“How say ye unto Pharoah, I am the son of the wise, the son of ancient kings? Where are they? Where are thy wise men?”

—Isaiah 19:11—12

No other error of public judgment would, I think, be more damaging, for the just influence of the United States, than that we should ascribe too universal a significance to the present difficulties of the democratic socialist parties of the major countries of Western Europe and, from that mistake, take a misguided, fleeting courage to stand before the world as the parochial advocates of a single pattern of economic organization, one which may, largely, be unadaptable to the circumstances and aspirations of most other peoples. On a vulgar level, we fall into this unfortunate error when we go around the world—and especially in very poor countries—showing fancy United States Information Service exhibits that challenge the Communist slogan of “people’s democracy” with the counter-slogan of “people’s capitalism.” (Do we not fall into a kindred error, on a higher level, when, with the Editor of COMMENTARY,¹ we identify what has both historical importance and abiding value in our civilization with an asserted “Protestant-liberal-bourgeois synthesis”?) It was the great merit of Mr. Nelson Rockefeller, in his recent exchange with Nikita Khrushchev, to refuse to be caught in the vulgar form of this trap, to refuse to debate the issue between American democracy and Soviet totalitarianism on the false ground of Capitalism versus Socialism, and to endeavor to shift the whole discussion to another plane.

The democratic socialist parties are, as I have suggested in a previous article [June], at present very weak in the major countries of Western Europe. As an organized political movement, socialism has no hold in the United States. But the ascendancy of various kinds of socialism is becoming more and more pronounced in the poorest countries of the world. Democratic socialisms may also, in time, experience a resurgence in Western Europe. In part, these socialisms have been thrown back, as organized political forces, because the non-socialist parties have stolen some of their clothes, in part because of identification with Communism. But these tendencies in the political and economic development of Europe are still in tension and irresolution.

It is in this perspective, and not only for its specific contributions to economics or public law, that I believe Eugene V. Rostow’s recent book,² Planning for Freedom: The Public Law of American Capitalism, will be most usefully examined. It is perhaps the most weighty, comprehensive statement of the case for liberal capitalism that has been written by an American for some time. I wish I could induce careful readers to study it side by side with a reasoned, temperate advocacy of democratic socialism such as that contained in Mr. C. A. R. Crosland’s book on The Future of Socialism.

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A Proposal of Liberal Capitalism

Mr. Rostow is dean of the Yale Law School. In the literature of civil liberty, his little 1945 essay, “Our Worst Wartime Mistake,” will hold an honored place. That paper deals cogently with what may yet prove a death-bringing weakness of the American constitutional system (as it was deformed by the Supreme Court in the Japanese-American cases of World War II)—the abdication of the law in the face of wartime military authority. To economists and others interested in the petroleum industry, Mr. Rostow will be better known for his thoughtful 1948 book, A National Policy for the Oil Industry, a volume which disturbed great interests and won its author creditable enmities.

The sting of Mr. Rostow’s present book is not so sharp. He flies the flag of capitalism from a tall standard. It takes him only thirty-two pages to reach the point in his exposition where “Democratic Socialism is a contradiction in terms.” But his credentials of capitalist orthodoxy will not go quite unchallenged. “The free markets of a capitalist economy,” he writes, “lack a balance wheel. This only the government can provide, through fiscal and monetary action. There are no alternative means . . . to smooth otherwise inevitable fluctuations . . . in employment and production.” In vain after that, does he call a distinguished Swedish economist to witness that Marx used neither the word “planning” nor its idea. (A student of Marx might have recalled that the old fellow could hardly spare ten minutes, in all his lifetime, for writing about how things would be managed under socialism.) The claim of a need for public planning, to balance productive capacity with output use, is older than Marxism and as old as the word “socialism” itself. With the Saint-Simonians, the assertion of this claim is identifiable as a distinctively socialist doctrine. The counter-claim, that no such public “intervention” is needed or helpful, similarly defines the old liberal capitalist position.

The classic socialist case has always been that, precisely in regard to the issue of industrial fluctuations (which Mr. Rostow regards as central), it will not do to rely on the efforts of private businessmen to maximize “private product” and then count on a resulting adequate “social product.” There needs to be a public effort to maximize social product—regardless of whether further outlays for employment and production appear too hazardous to individual businessmen at any particular time. The lack of what Mr. Rostow calls “a balance wheel” in private competitive enterprise is precisely what Marx, in his own mytho-poetic language, called an “inherent contradiction.” Why then should we not—even in the United States—admit that in this matter something has been learned which has long been part of traditional socialist thinking? Why should Mr. Rostow not say, quite simply and generously, that his proposed economic machine has a socialist-principle balance wheel (Keynesian model), which must be operated by government, though the machine—in this model—relies on private business motive power for the conduct of most production activities? We are dealing with politically charged words. It is easier to adopt the substance if one can reject the symbol with all possible fierceness.

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Economics

Though Mr. Rostow lives in New England, he seems never to have been favored by a visit from Thoreau’s ghost. His book is full of consumers’ goods and producers’ goods and defense goods, but there is never enough. The voice of the ghost echoes, “Shall we always study to obtain more of these things, and not sometimes to be content with less?” Mr. Rostow answers that we desire more and must have more—for ourselves and for all of humanity. But, the ghost protests “. . . the cost of a thing is the amount of what I will call life which is required to be exchanged for it, immediately or in the long run.” Very well, Mr. Rostow is prepared to meet the cost. He puts our current military expenditures at about $40 billion annually and finds the cost of “an adequate military program” to be about twice that. But defense is only the beginning. “Any attempt to draw up a balance sheet for the American economy ten or twenty years hence reveals how hard pressed we shall be in seeking to satisfy all the claims which now seem inescapable. . . . The consumption requirements of a rising population are formidable. . . . A full-employment economy generates huge capital demands. . . . The nation will have to export capital on a much larger scale. . . . Urgent public works are desirable. . . . A deficit in available output looms up. . . .” Mr. Rostow has entitled his book Planning for Freedom. But in this freedom—as in so many others—we shall apparently have to work harder and harder to be as free as we were when we started.

I have never read another book by a lawyer that showed so wide and discriminating an acquaintance with the literature of economics as does this book by Mr. Rostow. But, he is hampered throughout by one nagging problem, and his Preface indicates that he is aware of it. That problem is a failure to fix the level of discourse. For several pages, he is writing an elementary text-book of economic analysis or description. Then he raises a point which can hardly have meaning to the general reader. A few pages later he is back in the elementary class. Mr. Rostow touches base at a great many problems that have excited professional discussions among economists. But he is not in a position to advance these questions or to be very helpful to non-professionals.³

Joining with official thinking in the United States government, Mr. Rostow is profoundly concerned over the danger of inflation. He declares his faith: “Stable prices over long periods of time can accomplish more than any other one economic policy to transform a population into a people.” We may ask Mr. Rostow to consider again. In the past quarter century the British price level has increased by more than 200 per cent, the United States price level by somewhat less than 200 per cent. Are there not British and American peoples, and are they not perhaps more cohesive—less discontented—than twenty-five years ago? The Israeli price level rose by more than 200 per cent in the decade 1948-58. Did this prevent Israel from forging a people out of the most diverse materials? Having myself strewn a path of memoranda against inflation, twenty years long and stretching from the precincts of the United States Treasury to the hills of Jerusalem, I am most concerned to avoid exaggerations on this matter. A stable price level can usually be a very helpful instrument to more important objects, but there are a host of economic policies more important to the cohesion of a people than the policy of stable prices.

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Public Law of American Capitalism

Despite the title of his book, Mr. Rostow devotes little space to law—public or private. I do not believe that more than one-fifth of the volume deals with legal questions. His most thorough professional attention is given to the old legal issue of antitrust regulation, and on this issue he provides a thoughtful, suggestive conspectus of the whole field. He will not rest content with countervailing power (Galbraith) or with elevating the conscience of corporate management (Berle). He concludes—judiciously as it seems to me—that the effects of the antitrust laws on American business practices have been real but limited. “The purposes of the Sherman Act have not been fully realized in our economic life. Its history is one of futility and half-measures, of gallant attempts, occasional victories, frequent retreats, of false starts and missed opportunities. Above all, it is a history marked by the absence of any planned and systematic effort to gain the basic strategic ends of the statute. . . .” The absence of such a planned and systematic effort may, in some degree, reflect a deficiency in thinking. But, more importantly and fundamentally, it reflects a deficiency of authoritative political intent. Our American capitalism is not more competitive for the reason that the effective political forces in our government did not wish to make it so.

The second question of public law to which Mr. Rostow devotes considerable attention—the central question of his whole book—is the structural significance for the American economy of the Employment Act of 1946. But here I fail to find in Mr. Rostow’s pages any image of the years since 1946, or any reflection of the present reality. “The First Principle of the law for the control of the economy,” he says, “is that the government is responsible for the general level of employment.” So unqualified a pronouncement is not contained in any provision of law or any accepted rule of public practice. In none of our postwar recessions has the administration of the day accepted responsibility for the general level of employment. For the most part, successive administrations have been content to wait for the so-called “built-in stabilizers” to do their work and have for the most part supplemented waiting by a little fiddling with the availability of bank credit. In the recession of 1948—49, President Truman and his Secretary of the Treasury concentrated attention primarily, until mid-1949, on combating inflation. In the recession of 1957—58, President Eisenhower and his Secretary of the Treasury concentrated on combating inflation throughout.

Secretary Anderson recently explained that he did not favor any contra-cyclical action in 1957—58 because he wished to prove the “resiliency” of the economy apart from government action. He thereby interpreted Mr. Rostow’s ringing First Principle as requiring our government to do precisely nothing. In this position, Secretary Anderson is not isolated. The American government does not today, as a matter of operating fact, acknowledge more than a small and uncertain share of the responsibility regarding employment which Mr. Rostow describes (especially in his chapters 1 and 2 and 13) as the First Principle of the public law. It has of course, historically, in the development of the common law, been the role of lawyers to credit the earlier legislator or judge with a singleness of purpose which—as a matter of fact—he did not have, and to endow such legislators or judges retrospectively with ideas that never passed through their minds. That is one way the law grows. But fostering growth by such techniques is the work of the decision-making judge, often assisted by partisan counsel; it must not be the role of the historian or of him who, at any point in time, takes in hand the task of describing what exists rather than what he would like to have exist.

The public law of the American economy, with regard to employment, may yet reach the level of responsibility ascribed to it by Mr. Rostow. A useful first step might be to recognize clearly that it has not yet done so.

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Politics

The central propositions of Mr. Rostow’s political case are two. First, democracy requires the maintenance of many, self-sustaining, “pluralistic” centers of power. Second, only an economy of private, competitive capitalism is consistent with the requisite plurality of power centers. Let us not question the first. Our American version of the democratic political philosophy holds that every citizen, sustained by law and civil liberty, shall be an autonomous power center (and our American version of democratic mythology holds that every citizen is equally such a power center in our country). The issue is on the second proposition.

Mr. Rostow makes the issue difficult for us because, in all of his solid book, he does not define either capitalism or socialism. And he makes it doubly difficult for himself because he does not argue merely that democracy and socialism are incompatible with one another as a matter of historical fact or probability: he argues (page 32) that “Democratic Socialism is a contradiction in terms” [italics mine]. Now, I must concede that I have reasons of personal piety for being reluctant to accept this conclusion. I have never believed that socialism would be a useful program for the United States as far forward in time as I can see. But the first book on public affairs I remember reading was Bertrand Russell’s Bolshevism: Practice and Theory, and afterward I went on to read other books by that democratic socialist, whom I have never ceased to admire. When I was ready for harder fare, I tried my teeth on some of Russell’s publications in logic and the theory of knowledge. Over the succeeding years, I have found a number of occasions to differ with Russell about political matters, but I have never thought I could catch that clear and powerful mind in an elementary logical fallacy—a contradiction in terms. It would have to be very subtle! I have a similar problem of piety where Morris R. Cohen is concerned, another democratic socialist with a penetrating, rigorous mind, whose politics I do not entirely share. Can it really be that Mr. Rostow has caught Morris R. Cohen as well as Bertrand Russell in “a contradiction in terms”? What terms? He does not say, and I cannot imagine.

Perhaps we can make greater progress by proceeding more empirically. Mr. Rostow says (page 35) that, “There is no possible objection . . . so long as the state-owned sector is a relatively small share of the whole economy” [italics mine.] What is small? In the United States, in 1958, government employment accounted for about 15 per cent of the total and government expenditure for about 21 per cent. Surely the United States is not socialist, and we are still democratic. In the United Kingdom, in 1958, government employment (including the nationalized industries) apparently amounted to nearly 25 per cent, and the ratio of public expenditure to total national income was 33 per cent; moreover, according to the Radcliffe Committee, “nearly half the total volume of investment is now financed by public authorities.” Is not the financier the master? Half is surely not “a relatively small share.” Is British democracy at an end?

But the United Kingdom is far less socialist than Israel. By 1953, according to Mr. Daniel Creamer, only 55 per cent of Israel’s domestically produced income originated in private enterprise. Since then the socialist share seems to have increased (owing to nationalization of electricity, extension of public and Histadrut enterprises in irrigation, shipping, petroleum, etc.). Some 60 per cent of gross saving in Israel is supplied by the government alone, without consideration of the saving supplied by the Histadrut sector. Israeli socialism in economic activity is not, to borrow a phrase from Mr. Rostow, “stiff with symmetry”; it is downright confused. But Israel also has an active, sometimes turbulent and even undisciplined political democracy. And, even if she had not, where is the contradiction in terms in such having? How dare we so bound the range of human possibility by our own parochial experience! Far better if Mr. Rostow had thrown away all the books of the lawyers and economists and attended instead to the sage of Walden Pond. “One generation abandons the enterprises of another like stranded vessels. . . . This is the only way, we say; but there are as many ways as there can be drawn radii from one center. . . . But man’s capacities have never been measured; nor are we to judge of what he can do by any precedents, so little has been tried.”

In truth, Mr. Rostow’s argument against democratic socialism amounts to little more than the fact of the existence of Communism. This reminds me of nothing so much as the reasoning of a certain type of “left-winger” in the 1930’s: capitalism must inevitably develop into fascism—look at Italy and Germany! Rostow even quotes Morris Cohen’s own strictures against Communism, as if they were intended as a refutation of democratic socialism, and omits—I am sure unwittingly—to inform the reader that Cohen remained a democratic socialist all his life. It is regrettable that we should thus be afforded another illustration of Cohen’s sad reflection:⁴ “The chief argument of the surviving champions of ‘free private enterprise’ is the argument from communism.” The case against general socialism, in various societies, particularly in our own (as well as the case against specific measures of socialization), deserves to be argued from a stronger base and with greater particularity.

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Philosophy

Mr. Rostow desired, quite properly, to place his espousal of liberal capitalism in a general context of relation to fundamental ethical values. At the very outset, he states that, “Every study of a particular problem in law, in economics, in social relations, or in politics presupposes a concept of society as a living organism. . . .” And he is concerned over what he calls the “myth,” “image,” or “model” which constitutes the investigator’s criterion of relevance or value. He inquires about such a model, “Is it closely linked both to the pattern of the past and to our hearts’ desire, or is it one which could only be related to the historical flow of events by coercive or revolutionary action?” All this will not command universal agreement and is perhaps not very clear, but Mr. Rostow makes it clearer when he comes near the end (page 363). “The history of civilization as a whole, as distinguished from the history of any one of the cultures, offers an ethical code of some power. It embodies the most valued elements of the religious and philosophical tradition. It constitutes a scale of values, including an ideal for law, which will be accepted in a given culture as an aspiration beyond the present stage of development.” It is in the light of this conception that we are to understand Mr. Rostow’s earlier counsel. “Some scholar or group of scholars should seek to draw our knowledge about society into a philosophical view of the human condition. . . . [This view] should use the best of modern learning in all the behavioral and social sciences, from anthropology to econometrics.”

The view that Mr. Rostow expounds is an old one in theology, in ethics, and—if I may be pardoned the temerity of saying so—in general thinking about the nature of the law. In this view, truth lies in the consensus—not of one time or one civilization but of all time and all cultures, what Mr. Rostow calls “the history of civilization as a whole.” For this position, the task of rational theology, of ethics, or of a constructive jurisprudence is somehow to extract what is common, permanent, or pervasively recurrent from the facts of history.

As I cannot here develop a total ethical and political philosophy, I must say, as it will appear dogmatically, that I believe Mr. Rostow’s philosophical position to be fallacious. First, the study of “the history of civilization as a whole” does not reveal any such consensus as he describes nor does it offer “an ethical code of some power”: it offers many codes. Second, and more fundamentally, the evidence of what various peoples, in various civilizations, believe to be right and good can provide only raw material of suggestions for the rational consideration of what is right and good. The task of an ethical philosophy cannot be performed by the study of history, however amply supplemented by anthropology and econometrics. Students of ethical philosophy will recognize in Mr. Rostow’s position a historically tinged version of what Professor G. E. Moore⁵ named “the naturalistic fallacy.” A more subtle logician, Mr. Arthur N. Pryor, has suggested that we should speak rather of the inconsistencies (and not of the fallacy) of ethical naturalism. Here I can go no further. For fuller insight into what I believe to be profoundly erroneous in Mr. Rostow’s philosophical framework, I can do no better than refer to Pryor’s tiny book,⁶ a remarkable piece of analysis and too little known in this country.

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II

I hope that Dean Rostow’s book will be read widely and with care by sincere people who wish to look closely into the ideas of liberal capitalism as qualified American spokesmen are expounding them today. I do not know another American book in which these ideas are put forward more comprehensively and with greater relevance to contemporary interests. I have not hesitated to suggest that the deeper foundations of this house are insecurely laid and the architectural design inadequate. The claims are more universal than can be established; the case is not sufficiently particular; the reasoning is cast along a line which is likely to yield more estrangement between the United States and the rest of the world, rather than more understanding and sympathy. This design for the house of liberal capitalism will do for a quiet summer day in Connecticut. But it will not stand up, I believe, even in the United States, in a high wind or a hard winter. And, despite its universal approach, it is not a house which can contribute significantly to ideas of design for the ice of Moscow or the heat of Calcutta.

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Rich Man, Poor Man

One hundred and fifteen years ago, Henry David Thoreau wrote a perfectly adequate account of the most important source of the chasm that separates the people of the United States from the peoples of the underdeveloped countries and will continue to separate them, no matter what we do, for many decades to come. He relates: “I heard it proposed lately that two young men should travel together over the world, the one without money, earning his means as he went, before the mast and behind the plough, the other carrying a bill of exchange in his pocket. It was easy to see that they could not long be companions or cooperate, since one would not operate at all. They would part at the first interesting crisis in their adventures. . . . To cooperate in the highest as well as the lowest sense, means to get our living together” [italics Thoreau’s].

We do not get our living together with the poorest peoples of the underdeveloped countries. We go no farther toward a community of experience with the poorest if we espouse Protestant (or Catholic) Christianity than with the liberal-bourgeois philosophy, and a synthesis of the three (though I am not well acquainted with it, as a student of history) is presumably not more demanding than any one of the trinity. We are, of course, not prepared to take all that we have and give to the alien poor, and we shall continue to have various impeccable reasons for not doing so. Is it not our role to safeguard the higher cultural inheritance of man? And how can that be done without means? Few of us have an adequate, realized image of how the poorest peoples get their living and what that living amounts to. We shall continue to have enough ignorance to safeguard ourselves from distress.

A word on the bearing of “foreign aid.” Some readers of COMMENTARY may be presumed to know a little about aid to Israel. They then know also of the feeling of various Israeli authorities that, in some years, they have had barely enough money to do a tolerable job. Those authorities have felt particularly that the solidarity of Jews called for a little more sacrifice of American Jewish luxury for a little more indulgence of Israeli Jewish life. Yet, in the years 1950—58, Israel received from abroad imports for which the Israeli economy did not pay averaging more than $180 annually for each person in the total Israeli population. In contrast, the government of the United States is now proposing an expanded program of aid to India; this, according to “usually well-informed sources,” will amount to about 400 million or 450 million dollars annually—consisting for the greater part of our unmarketable agricultural surpluses. For the 400 million people of India, this amounts to about $1.00 per capita annually. (It also amounts to five times the annual amount recently pledged, with much fanfare, as a loan to India, by the itinerant Mr. Khrushchev.) If the people of India were to receive from abroad, in all the forty years that remain to the 20th century, the same amount per capita that Israel found hardly adequate for one year, India would get over $72 billion. Not in his wildest dream has the most optimistic Indian planner reckoned with such an amount.

The economic development of the poorest peoples in the next decades will be primarily the fruit—sweet or bitter—of their own success in awakening energies long dormant, in removing social and cultural barriers to effort, in developing skills among the hundreds of millions, and in accumulating capital out of the abstinence and deprivation of the poor.

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Socialisms of Underdeveloped Countries

In the measure in which the poorest peoples are moved by active concern for their own economic development, they tend today to give a larger place, in their economic organization, to socialized or nationalized enterprises than does the United States. This tendency is clear beyond possibility of misunderstanding in Asia and Africa, less transparent but also true in Latin America. There is great variety stemming from the individuality of national history and political circumstance, but the world-wide grounds for this tendency are common. What are these grounds?

First, the underdeveloped countries have few private entrepreneurs, among their own people, who have the capital, training, and mentality required for the creation of modern enterprises. In confronting the establishment of a major new venture, the alternatives before an underdeveloped country frequently are whether to conduct this business as a public activity or to find a private entrepreneur, lend him public money, pay for his training, and wait hopefully for his success.

Second, the enterprise that distinctively marks economic development is likely, in an underdeveloped country, to be a monopoly, and this is particularly likely if the country is small. Even a country as large as Canada found it desirable to have the single nationalized enterprise of the Trans-Canada Air Lines. A smaller country may encounter the same fact of monopoly not only in an airline or in electric power or harbor facilities but also in its first petroleum refinery, its first fertilizer plant, its first paper mill, its first steel mill, and in hosts of other enterprises that are counted in commonplace dozens in the United States. The case for competitive capitalism is not the case for private monopoly. Contemporary underdeveloped countries—even small ones—are not prepared to accept that form of international division of labor which involves abstaining from modern industries. They do not wish to limit themselves to producing staple agricultural commodities for an uncertain world market, and they refuse to concentrate on small-scale handicraft industries, which can easily have many competitive firms even in a small country. They are therefore repeatedly confronted with the choice: public monopoly or private monopoly? And they often decide in favor of public.

Third, a new development may well pay in national economic gains but not yield a profit to a private owner. A development-minded government may see that a fertilizer plant that shows a loss on the books is producing ample dividends in local raw materials utilized, in skills being acquired, in by-products made possible, and in a road opened to further development. The economy as a whole profits from these things, but the individual businessman can not make money from them. If the private businessman is to get his profit by tariff protection or direct subsidy, the government will be continually looking over his shoulder. Such governments frequently prefer ownership to the duplicate management involved in effective regulation.

Fourth, most underdeveloped countries are not hospitable to the idea of their key enterprises being directed by foreign capital. We need to ponder carefully the significance of the fact that it is precisely Japan, which has made greatest economic progress among all the nations of the world that were untouched by modern industry one hundred years ago, that has also been most persistently and successfully hostile to the establishment of foreign direct investment in its country. The Japanese will borrow money abroad and repay it most faithfully. They will grudgingly accept a foreign minority interest in a Japanese enterprise if it is indispensable. But they do not want foreigners owning and running large enterprises in Japan. Japanese capitalism is strong because it is not foreign.

Fifth, the underdeveloped countries do not characteristically begin with the idea that large holdings of private property are valuable safeguards of personal freedom. They are more likely to think of substantial property as arbitrary privilege—the privilege of inheritance, the privilege derived from close connection with government, or the privilege of acting as a monopolistic representative of a foreign interest.

In the face of these things, we shall not succeed in convincing most of the poorest peoples of the world that their economic organization should be patterned closely on that of the United States. But, if we are sufficiently fierce in our insistence that our models of government and economy constitute the only patterns of a good society, we can succeed in shutting ourselves away from the understanding and sympathies of the larger part of humanity.

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¹ Editorial, February 1960.

² Yale University Press, 437 pp., $6.00.

³ The reader who takes a serious interest in fiscal and monetary problems will find easier going in two publications that are so recent they were unavailable to Rostow, one British and one American. The British, characteristically well-written and analytically distinguished, is the Report (Cmnd. 827 of August 1959) of the Radcliffe Committee on the Working of the Monetary System. The American is the Staff Report (of December 1959) of the Congressional Joint Economic Committee on Employment, Growth, and Price Levels, with an abundance of information and a barrel-load of recommendations—of widely varying significance and cogency. While the British document is more limited, the American has a scope as wide as the economic portion of Mr. Rostow's treatise and is more easily read.

⁴ American Thought, page 111.

⁵ Principia Ethica, page 17 ff.

⁶ Logic and the Basis of Ethics (Oxford, 1949, 111 PP.).