THE METAPHYSICS OF LIBERTY
by Frank Forman

first printed in 1989 by Kluwer Academic Publishers in Dordrecht, Holland
(Theory and decision Library. Series A, Philosophy and methodology of the social sciences)
Library of Congress catalog number B824.4.F67 1989
Library of Congress numerical 88-27342
Dewey Decimal number 123.5
International Standard Book Number 0-7923-0080-7

JACKET BLURB

This book extends the social contract theory of the public choice economist James Buchanan by adopting the scientific metaphysics of the physicist and philosopher Mario Bunge, whose multi-volume _Treatise on Basic Philosophy_ represents the first systematic philosophy consistent with modern science and logic as proposed by Charles Peirce in the 1890s. Bunge's systemism allows for the successive emergence of novelty and strikes a middle ground between reductionism and holism, or in political terms between atomistic individualism and collectivism.

The book discusses Buchanan's own individualism as well as a broadside attack upon individualism by Roberto Mangabeira Unger of the Critical Legal Studies movement. It then expounds Bunge's metaphysics in lay terms and applies it to Friedrich Hayek's dismissal of social justice as a mirage, to Ayn Rand's concept of natural rights, and to the evolutionary federalism of the social psychologist Raymond Cattell. It concludes by arguing for a plurality of contracts.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

0. PREFACE

CHAPTER 1: JAMES McGILL BUCHANAN AND INDIVIDUALISM
1.1. The Work of Buchanan
1.2. Buchanan's Individualism
1.3. A First Move away from Strict Methodological Individualism
1.4. New Contractarian Man
1.5. The Methodological Meaning of the Unanimity Rule
1.6. Additional Requirements for New Contractarian Man
1.7. Potential Abuses of the Unanimity Criterion
1.8. Duties to Obey the Laws?
1.9. Contractarianism and Natural Rights
1.10. Conclusion

CHAPTER 2: ROBERTO MANGABEIRA UNGER AND COLLECTIVISM
2.1. Unger's Characterization of Individualism
2.2. Buchanan's Implicit Agreement with Unger
2.3. Unger's Criticisms of the Individualist World View
2.4. The Factual Basis for the Separation of Theory and Fact
2.5. Unger on the Separation of Reason and Desire in Individualism
2.6. Response to Unger
2.7. Unger on the Separation of Public Rules and Private Values
2.8. Response to Unger
2.9. Unger's Evolutionism
2.10. Conclusion

CHAPTER 3: MARIO AUGUSTO BUNGE AND SCIENTIFIC METAPHYSICS
3.1. The Aim of Bunge's Philosophy
3.2. Bunge's Furniture
3.3. Bunge's Systemism
3.4. Bunge on Mind
3.5. Bunge's Systemic Conception of Society
3.6. Conclusion

CHAPTER 4: FRIEDRICH AUGUST VON HAYEK AND THE MIRAGE OF SOCIAL JUSTICE
4.1. Hayek's Own Argument against Social Justice
4.2. The Metaphysical Issues in Hayek's Argument
4.3. Progressive Taxes Not Necessarily a Mirage
4.4. Multi-Generational Social Contracts
4.5. Elitism

CHAPTER 5: AYN RAND AND NATURAL RIGHTS
5.1. Similarities and Differences with Contractarianism
5.2. The Arguments for Natural Rights
5.3. The Advantages of Contractarianism over Natural Rights
5.4. Value and Fact Again

CHAPTER 6: RAYMOND BERNARD CATTELL AND EVOLUTIONARY FEDERALISM
6.1. The Self of Self-Interest
6.2. Teleology
6.3. Cattell's Morality from Science
6.4. Criticism of Cattell
6.5. The Ontology of Federalism
6.6. Problems for Contractarianism in the Composition of Countries
6.7. Evolutionary Morality
6.8. Conclusion

ENDNOTES

APPENDICES
No. 1. Egalitarianism as a Morality Racket
No. 2. Review of Robert H. Frank, _Choosing the Right Pond_
No. 3. Review of David Gauthier, _Morals by Agreement_
No. 4. Contracting for Natural Rights

Bibliography
About the Author
Name Index
Glossary
Subject Index
Man as a Part of Nature Subindex
Divine Subindex

0. PREFACE

to Frank Forman, _The Metaphysics of Liberty_ (1989)

0.1. Philosophy suffers from an excess of convoluted introspection. One result is that concepts multiply unchecked. That some events have observable causes gets reified into a First Cause or, in a more secular age, to the thesis that every event is fatalistically determined. Another drawback of convoluted introspection is that tiny but crucial assumptions slip in, often unawares, with the result that densely argued counter-tomes are written in reply and no progress is made toward any kind of consensus. At bottom, subjectivity reigns.

0.2. I exaggerate. Toward the other pole of the subjectivity- objectivity continuum, consensus among scientists is in fact always at a good healthy distance from compulsive unanimity. New theories replace old, and at any one time the evidence can usually be interpreted two ways. Indeed, it is possible to pile epicycle upon epicycle in the Ptolemaic system of the heavens and approximate the ellipses planets travel in the Copernican system. What cinched the case for Copernicus was not simplicity--after all alchemy is simpler than chemisty. Nor was it experiment--there were no moon shots back then. Rather it was Newton's foundations. He established a physics for the earth and the heavens alike. Earthly physics we can verify, and it does not jell with the Ptolemaic system.

0.3. Indeed, striving to make subtheories jell with one another is a major aim of scientific research. Think of relativity and quantum mechanics in physics, or of micro- and macro-economics. Think also of why most scientists reject parapsychology as quickly as they do. By the 1890s, the sciences had advanced to the point that the great Charles Peirce called for a grounding of their underlying assumptions in a scientific metaphysics.

0.4. Eighty years later, Mario Bunge was the first scientist to carry out Peirce's program. I shall expound his results in non-mathematical detail in Chapter 3, but for now only a few remarks. First, Bunge treats metaphysics as a science and therefore controllable by the results of other sciences. Bunge's scheme is the *first* such carrying out of Peirce's program, not the last. Second, Bunge strives to keep his metaphysics quite general. For example, his chapter on change comes before the one on space and time. This way, should relativity theory get modified, Bunge may not have to revise his concepts and results on change. He may have to anyhow, which only goes to show that his whole enterprise is open to revision. Third, science, including scientific metaphysics, is bound to conflict with naive, however convoluted intuitions. One resists changing one's intuitions, but this is what learning is all about.

0.5. This book is about liberty, and my basic aim is to set it well within Bunge's metaphysics. Here are several of his theses I shall be adopting:

0.5.1. *Emergentism*. The world is layered in systems: physical, chemical, biological, social, and (parallel with social) human artifactual. A chemical system is made up of atoms and molecules, but it has properties, such as a boiling point and availability to participate in chemical reactions, that are peculiar to it and not to its constituents. A living organism has properties (metabolism, reproduction, homeostasis) that cannot be attributed to its constituent molecules. And a society is more than a heap of people: It has a legal system and an economic system, things no individual person has. At the same time, a system is not a holistic entity transcending its parts: There is no Society apart from its members.

0.5.2. *Reductionism*. While we cannot eviscerate emergent properties by bulldozing them down to their parts, science strives to explain emergence by means of lawful interaction among the parts. In other words, epistemological reductionism, si; ontological reductionism, no.

0.5.3. *Causality*. Each scientific law statement separates the set of all conceivable things and events into two subsets, the possible and the impossible. But there is no reason to suppose that the intersection of the sets of possible things and events corresponding to each law yields a single, fatalistic outcome. Self-determination and chance, as well as causes, remain as determiners of events.

0.5.4. *Free will*. Neurologists, unlike mind-body dualists, are busy studying volition. The answers are not in yet, but given Bunge's views on causality and self-determination, there is no ontological compulsion to hold that choice is at best an illusion. A fuller solution to the problem of free will will make heavy use of the structure of manifold feedback loops in animal brains and of their consequent extreme instability as far as action goes. Human brains are even more cross-wired than those of other animals. and this makes for our apparently unique ability to be self-conscious, or conscious of our own consciousness. We can direct our learning, too, and (as Bunge points out) reason about values as well as evaluate reasons. It is wonderful to know that the first scientific metaphysics not only allows for the emergent property called free will but also for its explanation.

0.5.5. *Values*. Animals and only animals evaluate. (Humans can evaluate values and, to a fair extent, train them, e.g., by taking music appreciation courses.) It is at best metaphorical and at worst mystical and holistic to speak of Society valuing. This is not to deny that individuals can share similar values or that socialization can reduce conflict. It does imply that social and political institutions must be systemically rooted in individuals though not ontologically reducible to them. Champions of "methodological individualism" are never clear whether they are ontological reductionists who consequently reject systemic metaphysics. A major purpose of this book is to bring these issues to the surface.

0.6. These, then, are five main theses I have taken over from Mario Bunge. My aim is to extend the discussion upward to the subject of human liberty in a way that is consistent with his system. This way, political philosophy will not have to float above the other areas of philosophy. I take as my starting point the contractarianism of James M. Buchanan, an economist and one of the Founding Fathers of the extension of economics to political behavior that has become known as public choice theory. Philosophers of the social contract too often *tell* the alleged contractors what they have agreed to. An economist far more habitually reckons in terms of agreement, bargaining, compromise. The economist's approach is the more metaphysically sound, since only individuals value. That individuals individually value, that is value differently and hence need to strike bargains, is an inescapable part of the human condition.

0.7. In the course of discussing Buchanan, in Chapter 1, I argue that his individualism needs to be tempered in order to make a social order viable, and in Chapter 2, I analyze a broadside attack on the underlying assumptions of modern individualism by Roberto Mangabeira Unger. Chapter 3 expounds Bunge's metaphysics, and the last three chapters apply it. Chapter 4 examines Friedrich Hayek's thesis that social justice is a mirage and concludes that certain moderate kinds of it need not be dismissed as resting on bad metaphysics. Chapter 5 examines Ayn Rand on natural rights and concludes that her arguments, while too weak to compel wholesale adoption, nevertheless might generally be utilized by social contractors in their deliberations. Chapter 6 examines what I call the evolutionary federalism of the social psychologist, Raymond B. Cattell, and discusses a plurality of social contracts both extending over space and enduring over generations. Above all, it is up to the contractors themselves, not to philosophers or economists, to establish their own political institutions by way of ideally unanimous agreement. (That the social contract is, of course, a historical fiction, will be discussed repeatedly.)

0.8. To the extent that my general approach and specific arguments are sound, I shall have laid out a framework for what could, very dangerously, be called scientific political philosophy. The danger is that "scientific" much too often connotes socialism, rule by experts, or just one big scheme for all mankind. This sounds orderly, especially to those yet to learn that order regularly emerges by processes of spontaneous self-assembly at all levels of systems, from chemical and biological on up. (Economics may well be the oldest science of spontaneous order.) But what looks orderly can mean just being ordered about. Truly rational planning (meta-planning) should consist of knowing when not to plan (object-plan), that is when to call off the bureaucrats.

0.9. It's okay to consult experts and even to trust them a little bit. It's okay, too, to put a little faith in tradition, to wait until a serious probing of a specific tradition's uses has been undertaken before throwing it to the winds. Indeed, some people have come to love their traditions and even want a large hunk of their lives so governed. That's okay, too, and in a finely enough partitioned federalism, each can seek out his preferred tradition-experiment balance. It would be most unscientific to ignore the central fact of both individual and group differences in this regard, and in all other regards.

0.10. It would be no less unscientific to ignore what ever-corrigible results have come down from the various social sciences, some of which apply to all men and groups alike. My aim here is not to beat a drum for any specific economic or social theory or even to claim a single economic law is true, not even that minimum wage laws cause unemployment or that rent controls cause housing shortages. I know plenty of people who will argue both economic laws tirelessly and for free. I could also argue on either public choice theory or natural rights grounds that education and money are too important to be left in the hands of the government. And I could warn against theocracies of all kinds, whether they be any of the hundreds of possible kinds of egalitarianism or interpretations of the Bible.

0.11. It is altogether too easy to denounce those who disagree with me as being unscientific. The plain fact is that people vary in their willingness to get at the truth, and it is they, not I, who will establish their own polities. I must not get carried away with my own arrogance. My plea is that others not get carried away with their own *metaphysical* arrogance and reify entities like Society and The Good that are detached from the ontological chain. There are not very many open advocates of such holism and collectivism anymore, but there are far too many who assume such things implicitly. It is more muddled than openly bad metaphysics that is the enemy of liberty.

0.12. I hope this book will clear up some of the mud.

0.13. As it happens, I wrote a short article for _Vera Lex_, called "Contracting for Natural Rights," that summarizes many of my ideas beyond the metaphysical base in Bunge. This article could continue this preface, but since it can stand alone, I reprint it in an appendix.

CHAPTER 1: JAMES McGILL BUCHANAN AND INDIVIDUALISM

1.1. The Work of Buchanan

1.1.1. "For three millenniums," says H.L. Mencken (1927)^, philosophers "have been searching the world and its suburbs for the truth--and they have yet to agree upon so much as the rules of the search." He adds, "If you want to find out how a philosopher feels when he is engaged in the practice of his Profession, go to the nearest zoo and watch a chimpanzee at the wearying and hopeless job of chasing flies. Both suffer damnably and neither can win." Mencken's diagnosis is that philosophers chase after The Absolute, which he calls a banshee. He is probably right, since to validate our understanding, we have to understand how the human brain evolve. We must therefore independently ground the theory of evolution, a theory, like all scientific theories, that is constantly changing. Rather than find The Absolute, we find circularity, but science makes the circle a virtuous one, one that is ever-expanding. This book will apply the first system of metaphysics designed to be compatible with modern science, that developed by Mario Bunge, to the old problem of individualism and collectivism. But before expounding Bunge's system, let us examine the works of a specimen individualist and a specimen collectivist. First, the individualist.
1.1.2. The writings of James M. Buchanan exhibit a steady evolution from public finance to public goods to public philosophy and a steady widening of perspective. His early writings were in the traditional areas of public finance and dealt with such topics as the incidence of taxation. His thought progressed from public finance to the public goods so financed. In 1962 he co-authored with Gordon Tullock _The Calculus of Consent_,^ which went behind the schemes of financing public goods into alternative constitutions for a government. This book, along with Anthony Downs, _An Economic Theory of Democracy_ (1957)^^, marked the beginnings of what is now known as public choice theory, the use of economists' tools to study nonmarket decision making. A later article by Buchanan, "An Economist's Approach to 'Scientific Politics"' (1968)^^^, contrasted traditional political] science, which is characterized as normative strictures for "'government *for* the people,' with the objective approach of public choice, which endeavors to describe the actual workings of [p. 2:] 'government *by* the people."' It is true that traditional political scientists would often describe political institutions historically or comparatively, but always with one eye upon a normative ideal, toward which it was hoped that history was tending. To the extent that this was and is the case, political science is not objective and fails to describe the actual behavior of voters and politicians who in fact have considerably less than one eye upon an idealized polity.
1.1.3. Governments, the public choice theorists teach, can fail just assuredly as economic markets in private goods, and intelligent choices should be made between actual market and actual political outcomes instead of between actual market and idealized political outcomes. It was a great innovation to say this in 1962; two decades on, it is becoming commonplace to ask so apparently simple (in retrospect) a question as whether the cure of government action is worse than the disease. Government failure is becoming increasingly obvious, and it was the merit of _The Calculus of Consent_ to treat politicians as just as motivated by their private ends, in spite of their posturing otherwise, as businessmen. This motivation had not gone unnoticed before. H.L. Mencken's bitterest book, _Notes on Democracy_ (1928)^, was unsparing in its criticism of politicians, and before him Max Weber (1918)^^ and after him Joseph Schumpeter (1942)^^^ had warned that bureaucrats were on the way to becoming a force unto themselves. The achievement of _The Calculus of Consent_ consisted in laying out a theory, parallel to that of economics, describing the outcome of the process of public choice in taxing and distributing public goods in a world that does not greatly depend upon huge numbers of persons, either as voters or politicians, concerned uppermost with the welfare of the public as a whole. 1.1.4. Buchanan and Tullock's book was very general and discussed the implications of modifying the constitutional framework within which collective decisions are made. An increase in the percentage of voters, or of their representatives in an assembly, required to enact a law providing for a public good, would decrease the harm done to those opposing the law, but it would increase the costs of achieving the required consensus to pass the law. At one extreme, if only one person were required to pass a law, the amount of legislation would be enormous (with people constantly repealing each others' legislation?), while the costs of producing legislation would be trivial. At the other extreme, if unanimity were required, no one would be harmed by legislation--he need only veto it--but the costs of reaching~ unanimous agreement would be [p. 3:] prohibitive. Buchanan and Tullock conceived the idea of minimizing the combined costs of both factors and showed that majority rule (50%) was not at all necessarily the optimum. The optimum becomes a matter for choice at the constitutional stage, and there is no longer anything sacrosanct about majority rule, implicitly when not openly enshrined as it is in traditional political science. Buchanan has often mentioned Knut Wicksell's holding a 5/6 majority to be the optimum; perhaps this is what Buchanan might wish himself, although he makes it clear that fundamentally the decision on constitutional rules is not his alone.

1.1.5 _Calculus_, while making a fundamental breakthrough into objectivity and a fundamental distinction between alternative constitutions and their operations, left a number of questions (some of which indeed were first raised in the book) unanswered. How might agreement upon a constitution come about in the first place? What about the breakdown of constitutional order? What about government itself violating the constitution? What are the prospects for reform? Buchanan was then led, from public finance to public goods, to public choice, beyond to what might be called public philosophy, to deal with these questions. Deal with them he did in 1975 in _The Limits of Liberty: Between Anarchy and Leviathan_,^ a new look at the idea of a social contract, and it is this book, which has easy claims for being his magnum opus, that will form the basic backdrop for this book.

1.2. Buchanan's Individualism

1.2.1. Buchanan announces his individualist perspective on page one of _Limits_. The first sentence reads, "Those who seek specific descriptions of the 'good society' will not find them here." By this he means that he will seek no ideal truth in politics and that men live together the better to pursue their individual objectives, not to strive toward "some transcendental common bliss." By contrast, a collectivist would either hold some men or groups of men above others or would proclaim the existence of values apart from those held by individuals. Agreements men have with each other, agreements which are necessarily unanimous, not conformity to Buchanan's or anyone else's criteria of the good, are the only means by which good can be judged. Otherwise, when force is used if agreement is not reached, judging action requires some outside standard of comparison of some men against others. Buchanan is emphatically unwilling to invoke such external standards. Later, I shall argue that Buchanan implicitly does and invariably must relax this strict unwillingness [p. 4:] somewhat, but his focusing upon agreements and processes for agreement as opposed to propounding ideal outcomes directs attention to unambiguously desirable reforms and hence toward those that might be more easily implemented. Buchanan does not exactly conceal his opinion that not only he but practically everyone else thinks government has gotten out of control and that while some of us are gainers in some areas almost all of us are losers in the net, when compared to any of a number of reforms. Buchanan nowhere presumes--indeed he denies--that any given constitutional reform need be final; further reforms remain always possible. (LL 39) [1] 1.2.2. If this is the meaning of methodological individualism, it seems unobjectionable, for certainly full agreement is far less problematical than partial agreement, which is not properly agreement at all. Some may cavil that the wishes of some men should *never* count for more than the wishes of others, but here we are referring to agreement, not to voting shares under an agreement. Buchanan is only contending that the wishes of some do not absolutely dominate those of others. Let the people agree upon whatever social contract they will.

1.2.3. Buchanan also denies the collectivist thesis that there are values apart from (and therefore in conflict with) those held by individuals. It is difficult to imagine what those values could be, however, and to turn up an example of a collectivist who holds to such values and has arguments for them would also be difficult. Perhaps what is meant is the specification of an overriding social objective (such as democracy, equality in one of its many forms, _ad majorem dei gloriam_, economic growth, or someone's personal list of natural rights), a specification *against* the wishes of the citizens. Politics involves compromise, to be sure, but compromise applies to the making of laws under a constitution, and not to the making of the constitution itself, which can emerge only by agreement.

1.2.4. Again, Buchanan sees a collectivist as one who judges the constitutions made by others as a presumptuous outsider and not as an insider, not as one of the initial contractors whose consent is needed. Perhaps he means by a collectivist an avowed irrationalist like Hegel. Buchanan is unclear on this point, and necessarily so, for those who might plausibly be placed in the collectivist camp are far from clear about what they do mean. Are they arguing for "some transcendental common bliss," which may turn out to be only a reification of some set of aims individuals might share separately? Are they denying the distinction [p. 5:] between constitution and laws made thereunder, or are they failing to make the distinction in the first place? If the last, clarification is needed, for there may be fundamental disagreement. Until clarification is made we may be sure that each will invent straw men for adversaries.

1.2.5. Buchanan's (methodological) individualism is not reducible to direct advocacy of individual liberties in the usual sense meant by free-market economists, whether argued on efficiency or natural rights grounds. (I shall be examining the case for natural rights in detail in Chapter 5 ["Ayn Rand and Natural Rights"]. Ordinarily economic liberties are implicitly taken to cover only bilateral agreements (contracts and exchanges) between two persons, actual persons or "legal persons" such as corporations. Buchanan explicitly treats multilateral agreements by all members of society, called social contracts. While it is automatically understood that a two-person agreement is necessarily mutual, that is to say unanimous, confusion may arise if unanimity is not required for multilateral agreement. Buchanan's treatment recognizes public goods and a constitution specifying the procedures to supply them from the outset, whereas those who begin with only individual liberties usually wind up compromising on their principles on the grounds that protecting of rights and supplying externality internalizing public goods necessitate some restrictions on individual freedom. Theirs is a "natural rights, but..." position, which can be construed as modestly collectivist. By explicitly allowing omnilateral (to coin a neologism) contracts, Buchanan is a more thoroughgoing *methodological* individualist, in that there is no need to go beyond the individual's own values to deal with the public goods problem.

1.2.6. _The Limits of Liberty_ applies this basic methodological approach to the questions of liberty and social contracts by beginning with the most abstract special case of a two-person, one-good society and becoming progressively more general. The book discusses the assignment and enforcement of rights, the limits of collective power, the public goods aspects of law itself, the capital investment aspects of adherence to rules, and the question of the control of the government itself. I shall trace his discussion and try to discern where certain assumptions beyond strict methodological individualism are implied or warranted.

1.2.7. The second chapter of _Limits_, "The Bases for Freedom in Society," treats the emergence of law out of anarchy. It deals with the most elementary setting, that of two persons and one good. Before the pair come to any agreement, each will exert efforts to produce his own quantities of the single good, efforts to seize the other's output, and [p. 6:] further efforts to prevent such seizure of his own holdings. An equilibrium will emerge among production, predation, and protection, but no more needs to be specified about abilities, desires, or selfishness along these dimensions. It is from this starting point, which Buchanan aptly terms the "anarchist equilibrium," that the two parties may begin to negotiate some mutually beneficial pact to reduce their predation and protection so as better to turn their efforts to production. Among possible peace pacts, any one might be chosen, if both parties see themselves as benefiting. The elementary case becomes only slightly more complicated when more than one good may be produced, for post-constitutional (post-peace-pact) exchange becomes possible.

1.2.8. An assumption is implicit even in this elementary situation, namely that making the pact itself is not (or at least is not expected to be) an empty exercise. It need not be claimed that the signing of the pact is embellished with sacred rituals, though it may have some kind of nonrational binding force, but there must be some mutual hope that the amounts of predation will not continue as before, even if there will be some cheating. Buchanan is definitely not assuming that anarchists will become "moral" by the mere act of signing a pact, and he is agnostic on the question whether human nature is such as to make people want to abide by their agreements. This has, of course, been argued both ways, but people can and almost always do set up enforcement mechanisms, particularly if the population is at all large. As Buchanan notes (LL 188), "The necessity for including enforcement provisions in the initial agreement distinguishes the social contract from other contracts which are made within the framework of a legal order."

1.2.9. It is worth stating again that Buchanan says nothing to judge any particular contract as fair or unfair. Indeed, he briefly mentions the possibility that one person enslaving another by contract could leave the latter better off than in an al~-out belligerent anarchy. (Whether there are individuals who would, truly knowingly, sell themselves into slavery is another matter.) An external observer with pretensions to knowledge of absolute values may judge the position of the second person here as unfair both before and after the peace pact, but Buchanan's concern is with the dynamic processes of mutual improvement, not judgments of any static present. This may offend our moral sense, at least certain people's moral senses in certain cases, and Buchanan can be and has been charged with worshipping the status quo and naively failing to realize that the current wielders of power are going to get the long end of the stick in any [p. 7:] bargaining over the social contract. Buchanan never quite adequately handles this problem, but it can be *mitigated* (though not solved in the abstract) with one small, optimistic, but plausible assumption (assuming also that we recognize the problem as real in the first place), namely that unfair advantage dampens over time. We all know the saying, "riches to rags in three generations," and there is suggestive empirical evidence for this in the work of Herbert Simon in "A Model of Business Firm Growth" (1967)^. He asked the question: How do U.S. firms that have over-average growth rates in one four-year period fare during the next? He expected a certain regression toward the mean, since above average growth can be a matter of chance, but not perfect regression, since it can also be a matter of superior ability. The result of his study was that the ratio of the growth rate of a given firm to that of the average firm in one four-year period would shrink to about its cube root in the next. Thus, a firm with twice the average growth rate in one decade would have 26% over the average the next. (Actually, it was 28%.) This shrinkage should follow a geometric progression, and a firm with an "unfair advantage" whose initial growth rate was double the average initially would hold only a l.0 percent advantage a century later (1.28 exp 4/100 = 1.010).

1.2.10. It could be true in other situations, however, that "the rich get richer while the poor get poorer," but it is difficult to figure out how this could come about in a market economy where all exchanges leave contracting parties better off. Political constitutions are the same, except that more than two people are involved, but each remaking of the constitution under the unanimity criterion will also leave everyone better off. (Technically, Buchanan has to exclude eternal and unalterable constitutions from his set of allowable ones. This rules out the use of certain enforcement mechanisms. Also, constitutionally amending the constitution under a less than unanimity rule makes an amendment a law, thou~h one harder to pass than others.) If "unfairness" dampens under bilateral exchanges, it will dampen under multilateral constitutional exchanges also.

1.2.11. The whole issue of fairness is problematic. Those who felt that they got the short end of the stick in the original contract may very well maintain later that their consent was not genuine and attempt to renege on the agreement. Buchanan discusses calculations of prospective revolutionaries plunging society back into anarchy in hopes of securing a new and better contract in Chapter 5 of _Limits_, "Continuing Contract and the Status Quo." This topic will be discussed further below, and I shall [p. 8:] be examining Hayek on social justice in detail in Chapter 4.

1.3. A First Move away from Strict Methodological Individualism

1.3.1. To this point, the assumptions Buchanan might have made explicit are not highly controversial. More difficulties arise in "Postconstitutional Contract: The Theory of Public Goods," which is the third chapter of _Limits_. Here we deal with many people and many goods but with an immortal population, whose membership is fixed in advance. Buchanan concentrates on the provision of pure public goods and assumes that whatever gains from trade are to be found among pure private goods have already been realized. He states that each person has an incentive to consume the public goods but opt out of cost-sharing arrangements, *even* if the constitution specifies unanimity rules to provide public goods. Buchanan is willing to force recalcitrant members into this social contract if exclusion from consumption of the public goods is not possible. (As in _The Calculus of Consent_, a less-than-unanimity rule to provide public goods might be agreed upon unanimously.) But what next happens is the beginning of something very important, a move away from strict individualism by way of placing restrictions upon the realization of gains (LL 43-44):

1.3.2. What happens, even under the first case, is that gains from bargaining over the terms of a multi-person social contract are to be excluded. It sounds wholly reasonable that men should stop their haggling and get on with the serious business of reaching an agreement that will benefit all concerned. Nor is it stretching plausibility to say each man knows when he is bargaining and when he is expressing his true feelings. The problem is whether one man can know whether another man is bargaining. According to the usual dogma about revealed preferences and opportunity costs, strategic behavior cannot be observed. (If we get technical about it, we cannot even observe others making choices, for while we may think we know what the other person's alternatives are, what counts is what he thinks they are, and this, so runs the dogma, we can never know.) Indeed, excluding a person's strategic gains as being somehow illegitimate--which is what it boils down to--is imposing, quite without his consent, an opportunity cost upon him.

1.3.3. This move is a necessary one, however, if the chance of reaching unanimous agreement is not to become practically zero in all but small numbers cases. When we treat Roberto Mangabeira Unger's _Knowledge and Politics_ (1975)^ in the next chapter, we shall see that the assumption that desires are arbitrarily diverse among persons is a key principle of post-medieval Western thought. What Buchanan has assumed is that we can identify holdouts, although at times quite imperfectly. This assumption strips the analysis of generality, but it does allow us to discuss agreements. Something more is implied however: The assumption suggests that there is a certain core essence of humanity that we have access to, or rather that there is a certain similarity among men. It is not a large step from this to saying that some values are held in common and are, in a sense, objective.

1.3.4. A tyranny could be potentially shoved through this loophole (as some people think the Supreme Court has already managed in the United States). Buchanan proposes a constitution to "The People." They fail to agree. [p. 10:] Buchanan says they would agree if only they would stop haggling. If they still failed to agree, Buchanan might very well think his constitution had some objectionable features and propose another one. A different man might say that the people would agree if only they came to their *senses*, which is only subtly different from saying if only they stopped haggling.

1.3.5. This is not a fatal objection to Buchanan's ideas, however, but it does embody a warning not to take them to ridiculous extremes. Probably every social philosophy contains such loopholes. The reason why most ideas can be carried to ridiculous extremes is that the world is more complex than our limited vocabularies. Science is the method for clarifying our concepts as we go along by checking them against reality. When we speed merrily ahead, piling up deduction upon deduction without checking against the facts, our ideas will stray away at a geometric rate from what we are trying to describe.

1.4. New Contractarian Man

1.4.1. Return to page one of _Limits_: "My approach is profoundly *individualistic*, in an ontological-methodological sense, although consistent adherence to this norm is almost as difficult as it is different." Indeed, Buchanan gives only an approximate idea of what methodological individualism is, and our construal thereof here may be at variance with Buchanan's, especially when we push the idea out to its limits. However this may be, Buchanan has frequent resort to the term "conceptual contract" and the word "quasi-unanimity." Now in all strict logic, unanimity is either/or: Quasi-unanimity is no unanimity at all, and a conceptual contract is no contract. I argued earlier that a contract must not be empty, that each contractor expects the others, more or less, to abide by its terms. There is, perhaps, something sacred, or nonrational, about the act of agreeing itself. By a *conceptual* contract, Buchanan means a procedure for making collective decisions "so as to guarantee outcomes that might, conceptually, have been attained under unanimity, without bargaining or agreement difficulties." (LL 43) What is crucially important to understand is that Buchanan is not looking for *the* social contract and is not attempting by reconstructive reasoning to figure out what so-called rational men might hypothetically have agreed to. (In the final chapter, I will argue for a plurality of contracts.) His contribution to contractarian philosophy is the perspective of the Public Choice economist that he is, that of thinking about the specifics [p. 11:] of institutional design, such as the constitutional voting rules for legislators that loom so large in _The Calculus of Consent_.

1.4.2. Even if we ignore the problems of knowing when these conditions exist and ignore the problems associated with opportunity costs (both discussed above), a merely conceptual contract will not have the binding force an actual one would. It is an imperfect substitute for the real thing. Ninety-nine times out of one hundred, the charge will be made that *reality*, not the theory, is imperfect. It often does seem that utility theorists berate men for not living up to their axioms of rationality (a different set of axioms for each theorist), and utopians of all stripes excuse the failures of their schemes for never having really been tried. Communism *will* produce Lenin's New Socialist Man, given enough time. And so forth.

1.4.3. I shall call Buchanan's conception of a contractor *New Contractarian Man*. Indeed, I shall suggest that the broad sweep of human history may be towards increasingly contractual thinking, and thus Buchanan's contractarianism may become ever more realistic and less and less wishful. On the other hand and 71 years on, New Socialist Man seems no closer to being realized today than in 1917.

1.4.4. Rationalizations become desperate when reality stubbornly refuses to move into line with the ideal. On the other hand, if reality and ideal seem not very far apart, and to be moving closer together, then the theory only fails in the sense that all abstractions must. Buchanan's unanimity concept could be regarded as either/or, whence in all strict logic it fails, or it could be taken as an abstraction, whence a 99% unanimity is very different from a 1% unanimity, which would have been good enough for Lenin. When the Bolsheviks took over from all the leftist forces remaining, he explained, "The people wanted the Constituent Assembly summoned, and we summoned it. But they sensed immediately what this famous Constituent Assembly really wanted. And now we have carried out the will of the people, which is All Power to the Soviets." (Shub 1950:152)^

1.4.5. Since Buchanan frequently uses the word quasi-unanimity, we shall consider his ideas as abstractions, as ideals to be approached. The question is, how close does reality come to the unanimity ideal? Not v~r closely at all, if we look to find a historical example of an actual social contract. Force has been the historical norm, not deliberate agreement, and this has been the major criticism of contractarian theory since the day after Hobbes's _Leviathan_^ was published in 1651. In Hobbes's [p. 12:] imagined state of nature, so little would be left over for production, after the energy spent on predation and protection, that individuals would be better off giving all of their freedoms to Leviathan. Men may not, in fact, be quite so frightfully warlike, and it would be stretching language for every dictator who comes along to speak of a "conceptual contract." 1.4.6. The unanimity ideal begins to be approached in the American colonies, in both senses: Constitutions are in fact drawn up and signed, and an uncertain but perhaps sizable majority regards the constitution as an improvement over what went before. The United States Constitution of 1789, however, was not only an illegal seizure of power--the Articles of Confederation required unanimity among the states for its amendment--but also there was substantial opposition by Antifederalists, whose writings were undergoing restudy in the 1980s. On the other hand, the Constitution of the Confederacy was regarded as building in additional safeguards the Founding Fathers had neglected. As an improvement, then, perhaps the Confederate Constitution is as close to the unanimity ideal as has ever been achieved. [2] 1.4.7. These historical musings, then, have meaning in Buchanan's public choice version of contractarianism that is lacking in those of earlier contractarians, for Buchanan is not so much interested in providing a broad and abstract justification for government per se as in considering whether the institutional design of *specific* governments might be construed to rest upon the unanimous consent of the governed. None have, in strict historical accuracy, but some have come closer than others. So while there is a hypothetical element in Buchanan's reasoning (see the next section) that he is clearly aware of when he uses such terms as quasi-unanimity and conceptual contract, as a specialist in exchange (i.e., as an economist) his frame of reference is a specific social contract that specific social contractors might all agree to.

1.5. The Methodological Meaning of the Unanimity Rule

1.5.1. While Buchanan has not engaged in historical speculation as to which situations have most closely approximated the unanimity ideal, he might have said that the historical trend has been towards more popular government, even if this trend seems to have stopped at majority rule instead of progressing on towards unanimity. What Buchanan focuses on instead is the question whether the *current situation* is one that might have evolved out of a unanimous social contract. This will necessarily be [p. 13:] a guessing game, but if we ignore this fact and also many other problems, we have a highly useful perspective with which to judge legislation. Suppose, to return to the world of _The Calculus of Consent_, that the contractors agree on Knut Wicksell's 5/6 majority rule (which Buchanan mentions in _Limits_) as the best compromise between too much legislated imposition of one group's values on the rest and the cost of enacting laws. Not every proposed law passed will command a 5/6 majority, due to the formation of logrolling and vote-trading coalitions, and such trading makes it possible for passionate minorities (actually, passionate less-than-5/6 majorities) to have their wishes realized.

1.5.2. The voters, all of whom have read _Calculus_, know all this and opt for the 5/6 rule rather than a simple majority. We, the omniscient outside observers, will then judge legislation that could have been passed under the 5/6 rule as good in a Pareto-efficiency sense and regard laws that could not have been so passed as coercive. This contract never took place in our history, but we think or pretend that everyone would have agreed to the 5/6 rule. It is plain that many laws currently on the books could never have mustered a 5/6 majority, all the more so since all three branches of our government have repeatedly exceeded even the powers it seized in 1789. "The Threat of Leviathan," (Chapter 9 of _Limits_), then, is hardly Buchanan's parading his own values; rather it is his considered judgment of how far government has exceeded any authority it could possibly have gained under any unanimous social contract whatever. Anyone who thinks that our government is of optimal size, in any Pareto sense and not just in his personal opinion, had better be prepared to roll out powerful arguments in support of his position.

1.5.3. This, then, is the common sense thrust of Buchanan's idea of a conceptual contract. It is when we get picky about the logic (and therefore when we lose sight of the common sense thrust) that numerous nasty problems arise. In the first place, men are, to some extent, innately disagreeable. In any group of a hundred, the chances are near 100% that at least one person will refuse to sign the contract, and unanimity minus one is not unanimity. (Adding in minors, the retarded, the insane, and the just plain ornery makes agreement even less likely.) Second, as Buchanan himself notes in Chapter 8 of _Limits_, people are inclined to regard the social contract itself as a public good and are therefore disinclined to become informed and make adequate judgments. Third, Karen Vaughn argues in "Can There Be a Constitutional Political Economy?" (1983)^ that not only is very little known about the consequences [p. 14:] of political constitutions, there is nowhere nearly the extensive self-correcting feedback characteristic of frequent and numerous exchanges in economic markets. Any convergence to an optimum will be exasperatingly slow, and equilibrium may never be reached. Buchanan, however, freely admits that a given constitution need not be Pareto optimal, and so Vaughn's objection is a matter of degree.

1.5.4. As we have seen, the Confederate Constitution was regarded (internally) as a major improvement over the illegal U.S. Constitution of 1789. Indeed, were we to renegotiate the Constitution and incorporate several suggested safeguards discussed in _Limits_, especially of limiting the scope of government, the *next* constitution would be an even greater improvement. In other words, _pace_ Vaughn, we *do* learn as we go. Buchanan might reply that Vaughn's objections are not quite to the point, which is that (so far at least) no criterion unambiguously superior to the fact of agreement has been offered. Vaughn's objections would still count, if it turned out that unanimous agreements were but very slightly better than useless, so uninformed are the citizens, but the American experience, at least, belies this. We may not have prevented the coming of Leviathan, but surely we have retarded it.

1.5.5. A fourth problem with the unanimity ideal is that circumstances change, as Vaughn says later in her paper. This need not necessarily be a problem, especially under omniscience and immortality, for the contractors can theoretically draw up a contract lengthy enough to handle all future contingencies, or at least do the best job they can. But the best job might not be a very good one, and in Chapter 5 of _Limits_, Buchanan discusses the possibility that changes in technology or other underlying conditions have changed the perceived anarchist equilibrium out of which the social contract arose in the first place, meaning that a quite different contract might be drawn up now. Some will prefer that things stay put, but they may also fear that changes may be imposed upon the constitution without their consent and offer some compromises. Perhaps we are getting sidetracked here, for we are now without the world of unanimity, but recall that the signing of a contract may have some nonrational binding force and assume this force decays over time. Then the problem is a real one, and is usually handled by amendment procedures requiring less than unanimity but more than that required for the normal passage of laws. In the United States, the rules of procedure each house of Congress establishes for itself enjoy a variable degree of respect intermediate between normal lawmaking and constitutional amendment. These [p. 15:] safeguards are often informal, and public choice theorists could examine whether these informal arrangements might be replaced with more formal ones.

1.5.6. Buchanan does not adduce any historical examples of changing circumstances leading to changes in the (perceived) underlying anarchist equilibrium, and it is not always an easy matter to conceive what they might be. For some, of course, it is very easy indeed, and conservatives and communists join hands in detesting capitalism and its unjustified power. Constitution-making is a serious business--the unanimity requirement will make it one!--and considerable effort will be made to distill the wisdom of the ages into a form of some permanence. Not all of the Founding Fathers foresaw the coming of industrialism, true, but they had reason to hope their attempts to "secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity" would suffice, whatever the future might bring.

1.5.7 The future brought an erosion of liberty, even as it brought industrialization, and Buchanan rightly notes that the Fathers concerned themselves with the concentration of power to the neglect of the extent of power. But this shows, it seems, a failure of design. Vaughn thinks changed values are more important, and perhaps she is right. Let us save space by not offering any theoretical or historical arguments for the best candidate yet for an absolute truth, namely that power will accumulate unless fought every inch of the way. Now if values change so that people are less willing to pay the price of liberty, which is eternal vigilance, [3] freedom will decay. This is so regardless of any written constitutional safeguards, as it is a reasonable observation that mere words, while not without their nonrational binding effects, are rarely in themselves so powerful as to override the tendency of power to accumulate.

1.5.8. Vaughn did not suggest how values in America have changed over the past century or so, but it is commonly held that there has been a decline in old fashioned character, a rise in cynicism, a decline in honor, a rise in the willingness of men and groups to use the state for their own ends, a rise in litigiosity, a decline in maturity, and perhaps above all a rise in egalitarianism and the accompanying guilt that reduces the willingness to resist the inroads of the state. These are all value-loaded terms, but they are also descriptive of changes that will erode constitutional safeguards. The perceived moral initiatives have been by those who would enlarge the state, and compromise by compromise the state grows, while [p. 16:] constitutional safeguards are held to be formalities irrelevant to today's realities.

1.6. Additional Requirements for New Contractarian Man

1.6.1. These objections to the idea of a "conceptual contract"--that it is wrong to pretend that we could ever get unanimous agreement, that even if we did it would not correspond to what people really want, and that it will not last anyhow--are not necessarily fatal, not to the common sense thrust of the idea. Common sense has it that we do know something about our fellow men, enough to have some general idea of what would be acceptable to all men, or at least to all reasonable men. Nor are we wholly ignorant of how governments operate, thanks in good measure to the works of Buchanan and other public choice scholars. As to whether a constitution will be lasting, the price of liberty remains what it has been, but we can lower the price by installing better safeguards and by providing for amendments to install further ones as we learn of them.

1.6.2. It may be countered that these claims of so-called common sense are spurious, that unfreedom is the world and historical norm, that men are hardly ever so sweetly reasonable. Still, the notion of a conceptual contract is not without its uses as a litmus test. There remains a major difference between what ideally reasonable men might conceivably agree upon and what they never could. Observers will, of course, dispute specific cases, and part of the dispute will be over what an ideal man should be taken to he. We must grant him a degree of wisdom and a degree of thoroughness in his deliberations not much less than that of our hypothetical outside observer. We grant him maturity not to whine or seek to undermine a constitutional order that did not meet up to his expectations. We expect of him a similar patience should his values change as time passes on. And we expect of him an impartiality or magnaminity such that he will not exploit the unanimity rule to bargain on his own behalf.

1.6.3. Of such wise and noble men, then, are Buchanan's conceptual contractors made up. To these splendid qualities, perhaps two more should be added. One is that those who are violating the current constitution with impunity not regard their violations as part of the _de facto_ status quo and hold out for their "rights" to future predation. Buchanan's treatment of this problem is ambiguous (LL 96-98), but it is hard to specify what predation is when it has gone on for so long that it melds [p. 17:] into accepted custom and tradition. Furthermore, while predation or just plain inefficiencies are a net (Paretian) loss, would-be predators compete among themselves to get into privileged positions and eventually drain away all profits to predation. There come to be no winners, only losers (most of us) and those who stay even. Theoretically, there are Pareto optimal ways out, but they can be far from easy to implement. *Who* is to be compensated? The current rent holders? The ones who invested in but failed to get predatory positions? The rent holders, most of them long since departed, who made a net profit from their rent-seeking? It would seem unfair to take away without compensation a taxi medallion from an owner who paid the market price for one of the 11,772 allowed in New York City. It would also be unfair to tax the citizens the market price and hand it over to the medallion owner, when most taxpayers do not use taxis and it is hard to identify those who do. (In theory, one could set taxi rates between the market and currently regulated prices and pay the difference between the new and market prices to the current medallion owners, but this raises other problems, especially statistical ones.)

1.6.4. To get out of this bind and barring immanent resolution of the problems of economic theory and data collection, we must either presume again that our contractors are impartial or that the reforms will be so broad-based that practically everyone will be better off in the net, that is, after his particular racket is taken away from him. This would be what Buchanan calls a "constitutional revolution," as it is far more encompassing than piecemeal reform. It seems reasonable, however, that Buchanan was momentarily forgetful about just how myopic people are when he wrote "Beyond Pragmatism: Prospects for Constitutional Revolution," the last chapter of _The Limits of Liberty_, particularly when it comes to their own protected turf. Either that, or they are extremely risk-averse. Not without reason, for reforms have a habit of getting bogged down, and few want only their own privileges taken away.

1.6.5. The other requirement that might be attributed to New Contractarian Man is a lack of petty emotions, such as envy and resentment. These emotions, which can be quite strong, practically characterized democracy for H.L. Mencken (1928 and a sizable fraction of his other works)^ and brought forth one of Ayn Rand's most splendidly polemical essays, "The Age of Envy" (1971)^^. Buchanan is perhaps equivocal here, for while he evidently does not favor envy, he might be taken as implying that not only might the rich be wise to save their necks by compromising with the howling mob (especially if the perceived underlying anarchist equilibrium [p. 18:] has changed) but possibly there is a certain merit to the mob's complaints. (LL 80-81, esp.) His argument shifts from the operation to the violation of the constitutional order and back, sometimes so quickly that it is difficult to say whether he is speaking ideally or really.

1.6.6. Requiring impartiality of the contractors may lead to a solution to the question of the legitimacy of pettiness as a factor in constitution making. Income redistribution, if kept in bounds, is not something that would have to be excluded here. The reason is that an impartial contractor would not know for certain that misfortune would not overcome him; together, the contractors would agree upon some (compromise) scheme for redistribution or minimum income. There is an argument that, owing to the declining marginal utility of money, all incomes should be equal. Such would not be adopted by our wise contractors, for productive incentives would dwindle. Indeed, the contractors might well put in a stiff means test to distinguish the unfortunate from the malingerers and, if they look over many generations, to mandatory birth control at least for the duration of public payments. (The problem of generations will be explored in Chapters 4 and 6.) We might, then, expect unanimity here from impartial contractors, or at least unanimity on some method for establishing the exact rules and formulae.

1.6.7. Envy and resentment are different and imply an income redistribution beyond what is rational in terms of the last paragraph. A man quite free of both envy and resentment now might realize he could become full of them under changed conditions and not want to arbitrarily block off in advance their political expression. Officially, economists of the value-free persuasion would note that the petty emotions are just as real as the more exalted ones and that they would be imposing their own values to approve of some and disapprove of others. What value-free economists *can* make is a factual claim that contractors who are both wise and impartial would realize that giving free reign to pettiness would undermine the constitutional order itself. In the final chapter, I shall discuss the work of the social psychologist Raymond Cattell and consider how findings in his field, as well as those from economics, might be utilized by the contractors.

1.6.8. In all this, we are not asking, we are *telling* Buchanan what his contractors must be like and thus moving further away from a methodological individualism that takes individuals as they actually come with all their innate quarrelsomeness and other objectionable features. In some respects we must do this: Men as they in fact are will not come to [p. 19:] unanimous agreement about anything except in very small groups. Some restrictions on what the contractors must be like must be made; otherwise, the use of the idea of a conceptual contract to look at legislation has zero content from the very start. It is vacuous to say that what counts is the fact of agreement, not the content, if agreements are never possible. But as soon as restrictions are imposed upon the values and characteristics of the contractors, possible contents are restricted too and therefore do begin to matter. The question is how far we may go adding these restrictions without approaching scholasticism and talmudic deductivism.

1.6.9. Happily, the question may be regarded as an empirical one, and this amounts to asking what it takes, for a given population, for a viable constitutional order to come about, that is, one that will be immune from violent revolution or the less openly violent but steady usurpation of power. No constitution can be expected to last forever, but we suspect that the Founding Fathers, had they had today's hindsight, might have better prevented the slow usurpation of power. We will get different answers about what it takes, and the problem is a matter of degree anyhow (and also a matter of values, since people differ in how sure they want to be that the constitution will last). Buchanan might find that a rather minimal set of restrictions on the characteristics of the agreers will suffice and that our more expanded set demands persons somewhere between Parson Weems' characterization of George Washington and that given of Mr. Jefferson each year on Graduation Day at the University of Virginia. One will simply have to listen to the various arguments and decide what sorts of rules are needed, at a minimum, for a viable constitutional order. Then, one may form an opinion as to whether a given law could conceivably be the product of one or another viable constitutional order.

1.6.10. Again, all this imposing of psychological restrictions upon the social contractors is moving away from strict methodological individualism. In fact, Buchanan's own ruling out of strategic bargaining at the constitutional stage could be read as supposing that social contractors, rather than somehow pre-agreeing (a social contract to make a social~ contract?!) to set them aside, have little propensity to engage in such bargaining in the first place.

1.6.11. In this connection, it is instructive to note that, whereas Buchanan devoted only a small space to John Rawls' _A Theory of Justice_ (1971)^ in the closing pages of _Limits_, he was later to write several articles about Rawls' work. In a recent summing up of his life work, "Better than [p. 20:] Plowing" (1986b)^^, Buchanan remarked that his own constitutionalism (as opposed to just enacting all laws in one fell swoop) implies an uncertainty of the future which puts individuals in a state of ignorance not unlike that under Rawls' veil of ignorance. I will argue in Chapter 4 that this uncertainty is such a broad feature of the human condition as to be not implausibly called a metaphysical fact.

1.6.12. Let me also note here that Rawls rules out envy from his social contractors on grounds that those behind the veil will not know how much of it they will have afterwards, while I am ruling envious persons out of participating in the social contract in the first place on grounds of an empirical claim that a contract among the envious will not be viable. I hasten to admit that I am not offering any body of evidence to back up my claim, but the reader might consult Helmut Schoeck, _Envy_ (1966)^.

1.7. Potential Abuses of the Unanimity Criterion

1.7.1. There is something else to consider. Suppose we have pretty much decided on what is needed for such an order. It might be wise and impartial men who exclude strategic bargaining and pettiness from their deliberations, but it need not be exactly this. Still, the preferences of different groups of such men could vary enormously and the social contracts that get drawn up would vary only a little less enormously. Economic theory nowhere teaches how diverse our preferences can get; rather, and because the theory is designed to be broadly general, it leaves the impression that they in fact vary widely. This need not be the case, and the more or less idealized men who are to be the (conceptual) contractors may share values that are quite close to one another as compared with non-idealized men as they are in reality. If this is the case, wise men will come to agree upon more things than actual men. With lack of pettiness may come certain virtues and preferences for those virtues. It is an empirical question, of course, and there will be much disagreement. The point is that as we decide we must place certain restrictions on the contractors to get a viable constitution, we also cut down on the range of constitutions they will agree to.

1.7.2. In the limit, these fine, upstanding men will come to agree with--me! Therefore, any law I don't happen to approve of--I do pretend to be impartial, however--is necessarily one that could never conceivably have arisen out of *any* social contract. This is an easy trap to fall into and one Buchanan might be said to be not entirely immune from, as it comes out [p. 21:] quite clearly that he holds that the present situation in America could not have come about by procedures unanimously consented to and therefore had to have resulted from the usurpation of power. I think I exaggerate and am being too rough, but it is remarkable that Buchanan holds out constitutional revolution (that is, unanimously-consented change) as plausible and not just possible. It is safe to say that he would not so hold out, had not his learning in economics and public choice theory given him a good idea in what directions such a constitutional revolution might go and that they *would* go somewhere in the direction his learning suggests. In other words, Buchanan more than hopes that contractors would not set up a socialist state.

1.7.3. Can Buchanan now stand accused of reversing the very first sentence on page one of _Limits_: "Those who seek specific descriptions of the 'good society' will not find them here"? It is hard to claim that he reverses himself any more than the inherent difficulties with strict methodological individualism require. Buchanan's hopes are not germane unless they color his views of what restrictions will have to be placed on the personalities of the contractors (such as being agreeable, wise, and impartial) and of what values are not legitimate (bargaining considerations, perhaps envy). But place certain restrictions he must, in the only reality we have. Buchanan's treatment of possible contracts is very broad and there is no attempt on his part to link any restrictions on the contractors to his view that constitutional revolution is feasible. It is here, in these pages, not in _The Limits of Liberty_ that the need for restrictions is argued. Perhaps the restrictions we have suggested as necessary in order to get a workable constitutional order may be acceptable to Buchanan or to others, and they may entail a sort of contract natural rights holders and/or certain free-market economists would enjoy. In fact, Buchanan has been regularly roasted for declining to favor particular schemes (Buchanan and Samuels 1980), and he is hardly unique in claiming widespread dissatisfaction with the present mess nor for thinking that there is something better that virtually everyone should be able to agree upon. What does set him aside is an awareness that the only reform that could command nigh universal assent would have to be sweeping and that piecemeal proposals would surely be resisted by someone, if not a substantial minority.

1.7.4. What is of more concern here than trying to fix the restrictions on social contractors and contracts is to consider the implications for methodological individualism, strictly construed. As said above, it is [p. 22:] difficult to get a fix on just what methodological individualism is. If it entails that values can be known only in the context of an agreement, this entails a certain degree of objectivity of values, for (so we have argued) only a proper subset of all possible agreements can be viable. This runs head against the doctrine of (absolute) subjectivity of values that is part and parcel of both methodological individualism and orthodox economic theory. We also run into the ban against interpersonal comparisons of utility if we are to exclude pettiness and even strategic bargaining from having a legitimate place in constitution formation.

1.8. Duties to Obey the Laws?

1.8.1. An additional problem is the temptation disingenuously to imply that a person has consented to the contract and then hold that he is obliged to follow its terms. This is quite a bit different from the procedure of honestly trying to discern whether a law could have been made under a conceptual contract, even if we try not to stretch said "conceptual" excessively, for this is our criterion for judging laws. We separate out the "bad" laws (those that only by an untoward stretch of the imagination could have arisen under *some* conceptual contract) from those that are not "bad." Yet the "non-bad" are not ones that have arisen under an actual contract, unless there has actually been such a contract, which has neither been nor is now the case. Under strict individualism, obligation exists only under real agreements.

1.8.2. It is not clear whether this is a problem for Buchanan, since he never makes the normative claim that men *ought* to live up to their agreements. In fact, he repeatedly deals with the prospect of men violating their agreements. Yet in Chapter 5 of _Limits_, he states that if the government can arbitrarily change rights, "there is no requirement that its actions be 'honored' with ethical sanctions." (LL 83-84) The converse statement--that when the government cannot arbitrarily change rights, its actions ought to be honored--does not strictly follow, but we do not think Buchanan is making an empty statement, which would be the case if he never held that ethical sanctions are appropriate, which in turn would mean that he has no normative judgments at all to offer.

1.8.3. To imply, however, that there are duties of the citizen to the state, in *this* world where there are no actual social contracts, is collectivist at least in some sense, or else the notion involves stretching the idea of a conceptual contract beyond its methodological value. In the wrong [p. 23:] hands, such duties could be stretched and rationalized to cover practically any law, and we had better believe that said stretcher is going to use *his* veto power under the unanimity rule to block any constitutional reform that strips him of his "right" to engage in such justifications of his own power.

1.8.4. Any tool can be misused, however, and effort must go again to find the common sense of the matter, which is to find some individualist basis for saying there is an obligation to obey the laws. We cannot do so, strictly, but just as we have had to modify methodological individualism in order to come up with a conceptual contract, we might do so also for obligations to obey the laws enacted thereunder, provided, of course, that we do not get carried away. When we do get carried away, we arrive at whole-hog collectivism, or something barely distinguishable from it. One problem is that there is a range of conceptual contracts and for each contract various trajectories, each leading to a different set of laws enacted. There are, then, sets of sets of sets of possible laws under possible trajectories of possible conceptual contracts. It is a different thing to assert that an actual given law in question belongs to a set of sets of sets than to say it was at all likely to have been passed. Laws against murder? Very likely indeed. Special interest legislation? A certain amount of it, but wise contractors would try to minimize it. Prohibition? Hard to say, and remember the issue is not whether that specific law could ever have gotten unanimous consent but whether it could have been enacted under a unanimous constitution. The Equal Rights Amendment? If women belong to the polity, out of which a contract arises, it is hard to imagine an anarchist equilibrium that could lead to a social contract that incorporated blatant sexual discrimination. In *this* trajectory under the Constitution of 1789, however, the ERA has failed to go through for fear of judicial activism. And Prohibition might not have gone through had American history taken a different turn. (Recall that amendments and ordinary laws both are regarded here as enactments under a constitution.)

1.8.5. Assume we hold that Prohibition might (but by no means would) have arisen under at least one conceptual contract. We would then have shown that it was not a "bad" law, but this is far from saying it is a "good" law, or one that people are obliged to obey, as unambiguously as one ought to obey laws forbidding murder. If we actually had a social contract, Prohibition would be binding. We don't; we live under the illegal Constitution of 1789, which has been violated repeatedly; and so some sort [p. 24:] of judgment will have to be made whether Prohibition was railroaded through or whether it had nearly unanimous consent. We maintain the following principle: Without a social contract, or reasonable facsimile thereof, in actual operation, a much stiffer test has to be met before one can speak of a duty to obey a law than would be the case if the law in question were duly passed in accordance with one. I maintain that Prohibition, resisted by a huge minority, did not pass the stiffer test. [4]

1.8.6. This takes us to the important seventh chapter of _Limits_, "Law as Public Capital," and here Buchanan develops an idea which, though this was not his specific intention, could be used to help settle where to draw the line between obligations incurred by individuals and duties owed to the collectivity. We have argued that a limited dose of collectivism will have to be invoked to get around the problems of extreme methodological individualism, and so let us consider what Buchanan's idea might suggest.

1.8.7. In discussing the capital goods aspects of a stock of observed laws, Buchanan holds that its "benefits are yielded, in enhanced stability of interpersonal relationships, at an increasing rate over many periods of time. That is to say, the benefits from law increase in rate as the investment matures. It is as if, in the numerical example [of the previous paragraph], investment would yield the full 10 percent return only if the asset is maintained for, say, ten years, and that this rate might, say, increase to 20 percent if the asset should be maintained for twenty years." (LL 125) He adds that it is entirely possible that, once the public capital embodied in the legal-constitutional structure has been destroyed, it may be restorable "only over a period that exceeds personal planning horizons....For all practical purposes, public or social capital may be permanently lost once it is destroyed. It may be impossible to secure its replacement at least on the basis of rational decisions made by individuals." (LL 125-126) If so, "then a recognition of the capital or investment aspects of the genuine 'public goods' that are being destroyed makes corrective action much more urgent than any application of a consumption-goods paradigm might suggest." (LL 126)

1.8.8. Buchanan, evidently seeing this as a deteriorating era, is looking more at the erosion of public capital than at its enhancement, but one can take the opportunity to build upon his distinction between a capital stock that is characterized by an increasing rate of return over time versus stocks that are not so characterized, i.e., the ones public goods theorists usually, if implicitly, talk about. Buchanan seems on the verge [p. 25:] of converting this economic distinction into a moral one, which could read:

**It is optional whether a society provides for itself ordinary public goods, but its members OUGHT to provide for themselves public goods whose rates of return increase over time.**

1.8.9. I hasten to add that, as there may be several such public goods, the dividing line will not necessarily be between these and ordinary public goods but between increasing time-yield public goods and more increasing ones. It sounds difficult to avoid interpersonal comparisons of utility, but perhaps the constitution can be drawn up with the more increasing public goods at a higher level, just as amendments to the constitution rank higher than ordinary laws. It could be readily argued that freedom of discussion is very nearly at the highest level, that free speech is a public good that increases in its return to the capital stock of good constitutional order as fast or nearly as fast as any other. Besides, discussion is of the very essence of constitutionalism and cannot be inhibited if we are to pretend to be having any sort of (continuing) constitutional order in the first place. If we may speak of a natural right to participate in the social contract under the unanimity rule, we may (almost) equally speak of a natural right to free speech. Buchanan rejects natural rights, apparently, if an extended list is implied (especially if imposed from the outside), but he should accept at least two, continuing participation and discussion.

1.9. Contractarianism and Natural Rights

1.9.1. There are, however, advocates of natural rights, and Leland B. Yeager is among them. In his address, "Contract and Truth Judgment in Policy Espousal" (1983)^, Yeager contrasts the broadly conceived utilitarianism he advocates with Buchanan's contractarianism, giving many quotations from Buchanan's writings. Yeager notes that Buchanan likens social contracts to market processes, but truth judgment in politics to the deliberations of a jury (to find the truth). Yeager quotes Buchanan as saying, "Once truth is found, there is no moral argument against its implementation," but that there is no single truth for all mankind. 1.9.2. Yeager has difficulties with the contractarian position. He holds that while such fictions are useful. one should not become overly [p. 26:] dependent on them. The social contract is such a fiction, as people rarely deliberate finely on their social arrangements, and, what is more, pretending that there has been an actual social contract leads to a glorification of the status quo. Rather, the essence of the state is compulsion, and any pretending that consent exists when it does not can only justify such compulsion. Furthermore, it is problematic how an amoral state of nature can be magically transformed into one of positive obligations merely by the act of signing a contract, social or otherwise.

1.9.3. Yeager complains that contractarianism is all procedure and no content: "Rather than suppose that proper procedure exhausts the content of the good society, it would be more reasonable to emphasize proper procedure as an important part of that conception." Furthermore contractarianism is too value-neutral: "The very conception of a liberal society calls for distinguishing among the particular tastes and values of individuals, according more to some and less to others, regarding some as more and others as less worthy of being dignified by basing public policy on them."

1.9.4. Yeager's own view is that the aim of collective institutions is to encourage what he so well calls *social cooperation*, the market being the premier example of such an institution. He says that his own position is not so relativistic as Buchanan's, but neither does he wish an authoritarian regime run by people who think they have all the answers. Yeager calls his own position "fallibilism" and holds that certain moral truths may come to be known but that free and open discussion is needed for their pursuit. Contractarians really wish the same things he does, but his own position is free of their drawbacks.

1.9.5. I have voiced several of Yeager's objections earlier, and my resolution of the dilemmas has been to construe contractarianism as an ideal to be approached and also as a tool to be used in judging legislation. It does not seem that Yeager would prohibit any law that genuinely had completely universal approval, even if he thought the citizens would come to grief. This situation is, of course, hypothetical, but we have construed Buchanan's notion of a conceptual contract as a basis for judging that a given law *might* have been made under a constitution established by somewhat idealized men. Laws against murder are very different from the whims of a dictator or even special interest legislation, the merits of which are at best ambiguous. Some such legislation is inevitable, but it can be kept to tolerable levels. We have justified Buchanan's use of the word conceptual so that the set of [p. 27:] good laws (in the sense that the machinery for their establishment is approved) is not the empty set. Certainly the word can be so distorted as to rationalize everything, but so can every other word.

1.9.6. The charge that Buchanan's contractarianism glorifies the status quo involves a more subtle difficulty. It is one thing to contemplate idealized contractors in a state of nature cogitating upon a social order; it is something quite else to think about getting unanimous agreement to reform the present mess, especially as those on the take are far from idealistic and can be expected to block reform. It would seem that we are stuck with the present, unless we are willing to coerce some groups for the benefit of others. This need not be the case if the reforms are broad (Buchanan's "constitutional revolution"), however, as it can be argued that few if any are really ahead in the net with gains from a few privileges outweighing many losses elsewhere.(Getting people to realize this is another matter, but one of the jobs of *Professor* Buchanan is to educate!) Another way out is to hold that certain values are not to be included as appropriate for public policy, which is exactly what Yeager advocates. As already seen, Buchanan does seem willing to make strategic bargaining illegitimate, and other factors (e.g., envy) may well have to be excluded, on this Earth, to allow either a viable constitutional order or viable constitutional reform or revolution.

1.9.7. Buchanan seeks a high degree of generality and thus a correspondingly relatively relativist position on specific values. Yeager thinks moral truths, while not given to us by revelation, can be learned approximately and better and better as time goes on, much as scientific knowledge is gained in the non-moral realm. (Chapter 6 will discuss knowledge in social psychology, Chapter 5 the possibility of knowledge of natural rights.) Buchanan may think my own speculations about which social contracts will not work are premature, and more so Yeager's. At the same time, Buchanan would seem to be more enthusiastic than Yeager about different peoples experimenting with different social arrangements. A nation made up of those who are rugged individualists by temperament may very well be so jealous of their individual liberties as drastically to chain the constitution to disallow not only those public goods provided under another nation's constitution, but also those which, on their own preferences, they should appear to want. On the other hand, Yeager might protest a nation setting up a state that is "too large." (Federalism will be discussed in Chapter 6. I am not implying, incidentally, that either Buchanan or Yeager advocates forced imposition of his own conclusions upon [p. 28:] other peoples. The question of when one nation might liberate the oppressed peoples living under a far-from-unanimous dictatorial regime is a separate, and difficult, problem. I have no hints to offer here, and neither do Buchanan or Yeager.)

1.9.8. The difference between Buchanan and Yeager is not that one is all procedure, the other all content, but that each has a difference of emphasis, there being a greater agnosticism and recognition of differing regards for individual liberties over different nations on Buchanan's part. Both, it is fair to say, see free and open discussion as near essential to a free political order, and certainly neither is happy about the present. (Who is?) And both are quite aware of the compulsory nature of all past and existing states.

1.10. Conclusion

1.10.1. I have attempted to elucidate Buchanan's contractarianism as a methodological principle to distinguish laws that might have been passed under a social contract drawn up by somewhat or even highly idealized men from those that never could. This requires a certain historical judgment, but it is a useful guideline. I have called such an ideal New Contractarian Man and have considered what characteristics he must and might have. I have further distinguished between a law that might have been enacted under *some* constitution and one that appears to one's best judgment likely to have been enacted under most if not all constitutions. In the latter case, it may be held that there is a moral duty to obey laws of this sort, even if there has been no actual formal social contract, which of course there never has been. It is also true that some laws, especially in their fine details, will be arbitrary but necessary and that there is a (weaker) duty to obey them also. Furthermore, the entire body of law has certain "holistic" properties (after discussing Bunge, we will be able to replace the mystical notion of holism with an ontologically meaningful one of emergent properties of a system) obliging the citizens to some extent, perhaps small, to be law-abiding generally. Finally, those laws and public goods whose rates of return to enhanced stability of interpersonal relationships (another "holistic" property) increase over time are much more important than ordinary goods, so important that we might even say the constitution *ought* to be constructed in such a way as to facilitate their provision.

1.10.2. At each point in the discussion, we have noted inadequacies of strict [p. 29:] methodological individualism. Buchanan himself modifies his individualism by ruling out strategic bargaining at the constitutional level. Even in making this slight modification, he could be taken as making interpersonal comparisons of utility, since bargaining opportunities that are foregone are, strictly speaking, subjective opportunity costs. But I have gone further and claimed that in order to get any contract at all, a fictional New Contractarian Man has to be invoked and, it seems in places, endowed with virtues so splendid that few actually possess them. This could be a weakness as great as that of Lenin's New Socialist Man, and it remains to be explored whether there has been an evolution toward New Contractarian Man in actual human history. One also has to ask whether contractarianism is mandated by, or at least is tolerably consistent with, human nature. Both involve difficult questions.

1.10.3. A grave defect of this discussion of Buchanan's methodological individualism is that the concept is not clear. My arguments that methodological individualism needs to be modified may or may not apply to the precise claims and statements made in _The Limits of Liberty_, to Buchanan's own conception, or to the (varying) conceptions held by others. To quote _Limits_, page one again: "My approach is profoundly *individualistic*, in an ontological-methodological sense, although consistent adherence to this norm is almost as difficult as it is different." Buchanan is here contrasting his approach to the normative one that infuses political science, where an author *tells* (and not infrequently attempts to intimidate) the reader about what the political order should be like. Such arrogance Buchanan will not abide; for him it is up to the people themselves to come to their own agreements on what the political order should be. Perhaps Buchanan is too reticent when he says, again on page one of *Limits*: "I claim no rights to impose [my] preferences on others, even within the limits of persuasion," but the contrast he makes with the way political scientists usually operate is emphatic.

1.10.4. What is not so clear is whether those who parade their values openly reject methodological individualism, partially or totally, and in what respects. Buchanan is indeed different in the degree to which he strives to be objective, but perhaps many of his underlying premises are not so greatly at odds with those of conventional political scientists as they may appear. A man's biases are not impossible to fathom, though this has not been an easy nor an unquestionably successful task with respect to Limits, and men from the same culture, at odds with each other as they [p. 30:] often are, may share more in common than they disagree over. From a larger perspective, "there ain't a dime's worth of difference between 'em."

1.10.5. Let us, then, look for a larger perspective. We modern Westerners may all be methodological individualists, contractarians, constitutionalists, upholders of reason and science, to varying degrees and even (perhaps especially even) when in ostensible revolt. Searching for a larger perspective, I shall examine a book by a member of the Harvard Law School faculty, Roberto Mangabeira Unger, _Knowledge and Politics_,^ which was published in 1975, the same year as _The Limits of Liberty_. We might imagine we would want a book totally at odds with _Limits_, but that would be Zen Buddhist puzzles, shrieking, or silence (all about the same thing). Rather, Unger's book dissects the paradoxes of post-medieval thinking in the West, but the probably inevitable result is that his ultimate conclusions, after much fanfare and promise to go beyond modern thought, lie very safely within it. No matter, for one should learn what one can from books, and it is to _Knowledge and Politics_^ that we next turn.

CHAPTER 2: ROBERTO MANGABEIRA UNGER AND COLLECTIVISM

of Frank Forman, _The Metaphysics of Liberty_ (1989)

2.1 Unger's Characterization of Individualism

2.1.1. _Knowledge and Politics_, by Roberto Mangabeira Unger^, came out in the same year, 1975, as _The Limits of Liberty_ by James M. Buchanan^^. While Buchanan attempts to ground our understanding of liberty and the role of government upon methodological individualism, Unger attacks the whole individualist body of thought that has grown up in the modern West from Thomas Hobbes in the seventeenth century onward. Unger elucidates this tradition of thought and, in drawing out its background assumptions more thoroughly than was done in the last chapter, argues that individualism is in a state of crisis, similar to the one in ancient and medieval thought which led to individualism in the first place. Unger argues that individualism, taken as a whole, fails both to be internally consistent and to correspond with life as it is in fact lived. He offers an alternative to both ancient and medieval thought and modern individualism which may be regarded as collectivist, and thus a suitable adversary to Buchanan's individualism, but which is, as we shall argue, more muddled than collectivist. In the next chapter, we shall expound the ontology of Mario Bunge and later apply his systemic world view to discuss social justice, natural rights and federalism, taking the best features from atomistic individualism and holistic collectivism, the better to have a common framework to discuss all viewpoints. 2.1.2. Unger argues that post-medieval individualism [5] came about in the seventeenth century as a reaction against the world view of the ancients and medievals. This earlier view saw human nature as timeless and unitary and furthermore subscribed to the existence of what Unger calls "intelligible essences," a term he defines twice: "Something has an intelligible essence if it has a feature, capable of being apprehended, by virtue of which it belongs to one category of things rather than another," (KP 39) and "The theory of intelligible essences states there are a limited number of classes of things in the world, that each thing has characteristics that determine the class to which it belongs, and that these characteristics can be known directly by the mind." (KP 79) Under this doctrine, a thing can be distinguished from its essence, that is, from what it should be. Hence, there is room for objective values. Essentialism is also compatible with the organization of society around fixed estates, the idea that a man is born into a fixed place in society). 2.1.3. Under individualism, Unger argues, the notion of intelligible essences is wholly rejected and replaced with the notion that the whole is nothing but the sum of its parts. The particular is no longer seen as a (flawed) instance of the universal; rather, universals are arbitrary groupings of particulars. Individuals are concretely real and radically different from universals, which are mental constructs with nothing necessary or essential about them and hence just names. Although Unger traces individualism back to the seventeenth century, some of its roots go back to the great William of Ockham and his nominalism (Latin, "name"). Ockham criticized only part of the older view, and it remained for Hobbes to criticize the remaining aspects of the doctrine of intelligible essences. (KP 5)

2.1.4. The rejection of intelligible essences has implications for the psychology of the individual person. The individual is no longer seen as a particular representative of an essentialist human nature; rather, he is seen as a bundle of desires. If there were rhyme or reason to these desires being what they are, then reason could dictate which desires a person ought to have. But then we are back in the normative world of intelligible essences, with its judgmental comparisons of the actual with the essential. Desires, if we follow this line of reasoning, are purely arbitrary and should some men share similar desires, it is purely by coincidence. Reason, says the essentialist, can lead a man to his true desires; to the nominalist (or individualist in the sense used here), the role of reason is the purely instrumental or practical one of showing what it takes to satisfy these desires. But the laws of nature are the same for everyone, and so there is only one reason. Hence reason and desire are separate, just as separate as universal and particular. Men are individuals, with nothing else in common except an ability to reason about the means to ends and never about the ends themselves.

2.1.5. The line of reasoning in the above paragraph is somewhat specious, and it smacks more than a little of medieval scholasticism, as arguments using more than a few abstract nouns are prone to. Nor is this a good empirical argument based on the facts; in fact, men share far more values than random chance alone would imply. We primates share a number of biological and sociobiological needs, and most of us are conformists.

2.1.6. Unger draws a second analogy, that between the split of reason from desire in individualist psychology and a split between rules and values in individualist politics. Recall page one of _The Limits of Liberty_: "We live together because social organization provides the efficient means of achieving our individual objectives and not because society offers us a means of arriving at some transcendental common bliss." In other words, our individual objectives (particular values) can be anything at all, but we use rules, universally applied to all, to provide the minimally required social order for each to pursue his own objectives. Rules vs. values is the political counterpart of the metaphysical separation of universal and particular.

2.2 Buchanan's Implicit Agreement with Unger

2.2.1. _The Limits of Liberty_ argues strongly that only agreement is needed for a social contract, not any general uniformity or non-discrimination of the operation of the government under the constitution. Indeed, the "leap from Hobbesian anarchy" (LL 28) can result in a very lopsided constitution (and possibly even slavery (LL 59-60)), with one party getting for himself most of the gains from trade enabled by the social contract. For Buchanan, there is officially only one requirement of "uniformity," that of all-or-nothing agreement by each person to the contract. Yet he remarks on "the basic principle of collective political order, that of equal treatment" (LL 39) and that "the law or rule must be generally applied to all citizens." (LL 112)

2.2.2. Buchanan thus assumes unawares, and in spite of the thrust of his other arguments, the radical separation of universal rules and particular values and thus agrees with Unger's characterization of individualism. (He also assumes that nations are territorial, and of course the entire book is atheistic.) It is hardly surprising that Buchanan should make generalizations from his own culture, and if it were pointed out that transcendental beings play a central role in Mohammedan law (Coulson 1968)^ or that that law covers only those who submit (which is what "Islam" means in English) and not those who dwell on a specific piece of real estate, Buchanan would not be moved to rewrite his book and at best would add a footnote. However, when he speaks of the necessity that laws be uniform, he is showing that he is an individualist in Unger's sense as well as one of the methodological variety. The three radical separations of individualism given by Unger (theory vs. fact, reason vs. desire, rules vs. values) do indeed hang together in some kind of analogizing reasoning, and we produce James M. Buchanan as Exhibit A in evidence. If these separations hang together for a careful thinker, trying hard to make distinctions, they must be tightly fused in the rest of us.

2.2.3. It is this hanging together that Unger calls the unity of individualist thought. In the last chapter we examined Buchanan's methodological individualism from its own standpoint and concluded that it was more applicable in a world inhabited by New Contractarian Man than in the world of today, but nevertheless the notion of a conceptual contract is highly useful--though also subject to abuse--in distinguishing a law that might have been passed under a constitution agreed upon by somewhat but not ridiculously exemplary men from a law that could only have been imposed coercively. We also argued that these exemplary contractors would most likely wind up discovering that a large measure of individualism in the natural rights sense was desirable, that it happens that men will best pursue their ends in a society where men are largely individually free. Here we tackle the problem of individualism as a world view in Unger's sense. (Note that a world view is held together neither by strict logic nor by empirical laws--Unger's order of ideas and order of events--but by analogous reasoning.) Buchanan is most clearly an individualist in the methodological sense, a good measure of an individualist in the sense of personal liberties, and also a post-medieval individualist in Unger's sense. I hoped I vindicated whatever personal libertarian sentiments Buchanan may have, though both I and Buchanan refrain from nailing down what the optimal amount of individual freedom is.

2.3 Unger's Criticisms of the Individualist World View

2.3.1. Unger argues that, since individualism as a world view forms a unity, efforts must be made to grasp it entire and not to single out a particular aspect of it for criticism, leaving the others untouched. Nor can individualism's "true nature be understood, and its secret empire overthrown" (KP 8) merely by standing each of its doctrines on its head, for the same reason, we add, that anti-clericals in Roman Catholic countries are just as caught up in Christianity as the Pope. Unger's achievement is to grasp this unity of individualist principles, and push them to absurdity. From page 8:

2.3.2. Practically any doctrine can be pushed to absurdity, and the reason is that the human brain is not very big. Our concepts never quite dovetail with reality and as we pile up deduction upon deduction, no matter how exact our arguments, we get carried away from reality at a geometric rate. Men are far better than other animals at making concepts, but they are also far more able to reify. The uniqueness of the West consists of a willingness by many, and an insistence by some, to put the deductions to the test and go back and refine the concepts. No other society, save the Classical, came even close, although today the rest of the world is rapidly imitating what has proven manifestly successful. The world might have droned on until the Sun died, with man being only a populous primate that managed to make a desert out of a huge part of the Earth's land surface.

2.3.3. It is meet to push the individualist world view to absurdity, for doing so brings to light mistaken directions which we willy-nilly follow. Unger entitled his book _Knowledge and Politics_ to emphasize that theory and practice go hand in hand as part of a world view held together by analogies and that neither theory nor practice can be changed alone. Let us follow Unger along his path, ask ourselves which of his conundrums we really want to get out of, crying out from time to time that no one ever meant for individualism to be taken that seriously (i.e., that absurdly), and learning what we can. Later, I shall present and criticize Unger's own proposed resolution of the paradoxes of individualism and his plan for the future. By way of anticipation, Unger does not revive intelligible essences, at least directly, and sees human nature as evolving and emerging over time. (As we shall see in Chapter 5, Ayn Rand subscribes to an essentialism, oœ an epistemological sort.) This hardly conforms to the desire to define things exactly, but in a world of change this is not always possible. Alfred Marshall had a different idea of what economics was about than did Adam Smith, and Marshall's work itself changed the definition. On today's understanding, economics is decidedly less a moral enterprise than it was to either Marshall or Smith, but the economic approach has been extended to cover parts of politics and even sociobiology.

2.3.4. Unger also holds that the domination of some men over others inhibits the full expression of human nature. Buchanan, as we have seen, is professedly agnostic about human nature (LL 63) and its evolution, but we have argued that Buchanan implicitly holds a contractarian ideal and something of a hope that man is evolving toward it. Buchanan's value-free stance does not enable him directly to decry domination, which for him would be non-unanimous putative "contracts," but it is safe to say that he regards the coming together of men to make an agreement as something more than a theoretical tool of analysis. Men express their potential more fully when they act agreeably than when they resort to force.

2.3.5. Unger criticizes individualist doctrine on grounds of the untenability of the radical separations of universal and particular made in each of its three aspects: theory vs. fact, reason vs. desire, and rules vs. values. With respect to the first, if things lack intelligible essences, our words are at bottom names of arbitrary groupings of things. Our theories stand upon these arbitrary groupings and are therefore arbitrary themselves. If we take arbitrary not to mean provisional but randomly chaotic, then theory is completely separate from fact. This is in plain opposition to our merry optimism that science is progressive. In practice, we sneak intelligible essences in by the back door, and "it is not surprising, then, that language should become an obsession of the [individualist] thinker, for he worships it as the demiurge of the world." (KP 80) Moreover, he who has the power of making definitions has real power indeed (as Hobbes noted in _Leviathan_), as was also (we add) noted in a certain book that has had an appeal across a far wider spectrum of readers than Hobbes: [6]

2.3.6. The rejoinder to Unger's criticisms is that no one, or at least certainly no one today, espouses such an extreme nominalism. (But recall Unger's own strategy of pushing individualist ideas out to absurdity (KP 8)). In the realm of set theory we may speak of arbitrary sets with complete generality, [7] but when we deal with the factual sciences our concepts are partly if not largely controlled by the fact that they should be useful. Our theories in general, and their concepts in particular, are provisional and revisable, and both do get revised, in ever closer approximation to the facts. (The doctrine that concepts are true to the extent that they are useful as parts of true theories is the *pragmatism* of the great Charles Peirce.) [8] Thus, universal and particular are intertwined. Nevertheless, they are separate in accordance with pre-Peirce individualist doctrine and remain partly separate still, since one hopes it is the theories that get adjusted to the facts and not vice versa. (However, facts do not stand completely by themselves and are in fact interpreted and understood in the light of some theory or other. This intertwines theory and fact all the more. Examples come readily to mind: Interpretation of tracks in Wilson cloud chambers uses a great deal of physical theory, as the empirical investigation of the effects of minimum wage laws uses economic and statistical theory.)

2.4 The Factual Basis for the Separation of Theory and Fact

2.4.1. The question remains: What is the world *out there* like, with respect to universal and particular, or theory and fact? Our sciences seem to describe the world well with a handful of very general concepts, such as charge, spin, mass, length, etc., in physics, and the stuff out there is made up of combinations of elementary things, in a bewildering variety of mixtures. Scientists might as well assume "that there are a limited number of classes of things, that each thing has characteristics that determine the class to which it belongs, and that these characteristics can be known directly by the mind," (KP 79) disputing only the word directly. As we shall see, Mario Bunge advocates something similar, which he calls "natural kinds," in _The Furniture of the World_ (1977)^.

2.4.2. Now, it could be argued that the number of general concepts needed to describe the world is infinite, but it is hard to see what sort of evidence (very indirect, as Bunge said to me in a letter) could support this view, and, infinite or not, science does succeed in reducing all the possible things to more manageable combinations of things. That the things of the world are clustered and not chaotic does not seem to be just an artifact of the human brain, though its limited size will mean a failure to make all the distinctions and refinements necessary, which fact we are reminded of every time science advances. Our brains, it might also be claimed, have a bureaucrat's preference for ordering reality into a hierarchy: In cosmology, it is planets, solar systems, galaxies, clusters of galaxies, and so forth. But: There are arguments as to whether there are superclusters of clusters of galaxies (pretty much accepted) and super-duperclusters of superclusters (hotly debated). What is of extreme importance here is that such arguments today do not proceed by a priori reasoning but rather upon modern probability theory coupled with elaborate catalogs of observed galaxies. (The Greeks knew of a _galaxias kyklos_, "circle of milk," as early as the sixth century, B.C., but that this was a galaxy of stars, our Milky Way, was not established until Sir William Herschel mapped it with a telescope in 1785). [9]

2.4.3. Whatever reality is like, the individualism Unger describes asserts that theory and fact are entirely separate. Those living in individualist society make such a separation, Unger claims, because philosophy and life are intertwined. If our psychology and politics accord with individualist premises (i.e., reason and desire are separated as are rules and values), our views of theory and fact will also come to share this same radical separation. Unger may well be correct here, though we think the correlation is not 100%, but what is missing is a good, solid materialist explanation. (My reasons for adopting Bunge's materialist metaphysics, i.e., its compatibility with science, will be discussed in the next chapter.) It is not enough just to analogize one mode of separation with another.

2.4.4. Let us hazard an explanation in the way the brain is divided, being mindful that such an explanation is almost certainly only partly true but nevertheless illustrates that human behavior need not be mysterious. We begin by borrowing from Stuart J. Dimond's 1979 anthology chapter, "Symmetry and Asymmetry in the Vertebrate Brain."^ Dimond observes that animals tend to be symmetric along one of the two axes perpendicular to their line of motion. This is true also of the brain, but there are certain asymmetries, such as the heart being on one side, as well. In vertebrates with two eyes, the brain integrates the information from both eyes to form a three-dimensional picture. Dimond also argues that such animals' brain halves duplicate functions to a large extent and he observes that this excess capacity can be useful in case of accident. What he does not show is that this excess capacity is worth its cost in calories. In any case, there is a certain division of labor as well as duplication. Among other things, the integration of information from the eyes takes place on one side of the brain and not the other.

2.4.5. When we come to humans, we know from the work of Julian Jaynes (1976)^ and others that the left hemisphere of the cortex (in right-handed persons) is more concerned with fact and the right with patterns or theories. According to Jaynes, modern schizophrenics and pre-self-conscious men before the Greeks heard voices from the right side, which were often felt to be messages from the gods. With the coming of consciousness, men heard these voices less, but with a nostalgia remaining for the good old days when men did not have to think. Thought requires effort (free will!) to stimulate the feedback between the fact and theory sides.

2.4.6. On this view, the bifurcation of the cerebral cortex is (perhaps) the material basis for the bifurcation of our thoughts into theory and fact and, correspondingly, the splits between reason and desire and rules and values. Once one bifurcation gets going, so do the others, though we hardly understand the details. Why did these splits really get going--nay, get exaggerated--only after the Middle Ages? On the contrary, if Jaynes is correct that consciousness means the integration of the hemispheres, then these artificial (brain-artifactual) distinctions should be eroding.

2.4.7. In fact, the bifurcations made in the post-medieval West are less rigid than those made by earlier men with less integrated hemispheres. In the Middle Ages, the overwhelming bifurcation was between God and man. God was wholly transcendent, except for Jesus, and this was an important exception. In "heretical" Christianity, that is, the losing side (losing because it was too radically separatist for the emerging Western mentality), Jesus was wholly God and nowhere material (Jesus only pretended to suffer on the cross). Some of these Levantine throwbacks went so far as to claim Jehovah was but the demiurge, or sub-god, who created the foul material things of the Earth, while the true god sent his son to redeem the chosen of mankind to participate in the wholly separate realm of the spirit. (Pagels 1979)^

2.4.8. Individualism represents a big step forward, a secularization of transcendence in Unger's term (KP 161), though with lingering, even large, bifurcations still present. The Darwinian revolution, which is at bottom materialist and should do in the mind-body distinction, is still running its course. Even in our enlightened age we still have an America that is at least 80% Christian and more than enough spiritualists as well as mystics and irrationalists, even among physicists.

2.4.9. What is remarkable--and deserves careful neurological study, much of which will have to be speculative--is that Indo-European religions have always tended to be trinitarian rather than dualistic. (Dumézil 1959^) Furthermore, it is in the modern West that fiction (the novel) was added to truth and lies, the stranger to friend and enemy (Cuddihy 1976^^), not guilty to innocent and guilty (Scottish law), nonrational to rational and irrational (Pareto). As we shall see, Unger proposes his own thirds in between the bifurcations he discusses. Let us remark now that there is a basis in reality for some of the many bifurcations men have invented down through the ages. Some will collapse into unities (e.g., spiritual into material, mind into body, i.e., brain), and others will split into trinities and (more rarely) foursomes. So far, *formal* logic is two-valued, true vs. false.

2.5 Unger on the Separation of Reason and Desire in Individualism

2.5.1. Having covered Unger's first bifurcation, theory vs. fact, let us discuss the second. As we have seen, under individualist doctrine, the individual person is not seen as a (flawed) representative of an essentialist mankind but rather as a bundle of arbitrary desires. Reason, which is unitary for all men, stands utterly apart from these desires and is solely an instrument for their satisfaction. Thus Thomas Hobbes (1651)^: "The Thoughts, are to the Desires, as Scouts and Spies, to range abroad, and find the way to the things Desired," and David Hume (1739): "Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions." Reason cannot tell a man what his desires ought to be. Man, says Unger, is an incurably moral animal, and individualist man will try to ground morals either upon the principle of desire or the principle of reason. According to the principle of desire, good is the satisfaction of wants. But the paradox is that, since desires are arbitrary, a morality based thereupon is blind and cannot choose among competing desires. Any such morality would collapse into subjective choices. A morality faithful to reason, on the other hand, appears more promising, for reason can determine the necessary rules that enable men to live together in society. The problem is that, as the commands and prohibitions of reason are made more concrete, here too, judgments will have to be made among conflicting goals; but this, says the doctrine of the subjectivity of values, reason is powerless to do. A morality of reason is inert, while a morality of desire is blind.

2.5.2. The upshot is that, too often, reason is confined to public life, desire to private life. The bifurcation of reason and desire destroys a unified self and shared commitment to universal ends that gives moral significance to community life. "Schizophrenia brings to light the hidden moral truth of the moral condition [individualist] psychology describes." (KP 58) Cognitive incoherence, personal distrust, social competitiveness, and natural disharmony all follow from this separation of reason and desire.

2.5.3. Economists will see themselves here, for it is true that economic theory is designed to be so general that wants could be completely arbitrary. And we also see in the economist's use of Pareto optimality an unwillingness to compare one man's utility with another's. It is further true that reason is regarded by economists as purely instrumental, that rational action is geared to the satisfaction of (arbitrarily) given ends. But the economist also has his morality of reason, the non-coercion principles of the market, which can be conditioned by public goods arguments, but still within the bounds of Paretian criteria. Buchanan does not advocate non-coercion in bilateral economic exchanges (laissez-faire) but he does keep the non-coercion criterion in his unanimity principle for a multilateral social contract.

2.6 Response to Unger

2.6.1. How apt are Unger's criticisms of individualist psychology and the corresponding moralities of desire and reason? Strictly speaking, it can be held that if one man wants to rob another, a morality of desire cannot gainsay his wish. This does not carry the usually intended connotation, however, which is that a man may satisfy his desires if he harms no one else. This is not quite right either, for a businessman outcompeting another is doing him harm, but this is regarded as permissible, part of the rules of a fair game. Attempts may be made to restrict other externalities, such as noise (often by redefining property rights), and still others will be permitted, such as the right to publish ideas that go against conventional dogma and upset the dogmatists, and perhaps also nudity. (The issue of public nudity will have to be decided as long as there is a government that occupies space large enough to fit in a human being, and naked people can often be seen outside their own property. Question: Could militant Puritans and militant nudists ever work out a social contract?)

2.6.2. This only implies that lines of permitted and prohibited will have to be drawn somewhat arbitrarily, and from some perspectives, very arbitrarily. The use of a morality of reason, such as Kant's maxim of universality, or the familiar dictum, "your freedom ends where my *nose* begins," suffers from the problem that those "long chains of deductive reasoning" Alfred Marshall grew to detest are not sufficient when it comes to giving exact specifics. The best we can hope for is to learn from experience what kinds of social arrangements help keep the social order viable and progressive. It would be nice if there could be universal agreement about the lessons of history, but, as I have argued, such unanimity is only something to be approximated.

2.6.3. Concerning Unger's charge that individualism leads the individual to an atomistic life, the terms are loaded. One could draw the choices the other way: proud and sovereign independence vs. cowering and coerced conformity. Let it simply be noted that a free society does not prohibit cooperation, only the spurious cooperation that is not for mutual benefit. It would not be fair, however, to set up Unger as an example of someone who favors conformity for its own sake; rather he sees the doctrine of individualism as leading to too much competition and too little cooperation, certainly from his own standpoint and *possibly* from that of the people concerned, if they could see themselves truly. Perhaps the hypothetical wise and impartial contractors in the remote and future world of New Contractarian Man could arrange a political constitution so that the predicted outcome is an optimal blend of competition and cooperation, but who is this Roberto Mangabeira Unger to have a ready-made answer in the present? I maintain that it is presumptuous to tell apparently happy people that they are miserable and would place the burden of proof squarely upon such claimants. Nevertheless, there are plenty of people who claim that they themselves are alienated (as well as claiming alienation for others but rarely on any other basis than loose observation). Buchanan himself sees the taxpayers as feeling remote from a monstrous and bureaucratic government. (LL 91-92) This has come about, Buchanan says, precisely because the government has usurped power.

2.6.4. Unger's charge can be phrased empirically, using Buchanan's contractarianism as a controlling ideal: Will cooperation, provided under a constitution, induce further efforts to increase it when new laws are contemplated or the constitution itself renegotiated? Contrariwise, will people living under a regime of rugged individualism be inclined to extend individualism further? Or will a balance be struck, a convergence to an equilibrium? And how far will this balance vary with time and peoples? Unfortunately, both Unger and Buchanan make only occasional noises about a federal structure of governments and societies, a topic which will absorb us in Chapter 6. Any optimum would be such a structure, one which, however, could not and should not be planned from the ground up, but one whose evolution could be (weakly) directed.

2.6.5. Freedom comes at a price, for some a very heavy price, since men living in a free society cannot easily get away with blaming their failures on others. Resentment just does not wash. On the other hand, one man or group's resentment is another's legitimate grievance. The grievers will claim the rules of the game, i.e., the social contract they did *not* sign, are stacked against them. Such claims, of course, can be hypocritical posturing and often call for redistribution of wealth and income instead of modification of the rules of the game. (LL 81) This is the usual procedure of egalitarians. On the other hand, libertarians and near libertarians will note the great amount of protectionist legislation, but will not try to get their group protected, instead urging deprotection of the protected, which will amount to calling for Buchanan's constitutional revolution. [10] Egalitarians want to increase radically the role of the state, and some go so far as wanting to abolish the family and even, if they only could, nonrandom mating in the population. It can be safely said that the chance of such drastic reforms achieving anything like unanimous consent is microscopic. Again, Unger may think he has found the truth, but his job remains to persuade the rest of us.

2.7 Unger on the Separation of Public Rules and Private Values

2.7.1. As we have seen, Unger draws a third application of the individualist split between universal and particular, finding one between public rules and private values in an individualist political order. Just as men are seen to be but the sum of their desires, societies are seen as but the sum of individuals and their peculiar values. Page one of _The Limits of Liberty_ again: "We live together because social organization provides the efficient means of advancing our individual objectives and not because society offers us a means of arriving at some transcendental common bliss." Precisely, and for this reason objective public rules are drawn up so that men may live together. Unger: Individualism "defines order and freedom as the master problem of politics." (KP 63) Oddly, Buchanan the economist is greatly concerned with this problem too, odd for one of the economist's great jobs is to show how individual freedom promotes a spontaneous order and is therefore not in conflict with it. But Buchanan, when he speaks of order and freedom, is referring to the "freedom" to rob as well as the freedom to trade and make contracts, while many regard the freedom to rob as a spurious one and not at all in keeping with enlightened self-interest. This leads to the problem of defining the location of the *nose* in "your freedom ends where my nose begins." We have argued that probably every society will have laws against murder, and it is not stretching plausibility to include robbery.

2.7.2. It might also be held that every society will pass laws against exploitation. This is problematic: First, very few societies have anything like a social contract, whose main iob is to limit the greatest exploiter of all, government, and no society has been very successful here for any sustained period. Second, the definition of non-coercive exploitation is either so broad that it includes almost every intelligent use of opportunity or so personal that no consensus on its meaning can be achieved. Third, we have an intuitive idea of exploitation as occurring even under voluntary agreement for mutual benefit when one party almost always gets the long end of the stick or rather most of the total gains from trade. Such cases are very hard to prove and may very well result from existing regulation or other rigidities rather than from a deficit of government involvement in the economy. Fourth, if prices are free to fluctuate, most of the effects of biases in the laws will be counteracted, though deadweight welfare losses may remain.

2.7.3. Nevertheless, most (if not all) industrial nations have laws against "exploitation," such as anti-monopoly, labor union, and workingman's compensation laws. How far the exploited benefit from these laws in the net (i.e., after prices and wages have adjusted) is a moot point, and their prevalence is worth pondering. No state is wholly legitimate, there being no actual unanimous social contract anywhere, but no state that lets its members leave is wholly illegitimate either. It is therefore problematic whether Buchanan's "conceptual contract" should be extended to include such anti-exploitation laws. If the conceptual contractors all had to be as steeped in the public choice literature of the past two decades as Buchanan himself, such legislation might very well not have been permitted under the constitution. This is asking entirely too much of the conceptual contractors--who knows how poor today's cutting edge in economic understanding will look several decades down the road!--and such things as exploitation are often far more subjective than objective anyhow. (In the final chapter, we shall examine the work of Raymond Cattell and consider how much knowledge of his field of social psychology our contractors might utilize.)

2.7.4. Under strict methodological individualism, all values are subjective, and Buchanan wishes his treatment of constitutionalism to be so broad and general as to allow for any possible social contract, so long as it be agreed upon unanimously. As we have seen, however, Buchanan himself winds up placing restrictions on full generality, and we have added others, which in our judgment are necessary if the constitutional order is to be viable. Here is the dilemma: If we can judge that certain anti-exploitation laws have passed the Buchanan litmus test (i.e., could have been passed under some conceptual contract), what is to prevent the state from invoking anti-exploitation each step along the path of the politics of resentment to Leviathan? On the other hand, could the state come to be viewed as a tool of the exploiters and thus illegitimate if it failed to pass anti-exploitation laws demanded by the voters, illiterate in economics though they be? The constitutional order may not be viable then, either. The spread of economic literacy will help resolve the dilemma, and our hidden assumption is that New Contractarian Man is versed in this discipline. Until this golden age arrives, the already existing understanding of the role of flexible prices in greatly nullifying exploitation can be used as a debating tactic to shift the burden of proof onto those who claim (non-government) exploitation is important.

2.7.5. For Buchanan, one of the great merits of individualism is precisely that of its generality, though we have argued that this generality must be tempered in the interest of a viable social contract. On the other hand, Unger sees this generality as implying that individualist politics is contentless, that no conclusions can be drawn from it about what the laws ought to be. As we have seen, Unger holds that, just as under individualist psychology a man is the sum of his particular desires (with reason being instrumental to the achievement of these desires and also as being universal over all men), under individualist politics, society is the sum of individual men (with universal rules being instrumental to the achievement of particular values of individual men). Individualism thus posits an extreme dichotomy between general public rules and particular private desires. The political order, then, must be made up of rules that are neutral with respect to individuals. Unger's claim is that this is not possible, that laws will unavoidably benefit "the purposes of some individuals more than those of their fellows." (KP 66-67) More generally, not even just enforcement of the laws is possible, for once a judge goes beyond the strict letter of the law to its purpose, as he surely on occasion will, he becomes capricious or else starts imposing his own view of the good society in his decisions, and this means that he ceases to be neutral about the merits of particular men's values. The ultimate upshot of individualist politics is that we nevertheless pretend to an unbreachable split between public and private and this destroys a feeling of unity in the individual.

2.8 Response to Unger

2.8.1. To respond to Unger's criticisms, let us begin with the last and state that it is an awfully good thing that public and private are separate. The alternatives are that everything be private or that everything be public. An entirely private society would consist of not more than one person making choices. If two or more did, disagreements would arise and be up for adjudication. If judgments were always rendered in one person's favor, we would be back in a world of only one person exercising choices. Therefore the judge must be, to some extent, neutral or what might as well be called a *public* figure. The other alternative, that everything be public, is hardly a way to chain Leviathan, a problem Unger rarely worries about. It may very well be true that the law cannot be absolutely impartial, but Unger offers only leftist sentimentality in evidence that modern individualism makes too much of a fetish of the separation of public and private. If anything, and given the nearly absolute truth that power tends to accumulate, the tendency that any blurring of public and private will be exploited is ever present.

2.8.2. More to the point as telling against Unger's criticisms of individualism generally is his own admission: "There is no one thinker who accepts the [individualist] theory, in the form in which I present it, as a whole, or whose doctrines are completely defined by its tenets." (KP 8) In other words, reality puts a brake upon an ever present tendency to reify, more so in the scientific age (so we have argued) than in the past.

2.8.3. Moreover, Unger's three divisions of universal and particular (theory and fact, reason and desire, rules and values) have a great measure of truth in reality. Furthermore, as evolution proceeds, the harmony between reality and our world views grows, although there have been awakenings of interest in the "Wisdom of the East," apparently more than once a generation since at least the Age of Discovery began in 1492. The neurological explanation is simple: Thinking takes work! There has been a spate of books in the last decade declaring that subatomic particle physicists have just been rediscovering what the East knew a long time ago, to wit, reality is an ineffably, interconnected One, conveniently forgetting that Newton's law of gravitation had things connected up over three centuries ago, and, as Lawrence R. Brown states in _The Might of the West_ (1963)^, only Westerners conceived that the same laws could apply to terrestrial and celestial things alike.

2.8.4. Unger would be quite correct to say that our (roughly) quart-size brains do not describe reality very well, individualism being just the latest example. One wonders about Australopithecines' pint-sized ideologies, but even Buchanan's three-pint contractarianism has problems if carried out literally. Such criticisms are often far from useless, but the critic is at his most useful best when he hints at things to come. Unger does so, and let us examine his suggestions.

2.9 Unger's Evolutionism

2.9.1. "Man cannot yet be fully known, because, in a sense, he does not yet fully exist," says Unger. (KP 234) Ordinarily, we get a more or less firm handle on what we are trying to describe, because the thing we are describing obligingly stays put. Our concepts evolve because we and our theories evolve, not the things out there. When we come to defining human nature, however, both we, the theoreticians, and we, the objects of our theories, change, and it is no easy matter to say which "we" changes the faster. Lenin's New Socialist Man did not arrive on schedule, and Brennan and Buchanan, in "Is Public Choice Immoral?" (1982)^, expressed a real fear that the sportsman _cum_ cynic of _The Calculus of Consent_ might arrive well before New Contractarian Man, who would bring about the necessary constitutional reforms to chain down this amoral cynic.

2.9.2. If man cannot be fully known, we will have to define human nature as something evolving, which Unger does. He then proceeds to define the good as that which hurries this evolution on. This definition is dangerously circular, for how can one recognize whether *change* is actually evolution unless one has an idea of the good to check the change against in the first place? If one does not fall into this trap, there is another: We conclude, rightly or wrongly, that human evolution, as represented by man at his best (a third trap), is headed in a specific direction. The trap is arbitrarily to approve of this direction or to equate the good with the inevitable (if one sees these changes as inevitable, which Unger, by the way, does not).

2.9.3. I may have fallen into this trap myself, when speaking of the evolution toward New Contractarian Man. Recall that majoritarian democracy was once (and by many still is) regarded as the ideal of responsive government; what we got was rampant pressure groupism, a decidedly negative sum game with mostly losers and precious few (net) winners. A similar impasse may be reached with New Contractarian Man, and it is just as lame to blame the failings of contractarianism on the populace as it is to blame the failures of communism on the failures of empirical man to become New Socialist Man. There is a point to both excuses, but not a very large one. One should never become so enamored of one's pet theory as to push it out of harm's way into the zone of the non-falsifiable.

2.9.4. Unger has an idea, rather vague, of what the future of human evolution will bring, and he couches it in terms of a harmonization, though not a full resolution, of the radical splits of universal and particular he sees in the individualist world view. Under individualism, "Man stands before nature and society as the grand manipulator." (KP 153) Unger would replace this separation with an ideal of a natural harmony between the two and sees such a harmony already existing in love, art, religion, and work, with the last being (ideally) a harmonious blending of a self and the things found in nature rather than a mere domination over them. Second, rather than individual ends being arbitrarily diverse, Unger envisions an ideal of sympathy and a sharing of ends, or individuals complementing rather than competing with each other. (See the section of Chapter 6, "The Self of Self-Interest.") His third ideal, that of concrete universality, will be approached when people see themselves as specific instances of human nature and as helping that nature evolve (just as each paper in _Public Choice_ helps direct what the discipline of public choice is and is becoming).

2.9.5. These ideals of harmony seem hardly objectionable when the alternative is extreme belligerency. In fact, we are partly along this road, even under the rule of individualism. We do, partly, live in harmony with nature ("Nature to be commanded must be obeyed"), and, learning some of the laws of nature and society, we are backing off from the extreme enthusiasm for social planning that was embraced before it got put into practice. (But some will never learn.) We do share some ends, else civil society would nowhere exist, not even one ruled by Hobbes's omnipotent sovereign. And most of us, whether Christians or Darwinians, see ourselves as part of an ongoing process.

2.9.6. The question is, when does this evolution stop? Unger himself says these ideas are never to be fully realized in history. If so, what is the optimum, and is it not close to what would come about under individualism, under "the Enlightenment dream of free relations among free men," (LL, closing page) or under Buchanan's contractarian ideal? Unger is richly unclear here but he obviously thinks there is much room for improvement, as he holds that human nature will not become fully expressed so long as some men dominate others. So what is domination? Unger is not at all helpful when he says, "Domination is defined simply as unjustified power (KP 167), but he gives a hint when he derides "domination" resulting from genetic advantage: "The lucky ones can then cash in on the favors of nature like prostitutes whose price depends on whether they are fat or thin." (KP 173) [11]

2.9.7. Unger gives another hint of what the elimination of domination might be (KP 183): "One can imagine a condition under which the distribution of power within the bureaucracy would not involve personal dependence and domination. It might be called the condition of democracy. The exercise of power based on merit must be subordinated to the democratically established common purposes of those working in the institution. For this subordination to be effective, a number of requirements have to be satisfied. The chief of these is the availability of an independent mechanism through which all members of the institution participate equally in the formulation of common ends [other than profitability, one presumes!]. An ever broader scope is given to these common ends in determining the aims and the internal structure of the institution. For the purposes of participation, the distribution of talents is disregarded."

2.9.8. This fits in with Unger's ideals of sympathy. But: Unger professes not to wipe out individuality altogether; indeed, individuality is all the more brought out when individuals complement each other rather than coexist in a state of mutual antagonism barely contained by the police.

2.9.9. The question now boils down to which ends people will come to share, presuming Unger wishes this sharing to be genuine and not forced. Buchanan, the orthodox economist, may not have an answer here, for economists have blown up the word taste, a common word in their lexicon which no longer refers to idiosyncratic expressions of individuality, into an all-purpose term for preference, including a "taste" for committing murder and mayhem. But Buchanan, the constitutionalist, does have an answer: The shared ends are whatever are agreed upon in the signing of the social contract.

2.9.10. Unger can reply, of course, that the social contract is a fiction, but so are Unger's own ideals. To be fair, we must either push them both out to their limits or hold both to the realm of common sense. If the ends to be shared are not to be forced, we are squarely in Buchanan's world of unanimity. Unger speaks darkly of "the implacable stratagems by which one mind becomes the master of another," and warns that "the classical arguments in favor of slavery show that even the harshest forms of oppression may appear justified." (KP 244) Buchanan would not entirely reject this argument, for he deals with the question of people treating the social contract itself as a public good and therefore making insufficient investigation before submitting to its terms. (LL 145) We may feign, if we wish, that this will not be a problem for New Contractarian Man or that, if it is, any initial unfairness will have largely been eroded within a few generations, but we could also feign something similar as we approach Unger's ideal world.

2.9.11. Unger approacheth Buchanan, in so far as both see human nature evolving, but is the converse true? Buchanan is emphatically not an egalitarian in the usual sense of being willing to impose an external norm. A social contract may look quite lopsided to someone outside, but for Buchanan the fact of agreement alone is what counts. But in another sense, Buchanan is just as much an egalitarian as Unger is, i.e., perfectly. Unger, from the third paragraph above: "For the purposes of participation, the distribution of talents is disregarded." Now Buchanan on page two [12] of _The Limits of Liberty_: "Each man counts for one, and that is that.

2.9.12. Thus Buchanan approacheth Unger with respect to the fundamental equality of men (even if not exactly in the same senses), if only Buchanan could be sure Unger would adopt the placing of ends to be shared in and only in the social contract itself. But there is another sense in which Buchanan approaches Unger's egalitarianism: the historical. Now, _Limits_ is not very obviously a historical book. There are fleeting references to history, but Buchanan's treatment is mostly abstract. It can be considered downright provincial, concentrating not merely on modern Westerners but quietly assuming that most people are sharp enough to get tenure in a university economics department. (Unger's men are near geniuses, too. It is a common presumption.) Unger's treatment, while also very abstract, is more oriented to history: He speaks of the idea of intelligible essences held by ancient and medieval philosophers, the individualism held in the modern age, and the philosophy to come in the next age. Nevertheless, the two authors may be joined, for one of the broad changes in history (of man at his best!) is that of increasing participation in the affairs of government. Majority rule may not be unanimity, but neither is it monarchy or aristocracy, and Buchanan is no more a champion of the latter two than Unger. As unanimity has been approached historically, the progressively less powerful have come into the polity and have made it more egalitarian, in the sense of more universal: "Each man counts for one, and that is that" used to be *some* men count as one. Indeed, one kind of domination or power, the only kind for Buchanan, is that of operating the political machinery without the consent of the less powerful. But if the formerly powerless (i.e., the excluded) can then run the political machinery so as to take power from the incumbents, then the incumbents are the dominated. Unger may try to play Robin Hood but not when pretending to reduce domination at the same time.

2.9.13. Through this thicket of tortured reasoning, then, do Buchanan and Unger approach each other, in the sense that both want participation by all. To the extent either has come to his abstract theories as a way of grounding previously held values, and to the extent either finds our reasoning dubious, he will not see any such convergence. But perhaps the road to convergence is rendered a bit more easy, considering that both Buchanan and Unger have remarkably little to say when it comes down to specifics. For Buchanan, this silence is wholly deliberate, and it is the present writer who has had to make recommendation *for* Buchanan, with the aim of achieving some minimal level of viability in the social contract. Unger's approach is very much different. He does reject the ancient and medieval notion of objective values, but his depiction of the good as reducing domination, and thus letting human nature express itself more fully, has an insistence about it not entirely unlike the insistence made by those who think they have truly found objective values. Unger describes the method for muddling through as "practical reason," and he confesses: "I have no worked-out account of [practical reason] to offer, not because I believe such an account impossible or unimportant, but simply because I have not found one." (KP 258) This is hardly a statement Buchanan would make.

2.9.14. We have added content to Buchanan, to ensure that we will in fact get out of anarchy in the first place. We now need to add content to Unger, for the opposite reason of chaining Leviathan. This is a problem Unger (and, as we shall see in the final chapter, Cattell) scarcely recognizes, though Leviathan is on the march almost everywhere. How can Unger see to it that the government is restricted to do just what he wants it to do? In our country what began as efforts to redistribute income from the rich to the poor (or from the productive to the unproductive) has ended up today with very little of this kind of redistributive activity taking place, in comparison with redistribution to members of organized pressure groups whose sole merit consists in being organized. (Tullock 1983)^ Moreover, what net redistribution by income class does take place is managed with incredible waste. And whatever unjust power was held in the bad old days of monarchy and aristocracy has been replaced with the far larger power of Leviathan. Lastly, if Unger had his way, envy would become the master principle of politics, despite any wishes on his part to have only the grievances he himself thinks are legitimate given a voice in politics.

2.10 Conclusion

2.10.1. Is Unger a (ollectivist? The hope was to pit a collectivist against Buchanan the individualist. This would have helped us understand both better. Now Buchanan is an individualist very strongly, but is he not a little bit of a collectivist, too? The first page of _The Limits of Liberty_ denies the existence of a "transcendental common bliss," but the last page invokes "the Enlightenment dream of free relations among free men." But we are out of luck if we hoped to find in Unger a collectivist anywhere so pure as Buchanan is an individualist. The reason is that, ever since _The Wealth of Nations_ was published in 1776, explanations as to how order emerges upward from the interactions of individuals have had a place in our thinking and no longer do individuals dwell in an inferior, mundane realm of sub-reality, above which hovers the true reality of collective Platonic essences. This was a mystical notion all along, but when economics became a *science*, or at least began to become one, mysticism lost out in the competition to explain things. It is no doubt true that the first observers of the operations of exchange markets regarded them as a mystery. Now we understand how markets work, though not as well as we would like. And what we do not understand we give a name, transforming ignorance into mystery and paying our respects towards it. The newly named mystery is as often as not something collective, and the market itself was once turned into a mystery for the present writer when he was urged to overcome certain doubts by "putting faith in the market"!

2.10.2 *The real danger to liberty is not from collectivists (who are hard to find) but from muddled metaphysics.* It takes clear thinking as well as eternal vigilance to keep Leviathan at bay. Unger's unclear vision of the future will be no more successful at maintaining liberty than the great Canute was at stopping the tide. Extreme individualism, as I have argued, is not the answer, and it is useless to answer leftists' insistence on objective values (to which they alone possess the key) by denying them entirely. I shall argue, when discussing Hayek in Chapter 4, that the notion of social justice, which some consider to be entirely objective, should be reconstrued so that the only just societies are those with the (ideally unanimous) consent of the governed. And in the final chapter, I shall argue that certain values and/or laws take on the character of objectivity to the extent that they turn out, in fact, to be required for the maintenance of the social, what Cattell calls maintenance values as opposed to experimental values. The *test*, however, should remain agreement, with what are persuasive arguments and not just authority.

2.10.3. Collectivists, then, are not so much those who hold to a Platonic metaphysics about Society, but rather those whose policies would lead to Leviathan. The best way to put them on the run is to demand empirical evidence and clarification of their background assumptions, not to try to make them vanish by an a priori ruling out of court of the issue of objectivity altogether or by some sort of semantic trickery. The point is to root everyone's values out, no matter their persuasion, question the bases for the values (which so often are just personal whims), and try to see which are true (or true for some men at some time). But we need a language to discuss these issues and hence first a long discussion of the ontology of Mario Bunge.

CHAPTER 3: MARIO AUGUSTO BUNGE AND SCIENTIFIC METAPHYSICS

of Frank Forman, The Metaphysics of Liberty (1989)

3.1. The Aim of Bunge's Philosophy

3.1.1. Metaphysics became an exact science in 1977, the year of publication of Mario Bunge's The Furniture of the World. Bunge, of German descent and born in Argentina in 1919, began his career as a physicist. He brought with him to philosophy the perspective of a practicing scientist (much as Buchanan came into political philosophy as an economist), and his chief goal is to develop a philosophy that is compatible both with the current body of science and with the ways scientists go about their work. While philosophers continue to debate the existence of external reality and the possibility of human knowledge, scientists proceed to learn about that reality.

3.1.2 The honors for the idea of developing a philosophy consistent with science go to the great Charles Peirce and his program for a "scientific metaphysics" (the title of the sixth volume of his posthumously collected works), but the sciences were nowhere as advanced then as they are today. Even more decisively, the language of mathematics, set theory, and symbolic logic did not yet allow for the kind of precision needed to do the task. Bunge's work represents the first carrying out of Peirce's vision, and this first effort should never be construed as claiming to be the last effort or the final word on any of its subjects.

3.1.3. Mario Bunge's magnum opus is his Treatise on Basic Philosophy, published by D. Reidel in Dordrecht, Holland. Seven of its eight volumes had appeared by 1988. To place the ontology volumes, which are the ones most important to the present discussion, in the context of his work, as well as to beat a drum for them by way of advertisement, the volumes run as follows:

Volumes 1 and 2
(Semantics I and II):
Sense and Reference (1974, 180 pp.)
Interpretation and Truth (1974, 210 pp.) [p. 56:]

Volumes 3 and 4
(Ontology I and II)
The Furniture of the World (1977, 352 pp.)
HEREINAFTER always "FW."
A World of Systems (1979, 314 pp.)
HEREINAFTER always "WS."

Volumes 5, 6, and 7
(Epistemology and Methodology I, II, and III)
Exploring the World (1983, 404 pp.)
Understanding the World (1983, 296 pp.)
Philosophy of Science and Technology (1985)
Part 1: Formal and Physical Science, 263 pp.
Part 2: Life Science, Social Science and Technology, 341 pp.

Volume 8
(Ethics)
The Good and the Right (too long in forthcoming!)

3.1.4 Bunge conceives of ontology (or metaphysics) as the most general of the sciences and of particular sciences as special ontologies. While Peirce coined the term "scientific metaphysics," Bunge was the first to build a system describing the way reality is structured in a manner fully informed by contemporary science. Doing so will bring philosophy up to date with the separate sciences and put the latter on firmer foundations. As such, the general science of ontology is no more completed and infallible than any of the particular sciences: "It is hoped that this system will not be ridiculously at variance with reason and experience." (FW xiii)

3.1.5. Bunge's system is exact in the sense that much of it is expressed in the symbols and terminology of modern logic and mathematics. While none of his proofs of theorems are particularly difficult in themselves, his Treatise will be inaccessible to those without the mathematical prerequisites. Plato's Academy allegedly bore a sign over the entrance forbidding those ignorant of geometry to enter; Bunge's academy would replace geometry with topology. Bunge's works have a rigor and exactness that engender an aesthetic pleasure and a sense of rightness that is paralleled in the great masterpieces of classical music. His works are free of (substantial) mathematical errors that bulk irksomely in the [p. 57:] writings of other philosophers, who belong to what C.P. Snow called the First (i.e., "humanistic") Culture. It is hard however, to convey the pleasure of reading Bunge, much as no book devoted to Beethoven's string quartets could substitute for hearing them. Instead, I shall sneak past the sign about topology and try to sketch his central arguments in nontechnical language and offer justifications for them.

3.1.6. Bunge argues that all thinkers with any pretense to being scientific and exact have at least an implicit metaphysics or a broad background view of the objects of their study. His purpose is to bring out these implicit views, clarify them, and try to improve them. It is certainly the case in economics that the background assumptions are hidden, for economists rarely define, for example, what choice is or argue against determinism. From one of Buchanan's essays (1969b)^: "In a wholly determinist universe, choice is purely illusory, as is discussion about choice. I do not treat this age-old issue, and I prefer to think that the subject discussed as well as the discussion itself is not illusory." As we shall see, Bunge will define and defend the reality of choice and free will, resolving it to the satisfaction of economists perhaps, though not necessarily of all philosophers.

3.1.7. In _The Limits of Liberty_, it *seems* that Buchanan holds the view that society is the sum of its individuals, but he does not treat the matter at length. That he is not altogether satisfied with extreme methodological individualism is clear enough, but his fear seems to be for the opposite of extreme collectivism. Those he calls positivists, who equate values with whatever the powers that be propound these values to be (LL 51)^, are bad enough, let alone outright collectivist mystics like Hegel, whom Buchanan does not even bother to dismiss. As we shall see, Bunge's notion of a system, and in particular of a social system, is a way out of extreme individualism that does not embrace collectivism.

3.1.8. Regarding the scientific status of his own system, Bunge states that "there will never be any metaphysical laboratories" and that "metaphysics can be checked solely by its coherence with science." (FW 15-16) So while his metaphysics is not directly an experimental science, it is designed to be compatible with all the ones that are experimental. It is this feature, plus its revisability, that qualifies (so far only Bunge's) ontology as a science. Though economics is not as full-fledged a science as physics, Buchanan also argued that compatibility with other branches of science is a virtue in one of his most inspired and inspiring essays, "Economics and its Scientific Neighbors" (1966)^. I shall adopt Bunge's [p. 58:] metaphysics, then, but as always with all sciences, until further notice. My aim here is not nearly so much to defend Bunge against all comers as to exploit Bunge's results for the purpose of developing a metaphysics of liberty and discussing its implications for the problems of social justice, natural rights, and federalism (Chapters 4-6).

3.2 Bunge's Furniture

3.2.1. _The Furniture of the World_, the first of Bunge's two volumes on ontology, reads like a mathematical theory of the building blocks of the universe, complete with definitions, postulates, theorems, proofs, all intermixed with remarks about what is going on, traps to be avoided, hints to help one understand, and discussions of the virtues and drawbacks of earlier philosophers along the way. Much of this first volume will not be of direct concern to the issue of liberty, and mostly I shall sketch the development of his ideas in summary form.

3.2.2. Chapter 1 of Furniture, "Substance," lays down in precise language the notion of bare existents (also called substantial individuals), as yet to be decked out with any attributes. Bunge elucidates how one object is part of another, how two things may be placed side to side, and how they might be mixed. He also discusses how an object may be (conceptually) decomposed to certain levels: a social system to people, at the living level, and to all the atoms of the people at the atomic level. This concept of level will come into play throughout, but the first chapter is mainly of technical and aesthetic value (substantially so) rather than of value for the prime concerns here.

3.2.3. "Form" is the title of Chapter 2 and fleshes out bare existents with properties. Here Bunge takes pains to distinguish the properties of substantial individuals, composite or not, taken singly or multiply, from our statements about them. Properties are always properties of something: "There is no substantial property apart from entities, let alone prior to them and dwelling in a separate Realm of Forms." (FW 64) We can make negative statements about properties, but the properties themselves are always positive. Thus, the statement that neutrons are electrically charged happens to be false, but this does not mean that neutrons have the property of not-being-charged, let alone of being anti-charged. Some properties are frame-dependent (as in relativity theory), and some are even observer-dependent, but only in psychology and definitely not in the most general science, ontology. "A scientific metaphysics must be just as [p. 59] objectivistic as science itself, i.e. thoroughly." (FW 67)

3.2.4. Bunge postulates the existence of only a finite number of very general properties (like mass and charge) but an (uncountably) infinite number of particular properties of special cases (e.g., properties of a specific atom at a specific time, there being a continuum of instants of time). This is a critical assumption, and here is his justification (FW 72-73):

3.2.5. There are certainly more than three ways to characterize an animal, and Bunge is postulating that the number of ways is limited, although perhaps in the billions. The number could be infinite, though it is hard to conceive how, except mathematically, for it would be impossible to classify things in a finite amount of time. We do so classify, and the hope is that we do not always leave important characteristics out.

3.2.6. Compare now Unger's second statement of the doctrine of intelligible essences: "The theory of intelligible essences states there are a limited number of classes of things in the world, that each thing has characteristics that determine the class to which it belongs, and that these characteristics can be known directly by the mind." (KP 79)^ In Bunge's view, much of our knowledge is indirect, mediated by scientific theories, rather than being directly perceptible, and so his notion is not quite the same as that held by ancient and medieval philosophers. Bunge's definition of a natural kind, to be discussed shortly, is also connected to the idea that there are only a finite number of general properties. Bunge defines the scope of a property as the set of individuals for which the property holds and postulates a principle of lawfulness, which states that the scope of any property either contains or is contained in the [p. 60] scope of some other property. In other words, there are no stray properties unrelated to everything else in the universe.

3.2.7. Bunge then gives the important definition of an emerRent property as one that is true of the whole but of none of its parts. Equilibrium is an excellent example of an emergent property economists are familiar with. Bunge postulates that all composite things have some emergent properties but that these properties are epistemologically analyzable with reference to the parts. This latter contradicts holism and its discussion of wholes apart from their parts. Bunge allows for the explanation of ontological novelty and warns that "a mountain is not explained away when explained as composed of atoms." (FW 98)

3.2.8. In other words, epistemological reductionism, si; ontological reductionism, no. It is the lawfulness of the world, of things being and becoming and of processes, that makes epistemological reduction possible at least in many cases. (Bunge does not claim that we will someday understand everything.) Later Bunge will view the world as made up of layers--physical, chemical, biological, and social--and protest the "ontological bulldozing of reality" to a single level.

3.2.9. Stated in such a summary fashion as we have done, it may seem that Bunge's development of his system is arbitrary, full of unnecessary technicalities, and bound to do nothing but add to the bulk of pointless argumentation that is philosophy. Philosophy hitherto has never been conclusive, as the quote from Mencken at the beginning made clear, but Bunge's program is to make philosophy consistent with science, and this is perhaps the only way any consensus can be reached. Consensus may never become unanimous, however: "We cannot prove the existence of concrete things any more than we can prove the existence of deities or of disembodied minds. What can be proved is that, unless there were things, other items--such as acting on them and investigating them--would be impossible." (FW 112) Bunge frequently intersplices the formal mathematical exposition of his system with discussions of previously advanced solutions, what (in part) about them, and how they might be modified so as better to conform with science and the way scientists operate. He is uniquely qualified for this task, for he was a practicing scientist (physics), and his Foundations of Physics (1967b)^ is still the only book to lay down the implicit background assumptions of physicists in an exact way. Bunge has also written extensively on the philosophy of science, and his Treatise might be viewed as an extension of Foundations of Physics. [p. 61:]

3.2.10. Chapter 3 of _The Furniture of the World_ is entitled "Thing," which is defined as an individual (simple or composite) together with all its properties, known or unknown. Bunge distinguishes real things from our concepts and ideas of them: "The failure to distinguish the thing represented from its model is not just a form of mental derangement: it is also at the root of black magic and subjectivism." (FW 121) Part of modeling something is to characterize the states it can be in from one of many alternative viewpoints. Scientific laws restrict the possible states a thing can be in.

3.2.11. Several definitions: A class of things is not an arbitrary set of things but a set that is the scope of some property. (Recall that the number of properties is finite.) Several properties taken conjointly (e.g., human = rational and animal) determine a kind, and a set of properties, each of which is also a law, determines a natural kind. All of this, however, is just a framework: "We shall not list the kinds of constituents of the world but shall leave that task to the special sciences. For no sooner does the metaphysician pronounce the world to be 'made of' such and such kinds, than the scientist discovers that some of the alleged species are empty or that others are missing from the metaphysician's list." (p. 153)

3.2.12. "Possibility" is the title of Chapter 4 of Furniture. Bunge conceives of reality as the union of the actual with the really possible. A conceptual possibility could be any characterization (what Bunge calls a state function) of some thing, but real possibility must also conform with scientific laws. What actually happens depends on possibility and also upon circumstances. Laws plus circumstances may force a unique fact or they may not. Bunge's world is not a rigidly deterministic one and he allows for chance propensities. Looking at it mathematically, each law divides all conceptual possibilities into two subsets: the possible and the impossible. All the laws (known and unknown) reduce the domain of the possible to the intersection of a number of subsets. Rigid determinism would assert that this intersection has one and only one member: that there is but a unique outcome. However, there is no a priori reason to suppose this in advance, and so Bunge leaves open real possibility. The ideas in this chapter will become useful when discussing choice and free will later.

3.2.13. Chapter 5 is called "Change," and it is a thing of beauty to behold the way Bunge can define change without introducing time. This chapter paves the way for the final one of The Furniture of the World, [p. 62:] "Spacetime," and he is able to conceive of time with sufficient abstraction as to be compatible with relativity theory. These last two chapters are bound to be controversial among both philosophers and physicists--or if we agree with him, he sets things right at last. Of interest here is Bunge's simple and elegant definition of causality: One event in a given thing causes a (later) event in some other thing if the difference the first thing has on the (otherwise free) trajectory of the second thing includes the later event. But there is no necessity in postulating that every event has a prior cause, as this would arbitrarily rule out spontaneity or self-causation, and thus free will.

3.3. Bunge's Systemism

3.3.1. The second of Bunge's two ontology volumes, _A World of Systems_ (1979), is of more immediate concern here. While _Furniture_ gives the basic structure, vocabulary, and postulates, the companion volume applies the basic notions to the actual world, albeit in a very general fashion. Bunge begins with a description of systems in general, treats chemistry, life, mind (brain), and society in specific, and wraps up the book with a discussion of the systemic world view. Much of the book is not relevant here, even while it does present nice resumes of several scientific disciplines and supplies clarifications and exactifications of their basic concepts.

3.3.2. Chapter 1 of _A World of Systems" and begins with noting that all the sciences study systems of one sort or another. There is even a field called "general systems theory," which purports to study features in common to all systems, the principle of least effort being a good and familiar example. Systems theory and ontology have a great deal in common, both being very general disciplines, but the two differ in that ontologists do not take for granted such notions as possibility, change, and time, which systems theorists do. The latter tend to focus on input-output models that are largely at the mercy of their environment while ontologists can also study free systems. And ontologists study stochastic systems as well.

3.3.3. Bunge distinguishes conceptual (e.g., mathematical) systems from concrete (material) systems and further distinguishes an aggregate (or random heap) from a system (WS 4):

3.3.4. Concrete systems are made up of at least two different connected things and are described by a triple consisting of the system's *composition* (the list of its parts), its *environment* (the list of all other things that act upon or are acted upon by the parts of the given system), and its *structure* (the set of relations among the system's parts and among them and the things in the environment). Bunge postulates that all systems (not just living ones) are subjected to selection by the environment. Systems can be made up of subsystems, but the more stable the subsystems, the less stable the system itself.

3.3.5. The general discussion of systems is wrapped up with a discussion of how the author differs from holists, at one end, and from the atomists, at the other, while recognizing the partial merits of both. Holism is overly vague when not downright mystical. Bunge characterizes some of the doctrines of the holists, one of which follows (WS 40):

3.3.6. Atomism, by contrast, ignores wholes altogether, or rather engages in *ontological* reductionism, which is the doing away with emergent properties. Our job is to explain, as best we can, these emergent properties, not to explain them away. Bunge is a moderate *epistemological* reductionist: Some such explanations are forthcoming, but not necessarily guaranteed. Bunge's position in a nutshell: "The world is material but not just a lump of physical entities: it is composed of systems of a number of qualitatively different kinds." (WS 44)

3.3.7. "Chemism," the title of the second chapter, is the first of four to deal with the special sciences going up the levels of reality. Not many things here concern us, but it is worth noting that a body of water has properties (such as a boiling point) that individual H2O molecules do not have and that a water molecule is a system, differing from one oxygen and two hydrogen atoms separately. It may be interesting to know that we can now predict the boiling points of (bodies of) small chemical compounds on the basis of the physical structures of the atoms making them up, not very accurately yet, but within a factor of two or so, measured in absolute degrees there is no deep theory to base the predictions on, just a growing body of experiments and measurements. Science often begins with some odd data (and how odd it is that hydrogen and oxygen are both gases with very low boiling points, while water boils at 373 degrees K.) that eventually fall into some sort of pattern. Theories may eventually be advanced to explain the patterns and then be tested on new compounds. Depending on how successful the theories are, epistemological reductionism will have been achieved, but not ontological. [13]

3.3.8. Bunge gives us a warning (WS 48): "In ontology we take such [chemical] bonds for granted and let chemists inquire into their nature. (Remember the fate of Hegel's alleged refutation of Berzelius' brilliant hypothesis that chemical bonds are electrical.) The metaphysician accepts gratefully what the chemist is willing to teach him about the spontaneous formation (self-assembly) of molecules out of atoms, or of other molecules, as well as about the breakdown or dissociation of such systems as a result of their interaction with the environment (in particular thermal motion). The philosopher's task is not to compete with the chemist but to try and discover the structure and peculiarities of chemical properties of chemical processes vis a vis other kinds of process. If in the course of his work he comes up with results helping to clarify the foundations of chemistry, so much the better."

3.3.9. One more point of considerable interest is a simple remark: "But of course not all conceivable [chemical] compounds are really possible, i.e. lawful." (WS 49) Bunge limits the diversity of things (recall Unger's intelligible essences) in two ways, by admitting of only finitely many general properties and by distinguishing conceivable from lawful things. He notes that "there are about 4 million known species of chemicals" (WS 48), a huge number, to be sure, but still finite if not manageable. Presumably, even the ones chemists do not know about would still be finite in number: Well before a molecule got to be as big as the Sun, it would collapse.

3.3.10. Chapter 3 of _A World of Systems_, "Life," gets us closer to our concerns with economics and the foundation of a state that provides collective economic goods. Bunge states his approach well toward the end of the chapter: "Biosystemism recognizes the bios as an emergent level rooted to the chemical one." (WS 119) He details the origins of life, built up subsystem by subsystem, and remarks (WS 77): "Nowadays we know that chemical and biochemical systems cannot help but self-assemble under the actions of bonds of various kinds. Moreover we know that such self-assembly processes are more likely to occur in stages than at one stroke. In particular, the formation of primitive proteins may have proceeded in two stages: amino acid synthesis followed by polymerization. Therefore the first biochemical systems, and even the first organisms, may have formed on our planet and elsewhere as soon as the requisite conditions were met. This explains the short time span between the origin of rocks and the appearance of the first bacteria and blue-green algae."

3.3.11. Bunge goes on to draw careful definitions and make numerous distinctions (WS 83):

3.3.12. It is also important not to rush in and attribute higher level properties, such as goal directed behavior, to all life forms: "There is no evidence of goal directed behavior except for certain features of the behavior of animals equipped with an advanced brain." (WS 92)

3.4 Bunge on Mind

3.4.1. There is much more of general interest in the chapter on life, but as it is not of immediate concern, we pass to the fourth chapter, "Mind." Once again Bunge presents a careful development of materialism of mind out of (some) living things: "This kind of materialism is monistic with respect to substance and pluralistic with respect to properties." (WS 126) This chapter was expanded into a whole book, _The Mind-Body Problem: A Psychological Approach_ (1980),^ which supplies a superb resume of neurology and the brain; here the treatment is more sketchy. Bunge discusses neurons, neuron assemblies, and nervous systems and divides neural systems into two kinds, those that are committed (or wired-in, prewired, or preprogrammed), i.e., that are "constant from birth or from a certain stage in the development of the animal," and those that are plastic (or uncommitted, modifiable, or self-organizable), whose "connectivity is variable throughout the animal's life." His postulate: "All animals with a nervous system have neuronal systems that are committed, and some animals also have neuronal systems that are plastic." In the first group belong "apparently worms, insects, and other lowly animals." He further postulates (not without substantial supporting evidence, but only to enable him to get on with his axiomatic treatment) that "every animal endowed with psychons (plastic neuronal systems) is capable of acquiring new biofunctiong in the course of its life." (WS 132-133)

3.4.2. Learning consists of "the formation of new neural systems, i.e. in establishing permanent connections among neurons or facilitating ephemeral (but repeatable) neuron interconnections." (WS 132) Bunge defines mental activity as brain activity of plastic neural systems and distinguishes this from the activities of pre-wired systems. "Every fact experienced introspectively as mental is identical with some brain activity; this, in a nutshell, is the neurobiological or materialist hypothesis of the mind." (WS 138) He later notes: "Mind and brain are not identical: there is no more brain-mind identity than there is lung-respiration identity," (WS 141) though, of course, he will equate the two as a manner of speech.

3.4.3. Bunge has a witty discussion of various dualist objections to materialism, two of which are worth mentioning here. One is that pain is indeed perceived in a limb that has been amputated (phantom limb), but only in adults who from childhood have formed a comparatively unalterable map of the body. Dualists cannot explain both this and the lack of experiencing phantom limb in young children. The other is best given by a quotation (WS 148): "Another, related objection to the identity thesis, and one commended as definitive by Popper (Popper and Eccles, 1977 [The Self and its Brain]), is as follows (Kripke, 1971 ["Identity and Necessity," in Milton K. Munitz, ed., Identity and Individuation]). If the identity is to be taken just as seriously as "Heat is the motion of molecules", then it must be a necessary identity, in the sense that it must hold in all possible worlds-whatever these may be. However, this cannot be, because "it seems clearly possible" (to Kripke) that M (e.g. pain) could exist without the corresponding brain state N, or that the latter could exist without being felt as pain--whence the identity is contingent and therefore flimsy. Rejoinder: (a) scientists and science oriented philosophers do not waste their time speculating about (logically) possible worlds: they want to explore the real world (Bunge, 1977a [Furniture]); (b) the difference between necessary (or strict) identity and contingent identity does not occur in ordinary logic or in science. In sum, the sophistic objection to materialism holds no water."

3.4.4. More pertinent than either of these objections to dualism is the general position that scientific models of reality ought to be capable of explaining things. The chief difficulty with a separate realm for the mind, to say nothing of Popper's "World 3" of the disembodied "products of human thought and artistic endeavors, is that there is no theory about these separate realms and hardly any hope for discovering any scientific laws about either their own operations or the interactions between these realms and the material world. It is not wholly unreasonable that men would have conceived of a separate realm for the "mind," and it is often convenient even today to feign such a realm: Ideas remain brain processes, but when we are considering these ideas largely if not wholly apart from who thought them up (i.e., when we are not resorting to ad hominem or its more sophisticated variety disguised as the "sociology of knowledge"), we abstract and pretend that the ideas are "ideas in themselves."

3.4.5. A Carbon Chauvinist Pig (my term for someone who generalizes from life on Earth to all possible life in the universe) could argue that certain concepts, such as numbers, have universal validity (i.e., for the entire universe) and hence are independent of any particular kind of mind. This is just supposition, thought not bad supposition, but another problem is that in the past century or so, several definitions of numbers have been proposed and it is by no means certain that the set theoretician's definition of, say, 3, as "the set consisting of the empty set, the set consisting of the empty set, and the set consisting of the empty set and the set consisting of the empty set," [14, for this book's only equation!] will be the standard one in the future. Besides, there are many different rival logics and set theories, when it comes to the more technical axioms, with no particular version winning anything like a consensus. None of these foundational disputes has much bearing on the way scientists operate (yet),lear what it would take to make us adopt a different logic, whether different beings could or would use different ones, or whether we (i.e., men) have to assume some particular background logic before investigating the world. In any case, not even logic provides a clear-cut case for brain-mind dualism. If it did, the problem of making any lawful statements about the mind would remain. (Bunge 1981: Ch. 8, "Popper's Unworldly World 3")

3.4.6. Bunge goes on, in his chapter on mind, to build up concepts from perception to the self. His treatment is, like all of science, preliminary and revisable, and we detail his definitions for the purpose of showing how at least the outlines of a materialist and emergentist conception of mind are possible. Economists might feel uncomfortable with many of his distinctions, such as between value, choice, and decision. If so, here is hoping that Bunge's efforts will stimulate improvements.

3.4.7. Bunge begins with the old problem of sensation and perception and gives some definitions. "A system *detects* things or events of a certain kind (or is a *detector* of them) if and only if it reacts to them only." "A detector is a *neurosensor* (or *neuroreceptor*) iff it is a neural system or is directly coupled to a neural system." "A *sensory system* of an animal is a subsystem of the nervous system of it, composed of neurosensors and of neural systems coupled to these." "A *sensation* (or *sensory process*, or *feeling*) is a specific state of activity (or function or process) of a sensory system." (WS 151-51)

3.4.8. The brain processes this incoming data through these sensory systems in a chain. In the primary stage not much processing takes place, and the processor tends to become rigid as the animal grows older. Not so with later stages called perception. These perceptual sensory systems remain plastic, combine with one another (e.g., sight and sound), and can intersect both with the body's motor units and with ideational units. The integration of what becomes a whole system of maps of the external world requires both physical development and learning.

3.4.9. Behavior is defined: "The set of motor outputs of an animal, whether global as in locomotion or partial as in grasping or grinning, moving the eyeballs or excreting, is called its behavior." (WS 156) This behavioral repertoire is made up of inherited and learned components. A drive consists of the detection of an imbalance, and Bunge postulates that for each drive, there is a corresponding type of behavior that reduces such drive. Such behavior need not be explained by resort to teleology, however, nor is it necessarily the case that the behavior resulting from an evaluation coming from a drive is the right one to further the life of an organism. Much less is it the case "that all animals are conscious of such evaluations and can make value judgments. Only a few higher mammals can form value judgments: in all others, and even in man most of the time, valuations are automatic. What distinguishes man from the other animals, with regard to evaluation, is that he can reason about values as well as evaluate reasons." (WS 159, my emphases)

3.4.10. Bunge next defines an animal as having a value system over a set of items provided the animal can detect and distinguish among the items and, of any pair of items, prefers one to the other, or values them equally. Postulate: "All animals are equipped with a value system, and those capable of learning can modify their value systems." (WS 160) An animal chooses an option out of a set of alternatives provided that it is possible (recalling that in Bunge's ontology real possibilities exist) to select any alternatives in the set, that it prefers the given options to any of the others in the set, and that it actually picks that option. Then follows (WS 161): "Note the difference between preference and choice: the former underlies and motivates the latter. Choice is valuation in action, or overt valuation--hence an indicator of valuation not a definition of the latter. And note also that not every choice implements a decision. Decisions are deliberate or reasoned (if not always rational), and reasoning is the privilege of only a few animal species. Most choices, even in daily human life, are not preceded by any decision-making process."

3.4.11. It is clear that Bunge's concepts are not those of the revealed preference school in orthodox economics. But, then, the orthodox position is more a series of slogans than a worked out metaphysical position. Hence Bunge's ideas, which are informed by a study of the neurobiology of animal brains, do not necessarily clash irreconcilably with the orthodoxy either. Once more, let us hope that work in the sciences and metaphysics (the most general science) will help clarify the foundations of economics.

3.4.12. We must proceed further before we get to man, the ostensible subject of our inquiries. Bunge distinguishes memory, which magnets can have, from learning, which as we have seen involves modification of a plastic neural system in an animal. If an animal can learn, and all vertebrates seem to be able to, it can develop expectations about the future. Such animals are "said to behave in a goal seeking or purposive way." (WS 164) His definition and comments (WS 164, my emphasis):

3.4.13. Bunge next turns to thinking and deals with two basic types of "thought processes, namely concept attainment and proposition formation. We shall conceive of the former as the process of forming kinds, such as the class of cats or that of triangles. And we shall conjecture that forming a concept of the 'concrete' kind--i.e. a class of real things or events--consists in responding uniformly to any and only members of the given class." (WS 165) He postulates that there are animals equipped with plastic neural systems (psychons) to do just this job of recognition. Recalling that Bunge uses the word class in a specialized way--a class is not a random collection of things, but one that can be characterized by obeying one or more scientific laws--Bunge's statement here is more or less equivalent to saying that Unger's intelligible essences are intelligible (i.e., knowable by the human mind). Bunge's formulation is not quite equivalent to Unger's, for ancient and medieval philosophers, especially the Christian ones, thought there were a great many essences besides those corresponding to material things!

3.4.14. The operation involved in *forming propositions* is that of psycho pairing, and Bunge postulates that "thinking up a proposition is (identical with) the sequential activation of the psychons whose activities are the concepts occurring in the proposition in the given order." (WS 165) (This postulate is not as much a summation of the present state of neurology as are his other postulates, for Bunge notes that how propositions are formed is far from understood. Nevertheless, we will maintain that this postulate is good enough for the purpose of illustrating generally a materialist conception of mind.)

3.4.15. A *decision* to choose is different from just choosing, as discussed above, in that in deciding the animal has knowledge or cognition of the alternatives as well as merely being presented with them. Some more comments from Bunge (WS 167):

3.4.16. (Economists, especially, will object that adequacy comes in degrees and at a price. But we should be concerned more with the concepts that Bunge is offering here than with adjusting them. Ditto for the word compulsion two paragraphs below.)

3.4.17. Bunge distinguishes awareness, consciousness, and self-consciousness. An animal is aware of a stimulus (internal or external) if it feels or perceives it. Consciousness is awareness specifically of a brain process (by another part of the brain), and not all animals are capable of it. Another postulate, or rather finding of animal psychologists, is widely known: "In the course of the life of an animal capable of learning, learned behavior, if initially conscious, becomes gradually unconscious." (WS 172) And we know the (alleged!) story of the centipede, attributed to one Mrs. Craster, who died in 1874: [15]:

The Centipede was happy quite,
Until the Toad in fun
Said "Pray which leg goes after which?"
And worked her mind to such a pitch,
She lay distracted in the ditch
Considering how to run.

3.4.18. Two more definitions from Bunge: "An animal act is voluntary (or intentional) iff it is a conscious purposeful" act and "An animal acts of its own free will iff (i) its action is voluntary and (ii) it has free choice of its goal(s)--i.e. is under no programmed or external compulsion to attain the chosen goal." (WS 172-73) For Bunge, "all animals capable of being in conscious states are able to perform free voluntary acts. If consciousness is not exclusively human, neither is free will. And both are subjects of scientific research." (WS 173) And a last definition (WS 175): "An animal (i) has (or is in a state of) self-awareness iff it is aware of itself (i.e. of events occurring in itself) as different from all other entities; (ii) has (or is in a state of) self-consciousness iff it is conscious of some of its own past conscious states; (iii) has a self at a given time iff it is self-aware or self-conscious at that time."

3.4.19. He adds: "Possibly animals other than humans have self-awareness but, so far as we know, only humans have self-consciousness, at least when normal and past their infancy." (WS 175)

3.4.20. I have dwelt on Bunge's chapter on mind at length because the philosophical issues are important and hope to have shown that Buchanan's worries that choice and free will might be illusory may now at last be dropped. To repeat myself, and Bunge's many remarks to this effect, his treatment of general ontology in his furniture book and applied ontology (systems) in the companion volume are sketches and not pretensions to being the final answer. I have also dwelt on the subject of mind at length in order to exhibit the evidence that a materialist philosophy is not "ridiculously at variance with reason and experience." (FW xiii)

3.5 Bunge's Systemic Conception of Society

3.5.1. The fifth and penultimate chapter of A World of Systems is entitled "Society" and deals actually with human societies. "We shall argue that every human society, no matter how primitive or evolved, is composed of four main subsystems: kinship, economy, culture, and polity. We submit that all four are already found in nuce in some prehuman societies." (WS 182) What is unique about man is not so much a bigger head, per se, but the (emergent) properties of his cultures. Bunge best speaks for himself (WS 186-187):

3.5.2. An interesting anthology chapter by David 0. Oakley, "Cerebral Cortex and Adaptive Behaviour" (1979)^, discusses the apparent excess of intelligence in primates, in defiance of the usually conservative processes of evolution, and explains it as due to the rather greater demands imposed by social interaction as opposed to the physical environment. "The computing capacity required to handle social interactions with even a limited number of self-regulating individuals of the same species is likely on a number of grounds to be greater than that needed for interaction with the physical environment." Carleton S. Coon, in The Origin of Races (1962)^^, held that this process of "evolution by social adaptation" as opposed to "evolution by environmental adaptation" (the terms he uses) has gone particularly far in man, whose brain consumes one-eighth of the body's calories but represents only two percent of its mass. The brain is a very expensive organ, and it is the job of evolutionists to figure out how the benefits equal the costs. Too bad the brain rots and we can't find out from fossils the details of its structure, especially with regard to free-will feedback loops.

3.5.3. Bunge's chapter on society is chock full of the symbols of set theory, and the purpose of all this symbolism is to show that society, too, can be conceived as a system in the sense he has defined it. He divides the active population into primary laborers (who transform the environment), secondary cultural workers (whose work "is an activity capable of evoking feelings or thoughts, or supplying ideas intervening in the primary production" (WS 200)) of the social system, and tertiary managers (whose work "is an activity contributing to controlling some primary or secondary work"). (WS 201) These three groups do not constitute subsystems in themselves; rather, each provides inputs to the economic, cultural, and political output systems.

3.5.4. Any such scheme of dividing up society into such a criss-crossing network is, of course, fraught with dif lumps financing in with primary production, which may make him a closet Misesian--but few economists tackle such problems as the differences among primary and secondary production, holding such terms to be meaningless.

3.5.5. Better typologies of social systems will have to come along, and perhaps there are certain stochastic regularities in the way activities are organized that could be used to suggest that some typologies are better than others. Bunge's economy, culture, and polity are all represented by academic disciplines, but there is nothing corresponding to sociology. Nevertheless, one may often resort to sociological explanations of, say, economic problems (e.g., alienation is more responsible for the decline in economic growth rates in the United States than government regulation). Sociology has great pretensions to being t discipline that can subsume all the others, but economists--who study choice--have made similar noises.

3.5.6. Bunge's typology is probably just as good as any, but going through it in detail would be not nearly so useful as showing that an emergentist view of society is possible, as he showed regarding an emergentist view of mind. What is of greater concern for us are several philosophical remarks he makes along the way, five of which we shall proceed to relate: [16]

3.5.7. The sixth and final chapter of _A World of Systems_ is the only one of either ontology volume with more than one word in its title. "A Systemic World View" provides a summary of both ontology volumes, offers some broad speculative generalizations characterizing the systemic make up of the universe we live in, and wraps up the book with a showing of where his own philosophy stands with respect to others.

3.5.8. First, the speculative generalizations: (1) Every concrete thing is either a system or a component of one. (2) These systems come in Chinese boxes or nested layers, and the universe is itself such a system, namely the system such that every other thing is a component of it. (3) At the present state of evolution of the universe, there are five system genera: physical, chemical, biological, social, and technical (artiphysis). (4) The more complex a system, the more numerous the stages in the process of assembly and its possible breakdown modes. (5) Physical things take part (either as components or as agents) in the assembly of chemical things take part in the assembly of biological things take part in the assembly of both social and technical things (man-made artifacts).

3.5.9. For a recapitulation of this chapter, we can do no better than quote the final section entire (WS 251-52):