The Way Back. F. H. BuckleyЧитать онлайн книгу.
to George Priest, Michael Trebilcock, and Kip Viscusi for their help on our civil liability regime. Over bowls of pho, my friend Jim Wooton led me to understand how state courts treat out-of-state defendants unfairly, and what might be done to correct this. Stephen Magee’s work was particularly useful, and from friends such as Eric O’Keefe and Wallace Hall I learned that we can’t readily solve problems of corruption simply by passing more anti-corruption legislation.
Other friends, including Lord Black, Tom Pangle, Wlady Pleszczinski, Al Regnery, Jeff Sandefer, Roger Scruton, and Bob Tyrrell, heard me out and sharpened my ideas greatly. I owe a debt to Barre Seid, who gave me useful comments on the book, which I shall never be able to repay.
I also thank participants at workshops at the University of Texas, as well as the Texas Public Policy Foundation and the Heartland Institute for sponsoring book talks.
Sadly, two friends and colleagues from whom I learned so much about economics, Henry Manne and Gordon Tullock, passed away in the last year: Five other friends who strongly believed in the promise of America, Walter Berns, Jim Buchanan, Harry Jaffa, Leonard Liggio, and Douglass North, also died over the last two years. Les chênes qu’on abat . . .
The first injunction in the Hippocratic Oath is to hold one’s teachers dear to one, and as I myself have taught for more years than I care to remember this increasingly seems like wise advice. And so I acknowledge my debt and gratitude to Saul Schwartz, who taught me of the common law’s intrinsic excellence; and to Charlie Goetz, from whom I learned that economics can be fun, at least for its teachers.
George Mason law student Dan Schneider provided excellent research assistance, and if you’re a judge or lawyer you’d do very well to hire him. For regressions and graphs I employed STATA software.
I also thank George Mason School of Law and George Mason’s Mercatus Institute for their generous support. Cattelya Concepcion at the George Mason Law Library was extremely helpful in getting interlibrary loans and finding online materials for me.
My thanks as always go to Roger Kimball and to the superb editorial and marketing departments at Encounter Books, to Heather Ohle, Katherine Wong, Sam Schneider, and Lauren Miklos. For his very professional help editing the book I also thank James Hallman at WriteWorks. Dean Draznin and Anna Walsh were indefatigable publicists, from whom I could not have asked for more.
This book would not have been possible without the encouragement and invaluable organizational and editorial assistance offered from the very beginning by my wife, Esther Goldberg, whose help I cannot ever adequately acknowledge.
—F.H. BUCKLEY
Alexandria VA
October 14, 2015
Socialist Ends, Capitalist Means
IN 1977 THE UNITED STATES LAUNCHED THE VOYAGER SPACE probe with the goal of explaining planet Earth to the residents of other galaxies. Aboard was a gold-plated phonograph record, bearing greetings from UN Secretary-General (and former Nazi officer) Kurt Waldheim, as well as a sample of our music: Chuck Berry’s Johnny B. Goode and three pieces by Bach. We don’t know what the space aliens might have made of this. Saturday Night Live reported that we received a message back: Send more Chuck Berry. For his part, William F. Buckley thought that three selections from Bach was rather like boasting, but if so this was remedied by Jimmy Carter’s lugubrious message: “This is a present from a small, distant world… We are attempting to survive our time so we may live into yours.”
Notwithstanding its provenance, there wasn’t anything particularly American about what was on the record. Suppose, then, that you were charged with selecting a single text (this time on a flash drive) to explain America to Kurt Vonnegut’s Tralfamadorians. Would it be the Constitution? The Declaration of Independence? The Gettysburg Address? Very reasonable suggestions, all of them, but I’d choose a much-derided children’s novel by Horatio Alger, Ragged Dick. The book is never read today, which is a shame, since it is as witty as anything by Mark Twain and Alger’s street-sharp urchin provides a fascinating look at the streets and slang of nineteenth century New York. Dick has the wiles to escape the con man’s snares, but he isn’t a thief and has a personal code of honor. He’s also ambitious and smart enough to profit from the book’s simple messages: that all labor is respectable, that poverty is no bar to advancement, that getting ahead requires education and saving one’s money.
Those unfashionable messages, and not a lack of literary merit, explain why the book is scorned today. It celebrates, unabashedly, the traditional American virtues of open-handedness, pluck, and optimism. Mostly, it’s a book about mobility, about making it in a country that welcomed those who wished to get ahead; and that message, not the Constitution or the Declaration, is at the heart of the idea of America. A boy with Dick’s drive, intelligence and honesty would make his way where others lagged behind, for mobility wasn’t the same thing as equality of outcome.
Ragged Dick is very much an American hero. Other cultures don’t celebrate the rags-to-riches arriviste as Americans do. In France, Molière’s Le bourgeois gentilhomme mocked middle class pretentions, and Honoré de Balzac told us that great fortunes which came out of nowhere were built on crime. The English gave us “ill-bred” and “bounder,” words never heard in America. For the lowly born Pip, the dream of advancement was a cruel snare in Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations. Not surprisingly, things were worse still in Russia, and in Dostoyevsky’s Raskolnikov the desire to rise bred a murderous resentment.
Even in America, twentieth century writers lost faith in economic mobility. F. Scott Fitzgerald seemed to agree with Balzac about the criminal origins of new money, since the Great Gatsby’s wealth came from illegal bootlegging. As for the promise of economic success, Arthur Miller lectured audiences on its hollowness. But America was a mobile society for most of the twentieth century, and during Horatio Alger’s time—the late nineteenth century—a good many people followed Ragged Dick’s path up the ladder. More recently, however, the ladder has been rolled up, and Alger’s America is another country. The level of income inequality today is higher than at any time in the last 90 years. There’s even less mobility in America than in most First World countries. That’s new, and it will transform American politics.
We’ve already seen this, in the 2012 presidential election, and even more so in the 2016 presidential campaign. The anger expressed by the voters, their support for candidates from far outside the traditional political class, has little parallel in American history. From the Left there have been protest movements in the past, but what we’ve seen on the Right is new and amounts to an entire repudiation of complacent establishment Republicans. Presidential candidates who in years past might have seemed shoo-ins have faltered, their places taken by a more rambunctious set of outsiders who communicate through their brashness, their rudeness, their belief that we are in crisis. To their more polite critics they say: We are not so nice as you!
The Republican establishment seeks to persuade voters of its essential niceness, but niceness has not closed the deal. On measures of freedom provided by respected conservative and libertarian think tanks, the United States has fallen like a rock (down to twelfth for the Heritage Foundation, sixteenth for the Cato Institute). Once the country of promise, America now lags behind many of its First World rivals on measures of economic mobility and has spawned an aristocracy. A broken education system, a dysfunctional immigration law, a decline in the rule of law, and a supercharged regulatory state have rolled up the ladder on which the Ragged Dicks of years gone by climbed. Voters across the spectrum demand radical change, and yet the Republican establishment seems content with minimal goals at a time of maximal crisis. Rejecting the Party establishment, the Republican insurgent