Christianity, which had already occurred by the time of the French Revolution, as to the collapse of this new religion which has occurred in the [twentieth] century, especially after two world wars."
The Reformation was made possible because medieval Christianity was sick, and proved incapable of healing itself before it was divided. Whatever one's opinion of the Reformation, in many respects, at least for a time, divided Christendom seemed to lack this sickness. If it often warred amongst itself—as medieval Christianity did—it also produced spectacular works of art and made prodigious industrial advancements. But it cannot be denied that our present civilization is sick, sicker even than the medieval society which Luther sought to reform. After surveying the wreckage of the Reformation, the prospects of unity look bleak. But the alternatives look bleaker still.
Dawson believed that a greater understanding of cultural differences was a necessary prerequisite for cultural unity. Those who share his hopes for unity would do well to foster the understanding which his book so richly provides.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Paul tied with Obama--and Palin
Since Drudge had the link, this shouldn't be new, but it's still intriguing:
A new Rasmussen Reports national telephone survey of likely voters finds Obama with 42% support and Paul with 41% of the vote. Eleven percent (11%) prefer some other candidate, and six percent (6%) are undecided.
I don't want to oversell this; the chance that Paul becomes president is still slim. But this is still big news for at least two reasons. First, as Gary North points out:
Ron Paul's notoriety is based on his policy recommendations, not charisma. His ideas are mobilizing an audience, and his main ideas are these: (1) strict Constitutionalism and (2) end the FED. No other candidate has ever gained public attention on this pair of ideas.
On one hand, Paul is the most replaceable of the candidates, because anyone who shares his ideas could run his campaign. On the other hand, the paucity of Paulians in the beltway make him the only political figure who can defend the Constitution and demand and end to the Fed without looking like a cheap panderer. In this sense, his thirty-plus year record of limited government and sound money makes him indispensable.
Second, the Republican establishment isn't going to be able to pretend that Paul is unelectable anymore. When you're polling even with the current president and large numbers of people still don't know who you are, you have to be considered a viable candidate.
Now, I fully expect the Republicans to do anything they can to avoid allowing Paul win the nomination, but their task is not an easy one. The game may be rigged, but it has to appear to be fair. In addition, the GOP can't afford to lose all of the Paul people. Sure, some of them, like me, have never voted Republican in a major election, but many more of them are former GOP loyalists.
There is a growing backlash against government growth led by the tea partiers. I'm very receptive to criticisms that the tea party movement is hypocritical for not paying attention to the deficit until Bush left office. But this doesn't alter the fact that the State has gotten too big, and shows no indications of being able to live within its means. I'm not at all optimistic that anything can be done to stop the Leviathan, but I'm cautiously hopeful that enough of the tea party will be principled enough to push the GOP fiscally rightward.
On a related note, Politico came out with an interesting story about the tea party movement:
Tea party activists are divided roughly into two camps, according to a new POLITICO/TargetPoint poll: one that’s libertarian-minded and largely indifferent to hot-button values issues and another that’s culturally conservative and equally concerned about social and fiscal issues.
The results, however, suggest a distinct fault line that runs through the tea party activist base, characterized by two wings led by the politicians who ranked highest when respondents were asked who “best exemplifies the goals of the tea party movement” — former Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin and Rep. Ron Paul (R-Texas), a former GOP presidential candidate.
The tea parties have been a very mixed blessing for Republicans. They've certainly provided an outlet for the growing anti-Obama, anti-Government rhetoric. But this fault line will not necessarily repair easily.
The Democrats have managed to piece together electoral success with a contingent of disparate special interests. The Republic ideology has been, at times, more coherent, but in addition to the divide between fiscal conservatives--who can be appeased by tax cuts--and the social conservatives--who will gladly give obeisance for a nasty word about abortion now and again--the foreign policy issue is threatening to split the party.
This has not been Paul's doing entirely--the disastrous wars were the real impetus--but he's added fuel to the fire. There will always be a Palin wing that supports the military blindly for the "freedoms" it allegedly provides us; but there will also be those who wonder, if the State is truly the enemy, why we are to trust its employees if they wear the right uniforms. If the Post Office is inefficient, and a drain on free citizens, why is an empire deemed compatible with limited government?
There is a moral and an economic side to non-interventionism. As much as I'd like to think that the barbarity of bombing Afghani weddings would cause Americans to cease warring on everyone, the economic crisis may drive the point home more effectively. It makes no sense to lavish billions of dollars attempting to build a pair of countries in the Middle East when our own country is teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. If enough of the Palin people figure this out, the tea party just might be a force to be reckoned with.
A new Rasmussen Reports national telephone survey of likely voters finds Obama with 42% support and Paul with 41% of the vote. Eleven percent (11%) prefer some other candidate, and six percent (6%) are undecided.
I don't want to oversell this; the chance that Paul becomes president is still slim. But this is still big news for at least two reasons. First, as Gary North points out:
Ron Paul's notoriety is based on his policy recommendations, not charisma. His ideas are mobilizing an audience, and his main ideas are these: (1) strict Constitutionalism and (2) end the FED. No other candidate has ever gained public attention on this pair of ideas.
On one hand, Paul is the most replaceable of the candidates, because anyone who shares his ideas could run his campaign. On the other hand, the paucity of Paulians in the beltway make him the only political figure who can defend the Constitution and demand and end to the Fed without looking like a cheap panderer. In this sense, his thirty-plus year record of limited government and sound money makes him indispensable.
Second, the Republican establishment isn't going to be able to pretend that Paul is unelectable anymore. When you're polling even with the current president and large numbers of people still don't know who you are, you have to be considered a viable candidate.
Now, I fully expect the Republicans to do anything they can to avoid allowing Paul win the nomination, but their task is not an easy one. The game may be rigged, but it has to appear to be fair. In addition, the GOP can't afford to lose all of the Paul people. Sure, some of them, like me, have never voted Republican in a major election, but many more of them are former GOP loyalists.
There is a growing backlash against government growth led by the tea partiers. I'm very receptive to criticisms that the tea party movement is hypocritical for not paying attention to the deficit until Bush left office. But this doesn't alter the fact that the State has gotten too big, and shows no indications of being able to live within its means. I'm not at all optimistic that anything can be done to stop the Leviathan, but I'm cautiously hopeful that enough of the tea party will be principled enough to push the GOP fiscally rightward.
On a related note, Politico came out with an interesting story about the tea party movement:
Tea party activists are divided roughly into two camps, according to a new POLITICO/TargetPoint poll: one that’s libertarian-minded and largely indifferent to hot-button values issues and another that’s culturally conservative and equally concerned about social and fiscal issues.
The results, however, suggest a distinct fault line that runs through the tea party activist base, characterized by two wings led by the politicians who ranked highest when respondents were asked who “best exemplifies the goals of the tea party movement” — former Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin and Rep. Ron Paul (R-Texas), a former GOP presidential candidate.
The tea parties have been a very mixed blessing for Republicans. They've certainly provided an outlet for the growing anti-Obama, anti-Government rhetoric. But this fault line will not necessarily repair easily.
The Democrats have managed to piece together electoral success with a contingent of disparate special interests. The Republic ideology has been, at times, more coherent, but in addition to the divide between fiscal conservatives--who can be appeased by tax cuts--and the social conservatives--who will gladly give obeisance for a nasty word about abortion now and again--the foreign policy issue is threatening to split the party.
This has not been Paul's doing entirely--the disastrous wars were the real impetus--but he's added fuel to the fire. There will always be a Palin wing that supports the military blindly for the "freedoms" it allegedly provides us; but there will also be those who wonder, if the State is truly the enemy, why we are to trust its employees if they wear the right uniforms. If the Post Office is inefficient, and a drain on free citizens, why is an empire deemed compatible with limited government?
There is a moral and an economic side to non-interventionism. As much as I'd like to think that the barbarity of bombing Afghani weddings would cause Americans to cease warring on everyone, the economic crisis may drive the point home more effectively. It makes no sense to lavish billions of dollars attempting to build a pair of countries in the Middle East when our own country is teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. If enough of the Palin people figure this out, the tea party just might be a force to be reckoned with.
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Hard choices can always be made later
One of the better observations Jonah Goldberg makes in Liberal Fascism is that centrist policies are often sold, not on the basis of taking a bit of good from each of the opposing policies, but by revealing that there is no actual conflict between them. We need not choose between guns and butter, or between economic growth and saving the environment; we may have both. We make our choice by not needing to choose at all.
In a recent column, Goldberg brings up this point in regards to Obama's health care bill:
We can give 32 million more people coverage, without preconditions, and save money. It’s already clear that this have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too pitch was bogus; big corporations are announcing that Obamacare will either cost them millions (if not billions) or force them to drop coverage.
This is a valid criticism. There is absolutely no way that costs can be reduced by circumventing what little remains of the free market in the health care industry. Whenever costs are borne by others, we provide a disincentive for consumers to minimize their usage of the good or service. This naturally pushes costs sharply upwards. The end result will not be death panels, but some form of rationing is, in the long run, inevitable.
But while Goldberg is right about health care, he ought to apply his criticism to the American democratic system as a whole, or at least to the two parties that run it. For the Republicans, too, used the have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too pitch during the run up to the war in Iraq. The war would not prove costly, as Iraqi oil could defray war expenses.
The Iraq war was immoral and stupid, but it also served to demonstrate the extent to which Republicans, the ostensible party of restraint, hadn't the slightest inclination to provide responsible government. Rather than insist that the American people finance the war, Bush exacerbated the situation by cutting taxes. This was just as reckless and foolhardy as Obama's similar lack of fiscal restraint which conservatives now decry.
The fundamental problem which confronts our country is our massive debt. We continue to spend more money than we save; with the cost of entitlements rising, with no meaningful cuts to any government programs, and with tax revenues plummeting in a wobbly economy, the crisis threatens to become acute in short order.
But politicians of both parties continue to believe that there is no debt crisis. We can borrow as much as we like, and continue to spend on whatever we feel is desirable. This fallacy will be laid to rest when foreigners cease buying our debt, and we are forced, at last, to make a decision. Do we monetize the debt, and risk destruction of the currency through inflation? Or do we take our medicine and deal with a deflationary depression?
No inclinations can be discerned from the present government, which, like those before it, is content to let the problem build up for another administration to handle. So we wait.
In a recent column, Goldberg brings up this point in regards to Obama's health care bill:
We can give 32 million more people coverage, without preconditions, and save money. It’s already clear that this have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too pitch was bogus; big corporations are announcing that Obamacare will either cost them millions (if not billions) or force them to drop coverage.
This is a valid criticism. There is absolutely no way that costs can be reduced by circumventing what little remains of the free market in the health care industry. Whenever costs are borne by others, we provide a disincentive for consumers to minimize their usage of the good or service. This naturally pushes costs sharply upwards. The end result will not be death panels, but some form of rationing is, in the long run, inevitable.
But while Goldberg is right about health care, he ought to apply his criticism to the American democratic system as a whole, or at least to the two parties that run it. For the Republicans, too, used the have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too pitch during the run up to the war in Iraq. The war would not prove costly, as Iraqi oil could defray war expenses.
The Iraq war was immoral and stupid, but it also served to demonstrate the extent to which Republicans, the ostensible party of restraint, hadn't the slightest inclination to provide responsible government. Rather than insist that the American people finance the war, Bush exacerbated the situation by cutting taxes. This was just as reckless and foolhardy as Obama's similar lack of fiscal restraint which conservatives now decry.
The fundamental problem which confronts our country is our massive debt. We continue to spend more money than we save; with the cost of entitlements rising, with no meaningful cuts to any government programs, and with tax revenues plummeting in a wobbly economy, the crisis threatens to become acute in short order.
But politicians of both parties continue to believe that there is no debt crisis. We can borrow as much as we like, and continue to spend on whatever we feel is desirable. This fallacy will be laid to rest when foreigners cease buying our debt, and we are forced, at last, to make a decision. Do we monetize the debt, and risk destruction of the currency through inflation? Or do we take our medicine and deal with a deflationary depression?
No inclinations can be discerned from the present government, which, like those before it, is content to let the problem build up for another administration to handle. So we wait.
Saturday, April 03, 2010
Dostoevski and the west
"To Dostoevski every object and every act is merely a symbol for some elusive spiritual truth. From this point of view comes an outlook which makes his characters almost incomprehensible to the average person in the Western tradition: if such a character obtains a fortune, he cries, "I am ruined!" If he is acquitted on a murder charge, or seems likely to be, he exclaims, "I am condemned," and seeks to incriminate himself in order to ensure the punishment which is so necessary for his own spiritual self-acquittal. If he deliberately misses his opponent in a duel, he has a guilty conscience, and says, "I should not have injured him thus; I should have killed him!" In each case the speaker cares nothing about property, punishment, or life. He cares only about spiritual values: asceticism, guilt, remorse, injury to one's self-respect." - Carroll Quigley, Tragedy and Hope, p.104
Although his observations about Dostoevski are correct, I do not find his characters incomprehensible as Quigley does. Certainly, there are scenes--in The Idiot especially--in which the characters' reactions seem sentimental, if not slightly mad. But do we really blame Roskolinikov for the guilt he feels, or for the way in which he seeks redemption for the crime he has committed? Nor do I find Alyosha Karamazov's boasts of his own evil to be impossible to understand. For, granted that he is the most morally righteous character of the novel, Alyosha was aware of the potential for evil which resides in every human heart.
Quigley may be right that "Dostoevski was a precursor of the Bolsheviks." Still, I think one ought to read Crime and Punishment and The Brothers Karamazov not merely in an attempt to catch a glimpse into the Russia soul, but as one would read any other great work of fiction.
Although his observations about Dostoevski are correct, I do not find his characters incomprehensible as Quigley does. Certainly, there are scenes--in The Idiot especially--in which the characters' reactions seem sentimental, if not slightly mad. But do we really blame Roskolinikov for the guilt he feels, or for the way in which he seeks redemption for the crime he has committed? Nor do I find Alyosha Karamazov's boasts of his own evil to be impossible to understand. For, granted that he is the most morally righteous character of the novel, Alyosha was aware of the potential for evil which resides in every human heart.
Quigley may be right that "Dostoevski was a precursor of the Bolsheviks." Still, I think one ought to read Crime and Punishment and The Brothers Karamazov not merely in an attempt to catch a glimpse into the Russia soul, but as one would read any other great work of fiction.
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