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December 2009
Vol. 23, No. 11
Dualities
Bridging the Two Libertarianisms
What does the nonaggression principle really mean for libertarianism?
Carl S. Milsted, Jr. lives in and writes from Asheville, NC.
Liberty. Some love it because it provides wealth, opportunity, and other good things. Others declare that any denial of liberty is unacceptably evil, that liberty is a fundamental right of man. Both call themselves libertarians, and so they gather together at political conventions, seminars, and blog forums — to call each other nasty names and do battle over the meaning of a word.
The first school, the consequentialists, derides the second, the moralists, for being impractical and politically impotent. Meanwhile, the moralists deride the consequentialists for offering a tepid defense of liberty that inspires little zeal in the youthful idealist and often leads to dangerous compromise whenever the utilitarian case for government is strong. Both sides have data to back up their derision, and deride they do.
At its extreme, moral libertarianism calls for the Zero Aggression Principle (ZAP), a mandate that one should never initiate force or advocate the initiation of force, regardless of the social benefit. This principle is enshrined in the Libertarian Party’s membership oath — “I certify that I do not advocate the initiation of force to achieve political or social goals” — but it is also advocated by groups that routinely attack the Libertarian Party for its lack of principle. According to ZAP, it is immoral to advocate any taxation. Applied consistently, ZAP requires calling for the immediate repeal of all taxation. Or, as Murray Rothbard wrote in his libertarian manifesto, “For a New Liberty” (1978):
Cleaving to principle means something more than holding high and not contradicting the ultimate libertarian ideal. It also means striving to achieve that ultimate goal as rapidly as is physically possible. In short, the libertarian must never advocate or prefer a gradual, as opposed to an immediate and rapid, approach to his goal. For by doing so, he undercuts the overriding importance of his own goals and principles.
Consequentialists note that the immediate abolition of taxation would likely lead to economic collapse, civil war, invasion, or all three. Default on the national debt and Social Security obligations would shatter the current economic system. Failure to pay our soldiers could leave the country undefended, put weapons of mass destruction in the wrong hands, or lead to the rise of a Napoleon.
History has plenty of examples of governments collapsing, but few of these collapses led to anything close to a libertarian society. In nearly every case, the fall of a government was succeeded by the rise of a new government, often with an unpleasant period of violence in between. The result of this process can be seen by looking at a map of the world. Most of the world’s habitable surface is under the domain of a government. Areas that are not are under the control of local warlords. The closest modern example of the anarchocapitalist ideal is Somalia, which is hardly a libertarian paradise. While the current state of tribal anarchy is preferable to the communist government that preceded it, Somalia is inferior to a Scandinavian welfare state for doing business or exercising personal freedom.
Overnight implementation of the Zero Aggression Principle would likely lead to economic collapse, civil war, or military invasion. Since most voters can foresee these dire consequences regardless of how sweetly a ZAP-based platform is crafted, libertarians of the moralist school have difficulty getting elected. In terms of presidential vote totals and state house members elected on non-fusion tickets, the Libertarian Party peaked around 1980, before a large group of consequentialists left the party.
The moralists have a strong comeback: “Does consequentialism actually work?” How many callow college students get fired up over a tax reform proposal? Compare that with the life-changing impact of an Ayn Rand novel, its message firmly based on moral principles. As for anarchy, sure it’s iffy and edgy; but so is Che Guevara, and look at all the T-shirts with his face on them. A radical message makes for good street theatre. True, consequentialist moderates have more success getting the ear of those in power, but so what? The Bush Administration listened to the libertarian Cato Institute, then went on to violate civil liberties and run record deficits. Milton Friedman got a Nobel Prize, after giving us income tax withholding. Alan Greenspan did a decent job as Federal Reserve chair, and thus gave the Federal Reserve credibility. So why sacrifice principle if you’re going to fail anyway?
With such intellectual ammunition, the two schools of libertarianism continually attack each other, using arguments that range from the subtle to the infantile. Given the depths of these differences, R.W. Bradford (“The Two Libertarianisms,” Liberty, reprinted in March 2008) wondered how these two schools of libertarianism could work together. Upon investigation he found that many moral libertarians resort to consequentialist arguments when pressed, and consequentialist libertarians resort to moral arguments. The glue holding the two schools together is that most libertarians find elements of both beliefs within themselves.
But this prompts a further question. How can these conflicting philosophies coexist not only within the same movement, but inside the same brains? There must be some intellectual bridge connecting the two libertarianisms.
Indeed, there is. In fact there are two.
The Bridge of Denial
The simplest way to bridge the two schools is to deny any conflict between consequentialism and the Zero Aggression Principle. Libertarian presidential candidate Harry Browne epitomized this line of thinking with his mantra “Government doesn’t work.” Mary Ruwart also implied this bridge in “Healing Our World” (1993), in which she freely mixed ZAP and consequentialist arguments.
The denial bridge is extremely popular within the Libertarian Party. By my guesstimate around a third of the delegates to the 2006 LP National Convention were of this school. At the time I was leading a major effort to reform the LP (the Libertarian Reform Caucus) to widen the LP’s definition of “libertarian” so as to include a large fraction of voters who say they support both personal liberties and economic liberties, and to soften the party’s platform away from its call for anarchy next Wednesday. We failed to change the LP’s definition — the ZAP-based membership oath remains — but we succeeded in repealing most of the platform. (The deleted planks were replaced by more moderate language in 2008, due to the efforts of Brian Holtz and others who took over the Caucus after I left; however, the LP membership oath remains.) We suc-ceeded despite being a minority faction at the convention. Many borderline anarchists voted with us because they regarded the old platform as poorly written. For them, getting the public to accept borderline anarchy is simply a matter of better wordsmithing.
But while the denial bridge holds the Libertarian Party together, it fails to unite the broader movement, because many people simply believe it is wrong. And Harry Browne’s mantra is definitely, even laughably, wrong. Government does work. People routinely send mail by government post, drive on government roads, rely on government food inspections, walk on government sidewalks, and enforce contracts in government courts. Crime may be bad in places, but most people safely leave home without having to lug around a sidearm. The military may be inefficient, but it has successfully prevented any major invasion since the end of the War of 1812.
Yes, governments can be ineffective, bloated, and brutal. We can all cite areas in which the private sector can do a better job than government. But government works, even bad government. Rome did not fall in a day.
Complete lack of government, however, is highly problematic. Modern examples of anarchy (witness Somalia) are further from the libertarian ideal than any European welfare state. Anarchocapitalism may be workable in the modern world, but we have scant evidence to date to support this proposition, and a great deal of evidence and economic theory against it.
Moral Consequentialism
The Zero Aggression Principle demands immediate elimination of all taxation, and perhaps monopoly government in general. Yet eliminating these things would result in tribalism, warfare, and eventually dictatorship — that is, increases in aggression. ZAP applied to government violates its own underlying value. Aggression will always be with us. Complete elimination of aggression is a fantasy.
So moral libertarians have two choices when they confront reality:
- Practice Zero Aggression as a semi-religious discipline like pacifism or vegetarianism.
- Advocate and enact policies that minimize aggression.
I’ll call the latter path moral consequentialism. It is the second bridge, and the only firm one, between the two schools of libertarianism. It combines the underlying moral value of the libertarian moralist with the eye for reality of the libertarian consequentialist. Moral consequentialism could mean advocating anarchocapitalism if circumstances were such that anarchocapitalism would indeed result in less aggression than some form of government. This might be the case, for example, in an island nation with a uniform culture. But under most circumstances, moral consequentialism will mean advocating reform of the existing government.
At the end of “The Two Libertarianisms” Bradford concluded that we should “consider the two libertarianisms to be two aspects of the same belief, or different emphases on that same belief.” Well, that belief is “freedom is good,” or conversely, “initiation of force is bad.” Libertarian moral consequentialism simply demotes these sentiments from first principle to core value.
Libertarian moral consequentialism comes in multiple flavors. A pure libertarian moral consequentialist is one who treats minimizing aggression as the only value worthy of consideration (in regard to government). Impure libertarian moral consequentialists consider reducing aggression as one of several values to be advanced. But no matter what flavor individuals may prefer, moral consequentialism is the primary means by which the libertarian movement as a whole (not just its LP sector) is held together. Libertarians of all varieties frequently resort to moral consequentialist arguments. Anarchists emphasize the evil results of monopoly government. Minarchists point out examples of increased aggression resulting from anarchy. Neolibertarians point out the increases in freedom that can arise when U.S. military might crushes genocidal tyrants. Antiwar libertarians point to the many instances in which U.S. military might backfired, or collateral damage outweighed the benefits of military action.
But while moral consequentialist arguments are commonplace in libertarian circles, explicit moral consequentialists are fairly rare. Moral consequentialism is not an easy philosophy. It provides no pat answers. Instead, it requires mucking about with real data and acting on imperfect knowledge. Furthermore, it calls for admitting our own moral compromises.
The Veil of Euphemism
It isn’t easy to admit you are a thief, even when theft is morally necessary to prevent a greater evil. But uneasiness can be salved with fresh words: tax, confiscate, regulate, eminent domain, and so forth.
Such moral anesthesia is dangerous. It allows people who are scrupulously moral in their private lives to become rapacious plunderers in the voting booth. If the libertarian movement did nothing other than strip away the euphemisms and get the electorate, including nonlibertarians, to come face-to-face with their moral tradeoffs, government would shrink dramatically. We need to ask: “When do I point a gun at my neighbor?” (For a humorous example see “Would You Kill Your Mother to Pave I-95?” by P.J. O’Rourke, in “Parliament of Whores.”)
And even libertarians resort to moral anesthesia. Moral consequentialist arguments get cloaked behind definitions of the “proper role of government.” The Constitution provides a particularly popular set of definitions, which many minarchist libertarians use as a starting point for their arguments.
Constitutionalism is appealing and borders on being mainstream, but it suffers from the slippery slope problem. Emergencies happen. Special situations happen. It is extremely difficult to anticipate all contingencies at a constitutional convention. With proof-by-definition or Constitution-as-authority, every emergency and special situation can be construed as providing constitutional authority for invasions of liberty; the “proper role of government” broadens. Two centuries of stretching have given us a legal definition of “constitutional” that has only passing resemblance to the actual text of the Constitution.
Constitutionalist libertarians are very aware of this dangerous malleability, and many of them resort to brittle thinking as an antidote. If deviations from the Constitution (or any other standard) can result in a slide down a slippery slope, then deviations must not be tolerated. Thomas Jefferson should be condemned for the Louisiana Purchase. Franklin Roosevelt should be condemned for aiding the British and interfering with Japanese efforts to control Southeast Asian oil prior to our official declaration of war. The 13th, 14th, and 15th Amendments to the Constitution were ratified by the Southern states under duress and are thus invalid.
But brittle thinking is bad politics. It pits one’s thought against the best bargain the U.S. government ever made; it puts it on the side of Nazi Germany, Imperial Japan, and slavery. It also leads one to advocate unsound policies in the present.
Consider the recent Ron Paul campaign for president. Unlike most LP candidates, Paul had plenty of publicity, money, and volunteers. He also had enough experience in government to be taken seriously and was running in the primary of an established party. The standard excuses for libertarian failure did not apply. The Ron Paul campaign failed mainly because he promised to do bad things. During the first Republican debate he said:
Well, in my first week, I already got rid of the income tax. In my second week — (laughter) — I would get rid of the inflation tax, the tax that nobody talks about. We live way beyond our means with a foreign policy we can’t afford and an entitlement system that we have encouraged. We print money for it, the value of the money goes down, and poor people pay higher prices. That is a tax. It’s the transfer of wealth from the poor and the middle class to Wall Street. Wall Street’s doing quite well, but the inflation tax is eating away at the middle class of this country. We need to get rid of the inflation tax with sound money.
It would be fantastic if the United States never had an income tax, never switched to fiat money, and had never gotten involved in World War I. But alas, we did, and this has major consequences for the amount of government today.
We have a huge national debt and gigantic entitlement obligations. Eliminating the income tax without a workable replacement would lead to national bankruptcy.
The middle class is mortgaged to the hilt, on the expectation of continuing inflation. An immediate return to hard money would magnify the current mortgage crisis many times over, as those with fixed-rate mortgages saw their real interest rates double and their equity go negative.
Much of the world is dependent on U.S. military might for protection. An immediate withdrawal would result in wars, arms races, and a new authoritarian superpower filling the power vacuum.
Ron Paul’s promises would have long-term merit, if the policies he suggested were phased in intelligently (and he did put out a much more reasonable economic plan late in the campaign, though by then it was too late). Explicit moral consequentialism provides a mental framework in which people can come up with intelligent transitions. Instead of hiding the moral trade-offs inherent in government within a static definition, explicit moral consequentialism allows one to ask, “Which course of government action minimizes aggression today?” But Paul’s promises failed this test. Tax cuts to the point of debt default constitute a retroactive tax on bondholders. Default on Social Security is a retroactive tax on retirees. Sudden withdrawal of U.S. military power can result in more wars. More limited options, however, could result in much less aggression, even though the near term amount of government would be higher than the libertarian ideal.
As a bonus, having a dynamic view of the ideal amount of government makes it easier to get elected and actually begin implementing reforms. Bad policies are often bad politics, but the best policies in theory may still be politically impossible. If one asks, “How much liberty can I as a libertarian politician advocate and still get elected?”, one is asking a moral question: “How much can I actually reduce the amount of evil today?”
Moral consequentialism provides guidance not only for the optimal amount of government but also for how to get there.
The Denial of Empathy
Moral consequentialism provides a framework for reasonable action under a wide variety of circumstances, from near-utopia to lifeboat scenarios. But it does not provide pat answers from simple syllogisms. The consequences of action are uncertain. The value metric is messy and uncertain as well: how many extra tax dollars for more police are justified by a 10% drop in the murder rate? Moral consequentialism is thus a tough discipline for the Vulcans who dominate the libertarian movement. Indeed, one prominent school of Vulcan libertarians goes so far as to say that the aforementioned value metric is completely uncertain and thus invalid.
Moral consequentialism involves messy, asymmetric moral calculations. Consider the current situation in Darfur. Intervention by U.S. forces could produce a huge net reduction in aggression. In return for some taxes on U.S. residents and a small number of U.S. casualties, thousands of people could be saved from rape, murder, and starvation. Could be. The common assessment of the situation in Darfur could be wrong. Exaggerations of war crimes have happened before. Military action could have unintended consequences. It’s an example of the fact that moral consequentialism involves messy calculations with many uncertaint factors. Moral consequentialists can be expected to disagree with one another about proper courses of action, although their arguments can be civil, focusing on issues of data and science. Arguments and research can be messy and imperfect, but they can at least be reasonable.
Or maybe not. Those who mix anarchism and Austrian-school economics have a deeper objection: any weighing of moral tradeoffs requires knowledge of other people’s utility functions. Even with absolute certainty of military success, how do we know that the harm to U.S. taxpayers would be less than the harm to the inhabitants of Darfur from doing nothing? Maybe some U.S. taxpayers have a greater aversion to an extra bit of taxation than the southern Sudanese have to being raped and killed. Or, as Stephan Kinsella wrote in a response to one of my earlier attempts to promote explicit moral consequentialism (“The Need to be Anarchists”):
In any event, the appeal to utilitarianism is problematic on several fronts. It is, first and foremost, ethically bankrupt because it is an unproven, and indeed, false, assertion that it is justifiable to rob one man if the robbery benefits others. It is also economically incoherent because the subjective and ordinal nature of value makes it impossible even in principle to ever determine whether a given invasive action results in a “net” benefit or “surplus.”
In principle I cannot prove that allowing genocide in southern Sudan is worse than inflicting American taxpayers with a small tax increase. Then again, in principle, I cannot prove that either the Sudanese or the American taxpayers exist; they could all be in my imagination. But personally, I’ll ditch the philosophy and resort to common sense.
Empathy exists. It is commonplace. It exists at the core of our being. It allows us to raise babies and have societies. Empathy even crosses the species barrier. I know what my dog likes, and he can read my moods. Empathy is not a perfect instrument — individual choice should be the norm — but it can be pretty good, sometimes better than revealed preference.
The Austrian model of ordered preferences and diminishing marginal utility, to which Kinsella’s last sentence refers, is not Truth; it is a crude model of human decision making. We have many options in mind and many inclinations for and against each option. But we cannot examine all our options at once, much less all our inclinations for each option. There is no neatly ordered set of preferences. Indecision and buyer’s remorse are common phenomena. Successful advertisers and car salesmen build their careers on exploiting this limitation of human thought and praxeology. So why should I reject common sense in favor of an abstract philosophy based on demonstrably flawed premises?
But even were I to accept the anarcho-Austrians’ argument and reject all asymmetric moral calculations, I would have to reject the Zero Aggression Principle as well and opt for pacifism. Self-defense is usually an asymmetric application of force. Restraining a shoplifter is not the equivalent of shoplifting. Pulling a gun on a burglar is not equivalent to burgling.
The Power of Messiness
The world is messy. To thrive within it requires acting on approximations.
The electorate is also messy. To succeed politically requires putting together a coalition of activists who have many differing opinions. And it requires appealing to an even broader base of voters who have still more differing opinions.
Moral consequentialism is likewise messy. This is a feature, not a bug. It allows for a broader coalition of moral libertarians. It allows for civil discussion of differences of opinion. It fosters concentration on optimal answers for today, instead of endless arguments on the ideal libertopia. Should pure moral libertarians embrace pure moral consequentialism, they could have a much bigger movement.
But the movement would still be too small to win more than a few significant elections. For example, it would not include me. I am an impure moral consequentialist. While I do regard the initiation of force as bad, I do not regard it as the only evil worthy of political consideration. Given a choice between taxing a billionaire and letting poor people starve, I’ll choose the tax. Given the choice between burdensome regulations on nuclear power plants and risking a domestic meltdown, I’ll choose the regulations. Such stark choices arise far less often than statists would have us believe, but they do arise.
Millions of Americans hold similar beliefs, yet earnestly desire to cut government substantially (50% or more). Educate the electorate in sound economics and remind them of the moral tradeoffs inherent in taxation and regulation, and millions more will desire similar cuts.
But should we call these people libertarians? Am I a libertarian?
Perhaps we need a new word for such impure freedom lovers. The Left has adopted multiple forms, depending on its degree of radicalness: communist, socialist, social democrat, liberal. Maybe the libertarian movement needs to split in similar ways, instead of indulging in endless arguments over the meaning of a single word.
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