"Why should any self-respecting
citizen endorse an institution grounded on thievery? For that is what one
does when one votes. If it be argued that we must let bygones be bygones,
see what can be done toward cleaning up the institution of the State so
that it might be useful in the maintenance of orderly existence, the
answer is that it cannot be done; you cannot clean up a brothel and yet
leave the business intact. We have been voting for one "good
government" after another, and what have we got?"
On Underwriting an Evil
Friday, December 24, 2010
by Frank
Chodorov
[Chapter 4, Out
of Step (1962)]
I voted for Teddy Roosevelt in 1912. I haven't voted in a presidential
election since.
At first it was sheer instinct that dissuaded me from casting my ballot.
I listened to the performance promises of the various candidates and the
more I listened the more confused I became. They seemed to me to be so
contradictory, so vague, so devoid of principle, that I could not bring
myself in favor of one or the other.
Particularly was I impressed by the candidates' evaluations of one
another. Neither one had a good word to say of his opponent, and each was
of the opinion that the other fellow was not the kind of man to whom the
affairs of state could be safely entrusted. Now, I reasoned, these
fellows were politicians, and as such should be better acquainted with
their respective qualifications for office than I could be; it was their
business to know such things. Therefore, I had to believe candidate A
when he said that candidate B was untrustworthy, as I had to believe
candidate B when he said the same of candidate A. In the circumstances,
how could I vote for either? Judging by their respective evaluations of
each other's qualifications I was bound to make the wrong decision
whichever way I voted.
I put off voting from one election to another, perhaps hoping that
sometime a compelling choice would be offered me. I was, I believe,
looking for a candidate who would stand for a philosophy of government,
something that would be above the ephemeral. In time it dawned on me that
I was being romantic, that with principles -- that is, moral or
philosophic concepts -- politics simply has nothing to do, except as
convenient slogans in the promotion of its business, which is the
acquisition of power. I soon realized that the art of politics consisted
in the balancing of various group interests, one against the other, so as
either to attain or retain rulership over all. It was a juggling
act.
This is no reflection on the intellectual integrity of the politician.
His business does not call for any such quality and his supporters would
be outraged if he presumed to bring it into bearing. Assuming that a
candidate were a convinced free trader, or believed that veterans do not
benefit from handouts, or -- to go to an extreme -- that the nation's
bonded indebtedness is a burden on the economy, it would be political
suicide for him to voice such an opinion. A candidate in the North who
espoused "white supremacy" would have as little chance as a
candidate in the South who did not.
Were a considerable segment of the population, sufficiently large to
offset the opposition, in favor of putting disabilities on Jews,
Catholics, or Masons, you would find candidates advocating legislation of
that kind even though their private judgment were against it. The
politician's opinion is the opinion of his following, and their opinion
is shaped by what they believe to be in their own interest.
It was always thus. Even when kings ruled by "divine right,"
the throne was held in place by the proper juxtaposition of rival and
envious nobles. When the ambition of a particular noble got out of hand
and an army was needed to make him respect divinity, the money lenders
supplied the war funds and received their compensation, usually a grant
of land and the privilege of collecting rent from the users. In the 18th
century the rising class of manufacturers and merchants came to the
support of the king in his quarrels with his nobles, in exchange for
tariffs, cartel privileges, and the "rights" to foreign
exploitation.
Constitutionalism and the extension of the suffrage did not alter the
character of politics. These institutions merely increased the number of
claimants for special privileges and complicated the art of balancing
interests. In the early years of our country the politician's problem was
quite simple: the pressure groups consisted of tariff seekers, land
grabbers, money brokers, franchise hunters and a few others, and the
balancing of interests was fixed by the size of campaign contributions.
In due time, thanks to professional organizers, others got into the act,
and the politician now has to consider the privilege claims of vote-laden
and skillfully led proletarians, farmers, teachers, veterans -- a host of
articulate "minority" groups -- as well as the traditional
claimants. The juggling has become more intricate.
That this result was inevitable becomes evident when we consider the
nature of the ballot. It is nothing but a fragment of sovereignty. It
represents a small piece of the power which, in an absolutism, is vested
in a single person or an oligarchy. And, just as the substance of
political power consists of castles and food and pleasures for the
autocrat, so does the holder of this fragment of diffused sovereignty
spell "good times." In short, the right of suffrage carries
with it the expectation of economic welfare, and that expectation is
still the motive behind the "x" set down along the candidate's
name. We vote, in the main, by our belly-interest.
The individual voter learned in time that the minuscule piece of
sovereignty he held brought him no profit unless it was augmented by many
other pieces, so that the total would be a bargaining power of
proportions. Thus came the modern pressure group. It is the business of
the leaders of such groups to convince the aspirant for office that their
following cannot be ignored with impunity. It is the business of the
candidate to weigh the relative voting strength of the various groups
and, finding it impossible to please all, to try to buy the strongest
with promises. It is a deal. Any moral evaluation of the deal is silly,
unless we condemn politics as a whole, for there is no way for the
politician to attain power unless he engages in such deals. In a
democracy, sovereignty lies in the hands of the voters, and it is they
who propose the trading.
The vast majority of the voters are outside these pressure groups; there
are too many of them, too diversified in their interests to permit of
organization. I am one of them. I might vote for one or the other
candidate if I belonged to some such pressure group and accepted his
promise of improvement of my lot at face value. For instance, if I were a
farmer in line for a government handout, I would certainly cast my ballot
for the candidate who, in my opinion, could be relied upon to come
through when elected. Or, if I were a member of a union, I would most
assuredly trade my vote for some advantage which the gentleman in
question promised to deliver to my organization -- provided, of course,
that I believed him.
But I belong to no pressure group and am instinctively averse to
accepting any advantage over my fellow man. What is more, I am not
looking for a job in the bureaucracy, nor is my brother-in-law in line
for such a job, nor am I anxious for a government contract; and I do not
own any land that might be suitable for a post office. That is to say, I
cannot profit, directly or indirectly, from the election of either
candidate. I am of the great mass of unorganized citizens and, therefore,
see no reason for casting my ballot for one or the other.
Admitting that there is no difference in the political philosophies of
the contending candidates, should I not choose the "lesser of two
evils?" But, which of the two qualifies? If my man prevails, then
those who voted against him are loaded down with the "greater
evil," while if my man loses, then it is they who have chosen the
"lesser evil." Voting for the "lesser of two evils"
makes no sense, for it is only a matter of opinion as to which is the
lesser. Usually, such a decision is based on prejudice, not on principle.
Besides, why should I compromise with evil?
If I were to vote for the "lesser of two evils" I would in fact
be subscribing to whatever that "evil" does in office. He could
claim a mandate for his official acts, a sort of blank check, with my
signature, into which he could enter his performances. My vote is indeed
a moral sanction, upon which the official depends for support of his
acts, and without which he would feel rather naked.
In a democracy the acquiescence of the citizenry is necessary for the
operation of the State, and a large vote is a prelude for such
acquiescence. Even in a totalitarian state the dictators feel it
necessary to hold elections once in a while, just to assure themselves
and others of the validity of their rule; though the voting is compulsory
and the ballot is one-sided, they can point to the large percentage of
the electorate who underwrite their rule. In a free election, even though
the difference between the candidates is a matter of personality, or
between Tweedledee and Tweedledum, the successful candidate (though he
might be the "lesser of two evils") can similarly maintain that
he holds a mandate from the people. It is to the credit of a democracy
that I can choose not to vote. I am not compelled to give my moral
support to an evil.
Getting back to the economic advantages that the candidates promise me,
in exchange for my vote, my reason tells me that they cannot make good on
their promises, except by taking something from my fellow men and
delivering it to me. For government is not a producer. It is simply a
social instrument enjoying a monopoly of coercion, which it is supposed
to use so as to prevent the indiscriminate use of coercion by individuals
on one another. Its purpose in the scheme of things is to protect each of
us in the enjoyment of those rights with which we are born. Its
competence is in the field of behavior; it can compel us to do what we do
not want to do, or to prevent us from doing what we want to do. But it
cannot produce a thing.
Therefore, when it undertakes to improve the economy, it is compelled by
its own limitations to the taking from one group of citizens and giving
to another; it uses its monopoly of coercion for the distribution of
wealth, not for the production of wealth. So that, when I vote for the
candidate who promises me betterment in my economic condition, I am
condoning and encouraging some form of robbery. That does not square with
my moral values.
I would like to vote for a candidate who pledged himself to abolish
taxation, in
toto, for my reason tells me that underlying all the ills of
society is this predatory institution. I would surely profit if I were
not taxed, and so would all the producers; the only ones who would suffer
from such an arrangement would be the drones, the bureaucrats, who would
be compelled to work for their keep. But, since the abolition of taxes
would put the politician out of a job and would make impossible his
dispensation of special privileges, it is not likely that I shall have
the opportunity of casting my ballot for such a candidate. Lacking that
opportunity, I see no reason for registering my faith in the "lesser
of two evils"; if memory serves me right, the "lesser" of
either party who attained office has always increased the taxes I have to
pay.
All in all, I see no good reason for voting and have refrained from doing
so for about a half-century. During that time, my more conscientious
compatriots (including, principally, the professional politicians and
their ward heelers) have conveniently provided me with presidents and
with governments, all of whom have run the political affairs of the
country as they should be run that is, for the benefit of the
politicians. They have put the nation into two major wars and a number of
minor ones.
Regardless of what party was in power, the taxes have increased and so
has the size of the bureaucracy. Laws have been passed, a whole library
of them, and most of these laws, since they are not self-enforcing, have
called for enforcement agencies, who have interminably interpreted the
laws that created them and thus have spawned more laws. The effect of
these laws is (a) to put restraints on the individual and (b) to
concentrate in the hands of the central government all the powers that
once were assigned to local government; the states are now little more
than administrative units of the national government. Political power has
increased, social power has waned. Would it have been different if I had
voted? I don't think so.
Statistics indicate that nearly half the electorate -- those eligible to
vote -- do not exercise their privilege. Whether such nonvoting is due to
apathy or a conscious rejection of the candidates and their philosophies
of government (or the lack of any philosophy) it would be difficult to
tell. Perhaps the stay-at-homes might be interested in registering their
conviction if two candidates stated exactly what they stood for, without
equivocation and without offering inducements to various pressure groups;
but, in the absence of such an experiment, the best we can say is that a
goodly number find no sense in voting.
It is interesting to speculate on what would happen if, say, 75 percent
of the electorate refrained from casting their ballots; more than that is
out of the question, for at least a quarter of the voting public are
concerned with what they can get for themselves from the election of this
or that candidate; their belly-interest is entirely too strong to keep
them away from the polls. In the first place, the politicians would not
take such a repudiation of their custodianship in good grace. We can take
it for granted that they would undertake to make voting compulsory,
bringing up the hoary argument that a citizen is morally obligated to do
his duty. If military service can be made compulsory why not political
service? And so, if three-quarters of the citizenry were to refrain from
voting, a fine would be imposed on first offenders and more dire
punishment meted out to repeaters. The politician must have the moral
support of a goodly number of votes.
Putting aside compulsion, what might be the effect on the citizenry and
the social order if an overwhelming majority should quit voting? Such
abstinence would be tantamount to giving this notice to politicians:
since we as individuals have decided to look after our public affairs,
your services are no longer required. Having assumed social power we
would, as individuals, have to assume social responsibility. The job of
looking after community affairs would devolve on all of us.
We might hire an expert to tell us about the most improved fire-fighting
apparatus, or a street cleaning manager, or an engineer to build us a
bridge; but the final decision, particularly in the matter of raising
funds to defray the costs, would rest with the town hall meeting. The
hired specialists would have no authority other than that necessary for
the performance of their contractual duties; coercive power, which is the
essence of political authority, would be exercised, when necessary, by
the committee of the whole.
There is some warrant for the belief that the social order would be
considerably improved when the individual is responsible for and,
therefore, responsive to its needs. He would no longer have the law or
the lawmakers to cover his sins of omission or commission. Need for the
neighbors' good opinion would be sufficient to induce acceptance of jury
duty, and no loopholes in the draft law, no recourse to political pull,
would be possible when danger to the community calls him to bear arms in
its defense. In his private affairs, the now-sovereign individual would
have to abide by the dictum of the market place: produce or you will not
eat, for no law will help you. In his public behavior he must be decent
or suffer the sentence of social ostracism, with no recourse to legal
exoneration. From a law-abiding citizen he would be transmuted into a
self-respecting man.
Would chaos result? No, there would be order, without law to disturb it.
But let us define chaos of the social kind. Is it not disharmony
resulting from social friction? When we trace social friction to its
source do we not find that it seminates in a feeling of unwarranted hurt
or injustice? Now, when one may take by law that which another man has
put his labor into, we have injustice of the keenest kind, for the denial
of a man's right to possess and enjoy what he produces is akin to a
denial of life. Yet the confiscation of property is the first business of
government. It is indeed its only business, for the government has no
competence for anything else. It cannot produce a single "good"
and so must resort to doing the only thing within its province: to take
what the producers produce and distribute it, minus what it takes for
itself. This is done by law, and the injustice is keenly felt (even
though we become adjusted to it), and thus we have friction. Remove the
laws by which the producer is deprived of his product, and order will
prevail.
However, this speculation on the course of events if the individual
should assume the duty of looking after public affairs, rather than
leaving it to an elected official, is idle, or, to use a more modern term
impregnated with sarcasm, "unrealistic." Not only would the
politicians undertake to counteract the revolutionary nonvoting movement,
but many of the citizenry having a vested interest in the proceeds of
taxation would raise a hue and cry about the "duty" of the
citizen to vote. The teachers in our tax-supported schools would lecture
their pupils on the lack of public spirit on the part of their parents.
Propaganda would emanate from tax-exempt eleemosynary foundations, and
from large manufacturers dependent on government contracts. Farmers'
organizations, with an eye to government largess, veterans' societies
asking for handouts, and particularly the bureaucracy, would denounce
nonvoting as a crime against society. In fact, all the
"respectables" would join in proclaiming the movement
revolutionary -- which indeed it would be; it would be a revolution
intended to shift the incidence of power from officialdom to the
people.
We would be told, most emphatically, that by not voting we would be
turning the reins of government over to "rascals." Probably so
but do we not regularly vote "rascals" out? And, after we
have ousted one set, are we not called upon to oust another crew at the
next election? It seems that rascality is endemic in government. Our
balloting system has been defined as a battle of opposing forces, each
armed with proposals for the public good, for a grant of power. As far as
it goes, this definition is correct. But when the successful contestant
acquires the grant of power toward what end does he use it -- not
theoretically but practically? Does he not, with an eye to the next
election, go in for purchasing support, with the taxpayers' money, so
that he might enjoy another period of power? The over-the-barrel method
of seizing and maintaining political power is standard practice, and such
is the nature of the "rascality."
This is not, however, an indictment of our election system. It is rather
a rejection of the institution of the State; our election system is
merely one way of adjusting ourselves to that institution. The State is a
product of conquest. As far back as we have any knowledge of the
beginnings of this institution, it originated when a band of freebooting
nomads swooped down on some peaceful group of agriculturists and picked
up a number of slaves; slavery is the first form of economic
exploitation. Repeated visitations of this sort left the victims
breathless, if not lifeless and propertyless to boot.
So, as people do when they have no other choice, they made a compromise
with necessity; the peaceful communities hired one set of marauders to
protect them from other thieving bands, for a price. In time, this
tribute was regularized and was called taxation. The tax gatherers
settled down in the conquered communities, and though at first they were
a people apart, time merged the two peoples -- the conquerors and the
conquered -- into a nation. But the system of taxation remained in force
after it had lost its original character of tribute; lawyers and
professors of economics, by deft circumlocution, turned tribute into
"fiscal policy" and clothed it with social
significance.
Nevertheless, the effect of this system is to divide the citizenry into
two classes: payers and receivers. Among those who live without producing
are those who are called "servants of the people" and as such
receive popular support. These further entrench themselves in their
sinecures by setting up sub–tax-collecting allies who acquire a vested
interest in the system; they grant these allies all sorts of privileges,
such as franchises, tariffs, patents, subsidies and other
something-for-nothing "rights." This division of spoils between
those who wield power and those whose economic advantages depend on it is
succinctly described as "the State within the State."
Thus, when we trace our political system to its origins we come to
conquest. Tradition, law and custom have obscured its true nature, but no
metamorphosis has taken place; its claws and fangs are still sharp, its
appetite as voracious as ever. Politics is the art of seizing power for
economic purposes. There is no doubt that men of character will give of
talents for what they conceive to be the common good, without regard to
their personal welfare. But so long as our system of taxation is in
vogue, so long as the political means of acquiring economic goods is
available, just so long will the spirit of conquest assert itself; for
men always seek to satisfy their desires with the least effort.
It is interesting to speculate on the kind of campaigns and the type of
candidates we would have if taxation were abolished and if, as a
consequence, the power to dispense privileges was abolished. Who would
run for office if "there were nothing in it?"
Why should any self-respecting citizen endorse an institution grounded on
thievery? For that is what one does when one votes. If it be argued that
we must let bygones be bygones, see what can be done toward cleaning up
the institution of the State so that it might be useful in the
maintenance of orderly existence, the answer is that it cannot be done;
you cannot clean up a brothel and yet leave the business intact. We have
been voting for one "good government" after another, and what
have we got?
To effectuate the suggested revolution all that is necessary is for
citizens to stay away from the polls. Unlike other revolutions, this one
calls for no organization, no violence, no war fund, no leader to sell it
out. In the quiet of his conscience each citizen pledges himself, to
himself, not to give support to an immoral institution, and on election
day stays home or goes fishing. That's all. I started my revolution 50
years ago and the country is none the worse for it; neither am
I.
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 4 in
Out of
Step (1962).
http://mises.org/daily/4935
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