The Third Pillar: How Markets and the State are Leaving Communities Behind

Market forces also do not always work to weaken the politically powerful, especially if they have alternative outs. The precise circumstances matter. As Barrington Moore argues, the boom in prices as well as the expanding market for grain exports in the sixteenth century in northeast Germany had the effect of strengthening, not weakening, the power of the landed nobility.44 With labour scarce, the landed nobility could have moved to paying peasants market wages, and commuting feudal obligations. Instead, by common arrangement, they increased the labour obligations of the peasants, eliminated their ability to sell or bequeath property, and reduced their ability to marry, or even move, off the manorial estate.

What was different in northeast Germany (and Eastern Europe more generally) from England was that the peasant did not have much market choice himself. Central authority was weak and there were no royal courts that might have protected his rights against the nobility. Moreover, even though it was a common feudal practice that a serf who escaped the manor and lived in a town for a year and one day became free, towns had declined in size and prosperity in northeast Germany, and there were not enough of them to hide him or give him a livelihood, unlike in more urbanised England. In Poland, the land market was suppressed because of laws that prevented ownership from passing outside nobility.45 As a result, rich businessmen, lawyers, and merchants could not buy land, put it to more efficient use, and put pressure on feudal arrangements. With few checks on the power of the landed nobility, market pressures increased peasant oppression and feudal obligations rather than diminishing them. Even today, perhaps because it stayed feudal much longer, much of northeast Germany is less prosperous than southern Germany.

CONCLUSION

The absolute monarchy symbolised by the Tudors and attempted by the Stuarts gave way to a state that obtained more capabilities after giving up its power to be arbitrary. Such a state enjoyed broader legitimacy among the propertied because of the widespread belief that it would continue to adhere to a social contract with its wealthier citizens and investors. This also assured it of access to finance from the wealthy. With the confidence that it had few domestic challenges to its legitimacy, and that it could borrow the money to meet external challenges when that necessity arose, the state did not need to favour a select few. It could operate at greater arm’s length from the market. Cronyism steadily gave way to a more open business environment, which in turn created many more competitive independent entities that could check state power.

As England became militarily powerful on the basis of its strong state finances, and economically powerful based on its competitive markets (which positioned it well for the Industrial Revolution), other European countries took note. They did not want to lose out in the great European quest for supremacy. It would be too much to claim there was only one way to a constitutionally limited state. The United States, despite inheriting a very English governance ethos and becoming an independent republic, went through a civil war to suppress its own Southern landed interests.46 France went through a bloody revolution, followed by war and empire before it eventually became a constitutional republic (barring a few short relapses). Germany went through unification, empire, war, democracy, fascism, and war again before it too became a constitutional republic. As we will see, the United States played an enormous role in post–Second World War Western Europe in ensuring that countries continued to see value in both a democratic limited state and in markets. Nevertheless, many Western European countries needed only a nudge postwar, because the underlying distribution of political power and the existence of structures promoting competitive markets made them fertile ground for creating a constitutionally limited state.

The recognition of private property in land, and the emergence of a market for produce and land, also hurt many as the feudal community was destroyed. While independent private property owners could coordinate through Parliament or Congress to influence the state, the peasant and increasingly the worker in manufacturing establishments, dislodged from their traditional communities, had no explicit rights and no say in their own governance. In the next chapter, we will track the final steps toward liberal democracy as industrialisation picked up. The demand for a voice came especially from workers in the growing cities, whose squalid filthy communities needed public services. Having obtained democracy, as we will see in the next chapter, communities organised to get the political establishment to pay attention to their demands, especially that unbridled crony capitalism be controlled. The third pillar grew in strength once again.

3

FREEING THE MARKET … THEN DEFENDING IT

As the state eliminated military challenges within its territory, and as parliamentary bodies came to be dominated by propertied individuals, the wealthy no longer felt their lives or property were under constant threat. Parliament would limit the government to legitimate activities. With the state constitutionally limited, trade- or community-based organisations that would provide members physical security and protect their business were no longer required. Nor were restraints on competition that made these organisations possible. Economic philosophers could now preach the virtue of free and unfettered markets, while political philosophers could extoll the benefits of individual liberty and minimal government, even while both sets of thinkers took the safety of life and wealth for granted. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, markets were on the ascendance.

Laissez-faire, first propounded by French philosophers known as the Physiocrats, sought to take the emerging relationship between the state and markets to its logical conclusion: the state should leave business alone to do what it must, letting the full forces of market competition play out. The philosophers did not explain what they would advocate if market participants tried to subvert market competition with the aid of the state – a development that Adam Smith worried about – or shut it down themselves by cartelising the market. Nevertheless, as a blunt theoretical argument with which to bludgeon the remaining anticompetitive vestiges of both feudalism and mercantilism, laissez-faire was successful.

Yet, even as the votaries of the market celebrated, opposition was building. Not everyone benefited from the commercialisation of agriculture, even in England. There were losers other than the high aristocracy, most importantly those who benefited from the old manor community. The worst affected were older peasants, whose tenancy was terminated as their fields were given over to more productive uses or users, but who could not migrate to the towns unlike the young. Peasants also saw their customary right to graze animals, hunt for game, or pick firewood in the commons disappear without compensation, as the common grounds were legally enclosed and appropriated by the politically powerful landed. As a popular ditty went:

The law locks up the man or woman

Who steals the goose from off the common

But leaves the greater villain loose

Who steals the common from the goose.1

The commercialisation of agriculture broke up many a traditional English village community, resulting in masses of unemployed peasants who migrated to the towns in search of work. This was Marx’s ‘reserve army’ of the unemployed, which fed the Industrial Revolution.

The jobs in the hellish factories that mushroomed in the growing towns were hard and dangerous. They did put food on the table but too many children worked long hours, simply because they were more nimble than adults, and parents did not know where to leave them while they worked. Families had few alternatives since work back in the village had disappeared. Worse than the factory jobs were the appalling, polluted, overcrowded, and unsanitary urban ghettos where the workers lived. Few employers were enlightened enough to do anything about these living conditions. With everyone subsisting at the margin, there was little sense of community, let alone community support in these anonymous, unfamiliar industrial towns. Every worker feared the job losses from the emerging business cycles and financial booms and busts, which could quickly convert a barely tolerable existence into utter destitution.

Parliaments, as we have seen, arose to protect the wealth of the propertied against the state. To ensure the right members were elected, legislatures also instituted a property qualification for voting. Constituencies were small and easily influenced while the middle class, labour class, and the poor were disenfranchised. With no political representation, and limited competitive pressure on employers to treat workers better (given that so many were looking for work), workers had little hope from the system for either an improvement in the workplace or in living conditions.

The workers, and urban dwellers more generally, needed representation if matters were to change. Their push for democratic voice had varying degrees of success over the course of the nineteenth century, but male workers obtained the vote in most countries in North America and Western Europe by the beginning of the twentieth century, for reasons we will detail. The expansion of the vote typically resulted in the authorities putting greater emphasis on public goods like sanitation, schooling, and safety nets. It did not lead to the newly enfranchised expropriating the wealth of the rich, as was much feared. The broader realisation was that the democratically empowered community was not against markets or private property, it was perfectly happy to respect them when there was a sense that respecting these rights broadly benefited the community. Indeed, to the extent that the earlier balance between the constitutionally limited state and markets was based on the efficient holding of property, it was a distribution that the democratically empowered community could also respect.

With the expansion of the vote, the broader electorate’s views on the state, the markets, and the relationship between them had the potential to matter. As we will see, democratic community-based movements like Populism and Progressivism in the United States toward the turn of the nineteenth century helped avert the cartelisation of markets and the closing of opportunities for the small businessperson. With the democratic community’s prodding, the state’s role expanded, with new functions like antitrust and product safety regulation keeping the markets competitive and orderly, and friendlier to small entrepreneurs as well as consumers. Democracy became the mechanism through which the organised and vigilant community could influence the state and shape markets – parliaments started their transformation from solely protecting the property of the few to creating and preserving opportunity for the many. Let us now elaborate.

FREEING THE MARKETS

In his book An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, published in 1776, Adam Smith argued that by producing for the market and maximising his own profits, the manufacturer maximised the size of the public pie, and thus the wealth of the nation. Smith thus made the case for allowing the invisible hand of the competitive market, working through self-interest, to drive economic prosperity. The real damage was not caused by avarice or even the self-indulgence of the rich, it emanated from restraints on competition and the resulting distorted prices and quantities.

Seen in this light, Adam Smith was pro-market, not pro-business. Indeed, he was no fan of the businessmen of his time because of their cartelising tendencies. In arguing against guilds and monopoly corporations, he wrote, ‘People of the same trade seldom meet together, even for merriment and diversion, but the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the public, or in some contrivance to raise prices.’2 About businessmen’s suggestions for regulation, he emphasised that these should be ‘carefully examined, not only with the most scrupulous, but with the most suspicious attention. It comes from an order of men, whose interest is never exactly the same with that of the public, who have generally an interest to deceive and even oppress the public, and who accordingly have, upon many occasions, both deceived and oppressed it.’3 Smith was no starry-eyed forerunner of Ayn Rand, convinced of the heroism of the business class. Instead, he pushed for eliminating anticompetitive privileges, such as those enjoyed by the monopolist corporations of his time.4

He was equally scathing about mercantilism. He dismissed the notion that an accumulation of gold would make a country more powerful and able to wage war – for a country like Great Britain, any feasible accumulation of gold would be too small given the huge costs of war. What was needed to sustain a long war was greater domestic productive capacity. To give domestic producers a monopoly by levying high import tariffs or prohibiting imports was therefore either ‘useless or … hurtful’. If the local product could be made and sold as cheaply as the foreign product, the prohibition was useless for domestic production would be competitive on its own. If local production was not competitive, the tariff was harmful for it raised domestic prices of the product, and diverted precious domestic productive capacity toward its making. Smith wrote:

‘It is the maxim of every prudent master of a family, never to attempt to make at home what it will cost him more to make than to buy. The tailor does not attempt to make his own shoes, but buys them of the shoemaker. The shoemaker does not attempt to make his own clothes, but employs a tailor … What is prudence in the conduct of every private family, can scarce be folly in that of a great kingdom. If a foreign country can supply us with a commodity cheaper than we ourselves can make it, better buy it of them with some part of the produce of our own industry, employed in a way in which we have some advantage.’ 5

Therefore, Smith pushed hard for freeing the domestic market from the hold of guilds and monopolists, while bringing down the barriers to foreign trade erected by the mercantilists. In the spirit of laissez-faire, Smith thought little of a government that tried to direct production or investment by the businessman from afar, for ‘every individual, it is evident, can in his local situation judge much better than any statesman or lawgiver can do for him.’ Indeed, Smith believed the government had only three essential duties: ‘First, the duty of protecting the society from … invasion of other independent societies; secondly, the duty of protecting, as far as possible, every member of the society from the injustice or oppression of every other member of it, … and, thirdly, the duty of erecting and maintaining certain public works, and certain public institutions, which it can never be for the interest of any individual, or small number of individuals to erect and maintain.’6

A PHILOSOPHY FOR THE MARKET

It was a short step from Adam Smith’s work to the manifesto for individualism and the free market, On Liberty, written by British economist John Stuart Mill. It was published in 1859, soon after the death of his wife Harriet, whom he acknowledged had influenced the work greatly.7 Mill defended individual thinking and speech against the tyranny of the majority. He argued that the views of the community tended to be the views of the powerful or the majority, and there were good reasons to subject that view to challenge, including the obvious possibility that the majority view could turn out to be wrong.

Mill saw all individual actions as permissible that did not hurt the interests of others. Apart from this, he saw an individual’s duty to society as sharing in ‘the labours and sacrifices incurred for defending the society and its members from injury and molestation’. Society had no call on the individual beyond this. He argued he was not advocating selfish indifference to the community, but voluntary engagement. Not only would an individual’s engagement on his own terms improve social enterprise, he believed ‘the free development of individuality is one of the leading essentials of well-being.’ Individuality should be valued in its own right and not just as a means to a societal end.

Mill thus sought to restore free will’s role in the vibrancy and variety of human existence that Calvin had rejected. Calvinism emphasised obedience – ‘You have no choice; thus you must do, and not otherwise: “whatever is not a duty, is a sin.” Human nature being radically corrupt, there is no redemption for anyone until human nature is killed within him.’ Instead, Mill argued that ‘Pagan self-assertion’ is as much an element of human worth as ‘Christian self-denial’, that it is ‘not by wearing down into uniformity all that is individual in themselves, but by cultivating it, and calling it forth, within the limits imposed by the rights and interests of others, that human beings become a noble and beautiful object of contemplation’, and ‘in proportion to the development of individuality, each person becomes more valuable to himself, and therefore capable of being more valuable to others.’ He declared that ‘genius can only breathe freely in an atmosphere of freedom,’ for ‘the general tendency of things throughout the world is to render mediocrity the ascendant power among mankind.’

Mill’s was thus an attack on the stultifying effects of the community, the ‘despotism of custom’. He viewed the freedom of trade, contracts, and markets as consistent with his beliefs on liberty. This also meant limits on the state, for ‘where everything is done through the bureaucracy, nothing to which the bureaucracy is really adverse can be done at all.’ Instead, the state should be an ‘active circulator and diffusor, of the experience resulting from many trials … [enabling] each experimentalist to benefit by the experiments of others; instead of tolerating no experiments but its own.’

The state and the market had grown together from the crumbling edifice of feudalism. The constitutional limitations on the state that we traced in the last chapter did not shrink the state. Instead it helped the state build out its military and fiscal capabilities as it gained access to finance. Once the state had created a framework to ensure security and protect property rights, the proponents of laissez-faire started questioning how much more it should do. Smith and Mill were not rabidly antigovernment. Smith, for example, accepted a role for the state in education, as well as other services that would not be privately provided. For these reasons, he argued that the state in a civilised country would be larger than in a barbaric one.8 Yet these nuances were ignored, as were his asides on the perfidy of businessmen if they were entrusted with their own regulation. Instead, public debate became focused on steadily eliminating any restraints on business practice, as well as any protections to labour.

Perhaps more than anyone else, the Reverend Thomas Robert Malthus epitomised the heartless side of liberalism, when taken to its extreme. In the various editions of his Essay on the Principles of Population published in 1798, he emphasised the tendency of man to reproduce faster than food supply. Man could restrain himself through self-imposed checks like delayed marriage or sexual abstinence, but Malthus did not believe these would work. Instead, disease, war, and famine would be the natural checks on mankind’s lack of self-control. No wonder historian Thomas Carlyle termed economics ‘the dismal science’! Malthus was wrong. Humans do not have an uncontrollable urge to reproduce. Indeed, prosperity has been a powerful contraceptive, with people becoming less willing to have children, even as they can afford more of them. Fertility rates for women are now below population replacement rates, not just in rich countries but in a number of emerging markets. Nevertheless, his views offered those who opposed even humanitarian government aid a theoretical rationale. Any relief schemes for the unemployed or the poor only encouraged them to reproduce more, and thwarted natural checks and balances. The indigent should be left free to starve, for only through a market-induced cull would succeeding generations have a better life.

Even if such callous theorising was never actually translated into action, it did help harden policies toward the poor and the destitute. As the eminent historian and sociologist Karl Polanyi pointed out, the Poor Law in England, which mandated parish support for the indigent, was made harsher in 1834, especially for able-bodied males. This was just as difficult economic times and the new machines of the Industrial Revolution were putting thousands out of work.9 Some tried to put a better light on these policies, arguing they placed the community back in charge of any voluntary support, others claimed rich farmers were misusing Poor Law subsidies. There was some truth to these explanations. It was also true that Parliament was dominated by the propertied well-to-do, who had been complaining about the high taxes they had to pay before the Poor Law was reformed. Clearly, they were also voting for their pecuniary interests.

With the demise of feudal institutions, the powerful no longer had an obligation to the weak in the community, while market fluctuations and automation left workers, especially those who had left their traditional communities, utterly exposed. Something between the extreme individualism of unregulated markets and the enforced collectivism of an authoritarian, overweening state had to be rebuilt on the ashes of feudalism. Before getting to that, though, what did a market freed from all restraint look like?

THE UNBRIDLED MARKET

Initially, it resembled the perfect competition of textbooks, with producers competing with one another to give the consumer the best deal, but this did not last. For as Adam Smith recognised, competition drove down profits, making any producer’s life greatly uncertain. The inexorable political tendency of a free, unfettered, unregulated market was for the producers, after experiencing the rigors of competition, to attempt cartelisation.

John D. Rockefeller, the richest man in the world in his time, made his money in rock oil or petroleum, in the early days of the industry when oil’s primary uses were for fueling lamps and lubricating steam engines. Rockefeller was not attracted to the risky business of prospecting for oil. Not only was unscientific drilling more likely to unearth dry wells than oil, excess production whenever oil was found in a locality could bankrupt producers as prices plunged.10 Rockefeller wanted a more stable business, and he found it in oil refining in Cleveland, the urban portal to Oil Creek, Pennsylvania, where oil had been discovered first. As Rockefeller worked to make his refinery the lowest-cost producer – at one point reducing the number of drops of solder on the tin cans used to carry kerosene from forty to thirty-nine after checking that any further reduction would cause the can to leak – he managed to drive out the truly incompetent and gained market share.11 Yet many, having sunk money in their investments, and having debts to pay, refused to quit, and kept the price of refined products low – so long as the price was a little more than their incremental cost of refining, the zombie producers staggered on. At one point in the 1870s, refining capacity was three times greater than demand.12

Rockefeller wanted to bring order to refining, and his first target was the twenty-six remaining independent Cleveland refiners. In 1872, as Ron Chernow details in his biography of Rockefeller, Rockefeller struck a deal with the railroads serving Cleveland, whereby Rockefeller and his cartel would get discounts (from the posted transport price) for the crude and refined oil they shipped. More egregious, the railways agreed to pay the cartel for every barrel shipped by the competing independent non-cartel refiners. Effectively, this meant the railways would face a higher cost to transport non-cartel products, and thus would have to charge the cartel’s competitors more.13 In addition, the cartel was to get full information about the oil shipped by competitors. In exchange, the three participating railroads each got a fixed share of the oil that the cartel shipped, and fixed transport fees, thereby eliminating the cutthroat competition they otherwise engaged in. The arrangement would bring stability to their revenues. Rockefeller’s keen business sense helped him recognise that both refiners and railroads might want to cartelise, and the combination would be deadly to those not in the cartel.