public opinion - a prehistory

P.S. is a 42-year-old man who has been affected by

paranoid schizophrenia since the age of 20. At the

onset of his psychosis, he was trying in various ways to

compensate for his difficulties in getting in touch with

other people. He had no secure ground to interpret the

others' intentions. He lacked the structure of the rules

of social life and systematically set about searching for

a well-grounded and natural style of behavior. For

instance, he was busy with an ethological study of the

"biological" (i.e., not artificial) foundation of others'

behaviors through a double observation of animal and

human habits. The former was done through television

documentaries, the latter via analyses of human interactions

in public parks. An atrophy in his knowledge of

the "rules of the game" led him to engage in intellectual

investigations and to establish his own "know-how" for

social interactions in a reflective way. – Giovanni Stranghellini, At issue: vulnerability to schizophrenia and lack of common sense (2000)

Consensus omnium, common sense and public opinion all exist as separate tracks through the intellectual history of the West – and each trail can be superimposed upon the other.

Early on, in Klaus Oehler’s definitive essay, Der Consensus Ominium als Kriterium der Wahrheit in der antiken Philosophie (1963), there is a quotation from Hesiod. The line quoted comes from the section of the poem devoted to “Days”, with its sometimes obscure reference to work, luck, gods and the days of the seasons.  The line, 760, goes: … and avoid the talk of men. For talk is mischievous, light, and easily raised, but it is hard to undo it. Talk is never completely lost, which has been in the mouths of the many. For talk is itself a God.” Talk, here, is not logos, but pheme – which, as Jenny Strauss Clay points out in Hesiod’s Cosmos, is the antithesis of kleos, that is to say, fame: kleos is to be heard about, pheme is to be talked about.’ This enduring couple still presides, in all their debased divinity, over the newspaper and the news and entertainment channels. They are structured by what is likely, or plausible.

The plausible concerns the heart of Oehler’s theme. As he points out, Plato’s antipathetic stance regarding opinion – endoxe – is countered by Aristotle’s respect for it. “The positive value of generial opinion is, as well, the ground for Aristotle’s preference for commonplaces [Stichwoerter]. It is said that in the peripatetic school, under his direction, a wideranding collection of commonplaces was made.” Furthermore: “… This preference of Aristotle … rested on the materr of fact that in commonplaces the infinitely rich experience of many races was documented in a unique way in brief and trenchant formulas, which is the way the Consensus omnium expressed itself.” [106]

If the pair pheme/kleos presides over the objects of the news, the commonplace presides over the form. It is the style of the cliché, the proverb, the wisdom of mankind – the conventional wisdom of the moment. The duality of fame and infamy, expressed in cliché, is precisely the form of ‘betise’ that a certain school of modernist writers – Flaubert, Bloy, Peguy, Kraus, Tucholsky, Mencken, Orwell – took as their ultimate enemy, even if for some, the wisdom of mankind was what was traduced in the press, rather than simply represented there.

In Oehler’s account, it was not Aristotle, however, but Cicero who transformed the semiotic of ‘talk”. Before Augustine, Cicero interiorized the commonplace as common sense – equating ‘the agreement of the people” with “a law of nature.” After Cicero, the idea of the universal consent of the people moves into the political order as a legitimizing technique – ironically, according to Oehler, Augustus, who ordered Cicero’s murder, took up his idea of the ‘universal consent of the people’ and made it one of the properties of the emperor.  

America's guild culture

One of the odder things about class stratification in the U.S. is that, on the one hand, you have an enormous number of people hollering to keep the government out of the economy, bemoaning statist health care and just aching and shaking for that moment when government finally becomes small enough that we are all as free as butterflies - and on the other hand, when one looks at how these people make money, a majority of them, one can reliably hypothesize, rely on Government poking its nose into our business and licencing and regulating. The doctor who, on the one hand, bitches about socialized health care is, on the other hand, apt at the drop of a hat to argue that doctors must be licenced, because, uh, the state, uh, has an interest in the healthcare, uh, of its citizens. Of course, the mind in contradiction to itself is has long been noted as one of the banal wonders of modern politics; but it still provides chuckles for the off line critic, watching the train wreck of the plutocracy whilst gobbling popcorn.

In fact, the State has been so successfully lobbied by professions to raise bars to entry by the encouragement of guilds has now become a much bigger phenomenon in the U.S. than unions. Doctors, dentists and lawyers owe much of their fortune to their guild privileges. But the bar to entry extends from HVAC work to accounting to nursing, etc., and always not, not and never, never and not, like the bad old unions, to raise the perks and plump up the wallets of the privileged professional, but for the public good.
Now myself I do think the public good is served when the state interferes with our healthcare. I am, here, a consistent statist. But the class nature of the libertarian act in America is such that few anti-unionists have ever considered the guild system at all. They aren’t alone. The literature on America’s Zunft-kultur is very very small. The classic paper is by Kleiner and Krueger, "Analyzing the Extent and Influence of Occupational Licensing on the Labor Market".  http://www.krueger.princeton.edu/working_papers.html Here’s a graf:

"The toughest form of regulation is licensure; this form of regulation is often referred to as “the right to practice.” Under licensure laws, working in an occupation for compensation without first meeting government standards is illegal. In 2003 the Council of State Governments estimated that more than 800 occupations were licensed in at least one state, and more than 1,100 occupations were licensed, certified or registered (CLEAR, 2004)." The authors also estimate that 30 percent of the American work force falls into this category.

In Indiana, Mitch Daniels, the governor, has just signed right to work legislation to put as large a hole as he can in the unions. In private, of course, Mitch Daniels has a law degree, which means he belongs to the lawyer’s guild. Somehow, he has not passed legislation eliminating that guild, and allowing anybody who wants to set him or herself up as a lawyer. Nor has he, to my knowledge, abolished the state boards that licence doctors and dentists and nurses and such.

Huh. It is as if the state can, well, interfere in the commerce between private citizens. This is so sad I would cry crocodile libertarian tears about it. But I wouldn’t cry to many, because the right will move against the successful progressive program of licencing professionals only when hell freezes over.

Because freedom ain’t free.

Back to the pin factory!

With bows to some earlier posts...

“A savage admires a nail and he is right to do so. It is in Paris that the observant man sees how much art has required combination, experiment and caretaking. Thirty hands and thirty tools are necessary for the formation of a pin, and you can have a thousand for a dozen sous.”

Sebastian Mercier is writing a decade after Adam Smith made the pin factory emblematic of the efficiencies produced by the division of labor. Smith, in turn, probably took his example from the Encyclopedia. Mercier, however, adds the gawking savage, to seal the deal: the new European economy will have, as an audience (and victim), the bystanding non-European. Who admires the very craft that is being turned against him.

I have referenced the pin before, being one of those fascinated by its riddles, its magic power.  How many economists dance upon the head of a pin? You know the answer – all of them.

Ho ho. In the 1760s, there was a controversy in Britain about a supposed Scots epic, Ossian, which had been “found” by a poet and published. Ossian was a forgery. Meanwhile, the real Scots epic was a-forging – that is, Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations. Smith provided the Homeric theology to this thing we be callin’ capitalism. So, unsurprisingly, small academic industries have grown up around his famous images. The invisible hand is the most famous of these; a small group has worked on the famous pin factory.

The Wealth of Nations begins like this:

“The greatest improvement*17 in the productive powers of labour, and the greater part of the skill, dexterity, and judgment with which it is any where directed, or applied, seem to have been the effects of the division of labour.
The effects of the division of labour, in the general business of society, will be more easily understood, by considering in what manner it operates in some particular manufactures. It is commonly supposed to be carried furthest in some very trifling ones; not perhaps that it really is carried further in them than in others of more importance: but in those trifling manufactures which are destined to supply the small wants of but a small number of people, the whole number of workmen must necessarily be small; and those employed in every different branch of the work can often be collected into the same workhouse, and placed at once under the view of the spectator. In those great manufactures, on the contrary, which are destined to supply the great wants of the great body of the people, every different branch of the work employs so great a number of workmen, that it is impossible to collect them all into the same workhouse. We can seldom see more, at one time, than those employed in one single branch. Though in such manufactures,*18 therefore, the work may really be divided into a much greater number of parts, than in those of a more trifling nature, the division is not near so obvious, and has accordingly been much less observed.

To take an example, therefore,*19 from a very trifling manufacture; but one in which the division of labour has been very often taken notice of, the trade of the pin-maker; a workman not educated to this business (which the division of labour has rendered a distinct trade),*20 nor acquainted with the use of the machinery employed in it (to the invention of which the same division of labour has probably given occasion), could scarce, perhaps, with his utmost industry, make one pin in a day, and certainly could not make twenty. But in the way in which this business is now carried on, not only the whole work is a peculiar trade, but it is divided into a number of branches, of which the greater part are likewise peculiar trades. One man draws out the wire, another straights it, a third cuts it, a fourth points it, a fifth grinds it at the top for receiving the head; to make the head requires two or three distinct operations; to put it on, is a peculiar business, to whiten the pins is another; it is even a trade by itself to put them into the paper; and the important business of making a pin is, in this manner, divided into about eighteen distinct operations, which, in some manufactories, are all performed by distinct hands, though in others the same man will sometimes perform two or three of them.*21 I have seen a small manufactory of this kind where ten men only were employed, and where some of them consequently performed two or three distinct operations. But though they were very poor, and therefore but indifferently accommodated with the necessary machinery, they could, when they exerted themselves, make among them about twelve pounds of pins in a day. There are in a pound upwards of four thousand pins of a middling size. Those ten persons, therefore, could make among them upwards of forty-eight thousand pins in a day. Each person, therefore, making a tenth part of forty-eight thousand pins, might be considered as making four thousand eight hundred pins in a day. But if they had all wrought separately and independently, and without any of them having been educated to this peculiar business, they certainly could not each of them have made twenty, perhaps not one pin in a day; that is, certainly, not the two hundred and fortieth, perhaps not the four thousand eight hundredth part of what they are at present capable of performing, in consequence of a proper division and combination of their different operations.”

Few books give you the main course right away like this. Smith was rightly proud of the phrase, division of labor. In one stroke, it divided an old way of looking at labor as a particular social function from looking as labor as one abstract thing. It was the discovery of a universal, accompanying the universal-to-be of the capitalist system itself.

Such a vast discovery, such a trifling object. Smith taught rhetoric, and knew all the magic tricks. It is as if Columbus had set sail with the Owl and the Pussycat in a pea green boat. The pin! The very emblem of smallness, a sort of atom of social matter – associated, too, with frivolity. Jesus had already used the needle as a (miraculous) stick with which to beat the wealthy – and here the wealthy fire back with pins. Then of course there is Little Red Riding Hood – let me quote from the classic interpretation by Teasley and Chase:

“As the original tale opens, a dominant concern is the path to be chosen:
Once a little girl was told by her mother to bring some bread and milk to her grandmother As the girl was walking through the forest, a wolf came up to her and asked where she was going. "To grandmother's house," she replied. "Which path are you taking, the path of the pins or the path of the needles?" "The path of the needles." So the wolf took the path of the pins and arrived first at the house.
Although Darnton usually investigated the meaning behind puzzling elements, he has dismissed the reference to the paths of the pins and the needles as nonsense. Yet, here is the first example of a symmetry that provides a clue to the tale's meaning.[6]
Each character's selection of one of the paths reveals a destiny. Red Riding Hood's choice of the path of the needles is synonymous with her decision to become a prostitute. The meaning of the line is revealed in an obscure nineteenth-century history that explains that among "women of doubtful virtue . . . bargains were struck on the basis of a package of bodkins or lace-needles, or aiguillettes, which they normally carried as a distinctive badge upon the shoulder, a custom surviving to Rabelais' day."[7]
The meaning of the wolf's choice of the path of the pins is found in the term bzou, which was used interchangeably with loup in the original French version. Although loup is the common French word for wolf, the definition of bzou is more obscure. Paul Delarue, the editor who has compiled thirty-five versions of the folktale, found that bzou was always used in the story for brou or garou, which in the Nivernais was loup-brou or loup-garou. All these are variations on the French word for werewolf, a supernatural being associated with witchcraft. Early modern Europeans held that Satan had the power to take the form of a wolf.[8]
Sixteenth-century French society believed that the presence of a devil's mark on a witch's body proved her allegiance to Satan. Since the mark was a blemish on the skin that was insensitive, the discovery of the mark through the use of pin pricks became a standard feature of witch hunting. Just as Red Riding Hood revealed her true identity through her selection of the path of the needles, so the wolf revealed his identity as a witch by choosing the path of the pins.”

Indeed, the shapeshifting wolf was knocking at the door in 1776.

Wolves were things of the past in Scotland when Smith made his (non) outing to the pin factory. How far past is another affair wrapped up in some controversy. According to some accounts, the last wolf in Scotland was shot by a hunter named McQueen, who tracked the beast to his lair in Findhorn after the beast had attacked and eaten a woman and a child crossing a nearby moor. Shapeshifting, as would be expected by those who know something of the path of pins, has infected every part of this story. Did the wolf really attack the pair and eat them? The last wolf? What was the sex of it? The size? Or was the last wolf slain by Sir Ewen Cameron in 1680? Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, in 1904, devoted an article to the last wolf in Scotland. According to the writer, many Scottish districts lay claim to the be scene of the shooting of the last wolf. However, Blackwood’s goes with the shooting in the “wild valley of Findhorn” in 1743, since there are detailed accounts. The area was the home of the last wild pack. Here’s the Blackwood’s story:

“The most active carnach in their destruction was MacQueen of Pall a’ chrocain, an immense duine uasail who stood 6 feet 7 inches in his brogues. To this worthy, one winter day in 1743, came word from MacIntosh that a great black beast had come down to the low country and carried off a couple of children near Cawdor, and that a tainchel or hunting-drive was to meet a Figiuthas, where MacQeen was summoned to attend according to an act of Parliament.

Next morning in the cold dawn the hunters were assembled: but where was MacQueen? He was not wont to be ‘langsome’ on such an occasion, and his hounds, nto to mention himself, were almost indispensable to the chase. MacIntosh watied impatiently as the day wore on, and when at last MacQueen was seen coming liesurely along, the chief spoke sharply to him, rebuking him for wasting the best hours for hunting.

“Ciod e a’ chabhag?” (What’s the hurry?”) was the cool reply, which sent an indignant murmur through the shivering sportsmen. MacIntosh uttered an angry threat.

“Sin e dhiabh! (“There you are then!”) said MacQueen, and throwing back his plaid, flung the grey head of the wolf upon the heather. The company had lost thier sport, but they forgave Pall-a’-chrocain, whose renown stood higher than ever as a hunter, and Macintosh “gave him the land called Sean-achan for meat to his dogs.”



Surely I am showing my bent for irrelevance and the scaring of all rational like beasties, going so langsome into the thickets of Smith’s prose with a cock n bull hunting tale about a fairy wolf, for Jesus’ sake! Man, where’s your models, your references to the fine theorists, and all that train! But as the disappearance of the wolf seems, to us, magically connected with the appearance of the pin factory, we thought it might be a fine thing, worthy of a carnach from Cawdor (you remember the Thane of Cawdor?), to clear the area so that we could travel across it all safe and sound and snug. And in our search for pin factories, we might just find that, in spite of Smith’s celebration of the division of labor – upon which rock is built so much – that in fact, the celebrated pin factory in L’aigle, Normandy, from which – although it is murky – the encyclopedists might have drawn their information about the pin industry, was still governed by a mass of laws concerning master pinners, and who was allowed to work on pins, and problems with the weight of pins in each envelop of pins, so that the social function of pinmaker, and the needs of the state, and regulation from the state, might have had as much to do with the division of labor as the fabulous productivity of the pin factory, which can only be exampled by ... well, by Rapunzel of course, spinning straw into gold.

MacQueen told more of the story of the hunt than was reprised in Blackwoods. Here’s how he told the tale:

As I came through the slochk (i.e., ravine) I foregathered wi' the beast. My long dog there turned him. I buckled wi' him, and dirkit him, and syne whuttled his craig (i.e., cut his throat), and brought awa' his countenance for fear he might come alive again, for they are very precarious creatures.

Very precarious creatures indeed.

Economists, however, get the shivers when fairy tales are mentioned, being the wolf’s dumbest children for the most part. A true disappointment to the Loup-Garou, that’s for sure. While the wind howls outside and the stormclouds gather, they soothe themselves with more technical and standard questions.

The point of this shaggy dog’s tale is that the savage that stands outside of the factory in Mercier’s passage is not so different from the European savage, working within. As we enter the pin factory at the beginning of the Wealth of Nations, which inaugurates the science of economics, we are entering a fairy tale haunted place. The path of pins leads to Grandmother’s house.

About which, one more comment, or diversion.

Pins are also an integral part of the economy of spinning, as Jack Zipes, the Marxist hermeneut of all things Grimm, makes clear in “Rumpelstiltskin in Fairy Tale as Myth”. As he also makes clear, the patriarchal readings of Rumpelstiltskin – a tale classified under the motif of Helper’s Name in the Aarne-Thompson index – are, to say the least, misleading. Helper is the wrong name for Rumpelstiltskin – “he is obviously a blackmailer and an oppressor,” according to Zipes. Well, “obviously” is a strong word to use about any character in a fairy tale: he could be seen, as obviously, as the accursed share, rejected by the ennobled Miller’s Daughter who is seeking, above all else, to elevate her child above the status she was raised in, all the while keeping that status system intact to gain the benefits of it. Much like the American CEO, usually the product of student loans and state funded colleges, seeking to ensure the radical diminishment of public investment so that others are much more burdened down by student loans in less funded universities competing with the Ivies where the CEOs send their own children.

Still, Zipes is right to draw attention to the woman in the story. The Grimm Brother’s version of the tale is something of a disappointment in comparison to the version published by Madame L’heritier in the Cabinet des fees, Ricdin-Ricdon, since the character of the Miller’s daughter is not very developed in the former, while this character, Rosanie, the daughter of a peasant in L’heritier, is an acute psychological portrait of upward social ambition.

Zipes claims that the spinning motif in the Grimm Brother’s tales is, in a sense, a valedictory to the enormous injury done to women in the 18th and 19th century as their cottage industry of spinning and weaving was wrested from them and centralized in male managed factories.

The very first literary form of Rumpelstiltskin, Mademoiselle L’Heritier’s Ricdin-Ricdon, demonstrates that spinning was cherished by the aristocracy at the end of the seventeenth and beginning of the eighteenth century. The queen is most eager to employ Rosanie as a spinner and cherishes all the articles that Rosanie magically produces. We know that numerous French courts had constructed spinning rooms for women to produce much needed cloth, and there was a great demand for gifted spinners at the time that Mademoiselle L’heritier wrote her tale. Interestingly, her model spinner, Rosanie, takes possession of the devil’s magic wand (i.e., phallus) to create an image that satisfies if not exceeds society’s expectations. She does not spin straw into gold but rather flax into yarn and thread. ...

(67)

I think Zipes is correct to front the spinning in this tale as at least equivalent to the story of the name of the “helper” – but to make this a tale of spinning as an affectionately perceived craft is a bit of a distortion. He writes: “Throughout the entire tale, spinning and female creativity remain the central concern and are upheld as societal values that need support, especially male support.” This is a reading that fails to capture the irony in Rosanie’s story – to say the least. In L’Héritier’s tale, Rosanie has one abiding characteristic: a total abhorrence of spinning. When she is first spotted by Prince Prud’homme (and surely these bourgeois names for the royals – Prud’homme and Queen Laborieuse – are meant to ironically), she is being dragged around the back yard by her evil hag of a mother, who demands that her daughter spin more. In a crafty move that reproduces the comic gesture from Moliere’s Medecin malgre lui, when the hag is interrupted by Prince Prud’homme – who is taken by Rosanie’s looks and wants to know why she is being mistreated by the hag –she tells him a lie, a neat inversion of the truth – that she is punishing her daughter for spinning too much. Thus, under false pretences, Prince P. takes Rosanie back to the court, where his mother is delighted to receive a top flight spinner. Rosanie, horrified by what her mother has done but unable to face being expelled from the court if she confesses the truth, is going through the park to cast herself off a pavilion set on a cliff and end her life – so much does she hate spinning - when she meets the strange man – a big man, in the tale, with a dark face, but oddly amused face – to whom she tells her tale.

We are still telling that tale, over and over, pretending that the fairy tale and the economic model exist in two different worlds. This is a narrative wound that continues to produce such sores and disturbances in the social body that we might all die, fairy tale like, from its mistelling.

Juan de Mairena

There is a certain kind of book I love. It doesn’t have a genre label. Some of its authors call their books novels, others fragments, others reflections. Often, the authors are really editors. It extends from the Scratch books of Lichtenberg to the Notices of Ludwig Hohl, and includes Rozanov’s Waste paper books and Pessoa’s Book of Disquiet. A leading theme, here, is the scratching, the hastily scribble gloss, the note one finds in one’s pocket and throws out. Waste paper is paper that has been used and lost its use, and perhaps aggressively wadded up. It is paper on the way to the waste paper basket. That is the social situation of these books – they are caught somewhere between the desk and the garbage. At least, in the imagination.

The waste book has a strong relation with the philosophical novel – and certain of the latter, such as Paul Valery’s M. Teste, go over the line. Perhaps the reason is that ideas in themselves – ideas in their natural setting – have as limited a place in modern life as mice have in modern homes. They are an accidental, corner feature of life. Even in jobs like research scientist or professor, “having ideas” is not in the job description – at best, creativity squeezes in there, but playing well with others, getting good grades, and producing acres of watertreading non-waste articles for journals is what counts, there.

Ideas are for losers.

I’ve just discovered another waste book – Juan de Mairena, by Antonio Machado. It was abridged and translated into English by Ben Belitt back in 1963, but that edition has long gone out of print. I discovered the book while lounging around in the Buffon Bibliotheque last week. The French translation is published by Anatolia: editions du rocher, who also publish the translations of Rozanov. Mairena is one of Machado’s heteronyms. He is a professor in a lycee, and the book consists of stray notes from his conversations and lectures.

Here’s a translation of the French translation of one of them.

“One says that there is no rule without an exception. Is that really the case? Myself, I don’t dare affirm it. In any case, if that confirmation contains a partial truth, it must be a truth of fact, the reason for which can’t be fully satisfied. Every exception, one adds, confirms the rule. This does not seem so evident; however, it is more acceptable, from the logical point of view. For if all exceptions belong to a rule, if there is an exception, there is a rule, and he who thinks exception thinks of a rule. This already constitutes a truth of reason, that is to say, a truism, a simple tautology which teaches us nothing. We can’t be satisfied with stopping here. So, let’s be more subtle in adding a thing that La Palice would never have dreamed of. [Lapallisade, or a truth a La Palice, is one that is absurdly self evident – R.] 

1. If every exception confirms the rule, a rule without an exception would be a non-confirmed rule, by no means a non-rule.

2. A rule with exceptions will always be stronger than a rule without exceptions, which will lack an exception to have itself confirmed.

3. A rule will be more of a rule the richer it is in exceptions.

4. The ideal rule will be composed of nothing but exceptions.”

Production, circulation and the self-organising market

Georges Perec wrote a novel entitled La disparition in which the disappearance in question was as much a matter of form – formally, the novel was written without ever using a word with the most common vowel in French, the e, in it – as of substance.

Marx’s Capital doesn’t quite offer that stylistic coup de force, but one does notice that, in contrast with mainstream economists, one of the central figures is, if not missing, certainly de-centered – the market. Mostly, mainstream economists take it for granted that the market is the central fact of economic life, the place in which the price system does its work and the central economic agent, the sovereign consumer, does his. In a severe case of science envy, certain Marxists in the eighties and nineties fought to establish a ‘micro-foundation’ for Marxism that would reconstitute the sovereign consumer and, thereby, give the market back its central role. This, in my opinion, is an excellent case of missing the point.

For Marx, the market is analytically subordinate to the two great processes of capitalism, production and circulation. Production, of course, has always played the starring role in the Marxist narrative – for obvious political reasons. However, it is important to remember that the entire second book of Capital (albeit edited by Engels) is devoted to the sphere of circulation. Of course, leafing through the second book after the prophetic contact high one gets from the first book is a little bit of a downer – it is as if the book of Isaiah came with an appendix of equations. And not only that, but the text in which these equations float is much less full of those stabs into the dark underbelly of Mr. Moneybags that we all know and enjoy.

The idea that economics as a science must, like physics, ultimately rest on a lowest level of laws and smallest elements – particles in the later, individuals in the former – has been challenged even by icons of mainstream economics. Kenneth Arrow wrote an essay in the nineties that begins:

“It is a touchstone of accepted economics that all explanations must run in terms of the actions and reactions of individuals. Our behavior in judging economic research, in peer review of papers and research, and in promotions, includes the criterion that in principle the behavior we explain and the policies we propose are explicable in terms of individuals, not of other social categories. I want to argue today that a close examina-tion of even the most standard economic analysis shows that social categories are in fact used in economic analysis all the time and that they appear to be absolute necessi-ties of the analysis, not just figures of speech that can be eliminated if need be. I further argue that the importance of technical in-formation in the economy is an especially significant case of an irreducibly social cate-gory in the explanatory apparatus of eco-nomics.” [Arrow, “Methodological Individualism and Social Knowledge”,1994]

Arrow goes on to consider the Austrians, and the kind of game theory he and Debreu used, in order to show that there are irreducible social entities embedded in these analyses. On Arrow’s account, the pius horror of the economist before the suggestion of a collective agent makes as much sense as the pius horror of the 17^th century natural philospher before the notion of a vacuum [which, it was established by Aristotle, nature abhors].

Myself, I find that the history of capitalist culture over the past two hundred years clears up in remarkable ways once one takes production and circulation as one’s macro analystical fictions, and markets – which, according to liberal historians, are at the center of the story – being secondary. More than this, I think that circulation has not been enough incorporated into the Marxist story to create a materialist, so to speak, account of the dynamic of that culture.  In essence, I’d locate the motives and genesis of much of the modern technostructure of production as originally occuring as a problem or routine in circulation. When, for instance, we see land managers and clerks starting to apply accounting methods under the rule of the great landholders – something that happens in England as early as the 16^th century – what we are seeing is the diffusion of a cost-benefit heuristic for a whole set of routines. We can call this the diffusion of a mentality, but we should be careful not to think of such things in terms of ESP – a matter of ideas transmitted from head to head – since, in fact, without a material medium, this mentality falls apart. New forms of production are also continually hiving off the circulation sphere.

Take, for instance, literature.

The history of 19^th century literature has paid very little attention to a crucial event that occurred in the 1860s, when Gompert Bodenheim, a book printer, patented a machine to fabricate paper sacks. Before Bodenheim – and others who, in that period, were patenting carton machines and the like – packages were made on the premise, much as they are by butchers today, using sheets. The packaging revolution – a revolution in the circulation of commodities – not only was about the production of another commodity, but one that had a very promising affordance – it could cheaply be marked with symbols or text. Bags en masse, or cartons en masse, could become, and did quickly become, part of marketing. Going into a supermarket today may not seem like going into a library or a museum, but in fact it is the same synergy of text and image. We are, in other words, seeing literature – admittedly, of a very low kind. The effect of this on production has been incalculable. Certain brands studied by business historians – say, Campbell’s soup – are, according to those within the enterprise who direct it, as concerned with the packaging as the product. Thus, something Sombart and Simmel both wrote about around 1900 – the increasing determination of production by “fashion” or marketing – has come to pass in a number of branches of industry. This was not because the sovereign consumer, of course, demanded signs on his or her shopping bags or cartons, but because the agents of circulation discovered a means of converting commodities into money through the combination of marketing and packaging. Between the can of bean soup and the bean soup within it, what is the customer buying? The answer to this depends on whom you ask – the execs at Campbell soup or the Mom with the kids.

It isn’t that Marx disallows the market – on the contrary, he is acutely aware of what Smith called the “extension of the market”, which, for Marx, was as well the vector of revolution. It is that Marx does not hold to the idea of an autonomous, or self-organized market. To cover this up is to lose what he is saying.

the full and free development of the personality: a byway

… for the subject of sleep is not the eye, but the common sense, which once asleep, all eyes must be at rest. – Sir Thomas Browne

Philoppovich not only has a sense, as an economist, of the intellectual structure of liberalism, but – and this is rare among economists – a sensibility attuned to the discontent liberalism produces. His survey of the triumph of the policy of free trade, with the ‘consumer’ as the fulcrum of society, does not stop there. He understands why one might question a picture of society that made it simply a vast tangle of transactions between buyers and sellers (even if he did not question the idea that, indeed, economic life had turned into a vast tangle of such exchanges, instead of – as Mauss would suggest – a richer tangle of different forms of exchange – and he understands inequality. Thus, after showing the success of liberal economics, he shows the unexpected result of the creating of vast enterprises and labor markets composed of increasingly de-skilled or monoskilled laborers. Thus, Philoppovich ends his chapter on liberalism on a note of uncertainty:

“ Economic individualism (liberalism) has not only effected changes in external living conditions,  but also changes in life’s ideals, for today more than ever our existence is oriented to the order of its material basis. But does, therefore, the idea of the liberal economic system remain unchanged, when society achieves the best order, that being the unhindered pursuit of their interest by individuals?  Experience teaches us that this is not the case, that other ideas of the state and society become strong, that with the growth of the political power of liberalism grow other interests out of the discarded one and out of newly created interests.”

He proceeds to examine the conservative reaction to the dissolution of what, since Burke, had been called the natural order, and to the socialist reaction that arose as a matter of class interest.

“The exploitation of the worker, that is, the ruthless utilization of his labor power became, through this economic system, an objective necessity. This fact, however, came into contradiction with the two principles, which liberalism itself had pronounced, with the principle, that in the whole domain of life commodities, labor was the producer, the creator, as Smith taught and after him the national economists, and with the principle, that with liberalism from its birth on had struggled for against the privileged, that all men are by nature equal. In the sentiment of this contradiction of their actual situation with the principle of the free and equal personality, which should be recognized in all men, the laborers united, however much they may have differed in their conception of the state, of society, and of life itself.” [53]

Philippovich distinguishes the socialists from the romantics in the former’s resolute farewell to the society of the natural order, of small artisans, of a middle class of independent worker-owners. Indeed, it was only the giant capitalist concerns that could create and disseminate the productive power of innovative technologies; as Fourier pointed out in the 1840s, however, the disjunction between social wealth, which capitalism enormously increased, and the enjoyment of that wealth, which was subject to severe and punishing inequality, called for remedies that would enable all to enjoy the wealth and all to enjoy, as well, more leisure.  Philippovich is sharp eyed enough to see that in the latter, we get to the key of the socialist motivation and its own nostalgia, its own connection to the conservatives.

In this view  the goal that is served by  abolishing private property and transforming it into social property we recognize the ideal of socialism. It is the highest development of the individual personality, which the economy subordinates as a mere means. Today, on the contrary, the higher goal of life is lost in the subordination of all interests to the material goals of the economy, in which art and science itself only serve production.” It is here that Philippovich’s sense of the socialist movement encompasses not only Marx, but Oscar Wilde – which perhaps takes fin de siecle Vienna, the city of the “gay apocalypse”, to see clearly. “To gain for all men the world of spiritual freedom, of beauty, of research, of aesthetic enjoyment , to create for them the opportunity of enjoying their existence through the unfolding of their personal spiritual talents and forces, that is the ideal that hovers before  socialism. It is the last consequence of the recognition of the leveling [gleichwertigkeit] of the human personality.”

The socialist ideal, then, is an existential ideal, which views the economic order as a means, not an end. The idea that the economic order has become an existential end, in modernity, survives in Karl Polanyi’s work, where it is redefined in terms of embedding: the ideal of the capitalist economic order is to embed the social entirely in the economic. By a paradoxical twist, a form of Marxism – associated, now, with Stalin – took up the ideal of the liberal economic order – at least as read by the 19^th century socialists – and transposed it from an analysis of capitalism by way of its system of production into a social ideal in which all things exist for social production, thus effectively shutting down, as bourgeois crap, the whole discourse of the full development of the person.

A vienna pink: Eugen Philippovich

In Timm’s biography of Karl Kraus, the most uncompromisingly shaved prophet in history, there is the following reflection about the political meaning of beards: “In the Vienna of 1848 the student revolutionaries had worn beards, which became symbols of their political fervour. And after the defeat of the revolution, it is reported that the authorities forcibly shaved them off. By the 1880s, those students had become pillar of the Austrian establishment. Their beards, now grey and venerable, symbolized for the iconoclasts of Kraus’ generation a pompous Victorianism that had to be swept away. A study of Wittgenstein puts the matter very clearly: “The rebellious young men who were seeking to achieve consistensy and integrity rejected facial hair along with all bourgeois superfluities. To them, moustaches and sideburns were mere ostentation, like velvet smoking jackets and fancy neckties.”

By these standards, Eugen von Philippovich, who taught economics at the University of Vienna in 1900, was on the side of the fathers. His photographs show a man as bearded as General Grant. Unlike Grant, however, his beard seems kempt, and his fashion style seems, even, modern.  A photograph of him from 1910, put on line by the Austrian National library, describes him as follows: “Eugen Philippovich Freiherr von Philippsberg in a Jacket with a single row of buttons, a vest with a single row of buttons, striped pants and a white shirt with a folded collar and tie, with a Filz Trilby hat with a silk bank, a full beard and glasses.” Like Freud, whose fashion sense he shares, he is a man between the world that was formed after the failed 1848 revolution and the world being formed by the fast pace of techno-cultural and political changes at the turn of the century in Vienna. He is of the liberal generation that learned its economics from Carl Menger (von Philippovich literally did) and its duties from Kant (like  Ulrich’s father in  Robert Musil’s Man Without Qualities).

Philippovich is not adduced to today – but he did write an adducable book in the year that the photo was taken of him entitled “The development of economic-political ideas in the 19^th century.”  Perhaps economic-political, today, would be translated ideas of economic policy. The book’s melody is simple: it starts from the fact that the dominant economic tendency  of the first part of the 19^th century, in Europe, was “economic liberalism” – the overthrow of ancient impediments to free trade in domestic and world markets – while the economic tendencies of the second half of the nineteenth century were in reaction to liberalism – on the one hand, the conservative defense of an “organic order” that preserved aristocratic privilege, and on the other hand a socialist attack on behalf of the working class.

One might think, considering the tie between the contemporary image of “Austrian” economics and the hardcore advocacy of untrammeled capitalism, that Philoppovich would view the liberal dominance as the golden age and the attacks as the downfall of a beautiful idea. But Austrian economics in Austria, at this time, were not as simple as a latter generation of ideologues – notably Hayek and Mises – made it out to be. In fact, Philippovich was the center of the Austrian Fabians, who, like their English counterparts, wanted to use the power of the state to make a number of socialistic reforms in the economic arrangement of things in the Habsburg Empire. Philippovich, for instance, investigated working housing in Vienna and described the awful conditions of the tenements – inspiring the Socialist post war government’s effort to provide decent housing for the workers, according to Eva Blau’s The Architecture of Red Vienna. His work here was at the intersection of the liberal-left concerns of the Fabians and the modernity of architects like Loos, who despised the dishonesty of Vienna’s modern buildings, with their historicist facades – the borrowed ornamentation of earlier epochs – and horrid interiors.

Thus, Philippovich’s book is hard on the vices of liberalism and soft on the vices of socialism – or so it may appear to an orthodox economist.

The first chapter that describes the formation of the liberal economic policy set and its implementation takes as a sort of surveyor’s mark the phrase of the phrase of “Michel Chevalier, who in his report on the Paris World’s Fair of 1867 could write: To have helped Free trade to triumph will be one of the titles of fame given to the second half of the 19^th century.” In fact, the basis of that triumph, as Philippovich shows, is based in reforms that occurred in the first half of the 19^th century, which followed a certain theory.

“For this change in the postion of the state and the individual in the economic process of society the economic theory of liberalism delivered a foundation that was, in its simplicity, clarity and inner certainty extraordinarily captivating, understandable and through life experiences easily tested. When everyone can produce what he wants, and can trade with all other members of society in terms of free contracts, than the reasonable pursuit of one’s own interest must lead to the state that all economic goods will be produced in the most economic way and in regard to the need of the greatest possible munber which is allowed by the limits of the means of production at that time. Because in viewing his self interest the consumer will always be lead to the point that there will always be a demand for things which are necessary for society. The utility of society consists in the fact that the emergent needs of its members must be satisfied. This means that their enterprises must be satisfied. It will always be the case that things reflect such uses as are desired and that their producers are given occasion to sell them. These producers will be lead through their self-interest to produce these things at the lowest cost, because by complete freedom of trade the consumer will turn his custom to those that can most cheaply satisfy his demand. Where the costs are greater and thus the price required higher than the consumer’s sense of its value, the consumer will pull back. These producers will thus have to either limit their production or give it up, while others will extend it. Accordingly, the prospect of gain will invoke the striving of the producers to produce at the lowest cost. But not only will consumers and entrepreneurs with full freedom act so as to serve their interests best, but also workers will turn to those businesses, where their labor power is best recompensed, and that is naturally those in which there is the tendency to extend production, and thus in which there is a stronger social need. Accordingly, in such an economic system all will strive after his own advantage, but through this, at the same time, the socally best distribution of goods and labor power will be implemented. … Basically the whole of economic life is only a continual buying and selling. Rent, loans, pacts, in brief all contracts, in which claims to utilities are made and compensation is offered in return, were engaged in and dissolved according to the same principles.  Against this free trade the state had nothing other to do than to guard the person and property of all from violence and deceit, and to compel the fullfillment of freely entered into agreements. In the interest of political freedom and on economic grounds, the state must avoid a positively public activity, or business affairs. If the government engages in such enterprises it will expand its power and influence by controlling a great number of places and can comand and injure the many interests of private parties and can use them for political ends. Economically purposive management will be obstructed by the wish of the government to curry favor with influential parts of the population: here the great land owners, there the great industrialists, no again certain regions against others, here the worker and their the small business. Or they will be forced under the influence of popular movements to make rules, which are uneconomic. Such management will also because of the difficulty of leading an economic enterprise through a  bureaucratic apparatus work less efficiently, than a private one, while the leading personnel has only a weakened interest in success, and thus the energy of labor will suffer.”

Philippovich’s summary brings out the ideological necessity behind the sovereign consumer, upon which hinges a system that both needs the coercive powers of the state and needs to keep the state from interfering, in any way, with the accumulated inequalities that result from the process of free trade. Philippovich is interested not only in these inequalities, but in the “thinness” of the idea that all of social life is encoded in buying and selling. I’ll examine these two ideas in the next post.