In his book, “The end of certainty”, published in 1994, Paul Kelly argued that the 1980s saw the collapse of an Australian political tradition that had been embraced nearly a century before. This tradition, which he termed the 'Australian settlement', was based on the white Australia policy, trade protectionism, the arbitration system (national wage regulation), government paternalism (extensive government intervention aimed to promote individual well-being) and the belief that Australian prosperity was underwritten by the British Empire.
Kelly suggests that the Australian settlement (also sometimes known as Fortress Australia) was bipartisan – an alliance between the conservative establishment and working class power (p 13).
It seems to me that the Australian settlement had begun to crumble by the late 1960s. By that time many people felt that racial discrimination in immigration was an embarrassment. By then the case for some reductions in protection was being seriously considered within government, even though few people were brave enough to advocate free trade. Faith in Empire had crumbled during the Second World War and had largely been replaced by the American alliance – which (as today) was coming under criticism as a result of poor leadership in Washington.
I think Kelly is correct, however, in pin-pointing the 1980s as the decade in which the greatest part of the Australian settlement collapsed, even though centralised wage fixation was still strong during that decade. Arguably, government paternalism is as strong as ever, even now.
Kelly ended his book by suggesting that the challenge for Australian leadership was “to create a synthesis between the free market rationalism needed for a stronger economy and the social democracy which inspired the original Australian Settlement ideals of justice and egalitarianism”(p 686).
More recently Paul Kelly has announced the arrival of a “new Australian settlement engineered by political leaders during the past generation and a half”. He suggests that “Australia's post-1983 progress is a direct function of national leadership. Hawke, Keating and Howard, despite their differences, are best understood in an historical continuum finding similar solutions to the same problems”. He notes that the policies of the major parties have converged. For example, economic policy has become more pro-market, foreign policy has converged on a strategic outlook of simultaneously deepening ties with East Asia and the US, and immigration policies have converged on acceptance of increased immigration accompanied by a deeper commitment to Australian citizenship (see here).
In a Financial Review article entitled ‘Merging into nothing’, a few weeks later (9 November) Mark Latham, former leader of the Australian Labor Party, took this argument about policy convergence somewhat further. He suggested that the policies that the major parties had put forward in the election campaign then being conducted were virtually indistinguishable. It seems to me that he was not suggesting that the situation could be otherwise – it was the result of an “economic revolution” that had “transformed the nature of politics”.
Latham argues that “the market-based reforms of the Hawke / Keating / Howard governments transformed Australia into an intensely materialistic society. For the first time, working class people were given easy access to finance and capital. They used these economic opportunities to climb the social ladder, leaving behind their working-class suburbs and values”.
I disagree with Latham on the question of whether society has become more materialistic. It seems to me that despite all the talk about the “fair go” ethos the Australian Settlement embodied a mean-spirited form of tribal materialism. The prevailing ethos was that in this country we look after our mates. The “fair go” ethos did not even extend as far the nation’s first inhabitants.
Latham does seem to be right, however, in suggesting that more people have adopted middle-class values over the last couple of decades. He states: “The chief middle-class demand on the political system is ... for more money. It wants governments to get out of the way: cutting taxes, cutting outlays to undeserving welfare recipients and freeing up more resources for the growth of private sector lifestyles”.
It seems to me that the policy convergence on middle class concerns, as identified by Mark Latham, provides the foundation for the new Australian settlement. Whereas the old Australian settlement left room for political battle over income distribution, this has now just about evaporated.
One of the few areas in which major policy divergence could open up within the framework of the new Australian settlement lies in the contradiction, noted by Latham, between middle class demands for lower taxes and for middle class welfare to be retained or increased. Hopefully, before too long, one of the major parties will begin to offer the electorate the choice of reducing middle class welfare in exchange for lower taxes.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Which comes first: self-esteem or achievement?
This is like asking: Which comes first, the chicken or the egg? Before I explain why I think this, I will first attempt to explain why I find myself in sympathy with both views.
Why does it make sense to view self-esteem as a by-product of worthwhile achievement? It seems to me that Adam Smith was correct in suggesting that when we examine our own conduct and pass judgement on it we are adopting the perceptual position of a spectator. If we view our conduct as praiseworthy this can be a source of “inward tranquillity and self-satisfaction” even if no-one actually praises us (“The Theory of Moral Sentiments”, 1759, III,i,6 and III,ii,1 (here). It is not particularly satisfying to be esteemed if we do not feel that we deserve to be favourably thought of.
Why does it make sense to view self-esteem as a prerequisite for worthwhile achievement? Some people grossly under-estimate their own ability. They are believe that they are destined to fail at everything they attempt to do. Such people need to attain a more balanced assessment of their own capability – greater self-esteem - before it is possible for them to achieve anything worthwhile.
So, how can these views be reconciled? It seems to me that the first view concerns achievement - or conduct, behaviour or performance - whereas the second view concerns capability or potential. Nathaniel Branden has no difficulty in combining both views in his definition:
“Self-esteem is the disposition to experience oneself as being competent to cope with the basic challenges of life and of being worthy of happiness. It is confidence in the efficacy of our mind, in our ability to think. By extension, it is confidence in our ability to learn, make appropriate choices and decisions, and respond effectively to change” (see here).
Abraham Maslow saw satisfaction of the need for self esteem - feelings of adequacy, competence and confidence - as necessary for self-actualization. Michael Hall, a psychologist and personal development trainer, argues that both internal factors (meaning-making or conceptualisation) and external factors (performance) are required for self-actualization. He suggests that people who focus excessively on the conceptual side of things tend to become dreamers and to live in fluff land. Those who focus excessively on performance tend to lose sight of the big picture and become compulsives and workaholics. According to Hall, self-actualization emerges in an experience from creating a rich synthesis of meaning-making and performance – from both knowing and doing ( “Unleashed, A guide to your ultimate self-actualization”, here)
Just as eggs come from chickens, people need some self-esteem before they can achieve anything worthwhile. And just as chickens come from eggs, people need ongoing achievement to maintain self-esteem.
Why does it make sense to view self-esteem as a by-product of worthwhile achievement? It seems to me that Adam Smith was correct in suggesting that when we examine our own conduct and pass judgement on it we are adopting the perceptual position of a spectator. If we view our conduct as praiseworthy this can be a source of “inward tranquillity and self-satisfaction” even if no-one actually praises us (“The Theory of Moral Sentiments”, 1759, III,i,6 and III,ii,1 (here). It is not particularly satisfying to be esteemed if we do not feel that we deserve to be favourably thought of.
Why does it make sense to view self-esteem as a prerequisite for worthwhile achievement? Some people grossly under-estimate their own ability. They are believe that they are destined to fail at everything they attempt to do. Such people need to attain a more balanced assessment of their own capability – greater self-esteem - before it is possible for them to achieve anything worthwhile.
So, how can these views be reconciled? It seems to me that the first view concerns achievement - or conduct, behaviour or performance - whereas the second view concerns capability or potential. Nathaniel Branden has no difficulty in combining both views in his definition:
“Self-esteem is the disposition to experience oneself as being competent to cope with the basic challenges of life and of being worthy of happiness. It is confidence in the efficacy of our mind, in our ability to think. By extension, it is confidence in our ability to learn, make appropriate choices and decisions, and respond effectively to change” (see here).
Abraham Maslow saw satisfaction of the need for self esteem - feelings of adequacy, competence and confidence - as necessary for self-actualization. Michael Hall, a psychologist and personal development trainer, argues that both internal factors (meaning-making or conceptualisation) and external factors (performance) are required for self-actualization. He suggests that people who focus excessively on the conceptual side of things tend to become dreamers and to live in fluff land. Those who focus excessively on performance tend to lose sight of the big picture and become compulsives and workaholics. According to Hall, self-actualization emerges in an experience from creating a rich synthesis of meaning-making and performance – from both knowing and doing ( “Unleashed, A guide to your ultimate self-actualization”, here)
Just as eggs come from chickens, people need some self-esteem before they can achieve anything worthwhile. And just as chickens come from eggs, people need ongoing achievement to maintain self-esteem.
Is push-pin addictive?
I ended my last post (Is push-pin as good as poetry?) wondering whether John Stuart Mill would have had a different view of the pleasures offered by sensual and aesthetic pursuits if he had viewed the matter in terms of ongoing choices about the allocation of his time, rather than as a single decision to be made for all time. I had in mind that he might have been able to decide, for example, that this evening he will play push-pin, but tomorrow evening he will go and visit Harriet Taylor and read some poetry by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. (I am assuming that Harriet would have preferred poetry to push-pin.)
Having now thought further about this, I don’t think J.S. would have changed his view if he had framed the issue in terms of a time allocation problem. I think he saw the choice between sensual and aesthetic pleasures as path dependent. In other words, J.S. thought that if he went too frequently down the path to the push-pin parlour (or wherever they played that game) rather than up the path that leads to Harriet’s place of poetry, he would eventually forget how to find Harriet’s place.
Mill saw intellectual tastes as being closely linked to high aspirations and noble feelings. In “Utilitarianism” he wrote:
“Capacity for the nobler feelings is in most natures a very tender plant, easily killed, not only by hostile influences, but by mere want of sustenance and in the majority of young persons it speedily dies away if the occupations to which their position in life has devoted them, and the society into which it has thrown them, are not favourable to keeping that higher capacity in exercise” (here).
He went on to argue that people who do not exercise that higher capacity “addict themselves to inferior pleasures”. According to Mill, this means that they do not “deliberately prefer” these “inferior pleasures”.
As I wrote earlier I know very little about push-pin, but I am prepared to accept that it could be slightly addictive. Similarly, poetry could also be slightly addictive. It is difficult for me to accept, however, that anyone could become addicted to either push-pin or poetry to the extent that they would lose their capacity for rational choice. (Interestingly, but beside the point, the poet Coleridge - whom J.S. admired - claimed that his famous poem ‘Kubla Khan’ was inspired by a dream that was induced by use of opium, a highly addictive activity).
Would J.S. still have argued that those “addicted” to inferior pleasures do not deliberately prefer them had he had the opportunity to read what Gary Becker wrote much later about rational addiction? In brief, Becker argues that people choose to consume addictive products because they believe that the pleasure will outweigh the pain. They then choose to continue consuming these products because they believe that the pain of giving up will be greater than the pain of continuing with the habit.
I suspect J.S. would have a problem, as I do, in accepting that this kind of behaviour is rational. He might have been more impressed, however, by Thomas Schelling’s view that addiction is neither purely rational or irrational – it is about self-control. The dopamine system in our brains wants pleasure and wants it now. The cognitive system is better able to make longer term choices, but it can be slow to operate. That means that if we cultivate the habit of thinking strategically we can make better decisions. For example, if we are worried about becoming addicted to push-pin it is possible to make a commitment to read poetry at a particular time when we think we might otherwise make a spur of the moment decision to play push-pin. (Tim Harford writes beautifully about this kind of thing –although not explicitly about push-pin and poetry - in chapter two of his recent book, ‘The Logic of Life’).
Where this leaves me is with the thought that J.S. Mill was slightly off the mark in identifying the capacity to enjoy aesthetic pleasure as a tender plant that can speedily die away through want of sustenance. Rather, it is the capacity to make strategic decisions affecting our own well-being that is the tender plant that requires constant nourishment. It seems to me that humans could not flourish in an environment where aesthetic pleasures were the only pleasures they were permitted to seek. In order to flourish we need the freedom to make strategic decisions affecting our own well-being.
Having now thought further about this, I don’t think J.S. would have changed his view if he had framed the issue in terms of a time allocation problem. I think he saw the choice between sensual and aesthetic pleasures as path dependent. In other words, J.S. thought that if he went too frequently down the path to the push-pin parlour (or wherever they played that game) rather than up the path that leads to Harriet’s place of poetry, he would eventually forget how to find Harriet’s place.
Mill saw intellectual tastes as being closely linked to high aspirations and noble feelings. In “Utilitarianism” he wrote:
“Capacity for the nobler feelings is in most natures a very tender plant, easily killed, not only by hostile influences, but by mere want of sustenance and in the majority of young persons it speedily dies away if the occupations to which their position in life has devoted them, and the society into which it has thrown them, are not favourable to keeping that higher capacity in exercise” (here).
He went on to argue that people who do not exercise that higher capacity “addict themselves to inferior pleasures”. According to Mill, this means that they do not “deliberately prefer” these “inferior pleasures”.
As I wrote earlier I know very little about push-pin, but I am prepared to accept that it could be slightly addictive. Similarly, poetry could also be slightly addictive. It is difficult for me to accept, however, that anyone could become addicted to either push-pin or poetry to the extent that they would lose their capacity for rational choice. (Interestingly, but beside the point, the poet Coleridge - whom J.S. admired - claimed that his famous poem ‘Kubla Khan’ was inspired by a dream that was induced by use of opium, a highly addictive activity).
Would J.S. still have argued that those “addicted” to inferior pleasures do not deliberately prefer them had he had the opportunity to read what Gary Becker wrote much later about rational addiction? In brief, Becker argues that people choose to consume addictive products because they believe that the pleasure will outweigh the pain. They then choose to continue consuming these products because they believe that the pain of giving up will be greater than the pain of continuing with the habit.
I suspect J.S. would have a problem, as I do, in accepting that this kind of behaviour is rational. He might have been more impressed, however, by Thomas Schelling’s view that addiction is neither purely rational or irrational – it is about self-control. The dopamine system in our brains wants pleasure and wants it now. The cognitive system is better able to make longer term choices, but it can be slow to operate. That means that if we cultivate the habit of thinking strategically we can make better decisions. For example, if we are worried about becoming addicted to push-pin it is possible to make a commitment to read poetry at a particular time when we think we might otherwise make a spur of the moment decision to play push-pin. (Tim Harford writes beautifully about this kind of thing –although not explicitly about push-pin and poetry - in chapter two of his recent book, ‘The Logic of Life’).
Where this leaves me is with the thought that J.S. Mill was slightly off the mark in identifying the capacity to enjoy aesthetic pleasure as a tender plant that can speedily die away through want of sustenance. Rather, it is the capacity to make strategic decisions affecting our own well-being that is the tender plant that requires constant nourishment. It seems to me that humans could not flourish in an environment where aesthetic pleasures were the only pleasures they were permitted to seek. In order to flourish we need the freedom to make strategic decisions affecting our own well-being.
Is push-pin as good as poetry?
In order to answer this question it is necessary to know what push-pin is. From what I have been able to discover it is a game played with pins on the brim of a hat. Armed with that knowledge, however, I still don’t know enough about push-pin to judge whether it might sometimes give me more pleasure than reading poetry. The answer could also depend on the quality of the poetry and my mood at the time.
In The Rationale of Reward, published in 1830, Jeremy Bentham wrote :
“Prejudice apart, the game of push-pin is of equal value with the arts and sciences of music and poetry. If the game of push-pin furnish more pleasure, it is more valuable than either” (here).
Anyone who has studied a small amount of economics would know what Bentham was talking about. Whether pushpin is as good as poetry depends on an individual’s tastes.
John Stuart Mill noted that Bentham could not bear to hear anyone speak in his presence of good and bad taste: “He thought it an insolent piece of dogmatism in one person to praise or condemn another in a matter of taste”. With obvious relish, Mill contradicts this view of his god-father by asserting that people’s likings and dislikings are “full of the most important inferences as to every point of their character”. A person’s tastes “show him to be wise or a fool, cultivated or ignorant, gentle or rough, sensitive or callous ...” and so on (see here).
Picking up a similar theme in “Utilitarianism”, Mill writes:
“It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied. And if the fool or the pig are of a different opinion, it only because they only know their side of the question. The other party to the comparison knows both sides” (here).
When I first read that about 40 years ago, I wrote in the margin: “interpersonal comparisons of utility?” What I meant was: ‘How could Mill know what pleasure a satisfied pig or fool might feel?’
However, I now think Mill had a point. You have to experience pleasures before you can compare them. You have to read enough poetry to gain an understanding of the pleasure that other people obtain from reading poetry before you can judge whether this pleasure exceeds the pleasure you could obtain from alternative activities. The same is true of all cultural pursuits. The implications for education of children should be obvious.
I like to think of J.S. Mill as the great defender of individual liberty who asserted that:
“Such are the differences among human beings in their sources of pleasure ... that unless there is a corresponding diversity in their modes of life, they neither obtain their fair share of happiness, nor grow to the mental, moral and aesthetic stature of which their nature is capable”.
That was what Mill wrote in “On Liberty” (here). In writing Utilitarianism, however, he had other things on his mind. In that context he was not willing to consider the possibility that anyone who had knowledge of both bodily pleasures, which he describes as “the lower pleasures”, and mental pleasures, which he describes as “the higher pleasures”, could ever view the former as superior to the latter. The most he was prepared to concede was that people who appreciated the “intrinsic superiority” of the higher pleasures could occasionally be tempted to “postpone them to the lower”.
I wonder whether Mill would have reached a different conclusion if he had framed the question as being about the allocation of time to different activities. Within that context he might have been able to appreciate that it is not necessary to decide whether the pleasure to be gained from poetry always exceeds the pleasure that can be obtained from a good meal or playing sport. The issue is not about being tempted to pursue lower pleasures. It is about obtaining balance in one’s life.
Postscript:
Since writing this I have read what Henry Hazlitt had to say on the subject ("The Foundations of Morality", 1998). Hazlitt suggests that the discovery of marginal-utility economics supplies the solution: "Bentham's dictum becomes defensible if amended to read: Marginal satisfaction being equal, a unit of pushpin is as good as a unit of poetry". However, I doubt whether that explanation would have satisfied Mill. See my next post: Is push-pin addictive.
Postscript 2: May 2010
I have now written a related post on the potential contribution of happiness research to the question of whether push-pin is as good as poetry.
In The Rationale of Reward, published in 1830, Jeremy Bentham wrote :
“Prejudice apart, the game of push-pin is of equal value with the arts and sciences of music and poetry. If the game of push-pin furnish more pleasure, it is more valuable than either” (here).
Anyone who has studied a small amount of economics would know what Bentham was talking about. Whether pushpin is as good as poetry depends on an individual’s tastes.
John Stuart Mill noted that Bentham could not bear to hear anyone speak in his presence of good and bad taste: “He thought it an insolent piece of dogmatism in one person to praise or condemn another in a matter of taste”. With obvious relish, Mill contradicts this view of his god-father by asserting that people’s likings and dislikings are “full of the most important inferences as to every point of their character”. A person’s tastes “show him to be wise or a fool, cultivated or ignorant, gentle or rough, sensitive or callous ...” and so on (see here).
Picking up a similar theme in “Utilitarianism”, Mill writes:
“It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied. And if the fool or the pig are of a different opinion, it only because they only know their side of the question. The other party to the comparison knows both sides” (here).
When I first read that about 40 years ago, I wrote in the margin: “interpersonal comparisons of utility?” What I meant was: ‘How could Mill know what pleasure a satisfied pig or fool might feel?’
However, I now think Mill had a point. You have to experience pleasures before you can compare them. You have to read enough poetry to gain an understanding of the pleasure that other people obtain from reading poetry before you can judge whether this pleasure exceeds the pleasure you could obtain from alternative activities. The same is true of all cultural pursuits. The implications for education of children should be obvious.
I like to think of J.S. Mill as the great defender of individual liberty who asserted that:
“Such are the differences among human beings in their sources of pleasure ... that unless there is a corresponding diversity in their modes of life, they neither obtain their fair share of happiness, nor grow to the mental, moral and aesthetic stature of which their nature is capable”.
That was what Mill wrote in “On Liberty” (here). In writing Utilitarianism, however, he had other things on his mind. In that context he was not willing to consider the possibility that anyone who had knowledge of both bodily pleasures, which he describes as “the lower pleasures”, and mental pleasures, which he describes as “the higher pleasures”, could ever view the former as superior to the latter. The most he was prepared to concede was that people who appreciated the “intrinsic superiority” of the higher pleasures could occasionally be tempted to “postpone them to the lower”.
I wonder whether Mill would have reached a different conclusion if he had framed the question as being about the allocation of time to different activities. Within that context he might have been able to appreciate that it is not necessary to decide whether the pleasure to be gained from poetry always exceeds the pleasure that can be obtained from a good meal or playing sport. The issue is not about being tempted to pursue lower pleasures. It is about obtaining balance in one’s life.
Postscript:
Since writing this I have read what Henry Hazlitt had to say on the subject ("The Foundations of Morality", 1998). Hazlitt suggests that the discovery of marginal-utility economics supplies the solution: "Bentham's dictum becomes defensible if amended to read: Marginal satisfaction being equal, a unit of pushpin is as good as a unit of poetry". However, I doubt whether that explanation would have satisfied Mill. See my next post: Is push-pin addictive.
Postscript 2: May 2010
I have now written a related post on the potential contribution of happiness research to the question of whether push-pin is as good as poetry.
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