Gonick the Great

Monday, October 12th, 2009

Larry Gonick — whom Bryan Caplan calls Gonick the Great — has finished his “magisterial” five-volume cartoon history of the universe:

Gonick’s masterpiece has many virtues: It’s full of facts and wisdom, horror and humor. It treats the Great Butchers and Useless Idiots of history with the respect they deserve. It’s multi-cultural in the good sense: He impartially covers a wide variety of human cultures, and spares no sacred cows. He’s a master of the Entertaining Aside, as well as what Tullock calls the “open secrets” of history.

Gonick’s one-two punch of pictures and words isn’t just a gimmick; it makes it much easier to remember the facts of history. If we really wanted kids (or adults!) to learn history, we’d throw away our textbooks, and teach Gonick. Everyone from kindergarteners to Ph.D.s can enjoy his cartoon histories — they’re The Simpsons of history. Seriously — I read these books to my sons when they were in kindergarten, and they couldn’t get enough.

They could be better though:

Gonick barely mentions the three amazing and almost unprecedented facts of the last two centuries: The doubling of life expectancy, the six-fold increase in population, and (by conservative estimates) the ten-fold increase in per-capita income. Sure, he talks a little about industrialization, new technology, and cheaper stuff. But he doesn’t notice that a billion human beings now live better than the emperors of Rome.

None of this is a political point — Brad DeLong will tell you the same thing. But I confess that I’m also unhappy with Gonick’s leftist economics. He makes snide references to free trade, without even considering that free trade might really be an important reason for rapid progress. And he writes about 19th-century socialists’ critique of industrialization as if they had a point. They didn’t. The socialists were lashing out at the greatest thing that ever happened to mankind — and when they seized power, they proved to be the kind of bloodthirsty tyrants Gonick exposed in his earlier volumes.

The source of his blind spot, perhaps, is his historian’s sense that “the more things change, the more they stay the same.” Gonick’s so used to conquerors’ phony rationalizations that he assumes that free-market policies are just the latest window dressing for plunder.

A Pretty Useless Prophet

Monday, October 12th, 2009

Cringely describes himself as a pretty useless prophet:

Back in 1994, I proposed to my employer at the time that we start a strictly online publication to cover just Microsoft. We called the proposed e-magazine MicroSquish and took it so far as to make a pilot issue and do some very interesting market research.

The World Wide Web was only a couple years old at the time, and I was unconvinced that it presented a suitable delivery platform in an era of dial-up Compuserve accounts and 2400 bps modems. So MicroSquish was conceived as a downloadable publication to be distributed by e-mail in the new PDF format then called Acrobat. It looked just like a print magazine, right down to the 75 percent ad-edit ratio.

And just to be cool, we built into the technology the ability to report back data from readers. We could not only track who read each issue, but how many times it was read and which stories or ads. We figured this data of who read what and in what order would be very useful to advertisers and ad agencies. But we were wrong.

Ad agencies 15 years ago didn’t want to know whether or not their ads had actually been read, they told us. This was simply because if an advertiser discovered that few, if any, people were actually reading their ad on page 113, the company might just pull that ad and save their money, taking revenue away from the ad agency in the process.

The entire ability to sell an ad-edit ratio of 75 percent (which was needed to qualify for printed distribution by second class mail — yet another buggy whip in a digital era) was based on this deliberate ignorance. Ad agencies and publications alike knew that many — even most — advertising dollars were simply wasted, but it wasn’t in their interest to admit that, so they didn’t.

The Price Is Definitely Not Right

Monday, October 12th, 2009

The price is definitely not right, Bill Waddell says, when you use standard costs — which spread fixed costs out — to set prices:

Let’s say [you] go through some sort of annual budgeting exercise and take your $24,000 fixed costs and spread them over the hours needed to meet the forecast on whatever machine is the capacity constraint in the value stream, then roll them back up into standard costs for each unit that is run on the machine. You come up with some number and that standard cost number gets goosed up to cover SG&A and the profit goal into a price.

Now let’s say manufacturer B, your competitor across town, has the same machine constraining the same value stream set up and the same annual fixed costs. The only difference is that his forecast is higher than yours. He goes through the exact same standard cost and pricing arithmetic and comes up with his numbers. For absolutely no good reason other than a more optimistic forecast, his costs and prices are lower than yours.

Guess what? Your low forecast and his high forecast will very probably become self-fulfilling prophecies because your prices are higher — even though your basic cost structure is exactly the same. When you build fixed expenses into standard costs, this condistion can easily spiral out of control. Your standard costs keep going up and up because you keep trying to charge customers for more and more capacity they are not using.

What’s wrong with "employees"?

Sunday, October 11th, 2009

After hearing ordinary workers referred to as team members, cast members, associates, etc., you may ask, What’s wrong with employees?

The introduction to Charles Nordoff’s The Communistic Societies of the United States (1875) reminds us that even employees began as a euphemism:

Though it is probable that for a long time to come the mass of mankind in civilized countries will find it both necessary and advantageous to labor for wages, and to accept the condition of hired laborers (or, as it has absurdly become the fashion to say, employés), every thoughtful and kind-hearted person must regard with interest any device or plan which promises to enable at least the more intelligent, enterprising, and determined part of those who are not capitalists to become such, and to cease to labor for hire.

The Inner Ring

Saturday, October 10th, 2009

C.S. Lewis opens his talk on The Inner Ring — which we might call the inner circle — with a few lines from Tolstoy’s War and Peace:

When Boris entered the room, Prince Andrey was listening to an old general, wearing his decorations, who was reporting something to Prince Andrey, with an expression of soldierly servility on his purple face. “Alright. Please wait!” he said to the general, speaking in Russian with the French accent, which he used when he spoke with contempt.

The moment he noticed Boris he stopped listening to the general who trotted imploringly after him and begged to be heard, while Prince Andrey turned to Boris with a cheerful smile and a nod of the head. Boris now clearly understood — what he had already guessed — that side by side with the system of discipline and subordination which were laid down in the Army Regulations, there existed a different and a more real system — the system which compelled a tightly laced general with a purple face to wait respectfully for his turn while a mere captain like Prince Andrey chatted with a mere second lieutenant like Boris.

Boris decided at once that he would be guided not by the official system but by this other unwritten system.

The desire to be “in” is one of the great permanent mainsprings of human action, Lewis says, and he warns his audience at King’s College, University of London against it:

It would be polite and charitable, and in view of your age reasonable too, to suppose that none of you is yet a scoundrel. On the other hand, by the mere law of averages (I am saying nothing against free will) it is almost certain that at least two or three of you before you die will have become something very like scoundrels. There must be in this room the makings of at least that number of unscrupulous, treacherous, ruthless egotists. The choice is still before you: and I hope you will not take my hard words about your possible future characters as a token of disrespect to your present characters.

And the prophecy I make is this. To nine out of ten of you the choice which could lead to scoundrelism will come, when it does come, in no very dramatic colors. Obviously bad men, obviously threatening or bribing, will almost certainly not appear. Over a drink or a cup of coffee, disguised as a triviality and sandwiched between two jokes, from the lips of a man, or woman, whom you have recently been getting to know rather better and whom you hope to know better still — just at the moment when you are most anxious not to appear crude, or naif, or a prig — the hint will come. It will be the hint of something which is not quite in accordance with the technical rules of fair play: something which the public, the ignorant, romantic public, would never understand: something which even the outsiders in your own profession are apt to make a fuss about: but something, says your new friend, which “we” — and at the word “we” you try not to blush for mere pleasure — something “we always do.”

And you will be drawn in, if you are drawn in, not by desire for gain or ease, but simply because at that moment, when the cup was so near your lips, you cannot bear to be thrust back again into the cold outer world. It would be so terrible to see the other man’s face — that genial, confidential, delightfully sophisticated face-turn suddenly cold and contemptuous, to know that you had been tried for the Inner Ring and rejected. And then, if you are drawn in, next week it will be something a little further from the rules, and next year something further still, but all in the jolliest, friendliest spirit. It may end in a crash, a scandal, and penal servitude: it may end in millions, a peerage and giving the prizes at your old school. But you will be a scoundrel.

The Cold Eye

Friday, October 9th, 2009

Sinclair Lewis possessed the Cold Eye, and this, John Derbyshire argues, made him more conservative than he would have admitted:

The one organ indispensable to a social novelist — much more so than, for example, a brain — is the Cold Eye: the ability to see one’s characters in all their folly and self-absorption, from a detached point of view — and yet with cynicism kept always at bay by some tenderness and a little envy. In that respect, at least, Sinclair Lewis was a great social novelist, which is of course a much higher thing than a mere satirist. The Cold Eye is everywhere in his books: he could not be sentimental if he wanted to — which, of course, he didn’t.

The passage I always remember in Main Street is the one where Carol decides that:

[I]n the history of the pioneers was the panacea for Gopher Prairie, for all of America. We have lost their sturdiness, she told herself. We must restore the last of the veterans to power and follow them on the backward path to the integrity of Lincoln, to the gaiety of settlers dancing in a saw-mill … This smug in-between town, which had exchanged ‘Money Musk’ for phonographs grinding out ragtime, it was neither the heroic old nor the sophisticated new. Couldn’t she somehow, some yet unimagined how, turn it back to simplicity?

She therefore seeks out the Perrys, elderly survivors from the pioneer days when the town was founded.

Their heroism and simplicity, however, seen up close, repel her. The Perrys are, in fact, narrow-minded fundamentalists who believe that: “What we need is to get back to the true Word of God, and a good sound belief in hell, like we used to have it preached to us … All socialists ought to be hanged … People who make more than ten thousand a year or less than eight hundred are wicked …”

Carol’s hero-worship dwindled to polite nodding, and the nodding dwindled to a desire to escape, and she went home with a headache.

There is endless scope for sentimentality in a passage like that one: sentimentality of all sorts, from Old Left romanticizing of the hardihood and courage of common folk to New Left tongue-clicking about the wickedness of white Christians pushing aside colorful, soulful aborigines. Lewis succumbs to none of the available temptations. He shows the pioneers as they undoubtedly were, and sends his sentimental heroine home with a headache.

As a child of the Midwest himself, Lewis knew of course that the nation could not have been made without the dull-witted, slightly fanatical sturdiness of the pioneers. He lets you know it, too. This is the America that is, that we must somehow come to terms with, as Carol eventually comes to terms, somehow, with her town and her marriage, as George Babbitt comes to terms with his city and his work. For those of us who think that wishful thinking is the defining characteristic of the Left, Sinclair Lewis is a friendly spirit.

Get Out of My Building

Friday, October 9th, 2009

Steve Blank was an experienced marketer when he learned how little he knew:

Engineering was discussing how sophisticated the graphics portion of our computer should be, debating cost and time-to-market tradeoffs of arcane details such as double-buffering, 24 versus 32-bits of color, alpha channels, etc. I was pleased with myself that not only did I understand the issues, but I also had an opinion about what we should build. All of a sudden I decided that I hadn’t heard the sound of my own voice in a while so I piped up: “I think our customers will want 24-bits of double-buffered graphics.”

Silence descended across the conference table. The CEO turned to me and asked “What did you say?” Thinking he was impressed with my mastery of the subject as well as my brilliant observation, I repeated myself and embellished my initial observation with all the additional reasons why I thought our customers would want this feature. I was about to get an education that would last a lifetime.

Picture the scene: the entire company (all 15 of us) are present. For this startup we had assembled some of the best and brightest hardware and software engineers in the computer industry. My boss, the CEO, had just come from a string of successes at Convergent Technologies, Intel and Digital Equipment, names that at that time carried a lot of weight. Some of us had worked together in previous companies; some of us had just started working together for the first time.

I thought I was bright, aggressive and could do no wrong as a marketer. I loved my job and I was convinced I was god’s gift to marketing. Now in a voice so quiet it could be barely heard across the conference table our CEO turns to me and says, “That’s what I thought you said. I just wanted to make sure I heard it correctly.” It was the last sentence I heard before my career trajectory as a marketer was permanently changed.

At the top of his lungs he screamed, “You don’t know a damn thing about what these customers need! You’ve never talked to anyone in this market, you don’t know who they are, you don’t know what they need, and you have no right to speak in any of these planning meetings.” I was mortified with the dressing down in front of my friends as well as new employees I barely knew. Later my friends told me my face went pale.

He continued yelling, “We have a technical team assembled in this room that has more knowledge of scientific customers and scientific computers than any other startup has ever had. They’ve been talking to these customers since before you were born, and they have a right to have an opinion. You are a disgrace to the marketing profession and have made a fool of yourself and will continue to do so every time you open your mouth. Get out of this conference room, get out of this building and get out of my company; you are wasting all of our time.”
[...]
As I got up to leave the room, the CEO said, “I want you out of the building talking to customers; find out who they are, how they work, and what we need to do to sell them lots of these new computers.” Motioning to our VP of Sales, he ordered: “Go with him and get him in front of customers, and both of you don’t come back until you can tell us something we don’t know.”

And he was smiling.

My career as marketer had just begun.

How Useful Are You?

Friday, October 9th, 2009

According to this technology quiz, I am “certainly a technologically useful human”:

Starting from the year 0, you might be able to advance civilization to the 20th century.

That’s why you should let me into your post-apocalyptic commune; I can bootstrap society.

A Library to Last Forever

Friday, October 9th, 2009

Sergey Brins argues for a library to last forever:

Because books published before 1923 are in the public domain, I am able to view them easily.

But the vast majority of books ever written are not accessible to anyone except the most tenacious researchers at premier academic libraries. Books written after 1923 quickly disappear into a literary black hole. With rare exceptions, one can buy them only for the small number of years they are in print. After that, they are found only in a vanishing number of libraries and used book stores. As the years pass, contracts get lost and forgotten, authors and publishers disappear, the rights holders become impossible to track down.

Inevitably, the few remaining copies of the books are left to deteriorate slowly or are lost to fires, floods and other disasters. While I was at Stanford in 1998, floods damaged or destroyed tens of thousands of books. Unfortunately, such events are not uncommon — a similar flood happened at Stanford just 20 years prior. You could read about it in The Stanford-Lockheed Meyer Library Flood Report, published in 1980, but this book itself is no longer available.

Because books are such an important part of the world’s collective knowledge and cultural heritage, Larry Page, the co-founder of Google, first proposed that we digitize all books a decade ago, when we were a fledgling startup. At the time, it was viewed as so ambitious and challenging a project that we were unable to attract anyone to work on it. But five years later, in 2004, Google Books (then called Google Print) was born, allowing users to search hundreds of thousands of books. Today, they number over 10 million and counting.
[...]
In the Insurance Year Book 1880-1881, which I found on Google Books, Cornelius Walford chronicles the destruction of dozens of libraries and millions of books, in the hope that such a record will “impress the necessity of something being done” to preserve them. The famous library at Alexandria burned three times, in 48 B.C., A.D. 273 and A.D. 640, as did the Library of Congress, where a fire in 1851 destroyed two-thirds of the collection.

I hope such destruction never happens again, but history would suggest otherwise. More important, even if our cultural heritage stays intact in the world’s foremost libraries, it is effectively lost if no one can access it easily. Many companies, libraries and organizations will play a role in saving and making available the works of the 20th century. Together, authors, publishers and Google are taking just one step toward this goal, but it’s an important step. Let’s not miss this opportunity.

Of course, his real goal is to present Google’s legal dealings in the best possible light:

This agreement aims to make millions of out-of-print but in-copyright books available either for a fee or for free with ad support, with the majority of the revenue flowing back to the rights holders, be they authors or publishers.

Some have claimed that this agreement is a form of compulsory license because, as in most class action settlements, it applies to all members of the class who do not opt out by a certain date. The reality is that rights holders can at any time set pricing and access rights for their works or withdraw them from Google Books altogether. For those books whose rights holders have not yet come forward, reasonable default pricing and access policies are assumed. This allows access to the many orphan works whose owners have not yet been found and accumulates revenue for the rights holders, giving them an incentive to step forward.

Others have questioned the impact of the agreement on competition, or asserted that it would limit consumer choice with respect to out-of-print books. In reality, nothing in this agreement precludes any other company or organization from pursuing their own similar effort. The agreement limits consumer choice in out-of-print books about as much as it limits consumer choice in unicorns. Today, if you want to access a typical out-of-print book, you have only one choice — fly to one of a handful of leading libraries in the country and hope to find it in the stacks.

Obama wins Nobel Peace Prize

Friday, October 9th, 2009

I assumed this was a joke when I first read it: Obama wins Nobel Peace Prize.

The moral codpiece as status marker

Thursday, October 8th, 2009

Scott Locklin discusses the moral codpiece as status marker:

In 21st-century America, life is soft enough that our over-educated upper-middle classes are able to do away with moral codes that serve a purpose, and adopt more byzantine ones which demonstrate their freedom from concern. I see this as a form of conspicuous consumption, a status marker for viewing themselves above the lower orders. A hundred years ago, wealthy men who were above the concerns of the peasantry would sprout preposterous top hats and hire a servant. Fifty years ago, if you had a job among the gentle people, you’d wear a nice suit. Nowadays, that sort of “I have arrived” directness is seen as gauche; membership in “polite” society is reserved for people who display the proper contempt for reality in manner and folkway. After all, if “you have arrived,” you need not believe in those outdated things the lower orders believe in by necessity. Flouting ancient moral codes is the postmodern version of the proverbial rich guy lighting cigars with $20 bills.

But this also means it’s not quite clear to arrivistes what the correct morals and folkways to believe in are exactly.

The moral codpiece as status marker certainly was confusing for me. I am, after all, a mere bumpkin from a suburb of a military base. The morality of my hometown taught me that personal bravery is a moral virtue and pacifism or cowardice is foolishness. My hometown taught me that sexual morality was better than personal decadence, that thrift, self-reliance, honesty, patriotism, and industry were better than debt, sponging off others, ideology, political correctness, and consumerism. And in my day, we didn’t have Christian Lander’s webpage to tell us how to behave. The main status marker I was able to discern about the higher social class was they feel entitled to cross the street into moving traffic, like important people do in college towns. This proved to be a helpful sort of Rosetta Stone for me. Looking both ways before you cross the street is a sort of basic moral teaching about the laws of physics — thanks mom! Denial of these laws proves you are an important person above concern. While crossing the street into moving traffic is a violation of moral law with potentially immediate consequences, the same principle can be applied to moral law that operates on a longer time scale. The most fashionable ways of doing things consists of denying basic strategies for survival. Armed with this basic piece of information, one is able to derive all the other moral laws the gentle classes use to distinguish themselves from pipe fitters.

When human beings decided to build complex societies in the agricultural age, priesthoods arose to codify and pass on moral culture to the populace at large. In modern America, that priesthood consists of what you learn in graduate school and the New York Times editorial page. Higher education is the ultimate status marker with a certain class of people these days. The idea that “brains” will make a better world is deeply ingrained. The problem, of course, with higher education is that it is a world removed from consequence. You can believe any fool thing you like if you’re an academic. In modern Academia, you’re more likely to be rewarded if you say something completely silly. This sort of status climbing by moral absurdity probably originated in the status insecurity of post WW-II academia. How do you distinguish yourself from the older, more cultured guy in the cube next to you once you have tenure? You most likely can’t compete with him on an intellectual level, so it’s best to count coup on his moral enlightenment — and the more removed your belief system is from reality, common sense, and tradition, the better. Mencken meant something a little different when he referred to the “booboisie.” But his term fits the status-seeking moral codpiece class better than any other large group of people in America today. What else can you call someone who distinguishes himself from the Lumpenproletariat by crossing the road into traffic?

The modern booboisie belief system is presently self-reinforcing, in that it creates social problems that booboisie experts will claim to have solutions for. Once the booboisie did away with traditional sexual morality and gender roles, for example, it created a need for an entire class of jobs and expertise. Legions of social workers, professional feminists, jailers, policemen, doctors, and psychologists are now needed to deal with the consequences of the sensible, ancient moral imprecations against passing yourself around like a tray of tea biscuits. People who espouse such things gain status with their moral codpiece people, and they gain status in training legions of lesser experts needed to deal with this sort of idiocy. Once the booboisie did away with the sensible puritan values of thrift and self-control, thus cementing their place among the anointed cool ones, legions of financial engineers, social workers, debt counselors, lawyers, and other professionals become necessary to deal with the national consequences of acting foolishly. Once the ancient god of “Terminus” is slain, vast multitudes of “diversity instructors,” policemen, court translators, and other such professional trouble-making trouble-fixers become necessary. Training such people is probably pleasant work, much like being a revival tent preacher. Once you establish yourself as an extremely moral person who doesn’t believe in patriotism, borders, or nationality, you’re a lot more likely to find work in this line. What boggles my mind is that nobody notices that these industries were not necessary back in the dark ages when people believed in common sense ideas like borders and nationality.

The problem with all this, of course, is the Broken Window Fallacy of economics. You can’t run a nation whose economy is based on breaking windows then repairing them — not for long anyway. We’ve done fairly well in supporting large numbers of harmful and useless people via vast increases in the productivity of a small group of people. Ultimately though, the moral codpiece of the booboisie is a bubble. Reality is that which doesn’t go away when you stop believing in it.

The Origins of Anaheim

Thursday, October 8th, 2009

Mencius Moldbug recommended Charles Nordhoff’s The Communistic Societies of the United States (1875) to anyone interested in seasteading, but what caught my eye was the story of the origin of Anaheim, California — now home to Disneyland — which, it turns out, was not a communistic society but a co-op:

In 1857 several Germans in San Francisco proposed to certain of their countrymen to purchase by a united effort a tract of land in the southern part of the state, cause it to be subdivided into small farms, and procure these to be fenced, planted with grape-vines and trees, and otherwise prepared for the settlement of the owners. After some deliberation, fifty men set their names to an agreement to buy eleven hundred and sixty-five acres of land, at two dollars per acre; securing water-rights for irrigation with the purchase, because in that region the dry summers necessitate artificial watering.

The originator of the enterprise, Mr. Hansen, of Los Angeles, a German lawyer and civil engineer, a man of culture, was appointed by his associates to select and secure the laud; and eventually he became the manager of the whole enterprise, up to the point where it lost its co-operative features and the members took possession of their farms.

The Anaheim associates consisted in the main of mechanics, and they had not a farmer among them. They were all Germans. There were several carpenters, a gunsmith, an engraver, three watch-makers, four blacksmiths, a brewer, a teacher, a shoemaker, a miller, a hatter, a hotel – keeper, a bookbinder, four or five musicians, a poet (of course), several merchants, and some teamsters. It was a very heterogeneous assembly; they had but one thing in common: they were all, with one or two exceptions, poor. Very few had more than a few dollars saved; most of them had neither cash nor credit enough to buy even a twenty-acre farm; and none of them were in circumstances which promised them more than a decent living.

The plan of the society was to buy the land, and thereupon to cause it to be subdivided and improved as I have said by monthly contributions from the members, who were meantime to go on with their usual employments in San Francisco. It was agreed to divide the eleven hundred and sixty-five acres into fifty twenty-acre tracts, and fifty village lots, the village to stand in the centre of the purchase. Fourteen lots were also set aside for school-houses and other public buildings.

With the first contribution the land was bought. The fifty associates had to pay about fifty dollars each for this purpose. This done, they appointed Mr. Hansen their agent to make the projected improvements; and they, it may be supposed, worked a little more steadily and lived a little more frugally in San Francisco. He employed Spaniards and Indians as laborers; and what he did was to dig a ditch seven miles long to lead water out of the Santa Anna Kiver, with four hundred and fifty miles of subsidiary ditches and twenty-five miles of feeders to lead the water over every twenty-acre lot. This done, he planted on every farm eight acres of grapes and some fruit-trees; and on the whole place over five miles of outside willow fencing and thirty-five miles of inside fencing. Willows grow rapidly in that region, and make a very close fence, yielding also fire-wood sufficient for the farmer’s use.

All this had to be done gradually, so that the payments for labor should not exceed the monthly contributions of the associates, for they had no credit to use in the beginning, and contracted no debts.

When the planting was done, the superintendent cultivated and pruned the grape-vines and trees, and took care of the place; and it was only when the vines were old enough to bear, and thus to yield an income at once, that the proprietors took possession.

At the end of three years the whole of this labor had been performed and paid for; the vines were ready to bear a crop, and the division of lots took place. Each shareholder had at this time paid in all twelve hundred dollars; a few, I have been told, fell behind somewhat, but were helped by some of their associates who were in better circumstances. If we suppose that most of the members had no money laid by at the beginning of the enterprise, it would appear that during three years they saved, over and above their living, somewhat less than eight dollars a week — a considerable sum, but easily possible at that time in California to a good and steady mechanic.

It was inevitable that some of the small farms should bo more valuable than others; and there was naturally a difference, too, in the village lots. To make the division fairly, all the places were viewed, and a schedule was made of them, on which each was assessed at a certain price, varying from six hundred to fourteen hundred dollars, according to its situation, the excellence of its fruit, etc. They were then distributed by a kind of lottery, with the condition that if the farm drawn was valued in the schedule over twelve hundred dollars, he who drew it should pay into the general treasury the surplus; if it was valued at less, he who drew it received from the common fund a sum which, added to the value of his farm, equaled twelve hundred dollars. Thus A, who drew a fourteen-hundred-dollar lot, paid two hundred dollars; B, who drew a six-hundred-dollar lot, received six hundred dollars additional in cash.

The property was by this time in such a state of improvement that money could readily be borrowed on the security of these small farms. Moreover, when the drawing was completed, there was a sale of the effects of the company — horses, tools, etc.; and on closing all the accounts and balancing the books, it was found that there remained a sum of money in the general treasury sufficient to give each of the fifty shareholders a hundred dollars in cash as a final dividend.

When this was done, the co-operative feature of the enterprise disappeared. The members, each in his own good time, settled on their farms. Lumber was bought at wholesale, and they began to build their houses. Fifty families make a little town in any of our Western States, suflncently important to attract traders. The village lots at once acquired a value, and some were sold to shopkeepers. A school was quickly established; mechanics of different kinds came down to Anaheim to work for wages; and the colonists in fact gathered about them at once many conveniences which, if they had settled singly, they could not have commanded for some years.

They were still poor, however. But few of them were able even to build the slight house needed in that climate without running into debt. For borrowed money they had to pay from two to three per cent. per month interest. Moreover, none of them were farmers; aud they had to learn to cultivate, prune, and take care of their vines, to make wine, and to make a vegetable garden. They had from the first to raise and Bell enough for their own support, and to pay at least the heavy interest on their debts. It resulted that for some years longer they had a struggle with a burden of debt, and had to live with great economy. But the people told me that they had always enough to eat, a good school for their children, and the immense satisfaction of being their own employers. ” We had music and dancing in those days; and, though we were very poor, I look back to those times as the happiest in all our lives,” said one man to me.

And they gradually got out of debt. Not one failed. The sheriff has never sold out any one in Anaheim; and only one of the original settlers had left the place when I saw it in 1872. They have no destitute people. Their vineyards give them. an annual clear income of from two hundred and fifty to one thousand dollars over and above their living expenses; their children have enjoyed the advantages of a social life and a fairly good school. And, finally, the property which originally cost them an average of one thousand and eighty dollars for each, is now worth from five to ten thousand dollars. They live well, and feel themselves as independent as though they were millionaires.

Now this was an enterprise which any company of prudent mechanics, with a steadfast purpose, might easily imitate. The founders of Anaheim were not picked men. I have been told that they were not without jealousies and suspicions of each other and of their manager, which made his life often uncomfortable, and threatened the life of the undertaking. They had grumblers, fault-finders, and wiseacres in their company, as probably there will be among any company of fifty men; and I have heard that Mr. Ilansen, who was their able and honest manager, declared that he would rather starve than conduct another such enterprise.

They were extremely fortunate to have for their manager an honest, patient, and sufficiently able man ; and such a leader is indeed the corner-stone of an undertaking of this kind. Granted a man sufficiently wise and honest, in whom his associates can have confidence, and there needs only moderate patience, perseverance, and economy, in the body of the company, to achieve success. Nor could I help noticing, when I was at Anaheim, that the experience and training which men gain in carrying to success — no matter through what struggles of poverty, self-denial, and debt — such an enterprise, has an admirable effect on their characters. The men of Anaheim were originally a very common class of mechanics; they have stepped up to a higher plane of life — they are masters of their own lives. This result — namely, the training of families in the hardier virtues, their elevation to a higher moral as well as physical standard — is certainly not to be overlooked by any thoughtful man.

Jules Verne: Father of Science Fiction?

Thursday, October 8th, 2009

Reviewing four of Jules Verne’s later works leads John Derbyshire to question his title as the father of science fiction:

You could make a case, in fact, that Verne was not really interested in science at all, so much as in technology. Certainly he was a magpie for curious technological and biological factoids, and had a fairly good head for numbers. The imaginative side of science, though — the side that actually propels science forward — was a thing he had no acquaintance with. I am sure he would have been baffled by Vladimir Nabokov’s remark about “the precision of the artist, the passion of the scientist.” The great pure-science advances of his time made no impression on him. I do not know of anything in Verne’s works that would be different if Maxwell’s equations had not appeared in 1865. About Darwin’s theory he seems to have been utterly confused, employing a sort of crude pop-Darwinism in books like The Aerial Village (1901), yet declaring himself “entirely opposed to the theories of Darwin” in an interview he gave at about the same time. This was not likely an opposition based on religious belief. Though he always, when asked, described himself as a “believer,” this was part of the bourgeois façade that Verne chose to live behind after some youthful dabbling in la vie Bohème. He actually gave up attending Mass in the 1880s, and probably died an agnostic.

Though a gifted storyteller, in fact, at any rate in his early years, Verne had not sufficient powers of imagination, or scientific understanding, to rise to true science fiction. Here the contrast with his much younger (by 39 years) competitor for the “father of science fiction” title, H.G. Wells, is most striking. The concept of a fourth dimension, for example, first took mathematical form in the 1840s. By 1870 it was, according to the mathematician Felix Klein, part of “the general property of the advancing young generation [of mathematicians].” Wells grasped the imaginative power of this notion and used it to produce one of the greatest of all science fiction stories, The Time Machine (1895). Verne never used it at all, and would probably have found the notion of a fourth dimension absurd.

Gifted storytellers are rare enough that we should welcome them when they appear, especially if they have a strong appeal to young readers. The Mollweide projection of the earth’s surface in my grandfather’s 1922 Atlas-Guide to the British Commonwealth of Nations and Foreign Countries still has a jagged blue-ballpoint line running across it, made by the hand of a fascinated small boy circa 1956, to trace the progress of Phileas Fogg on his eighty-day journey. The point of science fiction, however, is something more than to offer engrossing narrative. As was stated by Kingsley Amis in his survey of the field (New Maps of Hell, 1960), science fiction exists “to arouse wonder, terror, and excitement” in its readers. Verne rose to this challenge once or twice in his early books, but it is not met, nor even glimpsed, in these four Wesleyan translations of later works.

“Father of Tech Fi” is a title for which I would rate Verne a very strong contender. One of the blurbs on the Wesleyan edition of The Mighty Orinoco, taken from the New York Times, calls Verne “the Michael Crichton of the 19th century,” which I think is very precise, and conveys the same idea. True science fiction, however, began twenty years later than the masterpieces of Verne’s youth, and on the other side of the English Channel. I can’t say that I found it visible at all in these four later books of Verne’s.

Borderlands Syndrome

Thursday, October 8th, 2009

Borderlands Syndrome is the rabid nationalism of non-native sons:

One unifying biographical factor in the lives of Napoleon, Stalin and Hitler is what some historians have termed “borderland syndrome” — they were born and raised on the outer fringes of the nation they ultimately ruled. France’s Napoleon was Italian, Russia’s Stalin was Georgian, and Germany’s Hitler was Austrian. Yet something about their childhood experiences living on the borders of greater empires, and becoming non-native sons of these greater empires, turned them into driven men. And ultimately, each was taken by a fanatical and irrational patriotism which drove them to conquer and dominate other nations and peoples.

Other examples include Alexander the Great, Theodor Herzl, and Sun Yat Sen.

Muppet Show Pitch

Thursday, October 8th, 2009

Behold the original Muppet Show pitch reel — which failed to sell the show to any American networks:

This edited version, which appears on the season-one DVD set, lacks the punch-line:

After Leo’s powerful speech, Kermit appears from off-screen against a CBS logo and shrugs, “What the hell was that all about?”