The Tragedy of the Commons
Garrett Hardin
At the end of a thoughtful article on the
future of nuclear war, Wiesner and York (1)
concluded that: “Both sides in the arms race
are . . . confronted by the dilemma of steadily
increasing military power and steadily decreasing
national security. It is our considered
professional judgment that this dilemma has no
technical solution. If the great powers continue
to look for solutions in the area of science
and technology only, the result will be to
worsen the situation.”
I would like to focus your attention not
on the subject of the article (national security
in a nuclear world) but on the kind of
conclusion they reached, namely that there
is no technical solution to the problem. An
implicit and almost universal assumption of
discussions published in professional and
semipopular scientific journals is that the
problem under discussion has a technical
solution. A technical solution may be defined
as one that requires a change only in
the techniques of the natural sciences, demanding
little or nothing in the way of
change in human values or ideas of morality.
In our day (though not in earlier times)
technical solutions are always welcome. Because
of previous failures in prophecy, it
takes courage to assert that a desired technical
solution is not possible. Wiesner and
York exhibited this courage; publishing in a
science journal, they insisted that the solution
to the problem was not to be found in
the natural sciences. They cautiously qualified
their statement with the phrase, “It is
our considered professional judgment. . . .”
Whether they were right or not is not the
concern of the present article. Rather, the
concern here is with the important concept
of a class of human problems which can be
called “no technical solution problems,”
and, more specifically, with the identification
and discussion of one of these.
It is easy to show that the class is not a
null class. Recall the game of tick-tacktoe.
Consider the problem, “How can I
win the game of tick-tack-toe?” It is well
known that I cannot, if I assume (in keeping
with the conventions of game theory)
that my opponent understands the game
perfectly. Put another way, there is no
“technical solution” to the problem. I can
win only by giving a radical meaning to
the word “win.” I can hit my opponent
over the head; or I can drug him; or I can
falsify the records. Every way in which I
“win” involves, in some sense, an abandonment
of the game, as we intuitively
understand it. (I can also, of course, openly
abandon the game—refuse to play it.
This is what most adults do.)
The class of “No technical solution
problems” has members. My thesis is that
the “population problem,” as conventionally
conceived, is a member of this class.
How it is conventionally conceived needs
some comment. It is fair to say that most
people who anguish over the population
problem are trying to find a way to avoid
the evils of overpopulation without relinquishing
any of the privileges they now
enjoy. They think that farming the seas or
developing new strains of wheat will solve
the problem—technologically. I try to
show here that the solution they seek
cannot be found. The population problem
cannot be solved in a technical way, any
more than can the problem of winning the
game of tick-tack-toe.
What Shall We Maximize?
Population, as Malthus said, naturally tends
to grow “geometrically,” or, as we would
now say, exponentially. In a finite world
this means that the per capita share of the
world’s goods must steadily decrease. Is ours
a finite world?
A fair defense can be put forward for the
view that the world is infinite; or that we do
not know that it is not. But, in terms of the
practical problems that we must face in the
next few generations with the foreseeable
technology, it is clear that we will greatly
increase human misery if we do not, during
the immediate future, assume that the world
available to the terrestrial human population
is finite. “Space” is no escape (2).
A finite world can support only a finite
population; therefore, population growth
must eventually equal zero. (The case of
perpetual wide fluctuations above and below
zero is a trivial variant that need not be
discussed.) When this condition is met, what
will be the situation of mankind? Specifically,
can Bentham’s goal of “the greatest good
for the greatest number” be realized?
No—for two reasons, each sufficient by
itself. The first is a theoretical one. It is not
mathematically possible to maximize for two
(or more) variables at the same time. This
was clearly stated by von Neumann and
Morgenstern (3), but the principle is implicit
in the theory of partial differential equations,
dating back at least to D’Alembert (1717–
1783).
The second reason springs directly from
biological facts. To live, any organism
must have a source of energy (for example,
food). This energy is utilized for two purposes:
mere maintenance and work. For
man, maintenance of life requires about
1600 kilocalories a day (“maintenance calories”).
Anything that he does over and
above merely staying alive will be defined
as work, and is supported by “work calories”
which he takes in. Work calories are
used not only for what we call work in
common speech; they are also required for
all forms of enjoyment, from swimming
and automobile racing to playing music
and writing poetry. If our goal is to maximize
population it is obvious what we
must do: We must make the work calories
per person approach as close to zero as
possible. No gourmet meals, no vacations,
no sports, no music, no literature, no art.
. . . I think that everyone will grant, without
argument or proof, that maximizing
population does not maximize goods.
Bentham’s goal is impossible.
In reaching this conclusion I have made
the usual assumption that it is the acquisition
of energy that is the problem. The appearance
of atomic energy has led some to
question this assumption. However, given an
infinite source of energy, population growth
still produces an inescapable problem. The
problem of the acquisition of energy is replaced
by the problem of its dissipation, as
J. H. Fremlin has so wittily shown (4). The
arithmetic signs in the analysis are, as it
were, reversed; but Bentham’s goal is still
unobtainable.
The optimum population is, then, less
than the maximum. The difficulty of defining
the optimum is enormous; so far as I
know, no one has seriously tackled this
problem. Reaching an acceptable and stable
solution will surely require more than one
generation of hard analytical work—and
much persuasion.
We want the maximum good per person;
but what is good? To one person it is wilderness,
to another it is ski lodges for thousands.
To one it is estuaries to nourish ducks
for hunters to shoot; to another it is factory
land. Comparing one good with another is,
we usually say, impossible because goods are
incommensurable. Incommensurables cannot
be compared.
The author is professor of biology, University of California,
Santa Barbara. This article is based on a presidential
address presented before the meeting of the Pacific Division
of the American Association for the Advancement
of Science at Utah State University, Logan, 25 June
1968.
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Theoretically this may be true; but in real
life incommensurables are commensurable.
Only a criterion of judgment and a system of
weighting are needed. In nature the criterion
is survival. Is it better for a species to be small
and hideable, or large and powerful? Natural
selection commensurates the incommensurables.
The compromise achieved depends
on a natural weighting of the values of the
variables.
Man must imitate this process. There is
no doubt that in fact he already does, but
unconsciously. It is when the hidden decisions
are made explicit that the arguments
begin. The problem for the years ahead is to
work out an acceptable theory of weighting.
Synergistic effects, nonlinear variation, and
difficulties in discounting the future make
the intellectual problem difficult, but not
(in principle) insoluble.
Has any cultural group solved this practical
problem at the present time, even on an
intuitive level? One simple fact proves that
none has: there is no prosperous population
in the world today that has, and has had for
some time, a growth rate of zero. Any people
that has intuitively identified its optimum
point will soon reach it, after which its
growth rate becomes and remains zero.
Of course, a positive growth rate might
be taken as evidence that a population is
below its optimum. However, by any reasonable
standards, the most rapidly growing
populations on earth today are (in general)
the most miserable. This association (which
need not be invariable) casts doubt on the
optimistic assumption that the positive
growth rate of a population is evidence that
it has yet to reach its optimum.
We can make little progress in working
toward optimum population size until we
explicitly exorcize the spirit of Adam Smith
in the field of practical demography. In
economic affairs, The Wealth of Nations
(1776) popularized the “invisible hand,” the
idea that an individual who “intends only
his own gain,” is, as it were, “led by an
invisible hand to promote . . . the public
interest” (5). Adam Smith did not assert
that this was invariably true, and perhaps
neither did any of his followers. But he
contributed to a dominant tendency of
thought that has ever since interfered with
positive action based on rational analysis,
namely, the tendency to assume that decisions
reached individually will, in fact, be
the best decisions for an entire society. If
this assumption is correct it justifies the
continuance of our present policy of laissezfaire
in reproduction. If it is correct we can
assume that men will control their individual
fecundity so as to produce the optimum
population. If the assumption is not correct,
we need to reexamine our individual freedoms
to see which ones are defensible.
Tragedy of Freedom in a
Commons
The rebuttal to the invisible hand in population
control is to be found in a scenario
first sketched in a little-known pamphlet (6)
in 1833 by a mathematical amateur named
William Forster Lloyd (1794–1852). We
may well call it “the tragedy of the commons,”
using the word “tragedy” as the philosopher
Whitehead used it (7): “The essence
of dramatic tragedy is not unhappiness.
It resides in the solemnity of the remorseless
working of things.” He then goes on to say,
“This inevitableness of destiny can only be
illustrated in terms of human life by incidents
which in fact involve unhappiness. For
it is only by them that the futility of escape
can be made evident in the drama.”
The tragedy of the commons develops in
this way. Picture a pasture open to all. It is
to be expected that each herdsman will try
to keep as many cattle as possible on the
commons. Such an arrangement may work
reasonably satisfactorily for centuries because
tribal wars, poaching, and disease
keep the numbers of both man and beast
well below the carrying capacity of the land.
Finally, however, comes the day of reckoning,
that is, the day when the long-desired
goal of social stability becomes a reality. At
this point, the inherent logic of the commons
remorselessly generates tragedy.
As a rational being, each herdsman seeks
to maximize his gain. Explicitly or implicitly,
more or less consciously, he asks,
“What is the utility to me of adding one
more animal to my herd?” This utility has
one negative and one positive component.
1) The positive component is a function
of the increment of one animal. Since the
herdsman receives all the proceeds from the
sale of the additional animal, the positive
utility is nearly ϩ1.
2) The negative component is a function
of the additional overgrazing created
by one more animal. Since, however, the
effects of overgrazing are shared by all the
herdsmen, the negative utility for any particular
decision-making herdsman is only a
fraction of Ϫ1.
Adding together the component partial
utilities, the rational herdsman concludes
that the only sensible course for him to
pursue is to add another animal to his herd.
And another; and another. . . . But this is the
conclusion reached by each and every rational
herdsman sharing a commons. Therein is
the tragedy. Each man is locked into a system
that compels him to increase his herd
without limit—in a world that is limited.
Ruin is the destination toward which all
men rush, each pursuing his own best interest
in a society that believes in the freedom
of the commons. Freedom in a commons
brings ruin to all.
Some would say that this is a platitude.
Would that it were! In a sense, it was
learned thousands of years ago, but natural
selection favors the forces of psychological
denial (8). The individual benefits as an
individual from his ability to deny the truth
even though society as a whole, of which he
is a part, suffers.
Education can counteract the natural
tendency to do the wrong thing, but the
inexorable succession of generations requires
that the basis for this knowledge be
constantly refreshed.
A simple incident that occurred a few
years ago in Leominster, Massachusetts,
shows bow perishable the knowledge is.
During the Christmas shopping season the
parking meters downtown were covered
with plastic bags that bore tags reading: “Do
not open until after Christmas. Free parking
courtesy of the mayor and city council.” In
other words, facing the prospect of an increased
demand for already scarce space. the
city fathers reinstituted the system of the
commons. (Cynically, we suspect that they
gained more votes than they lost by this
retrogressive act.)
In an approximate way, the logic of the
commons has been understood for a long
time, perhaps since the discovery of agriculture
or the invention of private property in
real estate. But it is understood mostly only
in special cases which are not sufficiently
generalized. Even at this late date, cattlemen
leasing national land on the western ranges
demonstrate no more than an ambivalent
understanding, in constantly pressuring federal
authorities to increase the head count to
the point where overgrazing produces erosion
and weed-dominance. Likewise, the
oceans of the world continue to suffer from
the survival of the philosophy of the commons.
Maritime nations still respond automatically
to the shibboleth of the “freedom
of the seas.” Professing to believe in the
“inexhaustible resources of the oceans,” they
bring species after species of fish and whales
closer to extinction (9).
The National Parks present another instance
of the working out of the tragedy of
the commons. At present, they are open to
all, without limit. The parks themselves are
limited in extent—there is only one Yosemite
Valley—whereas population seems
to grow without limit. The values that visitors
seek in the parks are steadily eroded.
Plainly, we must soon cease to treat the
parks as commons or they will be of no
value to anyone.
What shall we do? We have several options.
We might sell them off as private
property. We might keep them as public
property, but allocate the right to enter
them. The allocation might be on the basis
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of wealth, by the use of an auction system.
It might be on the basis of merit, as defined
by some agreed-upon standards. It might be
by lottery. Or it might be on a first-come,
first-served basis, administered to long
queues. These, I think, are all the reasonable
possibilities. They are all objectionable.
But we must choose—or acquiesce in
the destruction of the commons that we call
our National Parks.
Pollution
In a reverse way, the tragedy of the commons
reappears in problems of pollution. Here it is
not a question of taking something out of the
commons, but of putting something in—
sewage, or chemical, radioactive, and heat
wastes into water; noxious and dangerous
fumes into the air, and distracting and unpleasant
advertising signs into the line of
sight. The calculations of utility are much
the same as before. The rational man finds
that his share of the cost of the wastes he
discharges into the commons is less than the
cost of purifying his wastes before releasing
them. Since this is true for everyone, we are
locked into a system of “fouling our own
nest,” so long as we behave only as independent,
rational, free-enterprisers.
The tragedy of the commons as a food
basket is averted by private property, or
something formally like it. But the air and
waters surrounding us cannot readily be
fenced, and so the tragedy of the commons as
a cesspool must be prevented by different
means, by coercive laws or taxing devices
that make it cheaper for the polluter to treat
his pollutants than to discharge them untreated.
We have not progressed as far with
the solution of this problem as we have with
the first. Indeed, our particular concept of
private property, which deters us from exhausting
the positive resources of the earth,
favors pollution. The owner of a factory on
the bank of a stream—whose property extends
to the middle of the stream, often has
difficulty seeing why it is not his natural
right to muddy the waters flowing past his
door. The law, always behind the times,
requires elaborate stitching and fitting to
adapt it to this newly perceived aspect of the
commons.
The pollution problem is a consequence
of population. It did not much matter how
a lonely American frontiersman disposed
of his waste. “Flowing water purifies itself
every 10 miles,” my grandfather used to
say, and the myth was near enough to the
truth when he was a boy, for there were
not too many people. But as population
became denser, the natural chemical and
biological recycling processes became
overloaded, calling for a redefinition of
property rights.
How To Legislate Temperance?
Analysis of the pollution problem as a function
of population density uncovers a not
generally recognized principle of morality,
namely: the morality of an act is a function of
the state of the system at the time it is performed
(10). Using the commons as a cesspool does
not harm the general public under frontier
conditions, because there is no public, the
same behavior in a metropolis is unbearable.
A hundred and fifty years ago a plainsman
could kill an American bison, cut out only
the tongue for his dinner, and discard the
rest of the animal. He was not in any important
sense being wasteful. Today, with only a
few thousand bison left, we would be appalled
at such behavior.
In passing, it is worth noting that the
morality of an act cannot be determined
from a photograph. One does not know
whether a man killing an elephant or setting
fire to the grassland is harming others
until one knows the total system in which
his act appears. “One picture is worth a
thousand words,” said an ancient Chinese;
but it may take 10,000 words to validate it.
It is as tempting to ecologists as it is to
reformers in general to try to persuade
others by way of the photographic shortcut.
But the essense of an argument cannot
be photographed: it must be presented
rationally—in words.
That morality is system-sensitive escaped
the attention of most codifiers of
ethics in the past. “Thou shalt not . . .” is
the form of traditional ethical directives
which make no allowance for particular
circumstances. The laws of our society follow
the pattern of ancient ethics, and therefore
are poorly suited to governing a complex,
crowded, changeable world. Our epicyclic
solution is to augment statutory law
with administrative law. Since it is practically
impossible to spell out all the conditions
under which it is safe to burn trash in
the back yard or to run an automobile without
smog-control, by law we delegate the
details to bureaus. The result is administrative
law, which is rightly feared for an ancient
reason—Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?—“Who
shall watch the watchers
themselves?” John Adams said that we must
have “a government of laws and not men.”
Bureau administrators, trying to evaluate
the morality of acts in the total system, are
singularly liable to corruption, producing a
government by men, not laws.
Prohibition is easy to legislate (though
not necessarily to enforce); but how do we
legislate temperance? Experience indicates
that it can be accomplished best through the
mediation of administrative law. We limit
possibilities unnecessarily if we suppose that
the sentiment of Quis custodiet denies us the
use of administrative law. We should rather
retain the phrase as a perpetual reminder of
fearful dangers we cannot avoid. The great
challenge facing us now is to invent the
corrective feedbacks that are needed to keep
custodians honest. We must find ways to
legitimate the needed authority of both the
custodians and the corrective feedbacks.
Freedom To Breed Is Intolerable
The tragedy of the commons is involved in
population problems in another way. In a
world governed solely by the principle of
“dog eat dog”—if indeed there ever was such
a world—how many children a family had
would not be a matter of public concern.
Parents who bred too exuberantly would
leave fewer descendants, not more, because
they would be unable to care adequately for
their children. David Lack and others have
found that such a negative feedback demonstrably
controls the fecundity of birds (11).
But men are not birds, and have not acted
like them for millenniums, at least.
If each human family were dependent
only on its own resources; if the children of
improvident parents starved to death; if,
thus, overbreeding brought its own “punishment”
to the germ line—then there would
be no public interest in controlling the
breeding of families. But our society is deeply
committed to the welfare state (12), and
hence is confronted with another aspect of
the tragedy of the commons.
In a welfare state, how shall we deal with
the family, the religion, the race, or the
class (or indeed any distinguishable and
cohesive group) that adopts overbreeding as
a policy to secure its own aggrandizement
(13)? To couple the concept of freedom to
breed with the belief that everyone born
has an equal right to the commons is to lock
the world into a tragic course of action.
Unfortunately this is just the course of
action that is being pursued by the United
Nations. In late 1967, some 30 nations
agreed to the following (14):
The Universal Declaration of Human Rights
describes the family as the natural and fundamental
unit of society. It follows that any choice
and decision with regard to the size of the family
must irrevocably rest with the family itself, and
cannot be made by anyone else.
It is painful to have to deny categorically
the validity of this right; denying it, one feels
as uncomfortable as a resident of Salem,
Massachusetts, who denied the reality of
witches in the 17th century. At the present
time, in liberal quarters, something like a
taboo acts to inhibit criticism of the United
Nations. There is a feeling that the United
Nations is “our last and best hope,” that we
shouldn’t find fault with it; we shouldn’t play
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into the hands of the archconservatives.
However, let us not forget what Robert Louis
Stevenson said: “The truth that is suppressed
by friends is the readiest weapon of the enemy.”
If we love the truth we must openly
deny the validity of the Universal Declaration
of Human Rights, even though it is
promoted by the United Nations. We should
also join with Kingsley Davis (15) in attempting
to get Planned Parenthood-World
Population to see the error of its ways in
embracing the same tragic ideal.
Conscience Is Self-Eliminating
It is a mistake to think that we can control
the breeding of mankind in the long run by
an appeal to conscience. Charles Galton
Darwin made this point when he spoke on
the centennial of the publication of his
grandfather’s great book. The argument is
straightforward and Darwinian.
People vary. Confronted with appeals to
limit breeding, some people will undoubtedly
respond to the plea more than others.
Those who have more children will produce
a larger fraction of the next generation than
those with more susceptible consciences.
The difference will be accentuated, generation
by generation.
In C. G. Darwin’s words: “It may well be
that it would take hundreds of generations
for the progenitive instinct to develop in
this way, but if it should do so, nature would
have taken her revenge, and the variety
Homo contracipiens would become extinct
and would be replaced by the variety Homo
progenitivus” (16).
The argument assumes that conscience
or the desire for children (no matter which)
is hereditary—but hereditary only in the
most general formal sense. The result will
be the same whether the attitude is transmitted
through germ cells, or exosomatically,
to use A. J. Lotka’s term. (If one
denies the latter possibility as well as the
former, then what’s the point of education?)
The argument has here been stated in the
context of the population problem, but it
applies equally well to any instance in
which society appeals to an individual exploiting
a commons to restrain himself for
the general good—by means of his conscience.
To make such an appeal is to set up
a selective system that works toward the
elimination of conscience from the race.
Pathogenic Effects of
Conscience
The long-term disadvantage of an appeal to
conscience should be enough to condemn it;
but has serious short-term disadvantages as
well. If we ask a man who is exploiting a
commons to desist “in the name of conscience,”
what are we saying to him? What
does he hear? —not only at the moment but
also in the wee small hours of the night
when, half asleep, he remembers not merely
the words we used but also the nonverbal
communication cues we gave him unawares?
Sooner or later, consciously or subconsciously,
he senses that he has received two communications,
and that they are contradictory:
(i) (intended communication) “If you
don’t do as we ask, we will openly condemn
you for not acting like a responsible citizen”;
(ii) (the unintended communication) “If you
do behave as we ask, we will secretly condemn
you for a simpleton who can be
shamed into standing aside while the rest of
us exploit the commons.”
Everyman then is caught in what Bateson
has called a “double bind.” Bateson and
his co-workers have made a plausible case
for viewing the double bind as an important
causative factor in the genesis of schizophrenia
(17). The double bind may not
always be so damaging, but it always endangers
the mental health of anyone to whom
it is applied. “A bad conscience,” said
Nietzsche, “is a kind of illness.”
To conjure up a conscience in others is
tempting to anyone who wishes to extend
his control beyond the legal limits. Leaders
at the highest level succumb to this temptation.
Has any President during the past
generation failed to call on labor unions to
moderate voluntarily their demands for
higher wages, or to steel companies to honor
voluntary guidelines on prices? I can
recall none. The rhetoric used on such occasions
is designed to produce feelings of
guilt in noncooperators.
For centuries it was assumed without
proof that guilt was a valuable, perhaps
even an indispensable, ingredient of the
civilized life. Now, in this post-Freudian
world, we doubt it.
Paul Goodman speaks from the modern
point of view when he says: “No good has
ever come from feeling guilty, neither intelligence,
policy, nor compassion. The guilty
do not pay attention to the object but only
to themselves, and not even to their own
interests, which might make sense, but to
their anxieties” (18).
One does not have to be a professional
psychiatrist to see the consequences of anxiety.
We in the Western world are just
emerging from a dreadful two-centurieslong
Dark Ages of Eros that was sustained
partly by prohibition laws, but perhaps more
effectively by the anxiety-generating mechanism
of education. Alex Comfort has told
the story well in The Anxiety Makers (19); it
is not a pretty one.
Since proof is difficult, we may even
concede that the results of anxiety may
sometimes, from certain points of view, be
desirable. The larger question we should ask
is whether, as a matter of policy, we should
ever encourage the use of a technique the
tendency (if not the intention) of which is
psychologically pathogenic. We hear much
talk these days of responsible parenthood;
the coupled words are incorporated into the
titles of some organizations devoted to birth
control. Some people have proposed massive
propaganda campaigns to instill responsibility
into the nation’s (or the
world’s) breeders. But what is the meaning
of the word responsibility in this context? Is
it not merely a synonym for the word conscience?
When we use the word responsibility
in the absence of substantial sanctions
are we not trying to browbeat a free man in
a commons into acting against his own
interest? Responsibility is a verbal counterfeit
for a substantial quid pro quo. It is an
attempt to get something for nothing.
If the word responsibility is to be used
at all, I suggest that it be in the sense
Charles Frankel uses it (20). “Responsibility,”
says this philosopher, “is the product
of definite social arrangements.” Notice
that Frankel calls for social arrangements—not
propaganda.
Mutual Coercion
Mutually Agreed upon
The social arrangements that produce responsibility
are arrangements that create
coercion, of some sort. Consider bank-robbing.
The man who takes money from a
bank acts as if the bank were a commons.
How do we prevent such action? Certainly
not by trying to control his behavior solely
by a verbal appeal to his sense of responsibility.
Rather than rely on propaganda we
follow Frankel’s lead and insist that a bank
is not a commons; we seek the definite
social arrangements that will keep it from
becoming a commons. That we thereby infringe
on the freedom of would-be robbers
we neither deny nor regret.
The morality of bank-robbing is particularly
easy to understand because we accept
complete prohibition of this activity. We are
willing to say “Thou shalt not rob banks,”
without providing for exceptions. But temperance
also can be created by coercion.
Taxing is a good coercive device. To keep
downtown shoppers temperate in their use of
parking space we introduce parking meters
for short periods, and traffic fines for longer
ones. We need not actually forbid a citizen
to park as long as he wants to; we need
merely make it increasingly expensive for
him to do so. Not prohibition, but carefully
biased options are what we offer him. A
Madison Avenue man might call this persuasion;
I prefer the greater candor of the
word coercion.
SCIENCE ⅐ VOL. 162 ⅐ 13 DECEMBER 1968 ⅐ www.sciencemag.org1243–1248
Coercion is a dirty word to most liberals
now, but it need not forever be so. As with
the four-letter words, its dirtiness can be
cleansed away by exposure to the light, by
saying it over and over without apology or
embarrassment. To many, the word coercion
implies arbitrary decisions of distant
and irresponsible bureaucrats; but this is not
a necessary part of its meaning. The only
kind of coercion I recommend is mutual
coercion, mutually agreed upon by the majority
of the people affected.
To say that we mutually agree to coercion
is not to say that we are required to enjoy it,
or even to pretend we enjoy it. Who enjoys
taxes? We all grumble about them. But we
accept compulsory taxes because we recognize
that voluntary taxes would favor the
conscienceless. We institute and (grumblingly)
support taxes and other coercive devices
to escape the horror of the commons.
An alternative to the commons need not
be perfectly just to be preferable. With real
estate and other material goods, the alternative
we have chosen is the institution of
private property coupled with legal inheritance.
Is this system perfectly just? As a
genetically trained biologist I deny that it is.
It seems to me that, if there are to be differences
in individual inheritance, legal possession
should be perfectly correlated with biological
inheritance—that those who are biologically
more fit to be the custodians of
property and power should legally inherit
more. But genetic recombination continually
makes a mockery of the doctrine of “like
father, like son” implicit in our laws of legal
inheritance. An idiot can inherit millions,
and a trust fund can keep his estate intact.
We must admit that our legal system of
private property plus inheritance is unjust—
but we put up with it because we are not
convinced, at the moment, that anyone has
invented a better system. The alternative of
the commons is too horrifying to contemplate.
Injustice is preferable to total ruin.
It is one of the peculiarities of the warfare
between reform and the status quo that it is
thoughtlessly governed by a double standard.
Whenever a reform measure is proposed it is
often defeated when its opponents triumphantly
discover a flaw in it. As Kingsley
Davis has pointed out (21), worshippers of
the status quo sometimes imply that no reform
is possible without unanimous agreement,
an implication contrary to historical
fact. As nearly as I can make out, automatic
rejection of proposed reforms is based on one
of two unconscious assumptions: (i) that the
status quo is perfect; or (ii) that the choice
we face is between reform and no action; if
the proposed reform is imperfect, we presumably
should take no action at all, while we
wait for a perfect proposal.
But we can never do nothing. That
which we have done for thousands of years
is also action. It also produces evils. Once
we are aware that the status quo is action,
we can then compare its discoverable advantages
and disadvantages with the predicted
advantages and disadvantages of the
proposed reform, discounting as best we can
for our lack of experience. On the basis of
such a comparison, we can make a rational
decision which will not involve the unworkable
assumption that only perfect systems
are tolerable.
Recognition of Necessity
Perhaps the simplest summary of this analysis
of man’s population problems is this:
the commons, if justifiable at all, is justifiable
only under conditions of low-population
density. As the human population has
increased, the commons has had to be abandoned
in one aspect after another.
First we abandoned the commons in
food gathering, enclosing farm land and
restricting pastures and hunting and fishing
areas. These restrictions are still not complete
throughout the world.
Somewhat later we saw that the commons
as a place for waste disposal would
also have to be abandoned. Restrictions on
the disposal of domestic sewage are widely
accepted in the Western world; we are still
struggling to close the commons to pollution
by automobiles, factories, insecticide
sprayers, fertilizing operations, and atomic
energy installations.
In a still more embryonic state is our
recognition of the evils of the commons in
matters of pleasure. There is almost no restriction
on the propagation of sound waves
in the public medium. The shopping public
is assaulted with mindless music, without its
consent. Our government is paying out billions
of dollars to create supersonic transport
which will disturb 50,000 people for
every one person who is whisked from coast
to coast 3 hours faster. Advertisers muddy
the airwaves of radio and television and
pollute the view of travelers. We are a long
way from outlawing the commons in matters
of pleasure. Is this because our Puritan
inheritance makes us view pleasure as something
of a sin, and pain (that is, the pollution
of advertising) as the sign of virtue?
Every new enclosure of the commons involves
the infringement of somebody’s personal
liberty. Infringements made in the distant
past are accepted because no contemporary
complains of a loss. It is the newly
proposed infringements that we vigorously
oppose; cries of “rights” and “freedom” fill
the air. But what does “freedom” mean?
When men mutually agreed to pass laws
against robbing, mankind became more free,
not less so. Individuals locked into the logic
of the commons are free only to bring on
universal ruin once they see the necessity of
mutual coercion, they become free to pursue
other goals. I believe it was Hegel who said,
“Freedom is the recognition of necessity.”
The most important aspect of necessity
that we must now recognize, is the necessity
of abandoning the commons in breeding.
No technical solution can rescue us from
the misery of overpopulation. Freedom to
breed will bring ruin to all. At the moment,
to avoid hard decisions many of us are
tempted to propagandize for conscience and
responsible parenthood. The temptation
must be resisted, because an appeal to independently
acting consciences selects for the
disappearance of all conscience in the long
run, and an increase in anxiety in the short.
The only way we can preserve and nurture
other and more precious freedoms is by
relinquishing the freedom to breed, and
that very soon. “Freedom is the recognition
of necessity”—and it is the role of education
to reveal to all the necessity of abandoning
the freedom to breed. Only so, can
we put an end to this aspect of the tragedy
of the commons.
REFERENCES
______________
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