Show notes
I have been reading Will Wilkinson’s writing since I was a baby blogger, way back in the early 2000s. By then, I had already left behind the libertarianism that gripped me in college, but Will was still a professional libertarian at the Cato Institute. I disagreed with him about many things, but I always found him rigorous and engaging.Over the years, I’ve followed as he’s moved from Cato to the center-right Niskanen Center (where he got canceled) to, now, the Progressive Policy Institute, where he is a senior fellow. In the process he left behind libertarianism for “liberaltarianism” and now some some kind of synthesis that doesn’t quite have a name but lands in the vicinity of social democrat, with an emphasis on small-d democracy.And of course, like everyone who’s anyone, he has his own newsletter: Model Citizen.There’s something nice about following a mind you admire as it tries to work its way toward higher and better understanding — it is so rare these days to witness anyone change their minds about anything — and there’s something especially nice when it ends up converging with your own thinking. I feel much more confident about things I believe when Will articulates them.Both Will and I have come to spend less time thinking about what might be the correct or optimal political philosophy and more time thinking about the workaday challenges of pluralism and democracy: how people of different cultures, ethnicities, genders, beliefs, and personalities, whose disagreements and conflicts are unlikely ever to be entirely resolved, can live together in relative peace.All of which is to say, I’ve wanted to talk politics with Will forever. We got around to it a few weeks ago and now I’ve finally got the thing produced. If you're in the mood for almost two hours of nerdy talk about Ayn Rand, rationalism, freedom, social insurance, the relationship between markets and government, and the perils of pluralism, strap on those headphones and travel along. (Note: several times in the pod I say “non-zero” when I mean “non–zero sum,” which bugs me now, but what can you do.)VOLTSD: Hello, welcome to volts. I am your host, David Roberts. Today I'm excited, as I have as a guest Will Wilkinson who is currently a senior scholar at the Progressive Policy Institute, which is sure to be of some amusement to those who have followed Will's career which began at the extremely different Cato Institute. So rather than try to explain Will’s whole history, which we're going to get into, I'll just say that I've been reading Will’s work for years now, and have been following his intellectual and political journey that he's been on, which has paralleled my own in a lot of ways. And so I thought I would talk with him about that journey, and about where he's ended up, and how we move forward in American politics from now. So we're taking on all the big questions today. So thanks for coming, Will, we appreciate you being on. WW: Thanks, Dave. I'm ready. DR: So before getting into the meat of things, just start by telling us a little bit about where you're from and how the story of Will Wilkinson that ended with you being a young, teenage Ayn Rand enthusiast, what's the what's the origin story?WW: Well, I was born the child of a poor sharecropper. Just kidding. That's, yeah, that's The Jerk. which describes me pretty well.I grew up in a little town in the middle of Iowa - Marshall town - it’s a small city of about 27,000 people. It's the county seat. So that makes it locally important. And it's exactly the same size as it was when I grew up there, which is interesting, because the composition of the population is very different today, but I moved there when I was five, because my dad had taken a job as the chief of police. So my entire childhood my dad was the chief of police in my hometown. My mother was a nurse for a large part of my childhood, she stayed at home, but she also worked as an obstetrics nurse and a home health nurse when I was a little bit older. I’ve got two older sisters. You know, go Bobcats. I don't know, what do you want to know about?DR: It's so American. Well, it's a small town, the chief police dad, the nurse Mom, it's, you know,WW: It's like, I really liked encyclopedia brown books because his dad was a police chief and his mom was a nurse. I grew up in a John Cougar Mellencamp song, I even would suck down chili dogs outside the Tasty Freeze, for real. So, one of the things that I find interesting, and I've been working for a long time on a book proposal of a version of this density divide paper that I wrote a couple of years ago. And I've been using my hometown as a model of things that have changed in the economy and how that's affected where people settle. And I didn't know when I was a kid that I was enjoying peak Marshalltown, Iowa; it was as good as it ever was in its existence. And it was as good as it was ever going to be. You know, it was a really healthy, vital little town with small manufacturers. The schools were great, you know, just like an incredibly active civic life - great little league, flag football, all of that stuff. And, you know, most of it's gone now.DR: All things that seem to be sort of dying out.WW: Not the Little League Baseball, that's not gone. But I mean most of the manufacturing is gone, and the average level of education in the town has gone down. One of the main employers was a place called Fisher Controls, which makes governors and valves. They employed a lot of engineers and a lot of lawyers, people like that. And they really downscaled their presence in Marshalltown. We also used to have a big Maytag air conditioning plant, a bunch of different stuff, which employed executives and hired lawyers and employed accountants and people with college degrees. Most of that stuff has gone, along with the good manufacturing jobs for, for people without college degrees. And so we've got mostly shitty manufacturing jobs in food processing.drvolts 5:11 It's gone from a 90s John Cougar Mellencamp song to like a 2010s John Cougar Mellencamp song.Will Wilkinson 5:18 Yeah, it's gotten a little, it's getting a little darker. But it was, it was a lovely place to grow up. Really. And, it was a conservative place. You know, my dad is a cop, which is a conservative-ish profession. My mother was actually a more political person and she was very conservative. For some time, she subscribed to the Phyllis Schlafly Eagle Forum newsletter, and that was just kind of background in my childhood. It's not like our family was very political. My dad was one of those old fashioned public servants who thought it was extremely untoward to ever express a political opinion. Because his job was to look after the safety and security of the whole town, and everybody needs to believe that you're working for them. And you can't take sides, right, so he wouldn't even tell us what his political opinions were at the kitchen table.DR: Funny. WW: Yeah, yeah. And I think that kind of ethos really has changed in law enforcement.drvolts 6:23 To say the least. Well, let's start with both of us. You have told this story of before you were sort of an enthusiastic libertarian as a teen and ended up entering the professional, libertarian world. I also had a brief period of enthusiastic Ayn Rand enthusiasm, and libertarianism. And we're going to talk about how you move past that, but I want to just take a moment to take seriously what it is about libertarianism that attracts a certain type of young man, like we were. Mostly men, mostly white - not exclusively. Let's take a moment to take the attraction seriously; what was it about it that clicked so hard for you and made such sense for you at that moment?Will Wilkinson 7:29 You know, it's really hard to say exactly what it is. And I'm very wary about the fidelity of memory. But what I remember, it's actually kind of weird, how I ended up being a libertarian. I grew up a member of the reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, which is a sect of Mormonism. I won't explain that unless you want it explained. And I went to church camp every summer for several weeks. And I've always been a weird person. I mean, I've always been a bit of a free thinker. And one day, at a campfire, you know you'd sing all the campfire songs, these silly songs at first, and then you get into the more serious songs, Kumbaya and all that s**t. And then campers are invited to get up and give testimonies, and mostly you get up and talk about how God is awesome and how your life has been touched and blessed and so on and so forth. You know, the RLDS, they're now known as the Community Christ, they're not they're not Community of Christ. They're not evangelical. You know, praise Jesus, speaking in tongues sort of things, it's actually pretty sedate. People would give their testimonies and I love singing with a bunch of people. I feel like that's what I miss most about church,drvolts 9:02 It's the best part of church.Will Wilkinson 9:04 I love it, I find it so nourishing to the soul. That is probably one of the reasons why I'm desiccated and bitter. We'd sung all the sweet campfire songs and I was filled with the spirit of love and community and I got up and I really wanted to tell people how much I loved them and I got up and said, you know, I don't really know about this God stuff. But I love all you guys. I think this is great.drvolts 9:40 The secular humanist credo!Will Wilkinson 9:44 Yeah, my mother was my Sunday school teacher and I don't know what it is in my personality. I've got a weird combination of just rigorous logic, this kind of relentless rationality about “does this make sense”? And also this drive to please and to be a good trooper for the cause. And so I legitimately wanted to be like the best, you know, quasi-Mormon that I could possibly be. And my mother would be teaching me the Bible or the Book of Mormon. And I would just relentlessly cross examine her about, “okay, so if this happened…” and then things don't make sense. And I would end up cornering her by accident, because I was just inquiring, like, well, how does this make sense? And she'd end up crying, because we're good. And then I would feel so terrible, because that wasn't my intention. But that kind of instinct came out in that campfire. And the funny thing that came to that was like, after, you know, the next day, one of the counselors, some middle aged dude wearing sandals with socks, came up to me and said, “Hey, you know, Bill”, I went by Bill. And he says “I think there's this book you'd really like”, and I said “yeah?”, and he's like, “yeah, it's called Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand”.drvolts 11:19 Mike, your quasi Mormon camp counselors turned you on to Ayn Rand.Will Wilkinson 11:23 Yeah, and he was kind of conspiratorial and I didn't really know why. But I was like, “okay”! So that summer I was maybe 15 or 16. I picked up Atlas Shrugged. And, you know, it's the fattest book, it’s 1200 pages or something like that. Anyway I dipped into it. And I was like, “this is a slog”, and just set it aside. Fast forward a couple years, after my freshman year in college at the University of Northern Iowa, I ended up being a tour guide at the Joseph Smith historic center in Nauvoo, Illinois, giving tours of Joseph Smith's house. And, I thought “Oh, this is gonna be a long summer”. There's nothing in Nauvoo, Illinois. It's not really a town. It's this abandoned kind of ghost town. All the Mormons lived there, and they left. There's this big historic site. And I was like, this is gonna be boring, so I need to bring the biggest book I've got. So I brought Atlas Shrugged, and it while giving tours of Joseph Smith's house. And I spent all summer reading it. You know, when you're a tour guide, you'd get the first shift and you'd open up the visitor center, and you'd kick back at the desk, and might be an hour, two hours before anybody comes in. So you'd sit back and read your novel. And I was riveted by it, I totally got into it. I decided I didn't believe in God, by the end of the book, and the thing is, I was clearly never going to really believe in God - I just don't have the god gene. I went back to college, for my sophomore year, and ended up reading The Fountainhead, and it really resonated with me. The thing that was really captivating to me was the critique of altruism, believe it or not. My church is this sweet-hearted, cosmopolitan, internationalist, “all humans are one”, vaguely social justice-y, even when I was a kid. It’s a really liberal form of Mormonism (comparatively). But everything is about service. Everything is about doing things for other people. And in my Midwestern milieu, and that overall service Christianity you're not supposed to stick your head up, you don't want to look like you've got a big head or you're better than other people. My dad would always say, “don't don't get too big for your britches”, that kind of thing. What I found in Ayn Rand was permission to be awesome. That's really what excited me down to the core of my being. This argument, this justification for just f*****g going for it. Be the best version of yourself that you can be and you don't have to f*****g apologize to anybody. You don't have to justify it to anybody. You just be awesome.drvolts 14:56 Right? It was the Uberman aspect you saw in yourself. Nobody who reads these things is like, “Oh, I suddenly realized my cousin is extraordinary” it's always “Oh wait, I'm extraordinary, at last I can tell the world”. WW: Yeah, it's never, “I'm Eddie Willers” - that kind of pathetic viewpoint character, who's supposed to typify the average guy. We're all John Galt. Everybody who reads The Fountainhead is Howard Roark. But it was really transformative for me and I don't think in a bad way, because it's not really the Ubermensch stuff because I was never interested in lording power over others or crushing people under foot on my ascent to the peaks of Promethean glory or whatever. I just thought it was amazing that it was okay. That if I wanted to just do it for myself - if I had aspirations, if I wanted to be a great artist, I should try to be a great artist, right?drvolts 16:11 Well, that's a much more noble set of motivations and residences than I can claim. I was about the same age and it was one of the few times I was in my college library, literally just browsing the philosophy section, because I had sort of like a young man's interest in philosophy. Where did you stumble upon this? It's called Marable College in some small town, Tennessee. It had 800 students when I went there, so there's no reason anyone ever would have heard of it. But I stumbled across this book called The Virtue of Selfishness. And I was like, oh, tell me more. Tell me more. So I ended up reading all of Ayn’s non-fiction, and even in my peak Rand enthusiasm I could never abide her fiction. I still can't read a paragraph of it. It's so bad, but, but for me, it was less “I can be extraordinary, I can do what I want. I don't have to apologize to him.” For me, it's just like, “I can be left alone and don’t have to mess with anybody else.” Nobody messes with me, nobody owes me anything. I don't owe anybody else anything. I think a certain kind of young man, especially with that rationalist streak that you're talking about is often coupled with a certain degree of emotional illiteracy. Or let's say the way young men are s…
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