Tag Archives: politics

Why You Should Save Your Early Drafts

21 Sunday Apr 2013

Posted by in Writing

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I’ve been stuck on one short story in the collection I’m writing for quite a while now. Previously, the story had been a day-in-the-life of a character in a new version of representative democracy that I’m exploring, where instead of having a single Congressman you can transfer your vote to anyone you like, who will be your representative—or you can vote on your own behalf on new legislation, or represent others; but it was boring because there was no conflict. I therefore junked the first idea and tried attacking it from a different angle, that of actively lobbying for a particular bill.

Unfortunately, the second version turned out to be a complete mess. Beating my head against it for weeks trying to fix the structure gave little joy. Finally, frustrated, I decided I’d take another look at the first draft and see if it could be salvaged. Lo and behold, now that I had the benefit of lots of time away from the draft (and having in the meanwhile taken some of the courses offered by Holly Lisle, an excellent writing teacher), very quickly I figured out where the latent conflicts were in the story and how to draw them out into the open.

The lesson here is that you should never, ever, ever throw away old drafts. Duplicate them and then hack them to ribbons if you are editing, but preserve and cherish the originals. They may get you out of a bind someday.

(And yes, this is another way of saying that my collection will be published Real Soon Now™. If you are interested, do subscribe to this blog and you’ll be among the first to know when the book goes live.)

On Sovereignty, Trust, and Protectorates

04 Sunday Nov 2012

Posted by in Better Fantasy, Economics, History, Politics, State Formation, Writing

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I recently read a journal article by Peter Haldén titled A Non-Sovereign Modernity: Attempts to Engineer Stability in the Balkans 1820-90. He writes to correct the conventional view that international relations in modernity is all about sovereign, independent states, and that the earlier era of protectorates, vassal states, or other such semi-autonomous regions ended with the arrival of nationalism. Indeed, the rationalist, modern Concert of Europe deliberately used non-sovereign zones several times in the Balkans area in order to control the outbreak of political crises.

The topic remains important for us readers today for a few reasons. First, understanding history is always good (particularly for budding fiction writers, who have a tendency to assume that all stories must be set in modern states or in absolutist monarchies, and thus impoverish their stories.) Second, non-sovereign states never really went away; they were just sleeping. Understanding the dynamics of non-sovereign states gives us a fresh lens to understand places like Kosovo, Chechenya, or even international organizations such as the European Union or the United Nations.

The power politics of the 19th century were marked by several themes, but two of the most important were the decline of the Ottoman Empire as a great power, and the rise of Russia which aspired to take its place. The fundamental problem facing the European powers was how to manage the fragmentation of Ottoman authority, which expressed itself in events like the Greek revolution, without causing a full-blown war between the Great Powers over the spoils.

Briefly, the favored solution was to take outlying provinces of the Empire and turn them into non-sovereign states, under the aegis of the Concert of Europe. These provinces would still nominally be subject to the Turkish Caliph and would pay tribute, and they would be prohibited from having free diplomatic relations with other states as an independent state would, or from having a military. But they would have civil militias and police forces for defense, they would be self-governing, and they could have diplomatic relations with the Concert of Europe as a body. Importantly, the Ottoman Empire would be forbidden to maintain troops in these non-sovereign states.

How does this help? In modern International Relations, states often try to set up buffer zones between them and some potentially hostile neighbor. These zones typically take the form of other, smaller, states. For example, China uses the totalitarian hell state of North Korea as a buffer between it and South Korea, or Japan. The “Low Countries” of Belgium, Netherlands, and Luxembourg were used as a buffer between France and Germany, to their periodic detriment.

The idea is that if you don’t share a border with a potential foe, then there are fewer opportunities for friction that might escalate into a full-blown war. After all, it is hard to distinguish between positioning troops to defend your borders, and positioning troops to attack your neighbor. So the buffer state helps to cool down the temperature. The only problem is that when a buffer state is independent, it can rely only on its own force of arms to maintain itself. The history of the Low Countries graphically demonstrates how easily this can fail; moreover, the potential for a buffer state to become a full-blown military ally of one side or the other ensures that the situation remains tenuous.

A demilitarized nonsovereign territory, on the other hand, is not guaranteed by force of arms, but by the cooperation of the potential rivals under color of an international agreement. There is less likelihood of miscalculation or escalating tensions, and more opportunity for creative institutional design (read the article for some great examples); not all peoples are ready for statehood, after all, even aside from the objections of their current rulers. And there would be less competition between rivals such as Britain and Russia as there would be (and were) over who would dominate the policy of newly independent states, if the territories could only have relations with the international body as a unit and not with other states bilaterally.

For a modern parallel, we can look to the European Union, which began as the European Coal and Steel Community—a project to strip West Germany’s ability to produce war armaments without the cooperation of France, and vice versa. By effectively tying their own hands, the member states hoped to foreclose on the possibility of war between them, so they could focus on the vital task of withstanding the Soviet Bloc. Henceforth, relations between member countries would be based on partnership and negotiation, not power politics.

However, in the case of the Balkans, the stability of the protectorate arrangements for Greece and elsewhere depended crucially on the degree to which the Great Powers trusted each other. In the three cases that Haldén considers, the initial attempts to institute a nonsovereign territory broke down once Russia violated the terms of the agreement, and Britain could no longer trust the Russians to play nice. (I am oversimplifying grossly.) Indeed, the creation of new independent states from the former provinces of the Ottoman Empire was, in Haldén’s telling, a suboptimal outcome, forced on the Great Powers by the breakdown of cooperation and the increasing worry over Russia’s growing power. The independent states would have to fend for themselves, without the aegis of a Concert of Europe which was growing ever-less-concerted over time. No surprise that World War I kicked off in the Balkans; Serbia was one of these formerly nonsovereign states.

Similarly, arrangements such as the EU or the UN are hampered by the lack of trust between member states. Many predict that the current economic crisis may spell the end of the Euro currency, or of the EU altogether, because Germany will grow tired of footing the bill for its more spendthrift neighbors forever. Early aspirations for the UN to become a true world government, meanwhile, have run aground on the cold reality that Americans do not trust a body made up mostly of dictatorships to act with the public interest in mind.

Haldén also draws a fascinating parallel with the old free-markets/interventionism debate in economics. He writes that creating new independent states who would rely on their own armies for defense, and hoping that they can contribute to international stability, is comparable to the intent of the free market. Conversely, a managed protectorate under the oversight of an international body is similar to government control of the economy, under the theory that such control will lead to more manageable outcomes. Whether or not you believe that government control can lead to better outcomes in the abstract, it is clear that you will not desire actual government control unless you trust the government to play nice. If you do not trust the government, you will accept even the putatively suboptimal outcomes of the free market in exchange for keeping a measure of control over your own destiny.

Haldén apparently wrote a book exploring some of these themes, which I may want to read. For our purposes, we should remember that what we are familiar with is not everything that is possible. As well, if we want to build a new world, it is crucial that we trust the main players; otherwise, the world may turn out to be not what we expected.

The Talents of Others

27 Saturday Oct 2012

Posted by in Economics, Politics

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I just began reading John Tomasi’s recent book Free Market Fairness, which is an attempt to synthesize Libertarianism’s concerns for property rights and the importance of spontaneous order (rather than top-down government control) with High Liberalism’s concerns for social justice and care for the poor. I don’t know whether Tomasi’s project will be successful, but something like it is certainly welcome. And for me, the book has already been worth the purchase for the sake of a single sentence.

Tomasi here is paraphrasing the arguments of John Rawls, and particularly that institutions should be arranged so that poorer citizens are supported from the wealth of the richer—as Rawls put it, so citizens “share one another’s fate.” Tomasi adds: “Institutions must be arranged so people can look upon the special skills and talents of their fellow citizens not as weapons to be feared but as in some sense a common bounty” (Introduction, pg. xiv).

That phrase—”weapons to be feared”—is something that struck me. And yet it is obvious that in a system of competition, one man’s advantage is another’s loss. It would seem rational, from a narrow point of view, for economic competitors to try and minimize each others’ skill and ability. But if we all did that, society would collapse and there would be little wealth left to compete over. We need other people to trade with, and they must have talents worth trading for, or else no products of any complexity would ever be created.

So in a pure competitive system, you are left in an uneasy search for the optimal level of skill in other people—just enough to support your own activities without threatening your position. In theory, you can avoid the problem by designing institutions where other people’s success contributes to your own; this is the supposed aim of redistribution. (Still, redistribution is a blunt tool that discourages activity by the most productive, and also requires oppressive political structures that create their own problems.)

What annoys me is that the political faction most in favor of redistribution is not speaking of “shared bounty” and communal unity at all. Instead, they speak of how the rich don’t deserve the wealth they have, how they have exploited others, how they have a duty to give up their wealth, and so on. In fact, the reason that Tomasi’s turn of phrase was so striking to me is precisely that I had never encountered the idea put in quite that way before. The idea that—in the absence of proper institutions—a competitive society would lead to social discord and envy floats half-formed throughout much of our discourse, but more often is expressed in precisely those envious terms that Tomasi seeks to preempt.

So what sort of institutions can lead to a sense that one person’s success contributes to everyone else’s? The first thing that comes to my mind is anything having to do with inventing new things. Inventing new medicines, or a new and better solar panel, or writing clever software, can make many people’s lives much better. Software in particular is inherently scalable; it is nothing more than information, which can easily be transmitted to many people. So the success in inventing new things can certainly help many people. (I think this is why most people don’t resent the massive wealth of, say, Apple as they might do for an investment bank—because they can readily appreciate the way in which Apple’s wealth was generated by selling products that they, as individuals, benefited from.)

Still, this doesn’t precisely address the point. Not all industries act as such powerful force-multipliers for all of humanity as science or computing can. How can we create such an alignment of interests across society? I don’t know the answer off the top of my head, but probably institutions such as workers’ co-ops point in the right direction. Still, the most important part of finding answers is asking the right questions. Tomasi’s formulation is incredibly valuable for that purpose.

Why Must Fantasy Always be Set in Huge Worlds?

09 Thursday Aug 2012

Posted by in Better Fantasy, Writing

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One of the things that has struck me as I read fantasy is that when an author aspires to create an Epic Story, almost inevitably the story will involve lots of travel that will span the fantasy world, taking us between settings that are wildly different from each other, the better to convey that sense of yawning scope that we are looking for, and to showcase the depth of the story’s world (not to mention the cleverness of the author for creating such a world!).

As always, I hasten to note that this is not inherently bad. When such stories are done well, the vast distances traveled and massive shifts of setting will help to build a truly impressive story. (Off the top of my head, George R. R. Martin’s Song of Ice and Fire does a good job here—as does, in a very different fashion, Le Guin’s A Wizard of Earthsea.) It seems that as far back as humans were telling stories, we associate physical journeys with spiritual ones, so that a character’s changes take on special emphasis when he or she is also journeying.

Still, there are perils to this approach. The most common one is that in our haste to create big worlds, we skip past the minor detail of making deep worlds. To take a ludicrous example, imagine a story in which there are several continents, each of which is ruled by a monolithic empire which is only distinguished from the next one by the color of its clothing, or the shape of its people’s ears, or somesuch. For a more concrete example, David Eddings’s Belgariad series features a series of countries each with overpowering national stereotypes, so that all Drasnians are cunning spies, all Sendars are plain country folk (including the king!), and so on. To be fair to Eddings, he was in part doing a send-up of genre clichés that date back to Tolkien at least… but still. My objection is this: in our haste to have vast worlds, we skimp on the details that actually make things interesting.

For myself as a political-science geek, one of the things that galls me is how often writers imagine that their fantasy kingdoms have no actual politics. Oh, sure, you can have your treacherous nobles or devious advisors, but what is their power base? Why are particular groups of nobles in one faction and not another? Where does each of the nobles live?

Consider, for example, The Wheel of Time. Robert Jordan, may he rest in peace, at least had the decency to include rebellious nobles in his story, which puts him head and shoulders above some other authors I could name; but the treatment of politics was boring. In each country, there were Loyal nobles, and Disloyal nobles, all of whom seemed to float in midair without any particular ties to geography, or concrete interests that might pull them toward one faction or another. And none of these conflicts ever spilled across borders! The factions that opposed our heroes never formed a broader alliance with each other, in stark contrast to all the rules of war and politics from time immemorial. No, they remained in their neat categorical boxes, country by country.

One ridiculous consequence is that no noble in WoT ever switches sides unless being faced with naked force, and even then only rarely. (In real conflicts, players are constantly trying to play both sides against the middle; for an example, just read up on any major Afghan warlord. James Clavell’s Shogun is a good fictional example of such maneuvering, albeit not a fantasy one, and notwithstanding the other objections you could make about it as historical fiction.)

For a while now, I’ve been toying with a move in the opposite direction: to have a fantasy story that takes place entirely within a single village. The characters no longer have the option of fleeing from their problems across the continent; the focus of the story would be on the intricate social conflicts between the village peasants, all of whom would naturally have to be identified by name and social position. I haven’t done it yet largely because it would be hard to pull off; all those family trees to work out, who’s married to whom and why it matters, the tangle of petty jealousies and feuds that mark village life, and so on. The biggest conceptual difficulty, I think, is how you could make a story of such constricted scope still have that vast fantasy feel. My current thinking is that the large-scale problems at work in the country as a whole would create fault-lines in the village, so that we still feel connected to the larger conflicts.

The attraction of such a challenge would be that the setting would have to be steeped in detail; indeed, only by having a rich texture in our setting would the story even be interesting. The characters would have to be well fleshed out, their relationships with each other would have to be compelling, the material facts of life in a fantasy village would have to be hammered out and establish the rhythms of the story. Compared to yet another world of flimsy cardboard countries, I think such a story could be a breath of fresh air.

For my readers, I would say that you have other choices besides a vast fantasy world stapled together from clichés. You might try a smaller canvas, with more care devoted to the individual brushstrokes, and see what that gets you.

Standing, and Other Ideas for Promoting Public Health

25 Wednesday Jul 2012

Posted by in Health

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If you’ve been reading the internet at all in the last year or so, you’ll probably have noticed the sudden spate of articles and research studies about the perils of sitting down too long at a stretch. In a nutshell, our bodies were designed to be active; sitting down in one place for hours at a time, as most of us do for work or play, causes a whole range of ill effects, such as increased cholesterol, weight gain, changes in gene expression, poor circulation, and all sorts of goodies.

Since my focus for this blog is in restructuring your environment to make the world better, I’m most interested here in what you can do to change your situation so you can stand up more often. The most drastic change most of us can make is switching to a standing desk. That way, you can get your work done while also strengthening your back and circulation. (Needless to say, Talmud students have been way ahead of us.) It may sound like a lot of work to change your whole desk setup, but the health benefits are profound. (This has been widely discussed in the blogosphere, with examples here, here, and here.)

Sadly, I do not have a standing desk myself; I’m not ready to lay out the cash for one. Nor do I have the next step down, which is to use a therapy-ball chair like this one (blog discussions here, here, and here, for starters). It’s not exactly standing, but it engages your core muscles and your legs so it’s nearly as good.

Still, people looking for a quicker fix, without disrupting their workspaces or shelling out cash, may want to just focus on standing up at least once an hour, and taking a single step away from your chair (or more than one). Fortunately, there’s been an explosion of free productivity software that you can use to remind yourself to stand up every so often. I use a Mac computer, and my favorite software for this is called Time Out Free. At programmable intervals, Time Out will gray out your screen so that you can’t click on anything until the timer runs out. You are supposed to use that time to look up from the computer, stretch, or even take a ten-minute break to recharge.

This is one of my favorite health aids ever, because it is so easy to use. It’s free, and you can skip a given break if you want to. (You can also keep using keyboard commands even during the breaks, so long as you don’t click with the mouse.) So there’s no rigid constraints you have to obey, just a self-imposed structure to remind you to take care of yourself.

Some experimentation will be necessary to see what works best for you. The default settings are to have a ten-minute break every hour, with short breaks every ten minutes or so, which I found too disruptive. For a long time, the Time Out software languished on my hard drive, unused. Once I was clued into the benefits of standing, I remembered Time Out and reprogrammed it so that now I get 20-second breaks every half hour, and 20-minute breaks every two hours. This works for me, and it feels really good to stand up and stretch out my back when I’ve been working hard. I’ve noticed that I feel more alert and energized since I started doing this as well.

And now, permit me a short digression into current politics (not normally a focus of this blog). It’s exciting that a lot of people are getting into this whole topic; still, we need more. Especially since our health care system is increasingly funded with government money, the truth is that our personal health is now a public matter. Therefore, it seems obvious that the government should be mandating that employers take steps to get their workers to stand up more. Considering the dramatic health benefits, such measures as public subsidies for standing desks should be reasonable. On the flip side, there would have to be penalties of some kind for companies that insist on being somnolent and sedentary, instead of standing up as good citizens should.

Of course, it is true that some industries have an easier time getting their workers to stand up than others. Indeed, it may be quite burdensome to make some types of workers stand up more (including, of course, the disabled). But an easy way to solve that problem is with a cap-and-trade system, whereby some firms can make dramatic improvements in their sitting-to-standing ratio, and sell “Chair Credits” to other firms having more trouble. One can even imagine having public markets, where investment banks can facilitate the trade of such Chair Credits between companies. The advantages of this approach should be intuitively obvious to the most casual observer.

Fortunately, and in all seriousness, we needn’t wait for anyone to impose behavioral changes on us. All we have to do is put a little effort into restructuring our environment, so that actually developing a standing habit can happen without effort. That way, we can conserve our precious stores of willpower and use them for other things, even as we enjoy our improving health.

The Social Effects of Weapon Technology (and How to Use in Writing)

22 Friday Jun 2012

Posted by in Better Fantasy, History, Military, Politics, State Formation, War, Weapons, Writing

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Mao said that power flows from the barrel of a gun.  He also said (and this is less remembered) that therefore, the Party must control the gun, and the gun must not control the Party. In other words, the brute facts of violence are important, but so are the social arrangements that control them.

This has been true throughout most of history. Whoever has control of violence will tend to gain political power. In several times and places, the military did not actually rule, but submitted to a legitimate authority—the United States is a decent example of this, or most the the European powers in the last few decades. But more frequently, those with the means of violence make the rules. Recent events in Egypt and elsewhere bear this out, as if we needed more examples.

That said, it makes a huge difference what the state of military technology is. For that will determine if weapons are available to the mass of people, or if they are restricted to only an elite few. Samuel Finer argued that his monumental History of Government (now out of print, and sadly hard to get—inexcusable on the part of Oxford Press in this time of print-on-demand!) that when weapons were widely available, politics tended to feature mass participation and broad egalitarianism, if not outright democracy as in the case of ancient Greek city-states and their hoplites. (Or, one might add, early America.)

On the other hand, when specialized weapons gave advantages to those wealthy enough to afford them, power tended to be concentrated in the hands of a few. For example, the rise of powerful kings in Europe had much to do with the advent of cannon—fantastically expensive to make, requiring a large specialized infrastructure of foundries. Furthermore, with cannon French kings were able to reduce the fortresses of their rebellious nobles, consolidating their own power.

In an earlier age, the armored knight was the undisputed master of the battleground, able to crush unarmored opponents with ease. Thus, power tended to be held by the armored warlords of the feudal era, whose rule depended on their use of naked force. Then the free Swiss militias developed their famous style of pike warfare, which completely nullified the advantages of the knight.

So weapons technology played a large role in politics. When considering a given era, we must ask: how common are weapons? Are they easy to use, or do they require specialized training? Do the wealthy gain any particular advantage from their wealth, or can mass armies defeat them?

This line of argument is one of the bases of the American gun-rights movement (examples can be found here, here, or here, but there are many others). It was also argued by Max Weber that the rise of the Israelite kings (over a previously egalitarian society) was the result of advanced armor, which gave a significant battlefield advantage to those wealthy enough to buy such armor.

This reasoning can also help explain the rise of child soldiers. P.W. Singer argues that child soldiers are now more feasible because small arms are becoming more advanced and lighter. Children can now use weapons effectively on the battlefield in spite of their small size and physical weakness, which has not been true for hundreds of years if ever. As a result, child soldiers are becoming a frequent sight in war-torn areas, since it is relatively easy for a brutal would-be warlord to coerce children into fighting for him (or her, I suppose).

Similar issues are beginning to arise because of drone technology. Robots have often been used for fun by hobbyists; but it is only a matter of time before these can be weaponized, and made available off the shelf. Governments will be unable to stop the spread of drone weapons into the general populace, and the social effects of this shift are likely to be extreme.

******

So as a writer, how do you use this?

First of all, when you are world-building, be careful to compare the state of weapons technology with the social system. Kings and castles are unlikely when no one wears armor or carries swords, or if everyone does. Magic can also be a weapon, in this sense, so if powerful magic is rare, it should generally translate into considerable power (unless there are social reasons otherwise).

You can write an interesting story about social upheavals caused by changing technology. For example, I’m presently messing around with a story where magic previously relied on using decades-long mental training to draw sigils of power in your mind; but then someone figured out how to get the same effects with sigils carved into physical media, such as discs of wood, and then everything collapsed into chaos as weapons technology exploded into the populace.

A great example of this concept is in the early installments of the excellent webcomic Schlock Mercenary. A new means of transport allowing for functional teleportation is rapidly weaponized, and bombs are teleported into government offices across the galaxy. Chaos and war break out on hundreds of planets, and things only die down when scientists figure out how to block teleportation into protected areas.

I hope this piece proves useful. At any rate, it should be food for thought.

Random Fiction Excerpt #2

02 Saturday Jun 2012

Posted by in Military, NaNoWriMo, Politics, Writing

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In honor of Camp NaNoWriMo, here’s the beginning of another of my short stories:

“Well, Mr. Keegan,” Colonel Joe Ramirez said, leaning across his ornate desk intently. “Have you made your decision?”

For answer, Keegan smiled, took out his checkbook, and wrote out a check of $300,000 to the 512th Los Angeles Regiment, LLC. Ramirez grinned in return, took the check, and took out a small cherry insignia box from the cabinet behind hin. The box was empty, except for a pair of captain’s bars. Ramirez slid the box toward Keegan. “Welcome to the regiment, Captain Keegan. We’ll have your stock shares transferred to you by Tuesday.”

“One percent of the regiment’s outstanding equity, you said, sir?” Keegan spoke with a thick Cockney accent. As he spoke, he pinned his new rank insignia to the collars of his blank olive-drab uniform.

“Indeed, Captain.” Ramirez chuckled. “We want to make sure that our officers can share in the unit’s success.”

What’s the Point of English Aristocrats, You Ask?

01 Friday Jun 2012

Posted by in Economics, History, Politics, State Formation

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I was reading an article the other day by Douglas Allen (abstract here)* attempting to explain the bizarre institution of the English aristocracy, between about 1600 and 1900. I say bizarre because to be an aristocrat at that time was to accept on yourself a large list of restrictions that seem utterly mad to the modern ear.

Readers of Jane Austen or other Victoriana will tend to have a fuzzy image of the nobility. They clearly had a lot of money, but it wasn’t clear how. They had a lot of land, but a nobleman’s land holdings were as frequently a source of expense as they were a profit center. They had large estates away from the cities; why? Our wealthy class today typically likes to cluster around cities, not to build manor houses out in the middle of nowhere. What made the English different?

Aristocrats were expected to take large tracts of their land out of production and turn them into public walks. They were also expected to build massive homes which were open to visiting aristocrats at all times, and these homes were not merely away from the cities but even away from the local village. Why?

We see that noblemen were expected to go to the right schools. Less obvious was that these schools were remarkable in deliberately avoiding “practical” learning. Nobility were taught Latin, Greek, literature, and a whole host of topics which were utterly useless at making money. Furthermore, if a would-be aristocrat had made enough money to buy land and aspire to respectability, he was expected to immediately stop practicing his profession. For an aristocrat to engage in business was considered terribly shameful.

Allen’s paper goes on to list several other practices such as dueling or the encumbrance of land, all of them seeming to keep the noble class isolated from the larger society and totally unable to support itself commercially. Allen then proposes that all of this was by design. English nobles, he argues, deliberately made themselves hostages to a particular code of honor and class behavior, in order to transform themselves into the perfect servants of the king.

This takes some explanation. We are used to a world in which things can be measured and monitored. We buy rolls of toilet paper in the store secure in the expectation that they are all the same size and weight. We have soldiers in the battlefield equipped with cameras and radios so that their every move can be tracked. In short, it is very easy to monitor someone’s performance on the job, simply by monitoring the products of the work. The epitome of this is the bureaucracy, where everything is regimented and predictable.

But before the Industrial Revolution, it was hard or impossible to monitor anything. Bureaucracies did not exist. When you sent a ship across the world with trade goods, or when you sent an army of soldiers to the Continent, you had no control over what it did, and no way to be sure that your subordinates would actually work for your interests. In short, the pre-modern world was beset with vicious principal-agent problems.

In such a world, the most valuable resource is trust. You need to know that your subordinates are reliable. But how can you ensure such reliability? Economists will tell you to create a relationship framework in which your agent finds it far more valuable to stay in your good graces, than to betray your trust and profit in the short term. This can be done in a few ways. When possible, you can harshly punish offenders. Additionally, you can use repeated interactions to offer the lucrative carrot of future rewards to those who perform well now.

Allen argues that the nobility was a classic example of such a system. The important thing to know was that nobles made nearly all of their money from salaries, by serving as royal officials—which could earn them ten times as much as the most successful businessman, at the time. They served at the king’s pleasure, and could be dismissed for any reason. To give the threat of such dismissal teeth, noblemen were expected to dissipate their wealth through lavish social events and opulent dwellings. They were also expected to cut off all ties with the non-aristocratic world; that way, if you disgraced yourself and were shunned by “gentlemanly” society, you would be utterly alone.

The expensive educations in impractical subjects, the large homes away from the rest of society, all of these were “hostage capital” that displayed your willingness to play by the rules, because breaking the rules would be so very painful. Knowing Greek would be useless in commerce; it only had value within aristocratic society, so you needed to be sure to fit in.

The upshot was that the kings of England had access to a class of loyal servants—of uncertain ability at times, true, but whose dedication was nearly unquestioned. And it was this class of nobles that won England and Britain its empire.

What made the system of nobility break down? Indeed, at the end the aristocrats gave up power willingly, by passing laws allowing the common people to vote and hold offices, and by breaking up the aristocratic barriers to selling their ancestral lands. Allen argues that not only did the Industrial Revolution make the old problem of trust less of a problem, but it also made membership in the aristocracy less valuable. Now, instead of aristocrats earning far higher salaries than businessmen, it was the reverse; corporate titans bestrode the world, not the nobility. Given that, all the trouble of keeping up appearances simply wasn’t worth it. Far better to jump the aristocratic ship and become an industrialist.

So what’s the point of spending a thousand words talking about English toffs? First, I think it’s cool. Second, the whole episode illustrates the limitless ability of people to come up with social organizations to solve their problems. Third, it also illustrates how everything is dependent on context. Once the context shifts, old institutions become less relevant.

At the same time, though, the example of the English nobility remains for us to learn from. And who knows? There may come a time when the old problems become new again, and old wine can be poured into new glasses.

*Allen, Douglas. 2009. “A Theory of the Pre-Modern British Aristocracy.” Explorations in Economic History, Vol. 46: 299-313.

Random Fiction Excerpt #1

31 Thursday May 2012

Posted by in Politics, Self-Promotion, Writing

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From the current draft of a short story I’m writing:

“Thank you for seeing me on such notice, Congressman,” said the PAC representative, a tall brunette in a sharp business suit, as she swiped her FEC-registered credit card in the reader that a polite staffer had helpfully provided. “I know your time is valuable.”

[UPDATE May 1, 2013: This excerpt is from an early draft of the short story “The Best Congress Money Can Buy,” which is now published in a collection titled The Best Congress Money Can Buy: Stories of Political Possibility. You can read the first story for free here, and then buy it if you like. Enjoy!]