Send us your blog post, blog address, address of other great sites or suggestions by email. centerforeconomicliberty@gmail.com

Monday, May 13, 2013

Sir Thomas Smith: mercantilist for sound money


The honour – if that be the proper term – of being the first English mercantilist writer should have gone, for four centuries, to Sir Thomas Smith the Elder (1513–77). Instead, his remarkable work, A Discourse on the Commonwealth of this Realm of England, written in 1549 and published anonymously in 1581, was at first unidentified, and since its 1893 reprint has been incorrectly attributed to another Tudor official, John Hales (d. 1571).

Thomas Smith was born into a poor family of small shepherds in the county of Essex. Impoverished but brilliant, Smith managed to enter Cambridge, where his scholarly abilities were soon recognized. There he rose to become Regius professor of civil law, and then vice-chancellor of the university. Smith was a notable orator and a learned and brilliant polymath, who wrote books on Greek pronunciation and English spelling, and was deeply interested in mathematics, chemistry, linguistics and history.

Smith embarked on a career as politician and bureaucrat by becoming a secretary under the protectorate of Lord Somerset, from 1547 to 1549. Though an Anglican, Smith was a moderate who cared little for religious matters, so he was able to serve as Privy Councillor under Catholic Queen Mary, on the recommendation of his old Cambridge colleague, the Catholic Bishop Stephen Gardiner. Under Queen Elizabeth, his influence continued through the powerful position at court of his old Cambridge student, Sir William Cecil, later Lord Burghley. Smith, however, was often out of power, a fate helped by his arrogant, boorish and feisty personality.

Thomas Smith was a bitter critic of debasement, and he therefore became a vocal opponent of his mentor, Lord Somerset's, policy of repeated debasement in order to acquire increased revenue for the Crown. Sent into exile from the court in 1549, Smith brooded and then did what was characteristic of him: marshalled and wrote down his thoughts in the form of a treatise. This penetrating, lively work was written in the form of a dialogue among several characters, with The Doctor being the spokesman for the author's own views. Later Smith was to repeat the dialogue form in his book, Dialogue on the Queen's Marriage (1561). The former work was not meant for publication, Smith noting in the tract that ‘it is dangerous to meddle in the king's matters’, as indeed it was.

The basic thrust of the Discourse on the Commonwealth was an attack on debasement, and its consequences in high prices, inflation and social unrest. Debasement, and not the arbitrary decision of farmers or merchants, is responsible for higher prices. The principal losers from this policy are people on fixed incomes. The Discourse was published after Sir Thomas's death by his nephew William; included are later passages, interpolated by Thomas during the 1570s, attributing the Elizabethan inflation of the later sixteenth century to another factor: the influx of newly mined specie from the western hemisphere. It is not known whether Smith was familiar with the similar Navarrus analysis of 1556, or the Bodin analysis of French inflation 12 years later, or whether this was Smith's independent discovery as price inflation moved from Spain northwards into Europe.

In 1562, Smith returned to the debasement theme, in a lengthy work, still unpublished, ‘The Wages of a Roman Footsoldier, or A Treatise on the Money of the Romans’. This treatise on Roman money and coinage was written in answer to a question posed to him by his friend and colleague Cecil, at this point Queen Elizabeth's principal secretary. Again, Smith returns to his attack on debasement as evidence of ‘the decay of the state’, and as a cause of ‘excessive prices’.

In both the Discourse and the ‘Treatise’ Smith took the convenient if fallacious position that the king himself is the greatest loser from the high prices caused by debasement. Since debasement adds to the king's revenue immediately and before prices have had a chance to rise, the king, on the contrary, is the prime beneficiary of debasement and other measures of monetary inflation.

Smith's Discourse is strikingly modern in frankly grounding its social analysis in the individual's drive for his own self-interest. Self-interest, Smith declared, is ‘a natural fact of human life to be channelled by constructive policy rather than thwarted by repressive legislation’. Not that Smith abandons nascent mercantilism for any sort of liberal or laissez-faire outlook. Self-interest is not to be left alone within a property rights framework. It is to be channelled and directed by government to a ‘common goal’ set by the state. But at least Smith was wise enough to point out that it is better for men to be ‘provoked with lucre’ towards proper goals than to have governments ‘take this reward from them’. In short, government should work in tandem with the powerful incentive provided by individual self-interest.
Smith sees that economic incentives are always at work in the market to move economic resources out of less profitable, and into more profitable, uses. And governments should work with such incentives, rather than against them.

Smith, however, was assuredly a mercantilist, as seen by his desire to foster the manufacture of woollen cloth within England, and his desire to prohibit the export of raw wool to be manufactured abroad.
John Hales came from a prominent Kentish family, and was a friend and fellow Tudor official of Smith. Yet his economic and social philosophy was very different. In 1549, for example, the year that Smith's Discourse was written (and which included an attack on new taxes on manufactured cloth) Hales was the very person responsible for instituting the tax. Hales also disliked two favourite themes of the Discourse: love for the civil law, and admiration for sheep farming. Hales, furthermore, far from being indifferent to religion, was a deacon and a dedicated organizer of Bible readings.

Most important in any contrast between Hales and the author of the Discourse, Hales attributed the high prices, not to debasement, but to three very different supply-side factors: scarcity of cattle and poultry; speculation; and excessively high taxes. None of these factors in truth can account for any general price increase.

Finally, Hales took the old-fashioned moral position of attributing all ills, including high prices, to man's all-pervasive greed. (Why greed should have increased rapidly in recent years to account for high prices was of course a problem that was not even addressed.) Greed and the desire for profit were the great social evils. The only cure for all this, opined Hales, was to purge man of self-love: ‘To remove the self love that is in many men, to take away the inordinate desire of riches wherewith many be cumbered, to expel and quench the insatiable thirst of ungodly greediness, wherewith they be diseased...’ and to replace this ‘diseased’ self-love by a twin other-love of Church-and-state: ‘to make us know and remember that we all... be but members of one body mystical of our Saviour Christ and of the body of the realm’.

Again, in his Defence, written the same year as the Discourse, John Hales expressly denies that self-love can be in any sense the foundation of the public good: ‘It may not be lawful for everyman to use his own as he listeth, but everyman must use that he hath to the most benefit of his country. There must be something devised to quench the insatiable thirst of greediness of men, covetousness must be weeded out by the roots, for it is the destruction of all good things’.

Sir Thomas Smith was responsible, rather than his associate Sir Thomas Gresham (c. 1519–79), for the first expression of ‘Gresham's law’ in England. Until recently, it had been thought that the well-known and anonymous Memorandum for the Understanding of the Exchange had been submitted by Gresham to Queen Elizabeth early in her reign in 1559. It now turns out, however, that the Memorandum was written by Smith early in Queen Mary's reign, in 1554. The Memorandum was certainly not a free market tract, advocating as it did various state controls over the foreign exchange market. It did, however, not only denounce debasement and call for a high-valued currency, but it also enunciated ‘Gresham's law’ that the cause of a shortage of gold coin in England was the legal undervaluation of gold.

Gresham, fiscal agent of the Crown in Antwerp, himself adhered to ‘Gresham's law’, which was set forth by the royal commission of 1560 that he heavily influenced. Gresham was also a full-fledged statist and architect of Tudor monopoly privilege. A member of the monopoly wool cloth export company, the Merchant Adventurers, Gresham was the chief architect of England's tightening of that monopoly during the 1550s and 1560s: banning Hanseatic merchants from exporting English cloth, increasing tariffs on foreign cloth and, finally, making the Adventurers far more oligarchic and tightly controlled from the top.

Influenced greatly by the Memorandum, and echoing its Gresham's law position, was the younger Sir Richard Martin (1534–1617), goldsmith, warden and master of the Mint during all of Queen Elizabeth's reign. Trained as a goldsmith from youth, Martin also served as prime warden of the Worshipful Company of Goldsmiths, alderman of London for many years and was twice Lord Mayor. In the royal commission of 1576 on currency and the exchanges, whose members were hand-picked by Sir Thomas Smith, then principal secretary to the queen, Gresham and Martin, as well as Cecil, were all included. The commission did not include Smith himself, who had fallen ill. Their backing of Gresham's law was echoed a generation later by the royal commission of 1600, on which Martin served, and prepared the principal memoranda.

Austrian Perspective on the History of Economic Thought (2 volume set)

Sunday, May 12, 2013

Tudor and Stuart absolutism


Dominant in English political thought from the early sixteenth to the early seventeenth century was a form of simplistic and militant absolutist thought that has been called the ‘correspondence theory’ or the ‘political theory of order’. This royalist doctrine was fashioned for the Tudor-Stuart age in which the king struggled to establish his absolute power as against the international influence of the old religion, Catholicism, and over the Calvinist Puritans, who had definite republican and populist tendencies. In contrast, God was now supposed to be speaking through the English king and therefore through the head of the Anglican Church.

The basic philosophic groundwork was the ‘natural order’ – the ‘great chain of being’ – which, since the Middle Ages, had been seen as strictly hierarchical, with God at the head and man as the highest of his material creatures. But then came the fundamental methodology: flimsy analogy, or ‘argument by correspondence’. Just as God was sovereign, and superior to various ranks of angels and finally to man and then other inferior earthly creatures in the ‘macrocosm’, so in the individual ‘microcosm’, within each person, the head must be sovereign over the body, and reason and will dominant over the appetites. Similarly, the father is sovereign over his family. More specifically and pointedly in the political realm, the king, the father of his people, must be sovereign over the body politic.

This flimsy organicist analogy was pushed to great lengths. The head in the human body ‘was’ the king in the body politic; health in the former constituted social well-being in the latter; the circulation of the blood was the same as circulation of money; rule of the rational soul was royal sovereignty, and so on. The only ‘argument’ was correspondence: that the ‘governmental’ and social ranking alleged to exist in the heavenly sphere must be duplicated in earthly government and in social life.

One problem with the argument from correspondence is that freedom of the human will enters into politics and social life but does not do so elsewhere. It is rare for the liver to ‘rebel’ against the head, and yet an important conclusion of this royalist political philosophy was that political rebellion is as evil and anti-natural as such ‘rebellion’ by the liver. Similarly, individual subjects must obey the divinely appointed monarch, else the divine order collapses into anarchy and disorder, and corruption and decay then rule in human life.

While the liver has not often rebelled against the head, the royal absolutists did, of course, have an analogy to fall back on in heavenly government: Satan's wicked rebellion against the sovereignty of God. Similarly, the great fact of human history was Adam's Fall, brought on by rebelliousness against divine authority and by overweening self-pride.

God and the king; Satan, Adam, and rebellious subjects; these were the analogies and correspondences that the royal absolutists tried to drive home.  Thus, Anglican Church homilies on obedience, in 1547 and 1570, called obedience to the sovereign ‘the very root of all virtues’, while ‘a wicked boldness’ is the source of all sin and misery. As the homilies stated: all ‘sins possible to be committed against God or man be contained in rebellion’, which ‘turn(s) all good order upside down...’. It is the absolute duty of all inferiors ‘always and only to obey’, just as the body obeys the soul, and as the universe obeys God.

In stark contrast to the scholastics, as well as to Calvinist or Leaguer monarchomach thinkers, the Anglican preachers of order stressed time and again that the subjects must obey the king in any and all circumstances, whether or not the king or his actions were good or evil. There must be no resistance whatever, even to evil princes. The king is the divinely mandated representative of God on earth by hereditary right. To question, much less to disobey the king, therefore, was not only treason but blasphemy. Disobeying the king is disobeying God. As the influential Mirror for Magistrates, which went through many editions from 1559 to 1587, maintained: ‘God ordains all magistrates’. Therefore, God ordains ‘good when he favoureth the people; and evil when he will punish them’. In short, good kings are a blessing sent to the people by God; wicked kings are a punishment equally sent by the divinity. In either case the duty of the subject is absolute obedience to God's/the king's commands. ‘And therefore whosoever rebelleth against any ruler either good or bad, rebelleth against GOD, and shall be sure of a wretched end.

To the royalist thinkers, the rising claims of individual freedom and the natural rights of each individual only led to mischief and destruction of God's rational order. Thus Richard Hooker (c. 1554–1600), the leading Anglican theologian of the sixteenth century, in his famous Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity (1594–97), lashed out at any notion of individualism. Though himself a moderate on royal absolutism, Hooker wrote that the idea of every man ‘his own commander’ ‘shaketh universally the fabric of government, tendeth to anarchy and mere confusion, dissolveth families, dissipateth colleges, corporations, armies, overthroweth kingdoms, churches and whatsoever is now through the providence of God by authority and power upheld’.

One of the most extreme royal absolutists in the Tudor-Stuart era was Edward Forset (c.1553–1630), a playwright, owner of the manor of Tyburn, a justice of the peace and MR Forset's magnum opus was A Comparative Discourse of the Bodies Natural and Politic (1606), whose very title reeks of the argument by correspondence and the political philosophy of order. At some points, Forset came close to saying that a monarch could never harm his people: in other words, however evil his deeds may seem, they must really be good, virtually by definition. Indeed, at one point, Forset came close to the justification of a king's acts by mystery and power as in the Book of Job. Thus, as Professor Greenleaf puts it in his discussion of Forset's doctrine: ‘the seemingly evil acts of a ruler were only an appearance the real nature of which was misconstrued by the fallible minds of the citizens’. The strong implication, of course, is that the mind of the monarch, in contrast to that of the lowly citizen, is infallible.

Probably the most intelligent and surely the most influential of the absolutist order-theorists in seventeenth century England was Sir Robert Filmer (1588–1653). Towards the end of his life, this obscure Kentish nobleman published a series of royal absolutist essays in the late 1640s and early 1650s. Then, three decades later, a Filmer revival took place, his collected essays being published in 1679 and his most famous work, Patriarcha or the Natural Power of Kings, written in the late 1630s or early 1640s, was printed for the first time the following year. Filmer immediately and posthumously became the leading defender of royal absolutism from the older perspective of order theory.
Filmer angrily rejected the idea that ‘by law of nature all men are born free’ as ‘heathen’ doctrine. Linking individualism and self-direction to sinful rebellion against God, Filmer warned against the ‘very desire for freedom which caused Adam's fall from grace.’

Most notable in Filmer was his searching critique of the rising contractarian doctrine, which laid the foundation of, and therefore justified, the state in some original social contract. Thomas Hobbes (1588–1679) had spent all his life in service as a tutor, companion, and intellectual guide to the Cavendishes, who were related to the royal Stuart family. Hobbes had worked out a contractarian justification for royal absolutism during the 1640s.

Filmer spotted crucial flaws in Hobbes's social contract theory which were to apply just as fully to John Locke's libertarian version four decades later:

Filmer asked how likely it was,... that all men would agree to a contract, as was necessary before it could become universally binding; he wanted to know how and why a contract should bind all subsequent generations; he suggested it was unreasonable to invoke the specious notion of tacit consent...

Filmer also trenchantly criticized the growing classical liberal idea of grounding government in the consent of the governed. Governments, he pointed out, could not then be stable, for governments could sometimes find that consent to be withdrawn. Once concede the power of the people to consent as well as the natural law of ‘equal freedom from subjection’, and the logical consequence must be anarchism. For then

every petty company hath a right to make a kingdom by itself; and not only every city, but every village, and every family, nay, every particular man, a liberty to choose himself to be his own King if he please; and he were a madman that being by nature free, would choose any man but himself to be his own governor. Thus to avoid the having but of one King of the whole world, we shall run into a liberty of having as many Kings as there be men in the world, which upon the matter, is to have no king at all, but to leave all men to their natural liberty.

It should be noted that Filmer and other absolutists of the era found great inspiration in the French theorist Jean Bodin, who has been called the political writer most favourably and most often cited in England during the first half of the seventeenth century.

Austrian Perspective on the History of Economic Thought (2 volume set)

Saturday, May 11, 2013

Optimistic handbook at the turn of the century


The rapid spread and even social dominance of these new ideas of laissez-faire, crypto-deism, and the morality of utility and the Golden Rule, may be seen in the Dialogues, a virtual handbook of fashionable manners and ideas for the social climber, published in 1701 by the young litterateur, Nicholas Baudot de Juilly. In Dialogues, Baudot, son of a tax farmer in Vendome, after lauding the manners taught in fashionable salons, proceeds to the ruling ideas of the day, where he vulgarizes the laissez-faire doctrine into one grounded in a frank and candid hedonism. The desire for pleasure and for the avoidance of pain was grounded in the natural drive for self-preservation. Furthermore, the God of Christianity, in the hands of Baudot, became a quasi-deistic god who has provided ‘all nature’ as a ‘great feast where in His inexhaustible goodness God has convened us’. The Garden of Eden had been a realm of enjoyment and sensate pleasure; the purpose of Jesus's arrival on earth was to recall mankind to that original enjoyment. Asceticism, furthermore, causes economic misery. Specialization, trade, and the pursuit of wealth in the marketplace were the truest, and therefore the God-given, forms of charity.
As Baudot put it: God had ‘purposely permitted us to multiply our needs in order to cause money to circulate among all men, passing from the purses of the rich to those of the poor’.
Trade, then, is the genuine charity:

All this [regional specialization and communication] has been so admirably accomplished in order to bind men to one another, who in effect should form only one single family so that the need they would have for one another would accomplish among them what charity alone ought to do. It is for this reason that men..., however different in mores, language, and Religion... are becoming united from one end of the world to another by reciprocal trade. It is also for this reason that they exchange equally things which are agreeable and those that which are necessary, so that they can not only sustain life as in a pasture like beasts, but also to render it sweeter, more humane and more polished by pleasures.

Austrian Perspective on the History of Economic Thought (2 volume set)

Friday, May 10, 2013

Boisguilbert and laissez-faire


The best known of the late seventeenth century French advocates of laissez-faire is Pierre le Pesant, Sieur de Boisguilbert (1646–1714). Born in Rouen into a high-born Norman family of judicial officers, and a cousin of the poet-dramatist Corneille brothers, Boisguilbert was educated by the Jesuits, and eventually purchased two judicial offices at Rouen. He served there as lieutenant-general of the court from 1690 until his death. Boisguilbert was also a large landowner, businessman, litterateur, translator, attorney and historian.

Boisguilbert was a combination of genius and crank. His first and most important work, Le Detail de la France (A Detailed Account of France), published in 1695, was revealingly subtitled La France ruinée sous le règne de Louis XIV (France Ruined Under the Rule of Louis XIV).10 Boisguilbert penned innumerable letters to successive controllers-general of France on the virtues of free trade and laissez-faire, and on the evils of government intervention. After 1699, Boisguilbert kept hammering away at controller-general Michel Chamillart for years, but to no effect. Chamillart kept refusing him permission to print his tomes, but Boisguilbert published them anyway, finally printing his collected works under the title Le Detail de la France in 1707. In that year, the same year that Vauban's Dixme Roy ale was censored, Boisguilbert's work was also outlawed, and its author sent into brief exile. He returned under promise of silence, but promptly reprinted his book four times between 1708 and 1712.

Arguing for laissez-faire, Boisguilbert denounced the mercantilist preoccupation with amassing specie, pointing out that the essence of wealth is in goods not coin. Money, Boisguilbert explained, is just a convenience. Thus the influx of bullion from the New World in the sixteenth century only served to raise prices. If nature were left to herself, all men would enjoy plenty and the government's attempts to improve upon nature only caused havoc. The simple remedy for the manifold evils under which France was suffering was, as Professor Keohane puts it: ‘for the government to stop interfering with natural patterns of trade and commerce, and laissez faire la nature. No superhuman effort for reform was needed, only the cessation of ill-considered effort’.

Collective or social harmony, Boisguilbert wrote, arises from the efforts of innumerable individuals to advance their self-interest and their happiness. If the government removed all artificial restrictions upon trade, all participants would have incentive to produce and exchange, and self-interest would then be free to do its constructive work. Only the use of coercion or state privilege pits one self-interest against another, whereas submission to the wise natural order would ensure harmony between individual greed and universal benefit. As Keohane summarizes Boisguilbert, ‘So long as we do not interfere with her [Nature's] workings, our attempts to get as much as we can for ourselves will maximize everybody's happiness in the long run’.12 It is not, then, that individuals aim at the general good while pursuing their own self-interest. On the contrary, it is the glory of the natural order that, while individuals aim at their own ‘private utility’, they will also promote the interests of all. Although individuals may try to subvert the laws and gain at the expense of their neighbours, the natural order of liberty and laissez-faire will maintain peace, harmony, and universal benefit. As Boisguilbert declares, ‘But nature alone can introduce that order and maintain the peace. Any other authority spoils everything by trying to interfere, no matter how well-intentioned it may be’. In the free market established by the natural order, ‘the pure desire for profit will be the soul of every market for buyer and seller alike; and it is with the aid of that equilibrium or balance that each partner to the transaction is equally required to listen to reason, and submit to it’.

The natural order of the free market prevents any exploitation from taking place. Thus: ‘Nature or Providence [had]... so ordered the business of life  that, provided it is left alone (on le laisse faire) it is not within the power of the most powerful in buying goods from some poor wretch to prevent the sale from providing the subsistence of the latter’. Everything works out all right ‘provided that nature is left alone (on laisse faire la nature)...[i.e..] provided that it is left free and that no one meddles with this business save to grant protection in it to all and to prevent violence’.

Boisguilbert also specifically demonstrated the counterproductive results of government intervention. Thus, when the French government tried to alleviate hunger by lowering grain prices and controlling trade, all it accomplished was to diminish the cultivation and production of grain, and hence to intensify the very hunger that the government was trying to relieve. Such intervention, in the summary of Professor Keohane,

would make sense only if grain, like manna or mushrooms, sprang up without human effort, since it ignores the effects of low prices on the habits of cultivators. If government simply ceased tampering, the French economy, like a city from which a siege is lifted, would regain its health. Free to set their own price for grain, and to import grain freely throughout the land, Frenchmen would be plentifully supplied with bread.14

In illustrating the nature and advantages of specialization and trade, Boisguilbert is one of the first economists to begin with the simplest hypothetical exchange: two workers, one producing wheat and the other wool, and then to extend the analysis to a small town, and finally to the entire world. This method of ‘successive approximation’, of beginning with the simplest, and then extending the analysis step by step, would eventually prove to be the most fruitful way of developing an economic theory to analyse the economic world.

Graphically illustrating the respective workings of power and market, Boisguilbert supposes a tyrant who tortures his subjects by tying them up within sight of each other, each surrounded by an abundance of the particular good that he produces: food, clothing, liquor, water, etc. They would be made instantly happy if the tyrant were to remove their chains and allow them to exchange their surplus goods for those of one another. But if the tyrant says, no he can only remove the chains of his people when some war or other is settled, or at some future time, he is only adding ridicule and mockery to their grievous torture. Here, Boisguilbert was bitterly mocking the reply that Louis XIV and his ministers habitually made to the pleas of reformers and oppositionists: ‘We must wait for the peace’.


Again, like the other oppositionists, war was exposed as the standard excuse for maintaining the crippling interventions of government.

Like Belesbat, Boisguilbert had no patience with inconsistent reformers who tried to make an exception to laissez-faire in luxury products. To Boisguilbert, natural wealth was not just biological necessities; rather ‘true wealth consists of a full enjoyment, not only of the necessaries of life, but even of all the superfluities and all that which can give pleasure to the senses’.

In addition, Boisguilbert was perhaps the first to integrate discussion of fiscal policy with his general economic doctrines. Adopting Vauban's proposal for the elimination of all taxes and their substitution by a single direct tax of 10 per cent on all incomes, Boisguilbert analysed and bitterly denounced the effects of indirect taxes on agriculture. Heavy taxes on grain, he pointed out, have raised costs and crippled grain production and trade. For four decades, he argued, the French government had virtually declared war on consumption and trade by its monstrous taxation, resulting in severe depression in every area of the economy.

On the free market, in contrast, everyone benefits, for ‘trade is nothing but reciprocal utility; and all parties, buyers and sellers, must have an equal interest or necessity to buy or to sell’.

Hence, with Belesbat and Boisguilbert, the focus of the classical liberal attack on statism shifted from moralistic denunciation of luxury or pernicious Machiavellism to meeting mercantilist doctrine on its own utilitarian grounds. Even setting aside classical morality, then, utility and general happiness require the private property and laissez-faire of the natural order. In a sense, old-fashioned natural law had been extended to the economic sphere and to the meshing of individual utility and self-interest through the working of the free market. In contrast to devout mystics like Fenelon, Belesbat and Boisguilbert were in harmony with the new mechanistic cosmologies of Isaac Newton and others of the late seventeenth century. God had created a set of natural laws of the world and of society; it was the task of man's reason, a reason universal to all, regardless of nation or custom, to understand those laws and to achieve their self-interest and happiness within them. In the economy, free trade and free markets, through the harmony of reciprocal benefits, advanced the interest and happiness of all by each seeking his own personal utility and self-interest. The Golden Rule, and absence of violence, was the natural moral law that uncovered the key to social harmony and economic prosperity. While such analysis was not in itself anti-Christian, it certainly replaced the ascetic aspects of Christianity with an optimistic, more man-centred, creed; and also it was consistent with the rising religion of deism, in which God was the creator, or clock-winder, who created the mechanism of the universe and its self-subsistent natural laws, and then retired from the scene.
As Professor Spengler has pointed out:

the eighteenth century conceptualized the economic (or social) universe. It made the hidden processes of the social order visible even as the seventeenth had become aware of those of the physical order and made them visible; it generalized to the realm of man the notion of the ‘frame’ hidden behind ‘the most common Phenomena’ and the ‘Invisible Hand’ by which ‘Nature works’ in ‘all things’.

As for Boisguilbert, his contribution was to be

among the first, if not the first, to conceive, albeit imperfectly, of the system of relations that underlies the economic order... His contribution consisted in his sequestering (however imperfectly) the economic order from the total societal system, in becoming aware of the comparatively autonomous character of this order, in discovering the essentially mechanical and psychological connections binding men together in an economic order and in drawing attention to the manner in which the economic order was subject to disturbances by impulses originating in the political order.15

It should also be mentioned that it surely seemed easier to convince the king and his ruling elite of the general utility of private property and the free market, than to convince them that they were behaving as the heads of an immoral and criminal system of organized theft. So that the basic strategy of trying to convert the king led inexorably to at least a broadly utilitarian approach to the problems of freedom and government intervention.


Austrian Perspective on the History of Economic Thought (2 volume set)

Thursday, May 9, 2013

The laissez-faire utilitarian: the Seigneur de Belesba


One of the influential anti-mercantilist and pro-laissez-faire thinkers of the last decades of Louis XIV was Charles Paul Hurault de l'Hopital, Seigneur de Belesbat (d. 1706). The great-grandson of a chancellor of France, Belesbat was an influential member, during the 1690s, of an oppositional political salon in the Luxembourg palace in the Luxembourg gardens district of Paris. The salon met weekly at the home of Belesbat's first cousin, François Thimoleon, the Abbé de Choisy.

In the autumn of 1692, Belesbat presented six memoirs to Louis XIV, copies and extracts of which were reproduced throughout France. Belesbat, too, focused on the wars with the Dutch as being the key to the economic problems of France. States became wealthy, advised Belesbat, not by seizing or destroying the commerce of other nations, but by encouraging trade that conformed to the natural interest of the nation. Instead of the French government trying artificially to capture Dutch commerce, it should allow its own agriculture to flourish.

Belesbat, too, emphasized that God had woven all peoples into an interdependent network of reciprocal advantage by means of trade and specialization: ‘There is nothing that one [country] lacks which the others do not produce.... God... having created men for society, has so well divided them that they cannot do without one another’. Restrictions on trade by government only crippled this natural interdependence; therefore, merchants should be free to pursue ‘the commerce of their choice’. The direction of economic activities in each country is usually determined by the natural resources and the type of capital investment in that area.

It is not the case, concluded Belesbat, that trade in one country benefits one party at the expense of others. Instead, the reverse is true. Moreover, freedom for merchants in domestic trade was as important as in foreign trade. The network of trade and exchange is internal as well as external. Furthermore, in a prefigurement of the Hayekian argument for the free market, Belesbat noted, as Professor Rothkrug points out, that

Every transaction, either domestic or foreign, required complete freedom because it was carried out in special circumstances by merchants whose fortunes depended partially upon the secret and unique procedures by which each conducted his business.8

State regulation, then, far from protecting the market, would cripple the liberty necessary to any prosperous trade. Natural resources, Belesbat explained, are worthless without people to cultivate them and to engage in trade and commerce. Belesbat then engaged in a sophisticated analysis of the elements necessary for successful market activity:

We call commerce an exchange between men of the things they mutually need... In both [domestic and foreign trade] the principles for success are the same. And despite the fact that there is an infinite number of ways in which to practice trade, all different, they are founded on a great liberty, large capital investment, a lot of good faith, much application, and a great secrecy. Each merchant, having his particular views, in such a way that he who profits from a sale of his products, does not prevent the one who buys them from profiting considerably by disposing of them... Thus the entire success of commerce, consisting as it does in liberty, large capital investment, application, and secrecy, prevents princes from ever intervening without destroying the principles.

Thus Belesbat, in addition to a sensitive appreciation of the role of individual entrepreneurship and energy by the merchant, and of the mutual profitability of exchange, sees, if only vaguely, that the great variety of individual trade can yet be analysed correctly in a small number of formal laws, laws or truths which apply to all entrepreneurship and exchange.

In one vital area, Belesbat advanced significantly beyond the laissez-faire views of Fenelon and others, who were so opposed to the luxury of the absolutist court and the nouveau riche bureaucracy that they wished the government to restrict luxury production and trade. Belesbat swept away such inconsistent exceptions to laissez-faire. The natural laws of trade, which for him encompassed considerations of utility, applied to luxury as well as to all other branches of production and trade.

Belesbat eloquently concluded from his analysis that ‘It must be taken as a principle that liberty is the soul of commerce, without which... good harbors, great rivers, and... fertile [lands] are of no use. When liberty is absent nothing is of any avail’.9 In short, the government should ‘let commerce go where it wishes’ (laissant faire le commerce que Von voudra).

The Seigneur de Belesbat made it clear that he grounded his hope of applying libertarianism in an extreme form of early utilitarianism, a utilitarianism that he expected would be applied by the king. The king was urged to channel people's self-interest into free and harmonious activities by seeing to it that virtue is rewarded and evil (theft and other interference with trade) is punished. In that way, men would become accustomed to pursue virtue. Belesbat went very far in utilitarianism by maintaining that ‘justice’ was always and only utility or self-interest. A fatal weakness in his theory was the confident view that the self-interest of the king, who was supposed to put all this into effect, was always identical to the harmonious self-interest of his subjects.

Belesbat also anticipated the later view that Montaigne-type scepticism about reason, rather than providing support for going along with state absolutism, teaches men humility so that they will accept liberty and the free market. Reason, however, is not the sole, and not even the main, motive for the drive for the exercise of power: acquisition of wealth and privilege would seem to be motive enough. And since there will always be people and groups who will seek to seize and aggrandize state power for their own purposes, scepticism towards reason and a rational political philosophy seems more likely to subvert any determined opposition to statism than to hinder any statist drive for power.

Austrian Perspective on the History of Economic Thought (2 volume set)

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Fleury, Fenelon, and the Burgundy circle


During the early 1670s, the devout Abbé Claude Fleury (1640–1723), a young theologian, moralist, and man of letters, launched an influential opposition to the absolutism and mercantilism of Louis XIV. In a small pamphlet, Pensées politiques, Fleury upheld the agrarian ideal and opposed the mercantilist forced subsidization of industry. Furthermore, in a companion work, Reflections on the works of Machiavelli, Fleury attacked Montaigne-type scepticism, which resulted in endorsing an unrestrained exercise of power over depraved men who were virtually devoid of reason. He also denounced Machiavelli's view that politics should be divorced from ethics. Combining the latter themes, Fleury contended that man can use reason to take the path of justice and virtue, while Machiavelli's prince was a godless tyrant who had no desire to lead his subjects to happiness. In contrast to Machiavelli's view that ‘men are bad’, Fleury countered sensibly that ‘they are for the most part neither very bad nor very good’, and that the ruler had the duty to improve their virtue and happiness.

The outstanding clerical opponent of absolutism and mercantilism in late seventeenth century France, however, was not so much Fleury as his friend and student, François de Salignac de la Mothe, Archbishop Fénélon of Cambrai (1651–1715). Fenelon led a powerful cabal at court who were deeply opposed to the absolutist and mercantilist policies of the king and determined to reform them in the direction of free trade, limited government and laissez-faire. By means of his post as religious instructor to the king's mistress, Madame de Maintenon,5 Fenelon got himself appointed in 1689 as preceptor to the royal children, in particular the young Duke of Burgundy, grandson of Louis XIV, who seemed destined one day to be king. Assisted by Fleury, Fenelon made the duke into a disciple, surrounding him with ardent oppositionists to the policies of the Sun King.

In 1693, Fenelon, incensed at the continuing wars against the English and Dutch, wrote the king an impassioned and hard-hitting though anonymous letter, which he probably sent only to Madame de Maintenon. Blaming the king's evil ministers, he declared:

Sire... for the past thirty years your... ministers have violated and overturned all the ancient maxims of state in order to raise your power, which was theirs because it was in their hands, to the highest possible point. We no longer heard of the State nor of its rules; they only spoke of the King and his pleasure. They have increased your revenues and your expenditures to the infinite. They have elevated you to the heavens... and impoverished all of France so as to introduce and maintain an incurable and monstrous luxury at Court. They wanted to raise you on the ruins of all classes in the State, as if you could become great by oppressing your subjects...

The king's ministers, Fenelon continued, only wish to crush all who resist. They have made the king's name ‘odious’, have wanted ‘only slaves’, and have ‘caused bloody wars’. The wars and their attendant taxes have crushed trade and the poor, driving the people to desperation ‘by exacting from them for your wars, the bread which they have endeavored to earn with the sweat from their brows’.6
Fénélon's magnum opus was his political novel, Télémaque, written for the edification of the young Duke of Burgundy, on whom he and his confreres pinned all the hopes for the radical liberalization of France. Télémaque was written during 1695 and 1696, and published without his permission in 1699. Télémaque was a mythical young prince, who travelled through the world of antiquity seeking instruction on the wisest forms of government. What Télémaque learned were the lessons of pure laissez-faire. For example, young Télémaque asked Mentor, a wise man among the Phoenicians, how that people was able to flourish so remarkably in world commerce. Mentor answered, laissez-faire:

Above all never do anything to interfere with trade in order to turn it to your views. The Prince must not concern himself [with trade] for fear of hindering it. He must leave all profits to his subjects who earned them, otherwise they will become discouraged... Trade is like certain springs; if you turn them from their course they will dry up. Profit and convenience can alone attract foreigners to your shores; if you make trade difficult and less useful for them they will gradually withdraw and not return...7

Similarly, in the land of Salente, ‘the liberty of commerce was entire’, by which Fenelon explicitly meant the absence of state interference in domestic as well as foreign trade. Every good entered and left the country with complete freedom; trade ‘was similar to the ebb and flow of the tide’.
In his Treatise on the Existence of God, Fenelon attacked mercantilist nationalism by stressing the unity of all peoples dispersed over the earth. Moreover, he stressed that human reason is ‘independent and above man, [and] is the same in all countries’. And just as God unites all peoples through a common and universal reason, so the sea and the earth unite mankind by providing communication and resources which can be exchanged for one another. Fenelon waxed eloquent on natural specialization and free trade uniting all peoples:

It is the effect of a wise overruling Providence that no land yields all that is useful to human life. For want invites men to commerce, in order to supply one another's necessities. Want therefore is the natural tie of society between nations; otherwise all peoples would be reduced to one sort of food and clothing, and nothing would invite them to know and visit one another.

Following his mentor Fleury, Fenelon stressed the importance and productivity of agriculture, and attacked rulers for impoverishing the countryside through crippling taxation, and for diverting resources from agriculture to luxury products.
Fénélon was eloquent in his attack on tyranny and absolutism. Absolute monarchs, he thundered:

take all and ruin everything. They are sole possessors of the entire state, but the whole realm languishes. The countryside is uncultivated and almost deserted, towns diminish every day, trade stagnates... The King's absolute power creates as many slaves as he has subjects... This monstrous power swollen to its most violent excess cannot endure; it has no support in the heart of the people... At the first blow the idol will fall, crack and be crushed underfoot. Contempt, hate, vengeance, defiance, in a word all passions will unite against so odious a rule.

To Fénélon, ‘war is the greatest of evils’, and France's pernicious policy of constant wars was the result of her nationalist and mercantilist economic policies. Cursed be those rulers, declared Fenelon, who augment their power at the expense of other nations and who seek a ‘monstrous glory’ in the blood of their fellow men.

To educate the young duke of Burgundy on the evils of war, Fénélon engaged a man who was called ‘one of the cleverest men of the century’. François Le Blanc had published a massive treatise on money and coinage in 1690 (An Historical Treatise on the Moneys of France from the beginning of the Monarchy until the Present). There Le Blanc had condemned kings for engaging in debasement for their monetary profit. Fenelon commissioned Le Blanc to write a tome for the young duke on all the treaties between the nations of Europe, and the causes and consequences of all the wars that ensued, as well as the ways they might have been avoided. Unfortunately, Le Blanc died before he could finish this monumental task.

One of the key figures in the Burgundy circle was Charles de Sainte-Maure, the due de Montausier. Montausier was governor of the royal dauphin, and Le Blanc (before taking on the book) and Abbé Fleury were both employees in the service of Montausier. Le Blanc's place in teaching the duke had been preceded by Pierre Daniel Huet, bishop of Avranches. Huet, a friend of Le Blanc, denounced French mercantilist and protectionist policies in 1694, and praised the free trade that had brought prosperity to the Dutch.

In 1711, the Grand Dauphin, son of Louis XIV, died, and the Burgundy circle was overjoyed, since the duke was now in line for the throne to succeed the aged Sun King. But tragedy struck the following year, when the duke, his wife and his eldest son were all struck dead of measles. All the hopes, all the plans, were cruelly destroyed and, Fenelon wrote to a friend in despair, ‘Men work by their education to form a subject full of courage and ornamented by knowledge; then God comes along to destroy this house of cards...’.

The tragic end of the Burgundy circle illuminates a crucial strategic flaw in the plans, not only of the Burgundy circle, but also of the physiocrats, Turgot, and other laissez-faire thinkers of the later eighteenth century. For their hopes and their strategic vision were invariably to work within the matrix of the monarchy and its virtually absolute rule. The idea, in short, was to get into court, influence the corridors of power, and induce the king to adopt libertarian ideas and impose a laissez-faire revolution, so to speak, from the top. If the king could not be persuaded directly, then a new king's ideas and values would be formed from childhood by liberal preceptors and tutors.

Reliance on the good will of the king, however, suffered from several inherent defects. One, as in the case of the Duke of Burgundy, was reliance on the existence and good health of one person. A second is a more systemic flaw: Even if one can convince the king that the interests of his subjects require liberty and laissez-faire, the standard argument that his own revenue will increase proportionately to their prosperity is a shaky one. For the king's revenue might well be maximized, certainly in the short run and even in the long run, by tyrannically sweating his subjects to attain the maximum possible revenue. And relying on the altruism of the monarch is a shaky reed at best. For all these reasons, appealing to a monarch to impose laissez-faire from above can only be a losing strategy. A far better strategy would have been to organize a mass opposition from below among the ruled and exploited masses, an opposition that would have given laissez-faire a far more solid groundwork in adherence by the bulk of the population. In the long run, of course, mass opposition, even revolution, was precisely what happened to France, a revolution from below that was partially if not largely inspired by laissez-faire ideals. The erudite and sophisticated laissez-faire thinkers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, however, would have rebuffed such a suggested strategy as certainly inconvenient and probably lunatic, especially in the light of the failure of the various inchoate peasant and other fronde rebellions of the mid-seventeenth century. Not least of all, men of influential and privileged status themselves are rarely inclined to toss all their privileges aside to engage in the lonely and dangerous task of working outside the inherited political system

Austrian Perspective on the History of Economic Thought (2 volume set)

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Marshal Vauban: royal engineer and single taxer

The bluff, hearty, patriotic Maréchal Sebastian Le Prestre, Seigneur de Vauban (1633–1707), was scarcely a fervent or militant oppositionist to royal or Colbertist policies. The leading military engineer in France, the man who constructed the mighty military fortifications guarding the French state, ennobled by Louis XIV for his services, was scarcely an opponent of the Crown. Although a loyal monarchist and absolutist, Vauban, after revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685, grew deeply troubled at the policies of Louis XIV, especially the crippling system of taxation as well as the oppression of the Huguenots. Upon the revocation, the naive Vauban, convinced that the good king was surrounded by evil or purblind advisers, wrote a Memoire for the recall of the Huguenots’ addressed to the king. Vauban pointed out that the revocation had disrupted trade and commerce, and was causing opposition to the monarchy itself.

The heedlessness of the king did not daunt Vauban, who continued to write similar pleas to King Louis. Finally, at the end of his life, in 1707, this man who had risen from birth in poverty in St Leger to become the land's greatest military engineer, a marshal and a nobleman, published his comprehensive treatise, Projet de dixme royale (Project for a royal tithe). Vauban proposed the abolition of most of the oppressive network of taxation, and its replacement by a single tax, a proportional tenth of the income of each subject. The reasoning was that the state provided the people with the service of security, and that those who receive such service should pay accordingly. One wonders, however, how anyone can demonstrate that those who receive such a service are enjoying the service in proportion to their income. Furthermore, every other service on the market is paid for, not in proportion to the buyer's income, but in a uniform single price, paid by one and all. The purchasers of bread, or automobiles, or stereo sets, pay a single price for each product, and not in proportion to their income or wealth. Why then do so for the alleged service of security?
At any rate, Vauban was highly effective in pointing out that the impoverished producers of the country were shouldering a large part of the burden of taxation, and was eloquent in urging their relief.
Vauban refused to publish the Dixme royale widely in 1707, and only circulated a small number of copies among friends. This did not save the aged marshal from Louis XIV's wrath, however. The king's censors and police condemned the book, and the publishers were hunted down and punished. Marshal Vauban died on the day the king's order was executed.

Austrian Perspective on the History of Economic Thought (2 volume set)

Monday, May 6, 2013

The merchants and the council of commerce


In June 1700, King Louis XIV, seeking advice from the nation's leading merchants, established a council of commerce, in which merchants of ten leading towns elected ten deputies who would serve as a kind of advisory economic parliament. The king soon came to regret this step, for the merchants’ representatives seized the occasion to unleash a torrent of attack against the mercantilist polices developed by the Sun King.

In particular, the enraged merchants zeroed in on the grants of monopoly privilege bestowed by the government on chartered companies. Pointing out that such monopolies restrict trade and raise prices, a number of merchants declared: ‘It is a most certain maxim that nothing but competition and liberty in trade can render commerce beneficial to the State; and that all monopolies or traffic appropriated to companies exclusive of others are infinitely burdensome and pernicious’.

The most consistent and most radical of the merchants’ voices was the deputy from the western port city of Nantes, Joachim Descazeaux du Hallay, a wealthy shipper and merchant and former associate of Thomas Le Gendre. Arguing vehemently against privileged monopolies that restrict trade, Descazeaux widened his argument into a general plea for freedom and free competition. Free competition, Descazeaux pointed out, benefits the public by supplying abundant goods at low prices. Even business losses, he declared perceptively, benefit the public, since they reflect plentiful production at low prices. Furthermore, liberty causes innovations and fuels the spirit of enterprise:

Liberty is the soul and element of commerce; she excites the genius and application of merchants who never cease to meditate on new methods to make discoveries and found enterprises. [Liberty] kindles a perpetual movement which produces abundance everywhere. The moment we limit the genius of merchants by restrictions, we destroy trade.


Austrian Perspective on the History of Economic Thought (2 volume set)

Sunday, May 5, 2013

Rising opposition to collectivism by merchants and nobles


The imposition of Colbert's regime of statism, monopoly and prohibitive tariffs, combined with Louis XIV's high taxation and centralization, gave rise, by the late 1660s, to a growing tide of opposition by merchants and nobility alike. An important compendium of criticisms was the anonymous treatise, Mémoires pour servir à l'histoire, published in 1668. The Mémoires comprise the first extended published polemic against Colbert and Colbertism. Politically, the author denounced Colbert for substituting centralizing innovations for the old constitution. Attacking Colbert's policies across the board, especially tariffs and monopolies, the book pointed out that the French refusal to purchase from the Dutch had induced the Dutch to cease purchasing from France. On trade, the Mémoires made the important point that the Colbertian ideal of national self-sufficiency was contrary to natural law, since providence had created a great diversity of natural resources throughout the world, in order that mankind be united by the bonds of mutual interdependence through international trade.
After an upsurge of denunciations of Colbert in the late 1660s, the controller-general reacted by cracking down on all dissent. In consequence, when Colbert died on 6 September 1683, there was intense joy throughout France, and especially in Paris. In fact, only protection by the soldiery prevented the populace from demonstrating their attitude by dragging Colbert's body through the streets of Paris. Many oppressed Frenchman exulted that a new dawn had arrived: ‘Taxes would cease and the Golden Age would return’.
Such was not to be, however, and absolutism and consequent economic distress became even worse. But the death of Colbert allowed a raft of dissent to arise once more. A torrent of hatred poured out against Colbert's son, nephew, and other of his hand-picked successors.1 The outpouring of opposition, encouraged by official inquiries and investigations of the Colbertian past, was not merely personal, however. It was also in opposition to the mercantilism stifling the economy. In May 1684, a nobleman accused Colbert of being responsible for the ‘ruin of finance and trade’. The establishment of subsidized and privileged manufactures ‘has deprived commerce of liberty... and denied merchants the means to attract money from abroad’. The high protective tariffs, the unknown nobleman pointed out, crippled foreign demand for French farm products, and thereby reduced the French farmers to penury.
This line of attack on Colbertism was developed in the following year by Gatien de Courtilz de Sanras, Sieur du Verger, who published a book on The New Interests of the Princes of Europe. Trying to bolster domestic producers, the French government had only succeeded in wrecking them by crippling their export markets. This popular work had gone into four editions by 1689. In the same year, the famous collection of tracts, published in Amsterdam, Les soupirs de la France esclave (The Sighs of an Enslaved France) also inveighed against protective tariffs as leading to misery and the crushing of commerce.
Particularly eloquent in the Soupirs collection was the attack on Colbertism by the merchant Michel le Vassor, who wrote:

the king by the frightful and excessive taxes which he levies on all goods has drawn to himself all the money, and commerce has dried up. There are no rigors and cruelties which have not been employed upon the merchants by the farmers of the customs, a thousand trickeries to find grounds for making confiscations... Besides this, certain merchants, through the favor of the Court, put commerce into monopoly and get privileges given to them to exclude all the others... And finally the prohibition of foreign goods, far from turning out well for commerce, is, on the contrary, what has ruined it... And all through this the despotic and sovereign power which prides itself on every whim, on reordering everything and reforming all things by an absolute power.

During this depressed period, the directors of Colbert's French East India Company denied, in 1685, that they had caused the hard times by exporting specie in order to import goods from the Indies. Arguing for ‘freedom of trade’ in their Responses aux mémoires, when they really only valued their own freedom to import from their privileged monopoly position, the directors yet tapped an important vein of free trade thought:

Experience has shown that trade cannot be conducted without a total liberty and with a mutual correspondence with foreign countries. The moment we... violated [trade]... the foreigners withdrew. They attracted French workers and established our manufactures in their country... and have dispensed with ours.

The directors also defended vigorously their practice of exporting specie in exchange for Asian imports. They escalated their reply by pointing out that in Holland (always a country whose prosperity and trade was admired and envied during the seventeenth century)

the ports are always open for the entry and exit of specie with every possible liberty... moreover, in Holland the same liberty is accorded for the export of money in the coin of the country. It is this great freedom which attracts abundance to the point where it is and renders them [the Dutch] masters of all trade.

During the intense merchant agitation for freedom of trade and enterprise during the 1680s, Louis XIV's intendant at Rouen reported on advice given him by two leading merchants of the city. On 5 October 1685, Rene de Marillac wrote to the controller-general that the two merchants had declared:

The greatest secret is to leave trade entirely free; men are sufficiently attracted to it by their own interests... Never have manufactures been so depressed, and trade also, since we have taken it into our heads to increase them by way of authority.

One of these two merchants, Thomas Le Gendre, was supposed to have been the first, during a slightly earlier period, to have coined the famous phrase, laissez-faire. The great late eighteenth century laissez-faire thinker and statesman, Anne Robert Jacques Turgot, reports as a family tradition that Le Gendre had told Colbert: ’Laissez-nous faire’ (leave us alone). Turgot's affluent grandparents were close friends of the immensely wealthy Le Gendre and his family, and they also had mutual business dealings.

Thomas Le Gendre (1638–1706), coiner of the phrase laissez-faire as applied to policies and the economy, was the most eminent of a long line of merchant-bankers traced back to the early sixteenth century. A multi-millionaire, Le Gendre owned vast interests in Africa and the New World, was the leading importer of alum from the Levant, and was frequently called upon to arbitrate disputes between merchants at home and abroad.

Despite his wealth, multi-national commercial connections, and public honours, Thomas Le Gendre had what seemed to be only a negative rather than positive influence upon the French government. Time and again the Crown refused to allow him permission to send vessels abroad or to load merchandise on to foreign ships. This treatment only changed in the 1690s, when the government, engaged in war with Protestant England and Holland, made use of Le Gendre and other ex-Protestants to trade with their contacts in those countries while the war was going on.

Not only the merchants, but also some intendants, were joining the laissez-faire camp during the 1680s. On 29 August 1686 the intendant in Flanders, Dugué de Bagnols, wrote a bitter protest against a decree of the previous year levying a 20 per cent tariff on imports from the Levant, except for goods carried on French ships from the Middle East that had entered the ports of Marseille or Rouen. Dugué pointed out that textile firms in northern France should not have to pay more for their imported thread by being forced to buy it from inefficient French ships. And all to subsidize Marseille merchants and shippers who could not compete successfully with the English and Dutch in the Levant! Dugué generalized this insight into a laissez-faire position:

Trade can flourish and subsist only when merchants are free to procure the merchandise they need in the places where they are [sold] at the lowest price, and every time we wish to compel them to buy in one place at the exclusion of all others, merchandise will become more expensive and trade will consequently fall into ruin.

Austrian Perspective on the History of Economic Thought (2 volume set)

Saturday, May 4, 2013

A single tax


n the late sixteenth century, Jean Bodin and others had raised the question of removing many or all of the crippling network of taxation, and substituting a single universal direct tax proportionate to property or income. With taxes far higher and more oppressive by the mid-seventeenth century, the call for a simpler, single direct tax was heard once again. Not only the people, but even the Crown, would benefit by eliminating a legion of unproductive and parasitic tax farmers and other tax officials.

One of the earliest of these tax reformers was Isaac Loppin, who published Les mines gallicanes in 1638. The tract went through four editions, including one during the fronde era in 1648, and directly influenced later tax reformers. Loppin explained how all members of society, from the poorest to the king, suffered from the depredations of the tax officials: ‘without excepting even the sacred person of His Majesty, there is not a single inhabitant of his Kingdom who, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, does not carry some vestment or eat some food which is not burdened by the said subsidies and imposts’. Loppin urged the abolition of all existing taxes, and their replacement by a small fixed tax per year on the wealthiest 10 per cent of the population.

Loppin's pamphlet greatly influenced a one-time assistant to the secretary of state for foreign affairs, the Sieur de Bresson. Bresson addressed a tract to King Louis XIV in 1675, entitled Propositions au Roi. He realistically denounced the tax ‘officials and exacters’ as having ‘no other goal than their private interests’. He then pointed out that the king himself was at the mercy of the tax collectors, and repeated the above quotation from Loppin word for word. Bresson divided up the wealthiest 10 per cent or so of the non-privileged into 19 income classes, and suggested a single direct tax upon them, graduated by class.

In the meanwhile, in 1668, Geraud de Cordemoy urged his own single tax plan upon the government. In his Letter Concerning the Reform of State, Cordemoy urged a single head tax, payable by everyone. He set forth the plan in the form of a dream recounting an ideal state in a distant land, a land enjoying such a single head tax (or capitation) paid ‘by each person’ for the ‘charges and necessities of state’. Furthermore, in an unusual twist, Cordemoy declared that such a head tax would be ‘voluntary’, since everyone would know that he was much better off then he had been in the current, existing system.
An immensely popular work, written about the same time, was Paul Hay, Marquis du Chastelet's Traité de la politique de la France. The Traité was written in 1667, with copies circulating throughout France until its publication two years later. Attacking the oppressive burden of taxation, Chastelet called for a tax on property extending to the previously exempt estates of the nobility, and the transformation of the onerous salt tax into a universal direct tax on income. He also urged relief of the tax burden on the peasantry by accepting payment in kind as a legal substitute for specie.

A more radical plan, originating in the late 1650s, was conceived by a marshall of France, and governor of the principality of Sedan, Abraham de Fabert. Fabert died in 1662, but in 1679, an unknown author presented the Fabert plan to the chancellor of France. Fabert had called for transformation of the salt tax into a graduated direct tax upon the non-privileged members of society. This plan was not designed as a single tax, but ‘all new taxes’ could be abolished, and other taxes could be brought down to their original rates. Reminiscent of Bresson, Fabert's plan was to divide the non-privileged Frenchmen into 30 income classes, the tax graduated by class. Collection costs for enforcing the tax would be reduced to a minimum, and the king would be liberated from 100 000 ‘blood-sucking’ tax officials. In 1684, a second edition of the Fabert-based pamphlet added a substantial amount of statistical backing to the plan.

Austrian Perspective on the History of Economic Thought (2 volume set)

Friday, May 3, 2013

Claude Joly and the fronde


The most prominent rebellions in the mid-seventeenth century France were those of the nobles and the judges and known as the fronde. The leading theoretician of the parliamentary (judges’) fronde was Claude Joly, whose Receuil de maximes veritables was published in 1653. Joly's treatise was a collection of constitutionalist maxims, remnants of a pre-absolutist age, and included trenchant attacks on two contributions of Cardinals Richelieu and Mazarin to political thought and practice in France. One was the new notion that the king is rightly the master – in effect the owner – of the persons and property of all inhabitants of France. The other was the Machiavellian view that successful public policy requires the systematic use of immoral means.

The king's power, warned Joly, is limited and not automatically sanctioned by divine law. Frenchmen possess just title to their lives and properties, and are not the slaves of a despot or tyrant. The king's original divine power is mediated through the French people, Joly added, and the king cannot rightfully tax the French without the consent of the states-general. The fact that Joly was reviled by the king and his party as a rebel and a traitor, he declared, shows that the old constitution has been overcome by new views holding the king to have unlimited authority above all law. For Joly, this new view was ‘pure usurpation’, bred in the monstrous cauldron of ‘Machiavel’

Austrian Perspective on the History of Economic Thought (2 volume set)

Thursday, May 2, 2013

The croquants’ rebellion


The kings and their minions did not impose an accelerating burden of absolutism without provoking grave, deep and continuing opposition. Indeed, there were repeated rebellions by groups of peasants and nobles in France from the 1630s to the 1670s. Generally, the focus of discontent and uprising was rising taxes, as well as the losses of rights and privileges. There were also similar rebellions in Spain, in mid-century, and in autocratic Russia, throughout the seventeenth century.
Consider, for example, the remonstrances of the peasants in the first great French rebellion of the seventeenth century, the croquants’ (literally, ‘crunchers’) revolt in 1636 in south-western France. The croquants’ rebellion was precipitated by a sudden near-doubling of direct taxes upon the peasantry to raise funds for the war against Spain. The intendant La Force, sent to investigate the disturbances, reported on the peasants’ grievances and demands. The peasants focused on the eternal and acclerating increases of taxation. They pointed out that in the reign of Henry IV more taxes had been collected than in all previous reigns of the monarchy taken together; and that in but two years of the reign of Louis XIII they had paid more than in all the years of Henry IV. The peasants also protested that the royal tax-collectors carried off their cattle, clothes and tools, merely to cover the costs of enforcement, so that the principal of the tax debt could never be reduced. The result was ruin. Deprived of their means of labour, the peasants had been forced to leave their fields untilled, and even to leave their ancient lands and beg for bread. In a letter to his superior, La Force feels compelled to endorse their complaints: ‘It is not, Monseigneur, that I am not, by natural feeling, touched with very great compassion when I see the extraordinary poverty in which these people live’.
The peasants protested that they were not subversives; they were willing to pay the old customary taxes, provided the recent increases were repealed. New taxes should only be imposed in extreme emergencies, and then only by the states-general (which hadn't met since 1615, and was not to meet again until the eve of the French Revolution). Like deluded subjects at all times and places, the peasants placed the blame for their ills not on the king himself but on his evil and tyrannical ministers, who had led the sovereign astray. The peasants insisted that they had had to revolt in order that ‘their cries may reach the ears of the King himself and no longer just those of his Ministers, who advise him so badly’. Whether a ruler be king or president, it is convenient for him to preserve his popularity by deflecting protest and hostility to advisers or prime ministers who surround him.
But despite this unfortunate limitation, the croquants had the insight and the wit to zero in on the ‘public interest’ myth propounded by the royal ministers. The ‘needs of the state’, the peasants declared, were only a ‘pretext for enriching a few private persons’ – the hated tax farmers, who had bought the privilege from the Crown of collecting taxes which then went into their pockets; and the ‘creatures of the man who rules the state’, i.e. Richelieu and his entourage. The peasants called for the abolition of courtiers’ pensions, as well as the salaries of all the newly created officials.
The following year, 1637, the croquants of the neighbouring region of Périgord rose in rebellion. Addressing King Louis XIII, the commune of Périgord set forth its reasons for the revolt: ‘Sire..., we have taken an unusual step in the way we have expressed our grievances, but this is so that we may be listened to by Your Majesty....’ Their overriding grievance was against the tax farmers and tax officials, who ‘have sent among us a thousand thieves who eat up the flesh of the poor husbandmen to the very bones, and it is they who have forced them to take up arms, changing their ploughshares for swords, in order to ask Your Majesty for justice or else to die like men’.
Shaken by the rebellion, the Crown organized its faithful servitors. The royal printer, F. Mettayer, published a statement by the ‘inhabitants of the town of Poitiers’, denouncing the ‘seditious’ commune of Périgord. The Poitiers men declared that ‘We know, as Christians and loyal Frenchmen, that the glory of Kings is to command, while the glory of subjects, whoever they may be, is to obey in all humility and willing submission... following God's express commandment’. All the people of France know that the king is the life and soul of the state. The king is directly guided by the Holy Spirit, and further, ‘by the superhuman decisions of your royal mind and the miracles accomplished in your happy reign, we perceive plainly that God holds your heart in his hand’. There is therefore only one explanation for the rebellion, concluded the Poitiers loyalists: the rebels must be tools of Satan.
Not all the Catholics agreed, nor even the Catholic clergy of France. In 1639, an armed rebellion broke out in Normandy, resting on two demands: an opposition to oppressive taxation, and a call for Norman autonomy as against the centralized Parisian regime. It was a multi-class movement of the relatively poor, grouped together in an ‘army of suffering’, and calling themselves the Nu-Pieds – the barefoot ones – after the salt-makers in the southwestern Norman region of Avranches, who walked barefoot on the sand. The general of the army was a mythical figure named Jean Nu-Pieds; the actual directorate of the army consisted of four priests from the Avranches area, of whom the leader was Father Jean Morel, parish priest of Saint-Gervais. Morel called himself ‘Colonel Sandhills’, but he was a poet-propagandist as well as army commander. In his ‘manifesto of the High Unconquerable Captain Jean Nu-Pieds, General of the Army of Suffering’, directed against the ‘men made rich by their taxes’, Father Morel wrote:
And I, shall I leave a people languishing
Beneath the heel of tyranny, and allow a crowd of outsiders [non-Normans]
To oppress this people daily with their tax-farms?
The reference to ‘outsiders’ shows the continuing strength of particularist, or separatist national movements in France, in this case Normandy. The Norman and croquants movements were rising against centralizing Parisian imperialism imposed only recently on independent or autonomous nations as much as against the high taxes themselves.

Austrian Perspective on the History of Economic Thought (2 volume set)

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

French mercantilist: Louis XIV: apogee of absolutism (1638–1714)


For his part, Louis XIV had no trouble fitting the absolutist role. Even more than Colbert, he totally identified his own private interest as monarch with the interests of the state and with the ‘public good’. Whether or not Louis uttered the famous words often attributed to him, ‘I am the state’, he certainly believed and acted upon them, as did his father Louis XIII before him, who had said, ‘It is not I who speak, it is my state’. Statism logically implies that the state owns all the property in the land, and that all who live on or use such property do so only by the sufferance of the ‘true’ owner. And Louis certainly believed that he was the true owner of all property in France. Hence justice was ‘my justice’, and hence he claimed the inherent right to tax all his subjects at will. And why not indeed, if they were all truly existing in his realm only at his, the owner's pleasure?

Furthermore, virtually everyone, even the king's opponents, believed that he ruled by divine grace and divine right. Previously, Cardinal Richelieu had called kings the images of God. Early in the Sun King's reign, court propagandist Daniel de Priézac, in his Political Discourses (1652, 1666), called monarchical sovereignty a ‘great light that never sets’. Furthermore, that light is a great divine Mystery hidden from mere mortals. As de Priézac put it:

the source of the majesty of kings is so high, its essence so hidden and its force so divine that it should not seem strange that it should make men reverent without their being permitted to understand it, just as is true with celestial things.

In contrast to the adulatory worshippers at the shrine of the king's quasidivinity were the Montaigne-type sceptics and pessimists about human nature who fed the stream of panegyrics to Louis XIV in their own way. In a set of three Sceptical Discourses (1664), the cynical Samuel Sorbière, admirer and translator of Thomas Hobbes, decried the tendencies of bestial and corrupt modern man in grabbing from the public trough and having no sense of the common good. But there is, opined Sorbière, a way out: absolute submission to the commands of the (presumably superhuman) king, so that order is established out of perpetual conflict. In that total submission, the people will find their way back to the instinctual child-like simplicity of the state of nature preceding their entry into civil society. As Professor Keohane writes of Sorbière: ‘as the subjects of an absolute despot, they would live much the same way, he argues, in serene simplicity, totally dependent on the sovereign for their lives and fortunes, protected against the encroachments of their fellows, happy in their slavery’

King Louis XIV was able to combine both strands into a worshipful blend of absolutist thought. On the one hand, as he makes clear in his private Memoirs, written for the instruction of his son, his view of human nature (at least of the nature of ordinary mortals) was pessimistic and Machiavellian. Individuals are by nature limited, striving always for their own personal ends, and heedless of the reasons why they should be subordinated to the commands of others. The king, on the other hand, is superhuman, a man who is above all and sees all and is the only one working for the ‘public’ good, which is identical with his own. And the Sun King also took unto himself quasi-divine status; for he, Louis XIV, is like the sun,

the noblest of all... which, by virtue of its uniqueness, by the brilliance that surrounds it, by the light it imparts to the other heavenly bodies that seem to pay it court, by its equal and just distribution of this same light to all the various parts of the world, by the good that it does everywhere, constantly producing life, joy, and activity everywhere, by its perpetual yet always imperceptible movement, by never departing or deviating from its steady and invariable course, assuredly makes a most vivid and a most beautiful image for a great monarch.

Professor Keohane justly comments that Louis XIV ‘is not content to compare himself to God; he compares in such a manner that it is clear that it is God who is the copy’.4
The acme of absolutist thought was provided by Jacques-Bénigne Bossuet (1627–1704), bishop of Meaux, court theologian and political theorist under Louis XIV. The whole state, opined the bishop, ‘is in the person of the prince... In him is the will of the whole people’. The kings identify with the public good, because ‘God has raised them to a condition where they no longer have anything to desire for themselves’. Absolutism is necessary, asserted Bossuet, because any constitutional limits on the prince raise the dread spectre of ‘anarchy’, than which nothing can be worse. The only limits on the power of the sovereign should be those he imposes on himself in his own interest, which must be identical to the public interest whenever the prince ‘regards the state as his possession, to be cultivated and passed on to his descendants’.
Finally, Bossuet conflates the king and God as follows:

Majesty is the image of the grandeur of God in the prince. God is infinite, God is all. The prince, as prince, is not to be considered an individual man: he is the public person, the whole state is included in him... Just as all perfection and all virtue are united in God, so all the power of the individuals is brought together in the person of the prince. What grandeur, that a single man can contain so much.


Austrian Perspective on the History of Economic Thought (2 volume set)