The State by Anthony de Jasay Read online

  2. Legitimacy is obeyed regardless of hope of reward and fear ofpunishment. The state cannot, except in the very long run, breed more of it at its choice. In getting itself obeyed, its alternatives are reduced to various combinations of repression and consent (though of course it will count the blessings of such legitimacy as it may enjoy). The consent of a minute fraction of society, e.g. the camp guards in a camp state, may suffice to repress the rest. Rewards, such as they are, then accrue thickly to the consenting minority; repression is spread thinly over the vast majority. A reversal of this pattern corresponds to greater reliance on consent.

  For reasons which look valid at the time, though in retrospect they may be regretted as weak or foolish, the repressive state usually finds it opportune over time to seduce some of those it used to repress and to lean more on consent ("Taking Sides"). This process combines steps towards wider political democracy and moves to do good, with an adversary, divisive role for the state, for it is now soliciting the support of broad sections of society by offering them significant rewards to be taken from other, perhaps narrower but still substantial sections. A by-product of this process of creating gainers and losers is that the apparatus of the state grows bigger and cleverer.

  It seems to me almost incontrovertible that the prescriptive content of any dominant ideology coincides with the interest of the state rather than, as in Marxist theory, with that of the ruling class. In other words, the dominant ideology is one that, broadly speaking, tells the state what it wants to hear, but more importantly what it wants its subjects to overhear. Rather than the "superstructure" of ideology being perched on the "base" of interest (as it is usual to place them), the two hold each other upright. There may well be no ruling class in a society, yet state and dominant ideology will thrive and evolve together. This view is advanced to justify the attention devoted to utilitarianism ("Tinker's Licence" and "The Revealed Preference of Governments"), an immensely powerful though now mostly subconscious influence on past and present political thought. The utilitarian operations of "mending," judging changes in

  arrangements by their expected consequences, and comparing utilities interpersonally so that the state can, in evaluating a policy, deduct the harm it does to some from the greater good it does to others and strike a balance of greater happiness, lend a moral content to acts of government. The doctrine which recommends such operations represents the perfect ideology for the activist state. It provides the moral ground for policies adopted by the state when it has discretion in choosing whom to favour. However, when the question whom to favour is no longer discretionary, but is prejudged for the state by the rise of electoral competition, interpersonal comparisons are still implicit in its affirmations that what it is doing is good or just or both, rather than merely expedient for staying in power.

  Social justice as the avowed objective, the ethical excuse for seductive policies, is seemingly a break with utilitarianism. A basic continuity between the two as criteria for justifying policies, however, results from the dependence of both on interpersonal comparisons. One compares utilities, the other deserts. Either comparison can provide a warrant for overriding voluntary contracts. In both, the role of the "sympathetic observer," of the "discerning eye" performing the informed and authoritative comparison, falls naturally to the state. Stepping into this role is as great a conquest for it as is the derivative chance to favour, among its subjects, one class, race, age-group, region, occupation or other interest over another. However, the discretion to choose whom to favour at whose expense, which the state enjoys when it first sets out to assemble a base of support by reform and redistribution, is almost bound to be short-lived. The argument of chapter 4 offers reasons why it tends to vanish with political competition and with society's progressive addiction to a given redistributive pattern.

  A fully fledged redistributive state, at whose behest "the propertyless come to legislate for the propertied,"*4 and which in time transforms the character and structure of society in largely unintended ways, has its doctrinal counterpart, its ideological match. The development of neither can be very well conceived without the other. Chapter 3, "Democratic Values," deals with the liberal ideology which is dominant when the state, depending increasingly on consent and exposed to competition for it, overwhelms people while serving their ideals.

  In agreeing to and, indeed, aiding and abetting the advent of democracy as the vehicle for moving from rule by repression to rule by consent, the state commits itself to certain procedures (e.g. one-man-one-vote, majority rule) for the award of the tenure of power. The procedures are such that the state, in search of support, must proceed by a simple headcount. Its policies must, putting it crudely, simply create more gainers than losers instead of, for example, favouring the most deserving, those it likes best, those with more clout, or some more subtle objective. "More gainers than losers" can always be more lucratively achieved by condemning to the role of losers a number of rich people than the same number of poor people. This rule is, however, merely expedient. It may not command the approval of bystanders who do not expect to gain from its application. Some of them (including many consequential utilitarians) might prefer the rule "create more gains rather than more gainers" and forget about the headcount. Others might want to add "subject to respect for natural rights" or, possibly, "provided liberty is not infringed,"

  either proviso being sufficiently constricting to bring most democratic policies to a dead stop.

  Consequently, it helps a good deal if the liberal ideology establishes a case or, to be on the safe side, a number of parallel cases, for holding that democratic policies do create democratic values, i.e. that political expediency is a reliable enough guide to the good life and to universally prized ultimate ends.

  I look at four such cases. One, whose great advocates were Edgeworth (impeccably) and Pigou (more questionably), seeks to establish a strong presumption that equalizing income maximizes utility. My counter-argument ("Through Equality to Utility") is that if it makes sense at all to add different persons' utilities and maximize the sum, it is more reasonable to hold that it is any settled, time-honoured income distribution, whether equal or unequal, that will in fact maximize utility. (If there is a case for equalizing, it is probably confined to the new rich and the new poor.)

  A more fashionable, if less influential, case constructed by John Rawls recommends a modified, tempered egalitarianism as corresponding to the principles of justice. I take issue on several grounds with the principles he derives from the prudential interest of people negotiating about distribution in ignorance of their selves and hence of any differences between them. I dispute the purported dependence of social cooperation, not on the terms which willing participants settle bilaterally among themselves in making actual cooperation unfold, but on the readjustment of these terms to conform to principles negotiated separately, in an "original position" of ignorance set up for the purpose. I also

  question the deduction of principles of justice from democracy rather than the other way round ("How Justice Overrides Contracts"). In the section "Egalitarianism as Prudence" I challenge the alleged prudential character of a certain egalitarianism and the roles assigned to risk and probability in inducing self-interested people to opt for it. In passing, I reject Rawls's bland view of the redistributive process as painless and costless, and of the state as an automatic machine which dispenses "social decisions" when we feed our wishes into it.

  Instead of contending, in my view unsuccessfully, that certain economic and political equalities produce final, uncontested values like utility or justice, liberal ideology sometimes resorts to a bold short cut and simply elevates equality itself to the rank of a final value, prized for its own sake because it is inherent in man to like it.

  My main counter-argument ("Love of Symmetry"), for which there is perhaps unexpected support in Marx's "Critique of the Gotha Programme" and in a priceless outburst by Engels, is that when we think we are opting for equality, we are in fact upsettin
g one equality in making another prevail. Love of equality in general may or may not be inherent in human nature. Love of a particular equality in preference to another (given that both cannot prevail), however, is like any other taste and cannot serve as a universal moral argument.

  Somewhat analogous reasons can be used against the case that democratic policies are good because, in levelling fortunes, they reduce the pain people suffer at the sight of their neighbour's better fortune ("Envy"). Very few of the countless inequalities

  people are liable to resent lend themselves to levelling, even when the attack on difference is as forthright as Mao's Cultural Revolution. It is no use making everyone eat, dress and work alike if one is still luckier in love than the other. The source of envy is the envious character, not some manageable handful out of a countless multitude of inequalities. Envy will not go away once chateaux have all been burned, merit has replaced privilege and all children have been sent to the same schools.

  Incentives and resistances, the exigencies of staying in power in the face of competition for consent and the character of the society whose consent must be elicited, should duly lead the state to adopt the appropriate pattern of policies for taking property and liberty from some and giving them to others. However, would not this pattern, whatever it was, be bound to remain hypothetical, and property and liberty inviolate, if the constitution forbade the state to touch them, or at least laid down fixed limits to what it may touch? It is to come to terms with the constitutional constraint on democratic policies that chapter 4, "Redistribution," starts with some remarks on fixed constitutions. It is suggested that the ostensible constraint of a constitution may be positively useful to the state as a confidence-building measure, but that it is unlikely to remain fixed if it does not coincide with the prevailing balance of interests in society. The prospective pay-off from amending it is available as an inducement for a coalition of the required size for passing the amendment (though this is not a sufficient condition for triggering off constitutional change).

  The mechanics of obtaining majority support under democratic rules are first considered in a highly simplified abstract case in the section "Buying Consent." If people differ from each other only in how much money they have, and if they vote for the redistributive programme under which they gain most (or lose least), the rival programmes offered by the state and the opposition will be closely similar (one being marginally less bad for the rich than the other). Under the spur of competition for power, everything that can safely be taken from the prospective losers has to be offered to the prospective gainers, leaving no "discretionary income" for the state to dispose of. As a consequence, its power over its subjects' resources is all used up in its own reproduction, in merely staying in power.

  A less abstract version ("Addictive Redistribution") where people, and hence their interests, differ in an indefinite variety of respects, and the society within which preponderant support must be obtained is not atomistic but can have intermediate group structures between man and state, yields results which are fuzzier but hardly less bleak for the state. Redistributive gains tend to be habit-forming both at the individual and the group level. Their reduction is apt to provoke withdrawal symptoms. While in the state of nature the integration of people into cohesive interest groups is held in check by (potential or actual) "free riding," the emergence of the state as the source of redistributive gains both permits and incites unchecked group formation to exact such gains. This is so in as much as state-oriented interest groups can tolerate the free riding among their members that would destroy market-oriented groups.

  Each interest group, in turn, has an incentive to act as a free rider in relation to the rest of society, the state being the vehicle permitting this to be done without meeting serious resistance. There is no reason to expect the corporatist ideal of constituting very large groups (all labour, all employers, all doctors, all shopkeepers) and having them bargain with the state and with each other, greatly to alter this outcome. Thus, in time, the redistributive pattern becomes a crazy quilt of loopholes and asymmetrical favours along industrial, occupational or regional dimensions or for no very apparent rhyme and reason, rather than along the classic rich-to-poor or rich-to-middle dimension. Above all, the evolution of the pattern increasingly escapes the state's overall control.

  In the section "Rising Prices" the group structure of society promoted by addictive redistribution is assumed to impart an ability to each group to resist or recover any loss of its distributive share. One symptom of the resulting impasse is endemic inflation. A related one is the complaint of the state about society becoming ungovernable, lacking any "give" and rejecting any sacrifice that adjustment to hard times or just random shocks would require.

  The social and political environment resulting in large part from the state's own actions eventually calls forth a widening divergence between gross and net redistribution ("Churning"). Instead of robbing Peter to pay Paul, both Peter and Paul come to be paid and robbed on a growing variety of counts (much gross redistribution for a small and uncertain net balance); this causes turbulence and is destined to generate disappointment and frustration.

  The state has, at this stage, completed its metamorphosis from mid-nineteenth-century reformist seducer to late twentieth-century redistributive drudge, walking the treadmill, a prisoner of the unintended cumulative effects of its own seeking after consent ("Towards a Theory of the State"). If its ends are such that they can be attained by devoting its subjects' resources to its own purposes, its rational course is to maximize its discretionary power over these resources. In the ungrateful role of drudge, however, it uses all its power to stay in power, and has no discretionary power left over. It is rational for it to do this just as it is rational for the labourer to work for subsistence wages, or for the perfectly competitive firm to operate at breakeven. A higher kind of rationality, however, would lead it to seek to emancipate itself from the constraints of consent and electoral competition, somewhat like Marx's proletariat escaping from exploitation by revolution, or Schumpeter's entrepreneurs escaping from competition by innovation. My thesis is not that democratic states "must" all end up doing this, but rather that a built-in totalitarian bias should be taken as a symptom of their rationality.

  I.37 Autonomy of action in the passage from democracy to totalitarianism need not be regained in a single unbroken move, planned in advance. It is, at least initially, more like sleep-walking than conscious progress towards a clearly perceived goal. Chapter 5, "State Capitalism," deals with the cumulative policies likely to carry the state step by step along the road to "self-fulfilment." Their effect is so to change the social system as to maximize the potential for discretionary power, and to enable the state fully to realize this potential.

  The agenda for increasing discretionary power ("What Is to Be Done?") must first address the problem of decreasing civil society's autonomy and capacity for withholding consent. The policies the democratic state managing a "mixed economy" tends to drift into will unwittingly erode a large part of the basis of this autonomy, the independence of people's livelihoods. What the Communist Manifesto calls "the winning of the battle of democracy" in order "to wrest, by degrees, all capital from the bourgeoisie, to centralize all instruments of production in the hands of the state" is the completion of this process. The socialist state thus puts an end to the historical and logical freak of economic power being diffused throughout civil society while political power is centralized. In centralizing and unifying the two powers, however, it creates a social system which is inconsistent with, and cannot properly function under, the classical democratic rules of awarding tenure of state power. Social democracy must evolve into people's democracy or the next best thing, the state now being powerful enough to enforce this development and ward off systemic breakdown.

  "Systemic constants" versus the variables of the human element are considered in the context of private and state capitalism ("The State as Class") to assess the place of the manag
ing bureaucracy. As the thesis that separation of ownership and control really means loss of control by the owner is untenable, it must be accepted that the bureaucracy has precarious tenure and its discretionary power is limited. The nice or nasty disposition of the bureaucrats manning the state, their "socio-economic origin" and whose father went to which school, are variables, the

  configurations of power and dependence characterizing private and state capitalism respectively are constants; in such phrases as "socialism with a human face," the weight of the constants of socialism relative to the variables of the human face is best seen as a matter of personal hopes and fears.

  In state capitalism more inexorably than in looser social systems, one thing leads to another and, as one inconsistency is eliminated, others emerge, calling in turn for their elimination. The final and futuristic section of this book ("On the Plantation") deals with the logic of a state which owns all capital, needing to own its workers, too. Markets for jobs and goods, consumer sovereignty, money, employee-citizens voting with their feet are alien elements defeating some of the purposes of state capitalism. To the extent that they are dealt with, the social system comes to incorporate some features of the paternalistic Old South.

  People have to become chattel slaves in relevant respects. They do not own but owe their labour. There is "no unemployment." Public goods are relatively plentiful, and "merit goods" like wholesome food or Bach records, cheap, while wages are little more than pocket money by the standards of the outside world. People have their ration of housing and public transport, health care, education, culture and security in kind, rather than receiving vouchers (let alone money) and the corresponding onus of choosing. Their tastes and temperaments adjust accordingly (though not all will become addicts; some may turn allergic). The state will have maximized its discretionary power, before eventually discovering that it is facing some new predicament.