Maybe it’s time to radically rethink the nature and purpose of criminal law itself. Maybe it’s time to look to another legal theory — contract law.

Despite sharing common roots, criminal law and contract law are different. In the United States, as in other jurisdictions, contrasting theory, substance, and procedure distinguish the two doctrines. Many people consider criminal behavior to be a breach of the social contract. If so, then why don’t we apply contract law principles to crime?

Crime as Breach of Contract

Consider Pierre-Joseph Proudhon’s formulation of the “social contract”:

What really is the Social Contract? An agreement of the citizen with the government? No, that would mean but the continuation of [Rousseau’s] idea. The social contract is an agreement of man with man; an agreement from which must result what we call society. (General Idea of the Revolution in the Nineteenth Century, 1851)

Proudhon equates the social contract with social expectation: how do individuals expect each other to behave under normal circumstances? Indeed, every society establishes its own norms to which its members are expected to adhere. Yet to truly be a “social contract” the state must also be party to it.

Criminal behavior amounts to a breach of the social contract and a violation of implicit social norms. For example, we do not expect our neighbors to take our stuff. We denounce theft as an illegitimate means of acquiring property.

Contract Law Principles

In general, contract law attempts to put victims of breach in as good a position as they would have been if the contract had been performed. The “expectation principle” requires the breaching party to compensate the victim just to the point of making her as whole as she had expected to be (either by economic equivalence, restitution, or both) and not beyond.

The remedy for property crimes (as social contract breach) seems intuitively obvious: give the victim back her things. After all, the point of contract remedy is to compensate the victim, treat the breaching party fairly, and promote economic efficiency. As Oliver Wendell Holmes declared, “The duty to keep a contract at common law means a prediction that you must pay damages if you do not keep it — and nothing else.”

Penalty Clauses

Because of these broad principles, penalty clauses are not enforceable. A clause that reads, “If Smith does not pay Jones $20, then Smith must pay $100 instead,” would not be upheld in court. Holdings barring the enforcement of contractual penalties and quasi-penalties litter American case law.

Penalties have been questioned and derided for centuries. In Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, the villainous Shylock agrees to loan Antonio money. However, under the contract, if Antonio defaults, he must forfeit a pound of his flesh.

Shylock: Go with me to a notary, seal me there
Your single bond; and, in a merry sport,
If you repay me not on such a day,
In such a place, such sum or sums as are
Express’d in the condition, let the forfeit
Be nominated for an equal pound
Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken
In what part of your body pleaseth me.

Why the harsh penalty? “If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge.”

Antonio defaults. At trial, someone offers to pay twice the contract price to save Antonio from Shylock’s knife. Shylock, however, insists the court enforce the deathly penalty. After ostensibly honoring his wish, the judge cleverly turns Shylock’s argument against him, preserving Antonio’s life.

Social Contract Penalties

The social contract includes at least two penalty clauses. First, if a party breaches, then he is punished (the “criminal”). Second, if a party breaches, then the aggrieved party (the “victim”) is cast aside and ignored.

Under the current bifurcated system, a criminal caption reads State v. Smith, not Jones v. Smith. The victim is not a party to the suit. Instead, the state assumes its position as a placeholder for the victim, whether or not the victim approves. Like Shylock, the state then begs for the enforcement of penalty clauses. Someone breached the social contract. Punish her!

In equating justice with punishment, we forget about the victim. Sadly, with full enforcement of the penalty clause against the breaching party, the victim also suffers a penalty — she is cast aside and ignored. Our addiction to penalties has given rise to the largest prison population in the world. In contrast, a more rigid application of contract law principles would preclude the application of penalty clauses, focusing instead on fulfilling expectations, compensating for losses, and making the victim whole again.

Many crimes violate person, not property. How would we remedy social contract breaches such as battery, rape, and murder? While the answer is not clear, to enforce penalties seems dubious at best. Civil rights attorney Clarence Darrow once noted, “All communities and states are in reality ashamed of jails and penal institutions of whatever kind. Instinctively they seem to understand that these are a reflection on the state.” Perhaps Darrow was correct in thinking that “nearly every crime could be wiped away in one generation by giving the criminal a chance.”

Moreover, common law courts rarely award emotional damages resulting from a contract breach. Such damages fall into the realm of tort law. However, Hadley v. Baxendale, a seminal case from nineteenth century Great Britain, established the “foreseeability rule.” If damages resulting as a consequence of breach could have been reasonably foreseen, then they can be recovered. All parties to the social contract certainly can “reasonably foresee” the consequential emotional damages of violent acts like rape.

The law treats contracts differently than it treats crime. But should it? Isn’t criminal behavior just a breach of contract — the social contract? When a thief steals from his neighbor, doesn’t it make sense to repay the neighbor and restore her expectations? In criminal law, penalties deprive liberty without compensating the victim. We punish both the criminal and the victim; only the state comes out ahead. The common law refuses to enforce contractual penalties for good reason. Perhaps that principle should be applied to criminal law, as well.

While it’s physically impossible, Steve seems to bound through the door before you even open it. “Excited” is an understatement: he’s psyched, and you couldn’t reach his level even if you tried.

Around two, you and Steve made plans to go out tonight. You spent the afternoon doing laundry, going to the grocery store, taking out the trash, and doing some light reading. Steve spent the afternoon plotting the perfect night.

This is not Steve’s first foray into the “perfect night” — far from it. Steve’s last plan failed, and so did the twenty-two before that. But Steve is not a quitter. He adheres to the “twenty-fourth time’s a charm” philosophy.

Steve really outdid himself this time. The amount of research he performed makes you question his sanity. He even prepared maps and charts. You buy into his madness. You question your sanity. His design does appear flawless, however.

“Tonight is going to be awesome,” he says with unbridled enthusiasm and a furrowed brow. “This is what we’ve been waiting for.”

The plan accounts for everything. Not a single second will be wasted. Not one beautiful girl will go unnoticed. All the hottest bars will be visited. You’re going to be in basements and on rooftops — at the same time. Somehow, there’s even a horse involved.

The night starts off well enough.

Pretty soon, Steve starts acting like a millionaire. Shots for everyone! Everyone includes you, though, so you’re okay with it. At least for now. Besides, everyone likes Steve. He buys them things. He talks to them. Your proximity to him gets you in contact with some pretty cool people.

Steve speaks only in the tongue of grandiosity, making lavish promises and telling of fantastical escapades. Another round of shots!

All of a sudden, Steve’s face turns white. He didn’t see a ghost. He’s out of money. “I don’t know how it happened, man!” You roll your eyes. It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to solve the case of Steve’s empty wallet. “You got it, right?”

Yes, you got it. And the drinks for that entire bachelorette party? Yeah, you got that, too. You’re a good friend.

To mitigate the financial impact of Steve’s prodigal activites, you start drinking Miller Lite (because something’s gotta give). You have to somehow offset the financial burden thrust upon you.

From there, the night gets progressively worse. Steve abandons his earlier design in favor of new, hastily planned ambitions. For instance, he decides that he doesn’t want to wait in line at West Bar, so you jaunt over to East Club.

East Club has a thirty-dollar cover, which you pay. And of course, you pay Steve’s cover, too. As soon as you get inside, someone spills an entire long island iced tea all over your trousers. Nobody could have anticipated that. What do you do? Take a taxi back to the apartment and change? Hang out under the hand drier in the bathroom for an hour?

Steve had convinced you that a perfect night was in store. Now, however, you realize something. Steve’s design was overly ambitious; his objectives were unattainable. What convinced you was the confident oratory of a passionate man. Besides, you didn’t have a plan of your own.

Steve made a valiant effort, but he didn’t — and couldn’t — account for everything that happens in a night. He didn’t account for long lines. He couldn’t account for the actions of others. Even an ostensibly airtight plan was bound to fail. The perfect night — or day, or weekend, or whatever — is simply not something that can be designed.

There’s a classic episode of How I Met Your Mother that captures this lesson. One New Year’s Eve, Ted decides that he’s going to plan an unforgettable evening. Most of the gang’s New Year’s Eves have been dry and underwhelming. But not this one. No, Ted rented a limo. He assembled a list of the top five parties in New York City. They’ll have to keep a tight schedule, but they can pull it off.

Quickly, however, the night devolves into chaos. Unanticipated events happen left and right. They lose people and find people—including a criminal bearing a strong resemblance to Moby. Ted loses his date. In the end, nobody makes it to all five parties. To the extent that anyone has an enjoyable evening, it’s without friends. The saving grace? A spur-of-the-moment champagne toast inside the limo while stuck in traffic.

Steve is Ted. And Barney. And you. And me.

Steve is also the head of the Department of the Interior. And a member of the County Zoning Board. And the Mayor.

Steve is a man — a good man, but a fallible man. Because of his very nature, Steve is incapable of planning the perfect night. No matter how many smart people he surrounds himself with, no matter how many Yelp reviews he consults, and no matter how many hours he spends at the drawing board, Steve can never plan the perfect night.

Yet, the perfect evening can happen. In fact, perfect evenings happen all the time. They happen in the absence of meticulously detailed design. They happen when you surround yourself by people you like. They happen when you let the night take you where it may. They happen spontaneously.

“To assume all the knowledge to be given to a single mind… is to assume the problem away and to disregard everything that is important and significant in the real world.” –F.A. Hayek

I’ve waited my whole life to come to realize, through some dawning revelation, why precisely I’m supposed to like the Symphonie Fantastique. Today, right now where I sit, I’m fully prepared to say what I’ve put off saying for as long as I can remember: the Symphonie Fantastique is wrongly named.

For numerous reasons, I vehemently disagreed with his assessment. But there’s one reason I want to focus on in particular. The individual who posted this also happens to be a libertarian like me and like Hector Berlioz, the composer of Symphonie Fantastique.

My response:

I’m going to have to disagree with you here…Symphonie Fantastique is a grand example of a composer breaking conventional molds of form and orchestration. Five movements. Strange instruments. An implied program. Intentionally irreverent use of religious cantus. One of my personal favorites. Hector Berlioz don’t care!

Hector Berlioz embraced an attitude of intentional, intelligent irreverence toward all things customary and conventional. Throughout his life, he challenged the status quo, musically and otherwise. He wasn’t a rebel just for the sake of being a rebel; he understood exactly what the state of the world was and how he could change it. He held individual expression up as a pinnacle virtue, harnessing his own to influence others peacefully and thoughtfully.

Like many libertarians, Berlioz was a voracious autodidact. Unlike many other composers of the era, he received no formal musical training early in his life. Nor was he precocious like Mozart. Rather, he diligently studied harmony textbooks, teaching himself how to write music.

When he turned eighteen, Berlioz left home to study medicine in Paris. After a short stint at the university (and a reviling experience of viewing a human corpse being dissected), he abandoned medicine and attended the Paris Conservatoire. There, under the tutelage of Jean-François Le Sueur and Anton Reicha, Berlioz refined his composition skills.

This was a time not unlike today: A “new economy” was emerging. “The decay of absolutism on the European continent spelled the end of artistic patronage on the part of the aristocracy and the church,” writes musicologist Richard Taruskin. “The broad middle-class public now replaced the traditional elite.”

According to historian Giorgio Pestelli, these economic allowed for the emergence of the modern freelance musician. “Free from immediate detailed instructions from his master or protector,” composers and musicians “could be subject in a similar way to the kind of demand imposed by the musical market.” The “new course” appealed “above all to the competitive spirit” and, in so doing, rewarded entrepreneurial insight.

Like many young entrepreneurs today, Berlioz needed to supplement his income. In addition to composing, young Hector also worked as chorus singer and vaudeville performer. Over time, his hard work paid off as he became famous as a composer and conductor across France and western Europe.

Berlioz’s most famous and most remembered work is Symphonie Fantastique—by far. Since its first public performance in 1830, critics and audiences alike have proffered their strong opinions on the 50-minute-long behemoth. Some love it. Some hate it. Some are downright flummoxed by it.

Symphonie Fantastique called for ninety instrumentalists at a time when the standard orchestra employed half that. Compared to contemporaneous scores, Berlioz’s presents dynamics, articulations, and other expressive markings with revolutionary explicitness and meticulous detail. Brass players need mutes and the timpanist needs “sponge-headed sticks.” The range of wind instruments extends from the piccolo to the tuba. While all of these things are commonplace now, they were utterly radical at the time.

To add to the uproar, Berlioz tied the music to a program in a particular way. Purely instrumental music was elevated, becoming sacrilegiously tantamount to opera. “Berlioz wished to have [the program] distributed to audiences to prepare them to understand the work,” says Taruskin. “[M]any in the Victorian era understandably found shocking.”

The program describes each of five (five!—as opposed to the standard four) movements in scenic detail. “Funeral knell, ludicrous parody of the Dies irae,” part of the fifth movement program, alludes to Berlioz’s satirical use of a Catholic funeral hymn in a movement entitled “Dream of a Witches’ Sabbath.”

Libertarianism has an ideological component. Economic freedom, civil rights, free speech, private property—they’re all part of the package. But libertarianism also has an attitudinal component. Liberty lovers aren’t afraid to brazenly resist established norms and expectations. Like Hector Berlioz, we don’t fit nicely into the mold society prescribes. We question what others accept and rebuke anyone who stands in our way.

Um ensaio de abertura, deliberadamente provocador, será seguido por respostas de dentro e fora do C4SS. Contribuições e comentários dos leitores são muito bem vindos. A seguinte conversa começou com um artigo de Joseph S. Diedrich, Propriedade privada, dos males o menor. Cory Massimino e Diedrich prepararam uma série de artigos que desafiam e exploram os temas apresentados no primeiro artigo. Ao longo da próxima semana, dia sim, dia não, o C4SS publicará uma de suas respostas. A série final poderá ser seguida sob a categoria “Propriedade privada: Como, quando e por quê”.

*     *     *

Em resposta a meu artigo recente, Propriedade privada, dos males o menor, Cory Massimino escreveu uma ótima resposta. Concordo (mais ou menos) com tudo o que ele afirma, mas não acredito que meu artigo tenha sido contradito ou refutado de maneira nenhuma. Cory parece afirmar que meu artigo afirma mais do que é capaz de sustentar com argumentos e, por isso, sou parcialmente responsável. Tentarei clarificar minhas posições.

Meu argumento central é o seguinte: muitos libertários operam sob a perspectiva de que a propriedade privada, por si só, estimula a interação voluntária. A partir daí, muitos concluem que sua estrutura e função — isto é, o controle exclusivo de recursos — tornam a propriedade privada inerentemente boa. Atribuem a ela um caráter ético universal (válido em todos os casos, a despeito das condições dadas).

Há dois problemas com essa ideia: primeiro, a propriedade privada não é suficiente para promover as interações pacíficas; contudo, sob certas circunstâncias, é necessária. Eu digo “certas circunstâncias” porque outro fator deve ser considerado. Há duas classes de recursos: escassos e não-escassos. Os recursos escassos são excludentes e, sem um sistema de controle exclusivo, conflitos sobre seu uso são inevitáveis. Recursos não-escassos não são excludentes e, portanto, nenhum conflito sobre seu uso ocorre naturalmente. Somente se tentarmos aplicar direitos de propriedade privada a eles o conflito passa a ocorrer.

Segundo, como corolário, a propriedade privada não pode ter o caráter de ética universal. Em vez disso, seu status depende de características naturais incontroláveis. Sua estrutura e função (controle exclusivo) dissuade conflitos relacionados ao uso de recursos escassos, mas promove conflitos quando são recursos não-escassos que estão em jogo.

Além disso, no mundo da escassez, a propriedade privada não é apenas necessária para a interação pacífica. É também logicamente inevitável. Há várias teorias que demonstram a necessidade lógica da propriedade privada, que incluem o ceticismo moral, a teoria do estoppel de Stephan Kinsella e a teoria da ética argumentativa de Hans-Hermann Hoppe, para citar algumas.

Hoppe começa pela proposição de que o discurso racional (a argumentação) prova a auto-propriedade: “A justificação — prova, conjectura, refutação — é o mesmo que justificação argumentativa. Quem quer que negue essa proposição estaria preso numa contradição performativa, porque sua negação constitui um argumento”. Para formalizar um argumento racional, é necessário o controle exclusivo do próprio corpo:

“Ninguém poderia propor qualquer coisa e esperar que a outra parte se convencesse da validade de sua proposição, ou a negasse e propusesse outra coisa, a não ser que o próprio direito e o direito do oponente ao uso exclusivo de seus respectivos próprios e locais ocupados fosse pressuposto.”

A partir daí, Hoppe deduz a validade lógica dos direitos de propriedade privada sobre outros “recursos escassos”.

Há outras formas de chegar às mesmas conclusões gerais. A ética da argumentação não é senão um exemplo. Contudo, todos os argumentos válidos e teorias do tipo têm, ao menos, um ponto em comum — consideram a escassez. Hoppe a menciona explicitamente. A auto-propriedade é válida a priori somente porque nossos corpos e os locais que ocupamos são escassos. Em outras palavras, a propriedade privada é válida e se torna justa por causa da possibilidade de conflito.

A propriedade privada sobre recursos escassos, assim, é uma ética humana universalmente aplicável. Ela permite que cada indivíduo avalie suas ações antes de agir. Nós podemos determinar ex ante se nossas ações são justas ou injustas.

Considere a outra classe de recursos — os não-escassos. Neste caso, a propriedade privada (o controle exclusivo) tem o efeito oposto. Ela promove conflitos onde nenhum existiria. Além disso, de um ponto de vista teórico abstrato, a propriedade privada é logicamente impossível em recursos não-escassos. Eu afirmo exatamente isso em um artigo meu para o Maclver Institute:

“[Se] for um tipo de propriedade, [os recursos não-escassos] podem ser vendidos, alugados (licenciados), doados ou roubados. (…)

“Para ser vendida, alugada, doada ou roubada, porém, a propriedade deve ter um dono, um requisito que torna necessária uma consideração a respeito de recursos sem dono. (…)

“Se o prognóstico da apropriação universal for alcançado, eventualmente existirá um mundo em que todos os recursos [não-escassos] terão dono. Toda ideia será propriedade — todo conceito, desenho, plano, pensamento. Até mesmo a ideia abstrata sobre uma “ideia” terá um dono. Em outras palavras, o conceito de ação estará sob controle exclusivo.

“Como corolário, qualquer pessoa que utilize o conceito de ação — ou seja, aja — sem a permissão do dono estará cometendo uma forma ilegítima de apropriação, isto é, roubo. Para ter a permissão para usar (alugar ou comprar) o conceito de ação, deve-se falar ou escrever usando palavras e conceitos — em outras palavras, é necessário agir. (…)”

Através do reductio ad absurdum, a contradição é exposta. No entanto, mesmo que seja teoricamente impossível no longo prazo, nós ainda temos a capacidade de impor princípios de propriedade privada sobre recursos não-escassos. E fazemos isso a todo momento com a propriedade “intelectual”.

Minha intenção ao escrever Propriedade privada, dos males o menor era descrever e prescrever. Assim, quando eu escrevi, “a escassez não governa o mundo não-físico e, portanto, é desnecessário, imprudente e patentemente tolo impor estruturas coercitivas de propriedade privada sobre ele”, eu não fazia uma observação teórica, mas uma recomendação. Nós não devemos nunca impor uma escassez artificial sobre o mundo não-escasso dos recursos ideais e do “espaço” digital.

Além disso, quando eu disse que “a propriedade privada não é moralmente boa ou meritória em si mesma”, eu falava num sentido bastante específico. O mérito só pode ser determinado de forma interpessoal com base na possibilidade de um meio levar a um fim. A propriedade privada (que, mesmo quando é nossa única alternativa logicamente coerente, não passa de um meio) pode ser moralmente meritória, mas somente ao se alinhar com nossos objetivos finais.

Se nosso objetivo final é um aumento do bem estar social e padrões de vida mais altos (um desejo que depende da interação pacífica), então a propriedade privada sobre recursos escassos deve ser mantida. Por outro lado, a propriedade privada (ou a tentativa de estabelecê-la) sobre recursos não-escassos deve ser rejeitada. A propriedade privada é, no máximo, um conceito neutro; dadas as condições naturais, ela pode ser tanto boa quanto ruim.

Traduzido do inglês para o português por Erick Vasconcelos.

A lead essay, deliberately provocative, will be followed by responses from inside and outside of C4SS. Contributions and comments from readers are enthusiastically encouraged. The following Mutual Exchange began as a feature by Joseph S. Diedrich, Private Property, the Least Bad Option. Cory Massimino and Diedrich have prepared a series of articles challenging and exploring the themes presented in Driedrich original article. Over the next week, every other day, C4SS will publish one of their responses. The final series can be followed under the title: Private Property: How, When and Why. 

In response to my recent article, “Private Property, the Least Bad Option,” Cory Massimino has penned a well-articulated rebuttal. I find myself in agreement (more or less) with everything he says, yet I don’t believe my article is in any way contradicted or undermined. In my opinion, Cory asserts that my article claims more than it actually does, and for that, I am at least partially responsible. Allow me to clarify my positions.

My central argument is as follows. Many libertarians operate under the assumption that private property alone fosters peaceful interaction. From there, many conclude that its structure and function — viz., exclusive control of resources — make private property inherently good. They assign to it the status of a universally applicable ethic (valid in all cases, regardless of given conditions).

There are two problems with that: First, private property is not sufficient to promote peaceful interaction; however, under certain circumstances, it is necessary. I say “certain circumstances” because another factor must be considered. There are two classes of resources: scarce and non-scarce. Scarce resources are excludable, and absent a system of exclusive control, conflict over their use is unavoidable. Non-scarce resources are not excludable, and therefore no conflict over their use naturally occurs. Only if we attempt to apply private property norms to them does conflict over their use become a reality.

Second, as a corollary, private property cannot be assigned the status of a universally applicable ethic. Rather, its status is contingent upon the uncontrollable dictates of nature. Its structure and function (exclusive control) dissuades conflict over scarce resources, but actually promotes conflict over non-scarce resources.

Moreover, in the realm of scarcity, private property is not only necessary for peaceful interaction. It is also logically unavoidable. There are various theories that demonstrate the logical necessity of private property, including “rights-skepticism,” Stephan Kinsella’s “estoppel” theory, and Hans-Herman Hoppe’s “argumentation ethics,” to name a few.

Hoppe begins by proposing that rational discourse (argumentation) proves self-ownership, “Justification — proof, conjecture, refutation — is argumentative justification. Anyone who denied this proposition would become involved in a performative contradiction because his denial would itself constitute an argument.” To engage in rational argumentation presupposes exclusive control over one’s own physical body:

No one could propose anything and expect the other party to convince himself of the validity of this proposition or deny it and propose something else unless his and his opponent’s right to exclusive control over their respective bodies and standing rooms were presupposed.

From there, Hoppe proceeds to deduce the logical validity of private property rights in “other scarce means.”

There are other ways to arrive at the same general conclusions; argumentation ethics is but one example. Yet all valid arguments and theories of this sort have at least one fundamental commonality—a consideration of scarcity. Hoppe mentions it explicitly. Self-ownership is a priori justified only because our bodies and standing room are scarce. In other words, private property attains validity and becomes just only because the possibility of conflict exists.

Private property in scarce resources, then, is a universally applicable human ethic. It allows each individual to assess his or her actions prior to acting. We can determine ex ante whether or not the actions we intend to take will be just or unjust.

Consider the other class of resources—those that are non-scarce. In this case, private property (exclusive control) has the opposite effect. It promotes conflict where none would otherwise arise. In addition, from an abstract theoretical viewpoint, private property is ultimately logically impossible in non-scarce resources. I argue this in an article at the MacIver Institute:

[I]f indeed property, [non-scarce] resources can be sold, rented (licensed), given away, or stolen…

To be sold, rented, given away, or stolen, however, property must obviously be owned, a requisite that makes necessary the consideration of unowned proprietary resources…

If the prognostication of universal appropriation is fulfilled, eventually a world will exist in which all [non-scarce] resources are appropriated. Every idea will be owned—every concept, every design, every plan, every thought. Indeed, even the abstract idea of an “idea” will be owned. In other words, the concept of action will be under exclusive control.

As a corollary, anyone who uses the concept of action—i.e., acts—without prior permission from its owner would be engaging in an illegitimate form of property acquisition, viz., theft. In order to seek said permission to use (or rent or buy) the concept of action, one must talk or write using words and concepts—in other words, one must act…

Via reduction ad absurdum, we expose an undeniable contradiction. Nevertheless, even though theoretically impossible in the long-run, we still have the ability to impose private property onto non-scarce resources. And we do it all the time, most notably with intellectual “property.”

My intention with “Private Property, the Least Bad Option,” was to be both descriptive and prescriptive. Hence, when I wrote, “Scarcity doesn’t govern the non-physical world, and thus it is unnecessary, imprudent, and patently foolish to impose coercive private property strictures onto it,” I was making not a theoretical observation but a precise recommendation. We should never impose artificial scarcity upon the non-scarce world of ideal resources and digital “space.”

Furthermore, when I said, “private property isn’t morally meritorious or great in itself,” I meant that in a very specific sense. Merit can only be interpersonally determined based on the ability of a means to lead to an end. Private property (which, even when it is our only logically coherent possibility, is still only a means) can be morally meritorious and great, but only insofar as it aligns with our ultimate ends.

If our ultimate end is increased social welfare and a higher standard of living (a desire predicated on peaceful interaction), then private property in scarce resources must be upheld. On the other hand, private property (or the attempt thereat) in non-scarce resources must be rejected. At best, private property is a neutral concept in itself; based on given natural conditions, it can be either good or bad.

A propriedade privada é uma estrutura coercitiva. Ela não é coercitiva como uma arma apontada para a cabeça de alguém ou como a riqueza que é roubada na forma de impostos, mas no sentido de que ela circunscreve, dita e restringe nossas interações com o mundo físico. A realidade da escassez nos coage a escolher entre a propriedade privada e alternativas muito piores.

Nós estaríamos numa situação muito melhor se não tivéssemos que lidar com a escassez. Não haveria conflitos reais ou potenciais pela posse de bens físicos. Este mundo hipotético — de superabundância, pós-escassez, oferta infinita, reprodutibilidade infinita ou qualquer outro nome — é preferível a ambas as opções apresentadas pelos libertários. A super-abundância também negaria e superaria outros corolários da escassez, como o custo de oportunidade, a oferta e a demanda e, em última análise, a própria ideia de economia. Infelizmente, esse mundo não existe.

Um mundo superabundante existe, porém, em recursos ideais — como ideias, padrões, conceitos, palavras, expressões, informações, conhecimento, etc (ou seja, em produtos da mente). Ao usar uma receita para preparar minha comida, eu não impeço que ninguém mais a utilize. O mesmo é válido para o design de um motor de combustão interna, para o arranjo e para a expressão de palavras de um romance, para as cores e padrões de uma pintura, para as notas e rítmos de uma composição musical e para qualquer outra coisa que exista fora das limitações dos bens físicos.

O fato de que uma oferta superabundante de recursos ideais exista não implica que todos tenham conhecimento infinito. O processo de descoberta converte a ignorância em ciência, mas não têm qualquer efeito sobre a excludabilidade ou sobre a escassez. Quando Pitágoras desenvolveu seu famoso teorema, inicialmente ele era o único a conhecê-lo. Contudo, o fato de que todos os demais o ignoravam não significava que ele era escasso. Todos estavam livres para descobri-lo independentemente ou para aprendê-lo do próprio Pitágoras (se ele o dividisse) e fazer uso dele sem excluir as outras pessoas.

Recursos ideais, é claro, interagem com objetos escassos. Por exemplo, pensamentos são comunicados como arranjos de palavras que são frequentemente escritos ou exibidos através de objetos escassos, como folhas de papel ou telas de computador. Num nível mais abstrato, a escassez de neurônios, tempo e espaço também é relevante.

O modo pelo qual recursos não-escassos interagem com recursos físicos escassos já mudou mudou muito e continua a se modificar. A primeira grande revolução ocorreu com o advento da linguagem escrita. A segunda grande revolução envolvia o abandono dos copistas com a invenção da prensa de Gutenberg. A terceira grande revolução, que todos testemunhamos, é a transformação do impresso para o digital. A “nuvem” efetivamente elimina a escassez relacionada à distribuição de informações.

Vamos pegar a radioterapia como exemplo. Pacientes com câncer podem utilizar a radiação como tratamento, para retirar de seus corpos as células malignas e melhorar suas condições de vida. Contudo, se uma pessoa saudável for exposta à radiação, ou mesmo se a radiação for utilizada numa pessoa doente de maneira imprópria, os resultados podem ser terríveis. Ao invés de promover a cura e o prolongamento da vida, a radiação pode causar sofrimento e induzir a morte.

Como no caso da radiação, a imposição de estruturas de propriedade privada desnecessárias e indiscriminadamente inibe o progresso humano. Onde não há escassez, a necessidade de fazer essa escolha entre as duas alternativas mencionadas acima não existe. Quando escolhemos aplicar a propriedade privada a recursos não-ideais na forma de propriedade intelectual, por exemplo, nós saímos do âmbito da coerção natural (onde elementos incontroláveis do mundo físico exigem que façamos escolhas indesejáveis) e entremos na alçada da coerção artificial (em que humanos coagem outros humanos).

É isso que os libertários com frequência não percebem. Podemos ficar tão afeitos à ideia da propriedade privada que acreditamos ter que criá-la, impô-la ou legislá-la, até mesmo quando desnecessário. A escassez não governa o mundo não-físico e, por isso, é desnecessário, imprudente e tolo impor as estruturas coercitivas da propriedade privada sobre ele. Como diz o antigo adágio, não é necessário consertar o que não está quebrado.

Num mundo superabundante como o Jardim do Éden, o mundo, o espaço, o tempo e as próprias pessoas ainda seriam escassos. Mesmo se eu fosse capaz de ter aquilo que eu quisesse, eu ainda teria as limitações de tempo, do meu corpo físico e do espaço que ele ocupa e de sua própria mortalidade. Essas condições, no entanto, não minam a auto-propriedade nem o argumento de que a propriedade privada seja indesejável. A imortalidade, o espaço ilimitado e o tempo ilimitado parecem ser condições preferíveis ao oposto.

O direito à propriedade privada não é um axioma intuitivo e natural, uma lei eterna divina de todas as interações humanas. Pelo contrário, a propriedade privada evoluiu como o melhor e único método de alocação pacífica de recursos. Com a diminuição das propriedades comuns, esse fato inegável se tornou mais e mais evidente. Embora a propriedade privada seja preferível às alternativas, ela não é inerentemente desejável ou boa. Reconhecer esse fato esclarece e aperfeiçoa a teoria libertária.

Traduzido do inglês para o português por Erick Vasconcelos.

Private property is a coercive stricture. It is not coercive in the sense of putting a gun to someone’s head or stealing wealth in the form of taxes, but coercive in the sense that it circumscribes, dictates, and restricts our interaction with the natural, physical world. The realities of scarcity coerce us into choosing between private property and dismal alternatives.

We would be much better off if we weren’t tormented by scarcity. There would be no conflict or potential for conflict over physical goods. This hypothetical world – one of superabundance or post-scarcity or infinite supply or infinite reproducibility or whatever you want to call it – is preferable to both options presented in the libertarian dichotomy. Superabundance would also obviate and overcome other undesirable corollaries of scarcity, including opportunity cost, supply and demand, and ultimately economy itself. Unfortunately, this world doesn’t exist.

A superabundant world does exist, however, in ideal resources – ideas, patterns, concepts, words, expressions, information, knowledge, etc. (in other words, products of the mind). My use of a chicken soup recipe doesn’t interfere with or exclude anyone else’s ability also use it. The same goes for the design of an internal combustion engine, the arrangement and expression of words in a novel, the colors and patterns of a painting, the notes and rhythms of a musical composition, and anything that exists beyond the constraints of physical goods.

The fact that a superabundant supply of ideal resources exists does not imply that everyone has infinite knowledge. The process of discovery converts ignorance into awareness, but it has no effect on excludability or scarcity. When Pythagoras discovered his famous theorem, he was initially the only one who knew of it. Yet just because everyone else was ignorant of it didn’t mean that it was scarce. Anyone else was free to independently discover it or learn of it from Pythagoras (if he shared it) and in turn make use of it without excluding anyone else from doing the same.

Ideal resources do, of course, interact with scarce objects. For example, thoughts are communicated as arrangements of words, which are often written on or displayed via scarce objects, such as paper or computer screens. On a more abstract level, the scarcity of neurons, time, and space also come into play.

The way that non-scarce, ideal resources interact with scarce, physical resources has changed and continues to change. The first great revolution occurred with the advent of written language. The second great revolution involved the supplanting of copyists by publishers upon the invention of the Gutenberg press. The third great revolution, which we are all witness to, has been the transformation from print to digital. The cloud effectively eliminates scarcity as it relates to the distribution of recorded information.

Think about radiation therapy for a moment. Patients afflicted with cancer can often turn to radiation as a beneficial treatment. It purges their bodies of malignant cells and overcomes the horror of disease. However, if a healthy person is exposed to radiation, or if radiation is applied to a sick person improperly, the results are ghastly. Instead of promoting healing and prolonging life, the bad radiation engenders suffering and induces mortality.

As with radiation, the imposition of unnecessary and indiscriminate private property strictures inhibits human progress. Where scarcity doesn’t exist, the necessity of making that infamous dichotomic choice isn’t coerced upon us. When we choose to apply private property strictures to non-scarce ideal resources in the form of intellectual property, for example, we leave the realm of natural coercion (uncontrollable elements of the physical world requiring us to make undesirable choices) and enter into the realm of artificial coercion (humans coercing other humans).

This is what libertarians often miss. We can become so attached to the idea of private property that we believe we have to create it or impose it or legislate it even when it is unnecessary. Scarcity doesn’t govern the non-physical world, and thus it is unnecessary, imprudent, and patently foolish to impose coercive private property strictures onto it. Remember the old adage that says you shouldn’t fix what’s not broken?

In an Edenesque superabundant world, space, time, and self would still be scarce. Even if I were able to conjure up anything that I wanted, I would still be limited by time, by my physical body and the space it occupies, and by my own mortality. These conditions, however, undermine neither self-ownership nor the argument that private property is undesirable. Immortality, unlimited space, and unlimited time would seem to be preferable to the opposite.

The right to private property isn’t some intuitive, natural axiom, come down from the Heavens as an eternal law of all human interaction. On the contrary, private property evolved as the best and only method of peacefully allocating scarce resources. As the commons became smaller and smaller this undeniable fact became more and more evident. While private property is preferable to all available alternatives, it is not inherently desirable or good. Recognizing this clarifies and enhances libertarian theory.

Translations for this article:

• Portuguese, Propriedade privada, dos males o menor.