“The idea of social justice is that the state should treat different people unequally in order to make them equal.”
Roger Kimball responds to Hillary’s promise that “if she became president, the federal government would take a more active role in the economy to address what she called the excesses of the market and of the Bush administration.â€
As Hayek observed, the socialist, the sentimentalist, cannot understand why, if people have been able to â€œgenerate some system of rules coordinating their efforts,â€ they cannot also consciously â€œdesign an even better and more gratifying system.â€ Central to Hayekâ€™s teaching is the unyielding fact that human ingenuity is limited, that the elasticity of freedom requires the agency of forces beyond our supervision, that, finally, the ambitions of socialism are an expression of rationalistic hubris. A spontaneous order generated by market forces may be as beneficial to humanity as you like; it may have greatly extended life and produced wealth so staggering that, only a few generations ago, it was unimaginable. Still, it is not perfect. The poor are still with us. Not every social problem has been solved. In the end, though, the really galling thing about the spontaneous order that free markets produce is not its imperfection but its spontaneity: the fact that it is a creation not our own. It transcends the conscious direction of human will and is therefore an affront to human pride.
The urgency with which Hayek condemns socialism is a function of the importance of the stakes involved. As he puts it in his last book The Fatal Conceit , the â€œdispute between the market order and socialism is no less than a matter of survivalâ€ because â€œto follow socialist morality would destroy much of present humankind and impoverish much of the rest.â€ We get a foretaste of what Hayek means whenever the forces of socialism triumph. There follows, as the night the day, an increase in poverty and a diminution of individual freedom.
The curious thing is that this fact has had so little effect on the attitudes of intellectuals and the politicians who appeal to them. No merely empirical development, it seemsâ€”let it be repeated innumerable timesâ€”can spoil the pleasures of socialist sentimentality. This unworldliness is tied to another common trait of intellectuals: their contempt for money and the world of commerce. The socialist intellectual eschews the â€œprofit motiveâ€ and recommends increased government control of the economy. He feels, Hayek notes, that â€œto employ a hundred people is â€¦ exploitation but to command the same number [is] honorable.â€
Not that intellectuals, as a class, do not like possessing money as much as the rest of us. But they look upon the whole machinery of commerce as something separate from, something indescribably less worthy than, their innermost heartsâ€™ desires. Of course, there is a sense in which this is true. But many intellectuals fail to appreciate two things. First, the extent to which money, as Hayek put it, is â€œone of the great instruments of freedom ever invented,â€ opening â€œan astounding range of choice to the poor manâ€”a range greater than that which not many generations ago was open to the wealthy.â€
Second, intellectuals tend to ignore the extent to which the organization of commerce affects the organization of our aspirations. As Hilaire Belloc put it in The Servile State, â€œThe control of the production of wealth is the control of human life itself.â€ The really frightening question wholesale economic planning raises is not whether we are free to pursue our most important ends but who determines what those â€œmost important endsâ€ are to be. â€œWhoever,â€ Hayek notes, â€œhas sole control of the means must also determine which ends are to be served, which values are to be rated higher and which lowerâ€”in short, what men should believe and strive for.â€
Read the whole thing.
Hat tip to The Barrister.
Mark Bauerlein, in Chronicle of Higher Education, sounds a lot like David Horowitz, describing the academic left’s policy of apartheid concerning conservative ideas, thinkers, and scholars.
Just as an example, he compares the status of Hayek with Foucault:
Decades ago a thinker who’d witnessed oppression firsthand embarked upon a multibook investigation into the operations of society and power. Mingling philosophical analysis and historical observation, he produced an interpretation of modern life that traced its origins to the Enlightenment and came down to a fundamental opposition: the diverse energies of individuals versus the regulatory acts of the state and its rationalizing experts. Those latter were social scientists, a caste of 18th- and 19th-century theorists whose extension of scientific method to social relations, the thinker concluded, produced some of the great catastrophes of modern times.
Here’s the rub: I don’t mean Michel Foucault. The description fits him, but it also fits someone less hallowed in academe today: Friedrich A. von Hayek, the economist and social philosopher. Before and after World War II, Hayek battled the cardinal policy sin of the time, central planning and the socialist regimes that embraced it. He remains a key figure in conservative thought, an authority on free enterprise, individual liberty, and centralized power.
And yet, while Foucault and Hayek deal with similar topics, and while Hayek’s defense of free markets (for which he won the Nobel prize in economics in 1974) influenced global politics far more than Foucault’s analyses of social institutions like psychiatry and prisons, the two thinkers enjoy contrary standing in the liberal-arts curriculum. Hayek’s work in economics has a fair presence in that field, and his social writings reach libertarians in the business school, but in the humanities and most of the social sciences he doesn’t even exist. When I was in graduate school in the 1980s, a week didn’t pass without Foucault igniting discussion, but I can’t remember hearing Hayek’s name.
Hat tip to Karen Myers.