All Commentary
Tuesday, December 1, 1964

How To Lose A War


In 1869 John Fiske, noted American philosopher, scholar and literary critic wrote an essay on “The Famine of 1770 in Bengal” (The Unseen World and Other Essays. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin, 1876), pointing out that a major reason for the severity of the famine was the prevailing law prohibiting all speculation in rice. The following is excerpted from that essay.

This disastrous piece of legisla­tion was due to the universal prevalence of a prejudice from which so-called enlightened com­munities are not yet wholly free. It is even now customary to heap abuse upon those persons who in a season of scarcity, when prices are rapidly rising, buy up the “necessaries of life,” thereby still increasing for a time the cost of living. Such persons are com­monly assailed with specious generalities to the effect that they are enemies of society. People whose only ideas are “moral ideas” re­gard them as heartless sharpers who fatten upon the misery of their fellow creatures. And it is sometimes hinted that such “prac­tices” ought to be stopped by legis­lation.

Now, so far is this prejudice, which is a very old one, from be­ing justified by facts, that, in­stead of being an evil, speculation in breadstuffs and other neces­saries is one of the chief agencies by which in modern times and civilized countries a real famine is rendered almost impossible. This natural monopoly operates in two ways. In the first place, by raising prices, it checks consumption, put­ting every one on shorter allow­ance until the season of scarcity is over, and thus prevents the scar­city from growing into famine. In the second place, by raising prices, it stimulates importation from those localities where abundance reigns and prices are low. It thus in the long run does much to equalize the pressure of a time of dearth and diminish those extreme oscillations of prices which inter­fere with the even, healthy course of trade. A government which, in a season of high prices, does any­thing to check such speculation, acts about as sagely as the skipper of a wrecked vessel who should re­fuse to put his crew upon half rations.

The Siege and Capture of Antwerp in the Dutch Revolution

The turning point of the great Dutch Revolution, so far as it con­cerned the provinces which now constitute Belgium, was the fa­mous siege and capture of Ant­werp by Alexander Farnese, Duke of Parma. The siege was a long one, and the resistance obstinate, and the city would probably not have been captured if famine had not come to the assistance of the besiegers. It is interesting, there­fore, to inquire what steps the civic authorities had taken to pre­vent such a calamity. They knew that the struggle before them was likely to be the life-and-death struggle of the Southern Nether­lands; they knew that there was risk of their being surrounded so that relief from without would be impossible; they knew that their assailant was one of the most as­tute and unconquerable of men, by far the greatest general of the sixteenth century.

Therefore they proceeded to do just what our Republican Con­gress, under such circumstances, would probably have done, and just what the New York Tribune, if it had existed in those days, would have advised them to do. Finding that sundry speculators were accumulating and hoarding up provisions in anticipation of a season of high prices, they hastily decided, first of all to put a stop to such “selfish iniquity.” In their eyes the great thing to be done was to make things cheap. They therefore affixed a very low maxi­mum price to everything which could be eaten, and prescribed severe penalties for all who should attempt to take more than the sum by law decreed. If a baker refused to sell his bread for a price which would have been adequate only in a time of great plenty, his shop was to be broken open, and his loaves distributed among the pop­ulace. The consequences of this idiotic policy were twofold.

In the first place, the enforced lowness of prices prevented any breadstuffs or other provisions from being brought into the city. It was a long time before Farnese succeeded in so blockading the Scheldt as to prevent ships laden with eatables from coming in be­low. Corn and preserved meats might have been hurried by thou­sands of tons into the beleaguered city. Friendly Dutch vessels, freighted with abundance, were waiting at the mouth of the river. But all to no purpose. No merchant would expose his valuable ship, with its cargo, to the risk of being sunk by Farnese’s batteries, mere­ly for the sake of finding a mar­ket no better than a hundred others which could be entered without incurring danger. No doubt if the merchants of Holland had followed out the maxim Vivre pour autrui, they would have braved ruin and destruction rather than behold their neighbours of Antwerp enslaved.

No doubt if they could have risen to a broad philosophic view of the future interests of the Neth­erlands, they would have seen that Antwerp must be saved, no matter if some of them were to lose money by it. But men do not yet sacrifice themselves for their fellows, nor do they as a rule look far beyond the present moment and its emer­gencies. And the business of gov­ernment is to legislate for men as they are, not as it is supposed they ought to be. If provisions had brought a high price in Antwerp, they would have been carried thither. As it was, the city, by its own stupidity, blockaded itself far more effectually than Farnese could have done it.

In the second place, the en­forced lowness of prices prevented any general retrenchment on the part of the citizens. Nobody felt it necessary to economize. Every one bought as much bread, and ate it as freely, as if the government by insuring its cheapness had insured its abundance. So the city lived in high spirits and in gleeful defiance of its besiegers, until all at once provisions gave out, and the gov­ernment had to step in again to palliate the distress which it had wrought. It constituted itself quar­termaster-general to the commu­nity, and doled out stinted rations alike to rich and poor, with that stern democratic impartiality pe­culiar to times of mortal peril. But this served only, like most artificial palliatives, to lengthen out the misery. At the time of the sur­render, not a loaf of bread could be obtained for love or money.