Man, Economy and State is a very, very long book, an interesting book, and a worthwhile book. But I think it also suffers from a few very big flaws.
The
main problem, in my opinion, is that Rothbard is just simply 'too
modern' a man. Even as he objects to economic approaches which are too
tainted with the 'scientific' slant -- inappropriately 'mathematical'
and 'objective,' as if all phenomena can be distilled down to something
like classical physics -- nevertheless, he too is infected with the
tendency on a more fundamental and less obvious level.
(And
to be fair, I probably am, too, so maybe this is a case of the pot
calling the kettle black. But hopefully, maybe the pot and kettle can
sometimes get together and scrape some of the soot off of each other.)
The
biggest problem I have is a very broad objection which I think would
qualify as what Michael Oakeshott calls 'rationalism,' but I think other
authors have called by different names and addressed in slightly
different ways. Basically, I think he has some difficulty with the
notion of abstraction and the application of the subjective point of
view.
He actually talks about abstraction quite a bit,
but in a way I've never seen anyone else use the word. He tends to
speak in terms of 'abstracting away' from certain irrelevant phenomena,
such that the 'mental image' so obtained does not contain these
irrelevant parts. But, in principle, it still contains everything
else.
To my understanding (and I may be wrong, as I'm
new to this myself), an abstraction is formed almost in the exact
opposite manner. This approach misses the whole point. The reason one
forms abstractions of concrete objects and phenomena is that these
things in their totality are inconceivable to the human mind due to
their immense complexity. What can be conceived are idealized
simplifications. What is 'abstracted from' the concrete situation is
the essential characteristics and parameters and everything else is
excluded. Thus the essential characteristics become manageable, and an
idealized system with practical, predictive utility is constructed.
For
example, in a problem of classical physics, one might be given an
initial position, the mass, and an accelerating force applied to an
object, and asked to predict its future position. This is an
abstraction of the problem in that only three parameters are used to
characterize the situation (six if you want to make it a force vector in
three dimensional space, but anyway...). The position and mass of the
moon and sun (with their consequent gravitational attraction), of every
other particle in the universe, and the history of every particle making
up the object in question, are not of interest insofar as their effects
on the situation in question are minuscule. In general, one wouldn't
even think to include these things at all unless it were clear that they
had some substantial bearing on the problem.
To do
things Rothbard's way would have it all backwards and leave things
impossibly complicated -- if one could actually do it. He would have to
expend a great deal of mental energy finding every parameter to exclude
before settling on the few things that actually mattered, which tells
me that he's not actually doing this. If he were, as soon as he thought
about a situation, he'd be like a computer that gets stuck in an
infinite loop and winds up on the 'blue screen of death.' He's really
thinking more or less the way that everybody else thinks, but somehow
his way of 'thinking about thinking' isn't quite on the same page.
Somehow
he conceives of things as if his thoughts really encompassed concrete
reality completely as a matter of simple inspection, and then he goes
about excluding things he thinks aren't important, or more often, are
complicating factors which he would like to exclude so that he can get
at a particular point. Because of this, for him, his thoughts seem more
or less perfect images of the concrete, so his conclusions appear to
him far more sweeping and inescapable than most people would think
warranted.
Basically, he seems to believe that his
thoughts and theories are actually exact expressions of concrete
reality, allowing for some abstract contribution from external
contingencies -- his oft invoked
ceteris paribus. This results
in a curious 'feel' to his philosophy. Sometimes he seems to want to
say that his assertions are very narrow, that they apply very
specifically, if absolutely, to only a narrow slice of human experience,
and maybe shouldn't weigh quite so heavily on people's conscience if
their thoughts don't much incline towards these matters. Other times,
he seems to think that they are extremely broad, that they touch on
everything within their own peculiar capacity, in a very predictable and
ironclad fashion. This is the way he seems to view abstractions -- as
'slices' of reality, within which they are fully as concrete as reality
itself, rather than as idealizations from which there may be
considerable departure when the fully relevant picture hasn't quite been
captured in the process of forming a mental image of the situation.
He
thus falls into the trap of most modern thinkers -- of trying to take
his thoughts too close to the concrete, so that rather than being valued
for their capacity to convey truth to human consciousness, they fall in
love with their own precision and logical 'consistency,' and emerge
from the affair as ideology. The truth which they do contain is lost in
a torrid orgy of desire for absoluteness in assertion, usually
expressed in an obnoxious particularness and an air of unwarranted
certainty.
For him, a good theory is like the
snapshot from a good point-and-shoot camera -- all-encompassing field of
view, every detail in sharp focus, all of the time, no matter what.
But most people recognize the superior quality of photograph from a
professional camera, and some will pay good money for a camera that
produces a much more natural image that essentially renders half or more
of the image unfocused and blurry.
The blurriness is
an essential feature of such a camera, not a liability. The image it
produces, with its indistinct suggestions of detail beyond and before
the focal plane, but wonderfully sharp focus and detail at the point of
interest, rings of truth because this is the way the eye sees the
world. Likewise, truth and understanding is not generally to be found
buried in a morass of undifferentiated detail, however precise and fine,
it is to be apprehended in a clear understanding of the relations of
things. The clearer, simpler, more elegant and vivid manner in which
relations are manifested in thought, so much the better the apprehension
of truth. Detail which is unessential is detail which distracts, which
is detail which obscures.
This is not to belittle
the necessity of precision or detail, but it is to point out the danger
of habitually swimming as close to the shoals of the concrete as
possible at all times. Too often, in the pursuit of certainty, modern
thinkers like Rothbard want to abstract as little as possible, and in
doing so confuse themselves into thinking that they are not abstracting
at all. Thought exhausts itself at such an effort, and ultimately
destroys itself when it is inevitably smashed against the concrete.
Thought which is too concrete ceases to be thought at all. In
attempting to apprehend reality too perfectly, it ceases to actually
apprehend, and falls into an endless cataloging.
Anyway, enough flowery metaphors. You get the idea.
This
kind of confusion Voegelin identifies with positivism, and Oakeshott
with rationalism. Or perhaps these are two slightly different
tendencies that revolve around a confusion of subject and object, the
concrete and the abstract. In any event, Rothbard's tendency is to
believe that since he has perfectly apprehended reality in this body of
semi-abstract theory, that it constitutes some body of inarguable truth
perfectly binding upon all of reality.
That leads to
the second major problem -- the ideological aspect. A mathematician
knows the laws of geometry, but if he's intelligent and given it some
thought, he knows that geometry can never apply perfectly to reality.
There are, for example, no such things as Euclidean lines. A true
Euclidean line has zero thickness, and in a three-dimensional world,
that corresponds to a nothingness. Real lines must have thickness else
they cannot exist, are never perfectly straight, etc. Euclidean lines
are an ideal never realized in reality. Like all abstractions, they are
a tool for thinking about other things. Like all theoretical systems,
geometry can only work perfectly applied to abstract idealizations.
Rothbard
does not seem to think that he has idealized anything, so he sometimes
takes some things a bit too far, as it seems to me. This becomes
particularly acute and obvious as he wanders into territory outside his
economic abstractions but continues to apply the same supposedly
concrete and universally binding laws inappropriately. I do not
generally hold contradiction against people, at least at a certain
level, and I'm not really doing it here. I'm just using it to point out
where he has made a mistake of application.
On page 1215, he argues that --
There
is no objection at all to discussion of ethical concepts when they are
needed, provided that the economist realizes always (a) that economics
can establish no ethical principles by itself—that it can only furnish
existential laws to the ethicist or citizen as data; and (b) that any
importation of ethics must be grounded on a consistent, coherent set of
ethical principles, and not simply be slipped in ad hoc in the spirit
of “well, everyone must agree to this. . . .” Bland assumptions of
universal agreement are one of the most irritating bad habits of the
economist-turned-ethicist.
Yet just 97 pages before,
in dealing with the political problem of the administration of justice,
he says that even in a completely free system--
Every
legal system needs some sort of socially-agreed-upon cutoff point, a
point at which judicial procedure stops and punishment against the
convicted criminal begins.
Why did he cross himself
up like this? Because he wandered into the moral/political realm, where
his theories do him little good because their abstraction of the
situation is in at least some ways orthogonal to the dynamics actually
in operation in this realm of thought. If they didn't apply perfectly
before, they will apply even less well now.
The 'we can
all agree' blunder of 'democratic logic' is pretty typical of
philosophers who want to construct viable 'value-free' legal systems out
of pure logic. Inevitably they trip themselves up with a statement
like this, which gives away the true moral core about which their system
turns. They would have you believe (and they may truly believe
themselves) that the core is actually the logical structure they have
built up, that its most basic principles are readily observable,
objective facts of the universe. But in reality, the core will be found
to actually consist of a body of sentiment -- which the logical system
will be found to protect and defend. And try to hide. At least, that
is my experience with such things. All such systems eventually boil
down to moral sentiments; some of their purveyors are just not willing
to admit it.
But this example is just to illustrate a
general mistake -- thinking that since he is not really using
abstractions, that the situation and the theories he derives apply to
all sorts of areas where they do not. The manner of thinking then goes
on to produce a lot of nonsense and ideology. If I were to choose a
general abstraction under which to operate in the political realm of
thought, I would probably go with something like Eric Voegelin's way of
looking at things. He really thought about the problem and came up with
a powerful way to abstract it. Rothbard, through his insistence on
'doing geometry' with everything, would not be anywhere near the top of
my list in terms of politics. I think that if he'd cleared this up a
bit, he would have made a better thinker in this department, would have
formulated some better ideas, and been able to defend them better.
Which
is not to say that he has absolutely nothing interesting to say here at
all, just that I'm more interested in his economics than his politics.
All of this I'm afraid too many readers will interpret as me '
bashing Rothbard,'
which is unfortunate, because to my mind, I'm not really doing that.
I'm only criticizing, and my way if thinking and evaluating -- so I've
learned -- is not like most other people's.
To most
people, it seems that the measure of an idea's worth is how expansive
and detailed it can get without getting 'contradictory.' (Heaven forbid
it outright contradict itself!) It also needs to encompass a great
deal of 'known fact' without getting anything wrong. Once it starts
getting a few things wrong, well, it
IS wrong, and the holder of it needs to chuck it altogether if he is 'intellectually honest.'
I
don't really care much if some idea -- or its purveyor -- contradicts
itself or 'known facts' to some degree. All thought and all theory is
abstraction, which means it is simplification, which means it is 'wrong'
from the outset. I expect every idea to be 'wrong' -- at least if this
is the measure of 'wrong' -- from the get-go. To me, that is not the
measure of an idea. The only way a thought could not be 'wrong' would
be if it corresponded exactly to concrete reality itself. If it did
that, it would in fact be a perfect articulation of concrete reality
itself, unimaginably complex, meaningless, and unintelligible to the
human mind.
But more damning, it would provide no window into truth. It would be totally worthless as an idea.
On
top of this, consider that 'theory' (and everyone has heard at least
one of these) that is totally consistent with an extensive body of
'known fact,' but presents a totally absurd, plainly incorrect
interpretation of a situation. One (supposedly, anyway) can't argue
with it, but clearly it is totally wrong. Now, which is the worse --
that 'consistent' system of thought, or one that gets some of the facts
wrong and contains a few contradictory elements, but provides a
reasonable, useful interpretation of things and clear insight into a
situation? I say the latter is better by far.
At
least, that is my understanding of metaphysics, to this point. I have
heard that some philosophers think that the concrete reality of the
mind, at least, can be known completely -- "I think, therefore, I am,"
and all of that -- but I am not that far along, and I'm not sure I'll
agree when I get there. But since we are talking about the concrete
reality of economics, which encompasses more than a human mind, I think I
can say with a fair amount of certainty that it falls under the
aforementioned regimen of thinking -- that abstraction is instant death
as far as contradiction and an incorrect correspondence to reality is
concerned, but necessary to making reality intelligible.
Insight
is a window into truth. My measure of an idea is the degree which 1)
it shows insight or reveals truth, and/or 2) it provides a useful
'mental picture' of things under which to operate that makes the
universe more easily grasped, i.e., it is a good abstraction of a
system. I do confess that that might be two ways of saying the same
thing. I like good analogies, models, and insights. To say in an
argument that one had contradicted himself with most people would mean
the argument was over and done with. With me, it is a minor quibble,
maybe something that might need a little work. To say that something
(or someone) is insightful, on the other hand, is no mere observation
but very high praise in my book – about as high as you can get.
With
that in mind, Rothbard is both very insightful and very good at
constructing abstract systems for thinking about economic systems. I
got a great deal out of his discussion of the division of labor, the
production structure, the relationships between price, income, profit,
interest, wages, rents, factors of production, and the like, which I
hadn't quite had straight in my mind for a long time. His discussion of
supply and demand were excellent. Even his discussion of the incidence
of taxation I found extremely worthwhile -- even where I disagreed with
him! What it really did was to help me to think about the problem,
which is immensely helpful.
The post I did
criticizing him on the sales tax was really a minor thing, in my
opinion. I wouldn't have even known how to think about the problem if I
hadn't read his treatment of it.
But the reason I
could get all of that out of the book is that I didn't blow it off as
'wrong' at the first problem I had with it. I could spend months
criticizing parts of it (especially at
my pace of things...) but
what would that accomplish? To treat it the way most modern thinkers
seem to operate would be like entering a vast and beautiful garden and
getting hung up on a patch of thorns right at the entrance and never
getting any further. You'd never get to see anything else, because you
got hung up on one stupid thing right at the beginning. Even if it's a
big thornbush, it's not worth it missing all the good things by getting
caught up in nitpicking the bad.
Another great thing
about the book is that the writing is very approachable and expressed
very clearly. Actually, I prefer slightly more convolution and 'vivid
vagueness' than he uses, but I realize that that is a matter of taste,
and it is a great thing to be able to express exactly what you mean so
clearly and simply. You may not agree with Rothbard, but you are never
confused about where he stands. Such precision and approachability is
very difficult on such a complex topic.
There are
really only a few places in the book that become intellectually
demanding, which is pretty amazing to me. While it does make it a bit
simpler to do such analyses when you decide ahead of time to simplify a
problem the way that he did -- by abstracting it rather unrealistically
-- still, if one just accepts that the way the situation has been framed
is a little off, his approach is a very clear and useful way to get at
some important insights. I don't think there are many people, living or
dead, who could pull off something like that.
***
Apparently, I'm getting at least fairly close with most of my metaphysics. Ed Feser -- a professor of philosophy --
has a post discussing more or less exactly the error I'm talking about here.