Posted by
Keith Arnold on Wednesday, February 04, 2009 12:05:43 AM
... Or, "Seven Strangers In Search of an Exit."
This entire post today is dedicated to my good friend Bob's My Uncle over at the Backyard Grill Blog. BMU posted a retelling of the tale of the little red hen - a classic story about a hen and her neighbors who would not contribute in any way to helping her make bread, but expected to share in the eating of it. It's a straightforward story with an obvious meaning, recast in our modern day and contrasted with our present redistributionist milieu. BMU, though, is plagued with a troll who doesn't get the obvious, and instead has deduced, all by his lonesome, that the little red hen deserves to have her bread taken away from her and redistributed because she did not pay her neighbors a living wage.
Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot-Interrogatory?
I'm inspired as a result to retell a story of my own, a modern-day parable. Picture the scene: imagine, if you will, seven ethnically non-diverse persons from a variety of circumstances, joined together by seemingly random chance on a pleasure cruise out of Honolulu and stranded by dint of an unexpected storm on an uncharted island, far from the established shipping lanes and without hope of an early rescue. Eight days after their shipwreck, the first mate of the unfortunate vessel, conquers his gnawing hunger by climbing a palm tree and retrieving a coconut for himself.
The captain of the vessel, hampered by a moderate obesity, bad knees, and a mild cardiological condition, find himself unable to duplicate the tree climbing. But his wallet survived the tempest intact, and he brings out a ten-spot; recent fares had been good. "My friend," he says to the first mate, "I'd gladly pay you ten dollars to get me a coconut the way you got yours." In their present situation, this is an excellent deal; the coconut has much more value to him that a ten-dollar bill, which has no value unless and until they get rescued.
An hour later, a wealthy capitalist sees the two of them dining on fresh coconut, and takes in the tale. He too is incapable of the climb, but to him, ten dollars is a pittance; as fate would have it, he managed to salvage a steamer trunk laden with Jacksons. "Get one for my wife as well," says the Harvard-educated industrialist. Soon, the first mate has a small business with these customers, plus the three others: an out-of touch tenured member of academia, an elite starlet of the Hollywood left, and a rustic minor agriculturalist from America's heartland, who had been vacationing on the proceeds of the taxpayer-subsidized corn harvest she produced for the ethanol industry.
In the space of twenty-six months, the first mate collects every bit of currency from the six other castaways, as a result of being the sole provider of coconuts, as well as being the only one who knows how to fish, and even having the opportunity to skewer the occasional wild boar. Because he had the foresight to take care of his health and stay fit, plus some basic survival skills learned during an enlistment in the Navy, the first mate has been able to take on the role of the provider.
Just at the end of this period, while walking down the beach of afternoon and wondering what he is ever going to do with all these worthless pieces of green paper he has collected in return for his back-breaking investment of labor, he sees a flash of light in the distant water. It flashes again, and he realizes it is a ship passing nearby. He starts a fire on a promontory and shouts for the others to join him. Remembering his basic Morse code, he flashes a distress signal to the passing boat; it is spotted by the helmsman, and they are rescued.
The crew of the ship makes space for their seven new rescuees in a cargo hold; the ship, a crowded luxury passenger liner, is a charter traveling from Australia to San Diego, three weeks distant. Our heroic first mate asks the captain of the liner if there might be some better accommodations. "Well, yes," admits the captain, "there are a few unbooked luxury cabins; but you have to understand, these cabins cost the line a great deal to keep up; they go for over two thousand dollars for the length of the cruise."
"I'll take one," answers the first mate, reaching into his steamer trunk.
Our hero is now traveling in first class, enjoying the benefits of a soft bed, deluxe dining, and a chance to relax. But his six fellows below deck are less enthusiastic. "He has all this money now," they complain, "and he has made his fortune off us. He owes it to us to share in his good fortune with us. He needs to give back to the community."
Of course, our hero sees things a little differently. Every transaction made in their group was a free-will transaction, mutually and equally beneficial to both parties. He traded his labor on an equal standing for their currency, every single time. As he sees it, they had twenty-six months of being waited on and catered to while he labored and invested his effort and skills in their survival. He realizes they never really were his friends, or they would have worked alongside him, instead of being jealous of his new place in life. As he drifts off to sleep in his cabin with a Mai Tai in his hand, he decides this would be a good time in his life to give up the risks of maritime work and get a Masters degree in economics, based on his new-found understanding of capital formation, the free market, and human nature. Perhaps he'll write his thesis on the origins and evils of class envy.
Submitted for your consideration...