By Jonah Goldberg
Friday, May 08, 2020
Social scientists talk a lot about capital—social
capital, political capital, economic capital, intellectual capital, cognitive
capital, financial capital, etc. Financial capital is the easiest to understand
because it just means how much money (or some similar instrument) you, or an
institution, or a country, has access to. Right now, people with lots of
financial capital can weather the economic catastrophe before us much more
easily than people with very little. This is about as far as you can get from a
penetrating insight.
The other forms of capital are more interesting, though.
Imagine you’ve been stranded on a deserted island. If you have lots of
financial capital but no survival training or skills, you are very poor. Once
rescued and brought back to civilization, you’ll be rich again. Meanwhile, a
stranded person with lots of survival training will be rich on the island, even
if he doesn’t have two coins to rub together in the “real world.” I put real
world in quotes, because that is what we call modern society, even though
against the backdrop of human history it’s more like an artificial oasis.
There’s some fascinating economic research that holds that the vast majority of
our wealth doesn’t take the form of money or gold, but intellectual, or more
technically, intangible capital. We know how to do stuff, and that’s what makes
us richer. Switzerland has a tiny fraction of the natural resources of, say,
Afghanistan. Which is richer? From a column I wrote—gulp—13 years ago:
In the case of the United States,
for example, less than a fifth of our wealth exists as material stuff like
minerals, crops and factories. In Switzerland, cuckoo clocks, ski chalets,
cheese, Rolex watches, timber and every other tangible asset amount to a mere
16% of that country’s wealth. The rest is captured by the expertise, culture,
laws and traditions of the Swiss themselves.
These numbers come from Kirk
Hamilton, a World Bank environmental economist and lead author of a new study,
“Where is the Wealth of Nations?” (available at worldbank.org). In a
fascinating interview in Reason magazine, Hamilton explains how, when measured
properly, “natural capital” (croplands, oil, etc.) and “produced capital”
(factories, iPods, roads, etc.) are the smallest slices of the economic pie. What
Hamilton calls “intangible capital,” which includes the rule of law, education
and the like, is by far the biggest slice. The entire planet’s “natural capital
accounts for 5% of total wealth, produced capital for 18% and intangible
capital 77%.”
Social capital is the most interesting, to me. At the
macro level it’s how we describe the rich interplay of knowledge, customs,
institutions, and social relationships that allow a society to function. At the
micro level, social capital is similar, but it can be boiled down to the
question, “How many people care about you?”
“Care” can imply friendship, or love, or perhaps just
respect. I often illustrate this point by talking about homelessness. It’s a
bit of cliché in some quarters to say that “you could be homeless tomorrow.”
For some people that’s tragically true, at least figuratively. Living paycheck
to paycheck leaves you vulnerable if all you have to rely on is modest or
meager financial capital without any other form of capital to fall back on (a
surgeon can lose his job, but so long as he didn’t lose it for malpractice,
he’ll find another soon enough).
But for most people with even modest social capital, they
can’t be homeless “tomorrow.” My brother had his demons and his problems. But
unless he disowned his family (vice versa was never an option) homelessness was
never in the cards. It’s a useful exercise: Take an inventory of the people in
your life who would have rent money, or a spare sofa, or a room for you if you
lost everything.
The only way to truly burn through all of your social
capital is to first burn through your moral capital, your storehouse of good
character. If you abuse friendships, exploit family, you’ll eventually be on
your own. (This is one of my problems with blanket drug legalizers—they
downplay the fact that drug addiction is, for many, like an acid that melts
through social capital).
The Janus-faced monster of the economic calamity and the
pandemic are a powerful test of our social capital, at the macro and micro
level. So far, I think that we’re passing the test. I admit, that’s just my
impression based on anecdotal observations, and I am the first to concede that
there are contrary data points. What worries me is that I don’t know how long
it can last.
Because when I listen to the national conversation—for
want of a less-clichéd term—I see a massive disconnect between what is required
and what is being done. A country’s social capital doesn’t exist in a vacuum—it
is fed and sustained by other forms of capital, and the spend rate on those
other forms is fast becoming catastrophic. Some pro-lifers who spent years
building up credibility on the “seamless garment of life” argument—anyone
remember Terri Schiavo?—are suddenly alternating between being blasé and macho
about how many vulnerable Americans we can lose for the sake of the economy.
Progressives, many in possession of comfortably intact new economy jobs, are
similarly cavalier or dismissive about the economic toll being wrought on
people.
The argument over wearing masks is particularly
dispiriting for its insipidity. Performative virtue-signalers to the left of me
seem to want the mask to become a symbol of solidarity with technocratic
overlords. Performative virtue-signalers (allegedly) to the right of me want to
make face masks into the modern jackboot in an updated version of 1984.
Everywhere I look—yes, starting in the White House—I see
these other forms of capital being shoveled into the fire as quickly as our
financial capital goes ever further into the negative. Political capital is
wasted on cronies and dumb fights designed to entertain the tiny fraction of us
who soak meaning from cable news food fights. Intellectual capital is drained
by dumb conspiracy theories. Moral capital is wasted defending these losses like
good money after bad. Feminists write about the need to elect the better of two
alleged rapists, and so do social conservatives, as if a bill for these
expenditures will never come due.
I’ll have my say about this stuff, at least the stuff
worth the effort, because that’s my job—and even when all this crap gets me
down, I count myself blessed to have it. But the point I wanted to get across
is that your job, while vital, is not as vital as the true source of your
social capital: your family, however defined. If you hoarded canned goods and
toilet paper, congratulations on your foresight. But the thing that will really
get you through this is the group of people you care about and the people who
care about you. That’s what the richest people alive have stockpiled.
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