The Ludwig von Mises Institute presents The Libertarian Tradition, an audio series with
Jeff Rigenbach.
The mid-1970s, meaning, let us say, the five-year period encompassing the years 1973, 74, 75,
76, and 77, was a heady time for the modern American libertarian movement.
To those of us who were involved back then, it seemed we were on the verge of a major
breakthrough.
The first book on the libertarian movement to be brought out by a major mainstream publisher,
Jerome Tucciulli's radical libertarianism, had appeared in 1970.
In 1973, it was joined by two more such books, David Friedman's The Machinery of Freedom
and Murray Rothbard's For a New Liberty.
That same year, Harry Brown's How I Found Freedom in an Unfree World became a major
national bestseller.
A year later, in 1974, Robert Nozick's Anarchy, State and Utopia became a major national bestseller
and the winner of the National Book Award for Non-Fiction.
Also in 1974, an American science fiction novel was published that was recognized almost
at once as a major classic of libertarian science fiction.
The novel was The Dispossessed, an ambiguous utopia by Ursula K. Le Guin.
Now I should acknowledge immediately that Le Guin is not our kind of libertarian, and
this isn't just the way I see it, this is the way she sees it too, or at least it's
the way she saw it in 1975, a year after the original publication of The Dispossessed.
A great many people in the world of the dispossessed, you see, are followers of a political philosopher
called Odo, who died many years before the time of the novel.
As followers of Odo, they are Odonians, and practitioners of Odonianism.
Odonianism, Le Guin wrote in 1975, is anarchism, not the bomb-in-the-pocket stuff, which is
Terrorism, whatever name it tries to dignify itself with, not the social Darwinist economic
libertarianism of the far right, but anarchism, as prefigured in early Daoist thought and
expounded by Percy Shelley and Peter Kropotkin, Emma Goldman and Paul Goodman.
Anarchism's principal target is the authoritarian state, capitalist or socialist.
Its principal moral practical theme is cooperation, solidarity, mutual aid.
It is the most idealistic, and to me the most interesting, of all political theories.
You did catch that reference to the social Darwinist economic libertarianism of the far
right, didn't you?
That's us.
Oh, I know it's not really us.
We're not social Darwinists.
Our libertarianism is more than just economic and doesn't need any scare quotes, and we're
not on the right at all, much less the far right.
But social Darwinist economic libertarians of the far right is how Ursula K. Le Guin
sees us, or at least how she saw us 35 years ago, when she was herself 46 years old and
at the height of her long and distinguished career.
Le Guin was born Ursula Krober on October 21, 1929 in Berkeley, the daughter of an anthropology
professor at the University of California and his writer wife.
She was in the same graduating class at Berkeley High School with Philip K. Dick, the class
of 47, though they never knew each other during those years.
She went off to Radcliffe, then Columbia, where she studied French and Italian and Renaissance
History and Literature, and earned a BA and an MA. After a couple of semesters of taking classes
toward a PhD, she won a Fulbright Fellowship to study in Europe for an academic year. On the trip
over aboard ship, she met another Fulbright Fellow bound for France, a young historian named Charles
Le Guin. They were married a few months later in Paris. Ursula Krober Le Guin was 24 years old.
In 1958, Charles Le Guin accepted a teaching job at Portland State College, now Portland
State University in Oregon, and he and Ursula K. Le Guin settled down into a home life that
must have seemed very comfortable and familiar to her, a home life in which dad went off
to teach at the local college every day while mom stayed home and wrote.
There were four kids knocking around the house when she was a girl growing up in Berkeley,
There were three knocking around the Portland house during the 1960s, otherwise the situations
were pretty similar.
There was another difference though, and a crucial one.
The difference was in what mom stayed home and wrote.
In Berkeley it was non-fiction, mostly on topics in psychology or anthropology.
In Portland it was fiction, some fantasy, some science fiction, some realistic fiction
set in an imaginary Central European country called Orsinia.
At least one of her works set in Orsinia would probably be of at least passing interest to
libertarian readers.
The novel Malafrina, published in 1979, tells the tragic tale of a passionate young liberal
in early 19th century Orsinia who is too early with his revolutionary message and sees his
His hopes and dreams crushed by a state not much inclined to put up with his propagandizing
in favor of limits on its power.
But it was her science fiction and fantasy that ultimately made Ursula Le Guin's reputation
as a fiction writer, and it is her 1974 science fiction novel, The Dispossessed, an ambiguous
utopia, that is, to this day, not only one of her two most famous works, but the work
Work of Hers Most Likely to Interest Modern Libertarians of Our Sort.
In The Dispossessed, the action takes place in a two-planet system.
Each planet is, in effect, the other planet's moon.
The larger of these two planets, Eurus, is a world much like the Earth we know, divided
among a number of competing governments, the best of which permit private property ownership
and a relatively free market, though subject to heavy taxation.
The smaller planet, Anares, is a desert world, rich in minerals and well worth mining, but
a harsh environment for human habitation.
For the past 200 plus years, Anares has, however, been populated by humans, Odonian colonists
from Urus and their descendants, people who were, in effect, expelled from Urus by governments
Eurasians afraid they might be undermined by the Odonian Revolution.
As the novel opens, there are some 20 million humans living on Anares.
One of them is a physicist, Chevec, who starts out as conventional, even priggish in his
thinking as any individual reared on either of the two planets.
When an adolescent friend suggests that perhaps what they hear about Euras on Anares is not
not necessarily the whole truth, that perhaps they are being propagandized by the bureaucracy
called the PDC, for Production and Distribution Coordination, the bureaucracy that serves
as the government any resident of Anares would assure you doesn't exist there.
Chevec is shocked, he indignantly defends the PDC, but his mind has been open to crack
against His Better Judgment, and the rest of the novel is, in a sense, the story of
the further opening of Shevek's mind.
Ultimately, it opens so far that it lets in not only the truth about the PDC and anarchism
on his home planet, but also the truth about Eurus, which he discovers for himself when
he becomes the first resident of Anares to set foot on its sister planet in more than
150 years.
In the end, Scheveck learns that the truth is more ambiguous and nuanced than he had
ever realized, and that choosing between the utopian society in which he grew up and the
evil propertarian society on Urus is, after all, not so easy as he had always supposed
it would be.
Le Guin fearlessly and accurately depicts the poverty that any libertarian of our sort
knows must be the prevailing condition in any society at all resembling the one on an
R.A.S., a society that has to struggle along without private property ownership and without
money to facilitate productive exchange.
Le Guin, of course, gives no sign that she sees anything in the social system on an R.A.S.
that might account for the poverty there.
She seems to think that this poverty is caused by poor soil, brutal weather, lack of easily
Accessible Fresh Water and so forth. She seems to think that Eurus is rich and
Anares is poor because Eurus is rich in certain natural resources which Anares
lacks. Of course, the opposite is true as well, though Le Guin never seems to see
certain of the implications of this fact. Similarly, she never seems to see how
anomalous it is that the bureaucrats in the PDC on Anares should choose among
The same cannot be said for the society depicted in another classic libertarian science fiction
novel published in the mid-1970s, Samuel R. Delaney's Triton, An Ambiguous Heterotopia,
which first appeared in print in February 1976.
Delaney told an interviewer ten years later that,
I believe I read the Dispossessed somewhere either between the first draft of Triton and
the second, or perhaps between the second and the third.
Was I halfway through the second when a copy of Le Guin's book from Harper and Row reached
me in London by mail?
Having read The Dispossessed, Delaney conceived the idea of changing a few things here and
there in his own partially finished novel, and clarifying a few things here and there
that Le Guin's book directed me to think about.
When I first looked through The Dispossessed, it occurred to me that the two books generated
an interesting dialogue with each other.
My added subtitle was an attempt to put the two novels clearly into a dialogue I felt
was already implied.
The action in Triton takes place mainly on Triton, a satellite of Neptune that has been
populated for several generations by colonists from Earth and their descendants, as have
a number of other satellites of the outer planets of our solar system.
At one point, a resident of Earth falls into conversation with Sam and Bron, residents
of Tethys, Triton's biggest city.
They're always telling on the news about all those hundreds of political parties you have
on each satellite out where you guys are from, the earthling says.
They're not hundreds, Sam said, sipping his broth, only about 30 to 37, depending on which
satellite you're on.
And when you have an election, none of them ever wins?
Bron watched Sam decide to laugh.
No, they all win.
are governed for the term by the governor of whichever party you vote for.
They all serve office simultaneously, and you get the various benefits of the platform
your party has been running on.
It makes for competition between the parties, which in our sort of system is both individuating
and stabilizing.
At another point in the novel, another Tethys resident, Charo, expresses a view of taxation
any libertarian of our sort would love to read.
Well, she says, we were brought up to think of taxes as simply a matter of extortion by
the biggest crooks who happen to live nearest to you.
Even if they turn around and say, all right, we'll spend the money on things you can use,
like an army or roads, that just turns it into glorified protection money as far as
we're concerned.
And then there's the section of Tethys that is officially known as the unlicensed sector,
or colloquially, the U.L.
As Delaney explains the concept, at founding each outer satellite city had set aside a
city sector where no law officially held, since as the Mars sociologist who first advocated
it had pointed out, most cities develop of necessity such neighborhoods anyway.
These sectors fulfilled a complex range of functions in the city's psychological, political
and Economic Ecology, problems a few conservative earthbound thinkers feared must come, didn't.
The interface between official law and official lawlessness produced some remarkably stable
unofficial laws throughout the no-law sector.
Minor criminals were not likely to retreat there.
Enforcement agents could enter the U.L. sector as could anyone else, and in the U.L. there
There were no legal curbs on apprehension methods, use of weapons or technological battery.
Those major criminals whose crimes, through the contractual freedom of the place, existed
mainly on paper, found it convenient while there to keep life on the streets fairly safe
and minor crimes at a minimum.
Samuel R. Delaney was born 69 years ago last week, on April Fool's Day 1942 in Harlem.
He grew up there, the son of a prosperous funeral director and a clerk at the New York
Public Library.
He attended the exclusive Dalton School and the Bronx High School of Science, then spent
a brief time at City College before leaving without a degree.
He began publishing science fiction and fantasy in the early 1960s, expanding into memoirs,
literary criticism and mainstream fiction as the years went by.
He began teaching in the late 60s, took his first full-time faculty position at a university
in the 1980s, and since 2001 has been a professor of English and creative writing at Temple
University in Philadelphia.
His ambiguous heterotopia is a heterotopia because, like heterosexual lovemaking, it
embraces opposites.
Opposite sexes, opposite political preferences.
Tethys on Triton is a place, a topia, in which the unlicensed sector exists, where anyone
can do business in any way he or she prefers, and in which services like protection and
justice must be provided by each individual as he or she sees fit, and to the extent that
he or she can do so.
On the other hand, outside the unlicensed sector in Tethys, money and marriage are illegal,
and the State provides all desired goods and services to whomever requests them.
A union of opposites.
As for the ambiguity in Delany's fictional society, that seems to lie in the inability
of either of Triton's opposite social systems to bring happiness to its members, its participants.
Indeed, the overarching theme of Delany's novel seems to be the proposition that individuals
Socialists must find their own happiness and understand that no social system, however
anarchistic or paternalistic, will provide it for them.
Ursula Le Guin seems to have looked at her two societies in the dispossessed in much
the same way, the nominally anarchistic one that is inexorably drifting toward authoritarianism,
and the propertarian one that her protagonist, Chevec, finds so unexpectedly luxurious and
and Comfortable and Inviting.
Shevek's dilemma, at the end of The Dispossessed, is brought about by the need to look within
himself to discover what will best please him, what social arrangements will best comport
with his own personal happiness, something neither social system, no social system, can
possibly provide on its own.
This is Jeff Riggenbach.
The Theory of Money and Credit