About Socialism and Socialists
Friday, December 31, 2010
by Frank
Chodorov
[This article is excerpted from chapter 8 of
Out of
Step (1962). An MP3 audio file of this article, read by Ted
Whelan, is
available for download.]
I was a shaver of 10 or 12 when, on doing errands for my father, I ran
into Grand Street. That was, and is, a thoroughfare in downtown New York,
but in those days it was an institution, made so by a number of
establishments along the street called "coffee saloons." These,
I presume, served other foods, but when I patronized them in the
afternoons they purveyed only mugs of coffee and hunks of cake. The
customers, or habitués, seemed to be less interested in eating and
drinking than in arguing the metaphysical notions of Karl Marx or
Kropotkin.
Each of these establishments acquired a character of its own, deriving
from the particular ideology advocated by its clientele, or from an
interpretation of that ideology enunciated by some self-appointed pundit
who had got a following. There was at least one "saloon" which
only the true believers frequented, their principal pastime, aside from
discussing moot questions in Marxist "science," being to
castigate the revisionists, who held forth in another
"saloon."
The latter, who called themselves social democrats, spent most of their
time proving to one another the correctness of the reforms they had
concocted; incidentally, they must have been right, for most of the
reforms were later taken over by the Democrats and then by the
Republicans. But, on the whole, these socialists were evolutionary,
rather than revolutionary; they dreamed of the day when capitalism shall
have decayed, from its internal deficiencies, when a mere push from the
proletariat will topple it. They were willing to let the immutable forces
of history do the job, and contented themselves with talking; there was
little inclination to help the forces of history along. That was long
before Lenin came along with his doctrine of dynamism.
There are very few of the Grand Street type of socialists around these
days, either in this country or in Europe, except, perhaps, in the
Kremlin. Gone are the doctrinaires, the "scientific"
socialists, with whom I delighted to argue on the campus of Columbia
College, or whom I heckled on the soapbox in Union Square, New York. They
have disappeared not only because the measures they advocated have
largely been accepted and have been institutionalized, but more so
because their theoretical position has been undermined by
experience.
There are therefore few to say a good word for the laboriously
manufactured labor theory of value, or to give even lip service to the
Marxist many-worded theory of surplus value, which was the keystone of
his theory of exploitation, which in turn was the basis for his
indictment of capitalism. The Russian "experiment" has shown
that the state can be built on the bones of the proletariat, as well as
on the bones of capitalists, and his "withering away of the
state" theory has gone the way of all his notions. There is nobody
to argue with, and all the hours I put into Das Kapital, for the
purposes of dialectic, now seem to have been wasted. Too bad, for I did
have a good time with these socialists.
But that is the way of empirical knowledge: it makes a mess of theories
confidently advanced by long-winded economists and ivory-tower social
scientists. Capitalism, without benefit of a theory, and operating solely
on the mundane profit motive, has disproven Marx on every point. To be
sure, the economists of the Austrian School had done in the labor theory
of value that the value of a thing is determined by the amount of labor
put into producing it by showing that value is entirely subjective and
has no relation whatever to labor. But capitalists did it in their own
way; when people wanted a thing and were willing to pay for it, the
capitalists made it, and when there was no demand for a thing it simply
was not made. That is to say, the consumer puts a value on what he
wants.
The surplus-value theory had it that capitalists paid labor subsistence
wages and retained as profits all that labor produced above this
subsistence level; but capitalism proved that wages come out of
production, and that the more capital is used in production the greater
the output of labor and therefore the greater its rewards. Capitalism has
raised wages, not lowered them, as Marx predicted. So much so, that the
worker with a washing machine and an automobile has lost every vestige of
"working class consciousness." He even plays golf.
It took capitalism almost a hundred years to demolish
"scientific" socialism by the pragmatic method, but it did so
thorough a job of it that Das Kapital has been laid to rest without a
requiem. Even the nationalization of industry, once given the top
priority of all socialistic programs, has lost its appeal.
In England, the labor unions, which furnish the bulk of the finances for
the Labour Party, have given up on nationalization for two reasons:
first, in a strike against a privately owned industry the government can
be called in as a mediator, and the government can always, for political
reasons, be counted on to favor the strikers, while a strike against a
nationalized industry is in fact a strike against the government, or a
revolution, with questionable results; secondly, the inefficiency of a
bureaucratically controlled industry is too evident to warrant even
discussion.
The German socialists, heretofore the most valiant of Marxist
protagonists, have declared that nationalization is to be resorted to
only if it advances "socialistic ends"; otherwise, industry can
be left in private hands. The fact of the matter is that the condition of
the workers has so improved under a free economy that they do not relish
any change, and the theoretical socialists, anxious for votes, have had
to change their theory to suit their following.
So, what is socialism without Marx? I put that question to an
official of the French Socialistic Party and received this answer:
- Marx could not have anticipated the great technological advances of
the past century and, therefore, while his theories were correct in his
day they do not apply to present conditions. Nevertheless, Marx did much
for the working-class movement in his time and he still gives our
movement direction and inspiration.
That is to say, there is no theoretical position for socialists, no
postulates to guide them, and they must "play it by ear." As a
matter of necessity they are reduced to expediencies and have therefore
become mere politicians, not revolutionists. In every country the
socialists have become office seekers, aiming to get hold of the reins of
government by parliamentary methods, and for no other purpose than to
enjoy the prerogatives and perquisites of office. Power for the sake of
power is their current aim.
Well, how does one acquire power in a country ruled by popular suffrage?
By promising the electorate all their hearts desire and by being more
profligate with promises than the opposition. Thus, socialism has become
mere welfarism, and with welfarism comes control of the national economy.
But, while Marxism aimed to control the economy for the purpose of
destroying capitalism, modern socialism seems bent on controlling the
economy for the sake of control; even advocating something called a
"mixed" economy, partly free and partly controlled.
In short, socialists everywhere have adopted the program of American
"liberals." In Europe, those of the socialistic persuasion
still maintain their allegiance to the name, since there the word
"liberal" still retains its original meaning, as defining one
who would remove laws, not proliferate them, while the socialistically
minded in this country have perverted the word into its opposite meaning.
But the European socialist and the American "liberal" are both
energumens for government intervention in the affairs of men; both have
an overpowering desire for power; and both offer to buy votes with tax
money. The programs and the tactics of the two are identical. And neither
has any theoretical position, any philosophy of either government or
economics, by which they can be judged. Both are opportunistic.
Returning to Grand Street; at that age I could not follow the reasoning
-- if it can be called reasoning -- of the various pundits who held forth
in these "saloons," but I did acquire a dislike for socialists
that has hung onto me ever since. A child is guided by his instincts,
which are packaged in its little brain when he comes into this world.
Just as his bundle of muscles may be developed along certain lines, or
his senses sharpened by practice, so may his instincts (or temperament,
if you wish) be refined or trained by education; but, trained or
untrained, the original stock manifests itself in his reaction to his
environment, and this reaction remains constant. That is why there are,
in degree of devotion or adherence to doctrine, all kinds of Catholics or
Jews, and all sorts of Democrats or Republicans. That is what we mean
when we say that the boy is a "born" mathematician or a
"born" politician. His instinct inclines him toward a given
body of thought, and no amount of argument or education can wean him away
from it. He will drift toward that body of thought no matter what
influences are brought to bear upon him simply because of an intuitive,
built-in inclination toward it.
Socialists are born, not made. (And so are individualists.) In a way, the
basic urge toward socialism is in all of us, since every one of us is
inclined to impose our set of values on others; we seek to
"improve" the other fellow up to our own particular standards.
But most of us will try to "elevate" the other fellow and,
meeting resistance, will give it up as a hopeless job. The socialist,
however, has an intuitive urgency for power, power over other people, and
proceeds to bolster this urgency with an ethic: he seeks power for a
humanitarian purpose. He would "elevate" all mankind to his
ideal. Since the individual does not wish to be "elevated," and
lays claim to something called rights, the socialist undertakes to prove
that the individual does not exist, that an amorphous thing called
"society" is the only fact of reality, and proceeds to impose
his set of values on this thing. Having made this discovery -- that
society is something greater than the sum of its parts, with an
intelligence and a spirit of its own -- the socialist dons his shining
armor and sets forth on a glorious adventure for its improvement. He
works for the "social good" which is -- what he wanted to do
since first he became aware of his instinct.
I have never met a dedicated socialist who did not consider himself a
leader if not at the top of the revolution, then at least as commissar
of toothpicks in the ninth ward. He is not a replaceable part of the
thing called society but was destined, at birth, to be a regulator of
this thing. This desire for power is quite common, even among
nonsocialists, but while others seem willing to win their spurs according
to the rules of the market place, the socialist claims the scepter
because he has a mission. He is of the anointed.
In this respect, the socialist is no different from the millions of
bureaucrats who now infest the social order; the bureaucrat is, like the
socialist, a ruler by natural selection.
Environment or education have little to do with the making of a
socialist. He may come from a wealthy home, where all his training should
incline him toward capitalism, or he may come from the slums. In point of
fact, many of the leaders among the socialists, those who do most to
advance the cause, are inheritors of great fortunes accumulated under
capitalism. It is sometimes claimed that their urgency to destroy the
system stems from a sense of guilt; they feel, according to this theory,
that they are not entitled to the riches they have inherited, that the
riches stemmed from an iniquitous system, and are impelled by this sense
of guilt to dedicate themselves to the destruction of the system. I do
not hold with this theory, and I point to the fact that only a few of
these scions of great wealth become socialists, while the great majority
put their money to productive enterprise or consume it in luxurious
living. These few were born with an innate compulsion to socialism. There
is no other way to account for their idiosyncrasy.
Education merely supplies the words and ideas that fit in with the
primordial inclination of the socialist. He will accept at face value all
the theories, all the figures and charts supporting his preconceived
notions, and will reject offhand any arguments or data that support the
idea of individual freedom. You cannot teach anybody anything that he
does not in a real sense already know. A class of freshmen can be
subjected to all the litanies of the socialistic creed; the majority will
take in what they are taught for the purpose of getting a passing grade,
but a minority will thrill to the instruction, while a still smaller
minority will in their hearts reject it. Those who respond favorably to
the instruction came intuitively prepared to do so, while those who find
it repulsive were likewise instinctively opposed to it.
On the other hand, give a course in classical economics, or teach a group
the meaning of natural rights, and some, though they have absorbed all
the words of freedom, will come away entirely unconvinced. Some emotional
blocking prevents the ideas from taking root. And this is also true of
all the collectivistic professors; they read all the books which the
individualist holds most dear, but the reading leaves them cold to the
ideas; they are collectivist because nature inclined them toward
collectivism.
It is true that by far the majority of our educators are socialists. But
this follows not from the fact that they were educated in the creed, but
that most of those who go into the pedagogical business are by nature
inclined toward it. Teaching is by general acclaim a noble profession,
getting that reputation from the fact that its practitioners generously
and without expectation of monetary rewards undertake to inculcate values
in the young. But it is also a profession that is removed from the
disciplines of the market place and as such appeals to those who find
these disciplines distasteful; they have no liking for the higgling and
haggling of the market place, no inclination to enter the competitive
field. Since our educational system is largely dominated by government,
and is therefore monopolistically controlled, it attracts those who favor
that kind of control; that is, it has a lure for the socialistically
minded.
Our current crop of college professors was attracted to the profession
during the New Deal. Then it was that President Roosevelt welcomed into
the bureaucracy a host of professors bent on trying out, at the
taxpayers' expense, some ideas on "social betterment" that they
had whittled out of words, and the opportunity thus offered to "do
something about it" attracted a number of young men and women
(because they were inherently socialists) to teaching; it seemed the
right way to get into the bureaucracy, where one could help fix up the
world. That is really where they belong, in the bureaucracy, for that is
where one gets clean away from the market place.
However, vast as is the bureaucracy there is not room in it for all the
professors, and many do not have even the solace of temporary employment
on government projects; most must remain on campuses for the rest of
their lives, and they make the best of it by imposing on their students
the values acquired during their own student days. They are still New
Dealers; in fact, they inherited the instinct.
One more bit of evidence to support my thesis that socialism is
intuitive, not acquired, is my experience with ex-socialists and
ex-communists. I have known a number of them and, with one exception,
though they had dropped theoretical socialism they were all for
government intervention; even that one exception was for our undertaking
a "preventive war" with Russia. All of them were intellectually
honest men and rejected Marx on the basis of evidence and the dictates of
logic; all of them were revolted by the immoralities of Sovietism. Yet
they could not accept wholeheartedly the principals of laissez-faire
economics, nor could they subscribe to the idea of negative government.
They held to the notion that government ought to intervene in the market
place, for the "social good," that political power could be
exercised for the benefit of mankind. They were socialists in spite of
themselves. They gave the impression that if only they were in command,
socialism would work out all right. Other doxies were heterodox, but
theirs was orthodox.
Since socialism is so well institutionalized, since it is the going
order, introduced through democratic methods, it might be claimed that
almost all, or at least the majority of the people, are socialists. That
is not so. The average person is not the least bit interested in any
ideology, being content to get along as best he can under any conditions
imposed on him. To be sure, almost everybody is enticed by the prospect
of something for nothing, and since that is what our socialists --
calling themselves "liberals" -- offer, almost everybody is
willing to go along with their programs.
Taking a gift does not, however, entail acceptance of the donor's
philosophy. The proletarian and the plutocrat will both accept a handout
without regard to consequences, thinking only of immediate enjoyment and
disregarding the motives of the donor; welfarism does not commit the
welfaree to any ideology.
In point of fact, it is the human capacity for adjustment that the
socialist counts on to advance his cause. He lures the unsuspecting
public by his offer of something for nothing and when they become inured
to its acceptance, so that they consider it a "right," he
proceeds to burden them with additional gifts, the acceptance of which
becomes easier with each new donation. His motive is to institute a
regime of statism, in which a bureaucracy regulates the market, plans the
economy, and regiments the people. But he gets there by degrees, basing
his program on the capacity for adjustment, rather than on the conscious
acceptance of his ideal.
That is how our "social-security" scheme has developed;
starting in 1935 with old age "insurance" for a limited number
of persons, it has widened its coverage, increased the emoluments,
compelled others to come under its aegis, and, of course, increased
taxes; it will shortly include medical services for oldsters, from which
will come socialized medicine for all.
I have seen welfarism introduced as a temporary measure, intended for
relief of the masses during the Depression, and have watched it grow into
a permanent policy of the nation, so much so that even to question it is
to draw down on oneself the opprobrious name of reactionary. In 25 years
it has come to pass that one out of every six Americans is the recipient
of government handouts of some kind, and the number is growing. To be
sure, the very beneficiaries of the system pay for what they are getting,
in taxes and in inflation, and they pay in addition the cost of
administrating the collection and distribution of the largess.
Of course, it has all been done by the democratic process, by voting into
office men of a socialistic bent, and, democracy being what it is, the
process of socializing the country cannot be stopped. A people can vote
themselves into slavery, though they cannot vote themselves out of
it.
Frank Chodorov was an advocate of the free market, individualism, and
peace. He began as a supporter of Henry George and edited the Georgist
paper The Freeman before founding his own journal which became the
influential Human Events. He later founded another version of The Freeman
for the Foundation for Economic Education and lectured at the Freedom
School in Colorado. See Frank Chodorov's
article
archives.
This article appears as chapter 8 in
Out of
Step (1962).
http://mises.org/daily/4932
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