Introduction
By
Lawrence W. Reed
Eloquent.
Extraordinary. Timeless. Paradigm-shifting. Classic. Half a century after it
first appeared, Leonard Read’s “I, Pencil” still evokes such adjectives of
praise. Rightfully so, for this little essay opens eyes and minds among people
of all ages. Many first-time readers never see the world quite the same
again.
Ideas
are most powerful when they’re wrapped in a compelling story. Leonard’s main
point—economies can hardly be “planned” when not one soul possesses all the
know-how and skills to produce a simple pencil—unfolds in the enchanting words
of a pencil itself. Leonard could have written “I, Car” or “I, Airplane,” but
choosing those more complex items would have muted the message. No one
person—repeat, no one, no matter how smart or how many degrees follow his
name—could create from scratch a small, everyday pencil, let alone a car or an
airplane.
This
is a message that humbles the high and mighty. It pricks the inflated egos of
those who think they know how to mind everybody else’s business. It explains in
plain language why central planning is an exercise in arrogance and futility, or
what Nobel laureate and Austrian economist
F. A. Hayek aptly termed “the pretence of knowledge.”
F. A. Hayek aptly termed “the pretence of knowledge.”
Indeed,
a major influence on Read’s thinking in this regard was Hayek’s famous 1945
article, “The Use of Knowledge in Society.” In demolishing the spurious claims
of the socialists of the day, Hayek wrote,“This is not a dispute about whether
planning is to be done or not. It is a dispute as to whether planning is to be
done centrally, by one authority for the whole economic system, or is to be
divided among many individuals.”
Maximilien
Robespierre is said to have blessed the horrific French Revolution with this
chilling declaration: “On ne saurait pas faire une omelette sans casser des
oeufs.” Translation: “One can’t expect to make an omelet without breaking eggs.”
A consummate statist who worked tirelessly to plan the lives of others, he would
become the architect of the Revolution’s bloodiest phase—the Reign of Terror of
1793–94.
Robespierre
and his guillotine broke eggs by the thousands in a vain effort to impose a
utopian society with government planners at the top and everybody else at the
bottom. That French experience is but one example in a disturbingly familiar
pattern. Call them what you will—socialists, interventionists, collectivists,
statists—history is littered with their presumptuous plans for rearranging
society to fit their vision of the common good, plans that always fail as they
kill or impoverish other people in the process. If socialism ever earns a final
epitaph, it will be this: Here lies a contrivance engineered by know-it-alls who
broke eggs with abandon but never, ever created an omelet.
None
of the Robespierres of the world knew how to make a pencil, yet they wanted to
remake entire societies. How utterly preposterous, and mournfully tragic! But we
will miss a large implication of Leonard Read’s message if we assume it aims
only at the tyrants whose names we all know. The lesson of “I, Pencil” is not
that error begins when the planners plan big. It begins the moment one tosses
humility aside, assumes he knows the unknowable, and employs the force of the
State against peaceful individuals. That’s not just a national disease. It can
be very local indeed.
In
our midst are people who think that if only they had government power on their
side, they could pick tomorrow’s winners and losers in the marketplace, set
prices or rents where they ought to be, decide which forms of energy should
power our homes and cars, and choose which industries should survive and which
should die. They should stop for a few moments and learn a little humility from
a lowly writing implement.
While
“I, Pencil” shoots down the baseless expectations for central planning, it
provides a supremely uplifting perspective of the individual. Guided by Adam
Smith’s “invisible hand” of prices, property, profits, and incentives, free
people accomplish economic miracles of which socialist theoreticians can only
dream. As the interests of countless individuals from around the world converge
to produce pencils without a single “master mind,” so do they also come together
in free markets to feed, clothe, house, educate, and entertain hundreds of
millions of people at ever higher levels. With great pride, FEE publishes this
new edition of “I, Pencil” to mark the essay’s 50th anniversary. Someday there
will be a centennial edition, maybe even a millennial one. This essay is truly
one for the ages.
—Lawrence
W. Reed, President
Foundation for Economic Education
Foundation for Economic Education
***
I, Pencil
By
Leonard E. Read
I
am a lead pencil—the ordinary wooden pencil familiar to all boys and girls and
adults who can read and write.
Writing
is both my vocation and my avocation; that’s all I do.
You
may wonder why I should write a genealogy. Well, to begin with, my story is
interesting. And, next, I am a mystery —more so than a tree or a sunset or even
a flash of lightning. But, sadly, I am taken for granted by those who use me, as
if I were a mere incident and without background. This supercilious attitude
relegates me to the level of the commonplace. This is a species of the grievous
error in which mankind cannot too long persist without peril. For, the wise G.
K. Chesterton observed, “We are perishing for want of wonder, not for want of
wonders.”
I,
Pencil, simple though I appear to be, merit your wonder and awe, a claim I shall
attempt to prove. In fact, if you can understand me—no, that’s too much to ask
of anyone—if you can become aware of the miraculousness which I symbolize, you
can help save the freedom mankind is so unhappily losing. I have a profound
lesson to teach. And I can teach this lesson better than can an automobile or an
airplane or a mechanical dishwasher because—well, because I am seemingly so
simple.
Simple?
Yet, not a single person on the face of this earth knows how to make me. This
sounds fantastic, doesn’t it? Especially when it is realized that there are
about one and one-half billion of my kind produced in the U.S.A. each year.
Pick
me up and look me over. What do you see? Not much meets the eye—there’s some
wood, lacquer, the printed labeling, graphite lead, a bit of metal, and an
eraser.
Innumerable Antecedents
Just
as you cannot trace your family tree back very far, so is it impossible for me
to name and explain all my antecedents. But I would like to suggest enough of
them to impress upon you the richness and complexity of my background.
My
family tree begins with what in fact is a tree, a cedar of straight grain that
grows in Northern California and Oregon. Now contemplate all the saws and trucks
and rope and the countless other gear used in harvesting and carting the cedar
logs to the railroad siding. Think of all the persons and the numberless skills
that went into their fabrication: the mining of ore, the making of steel and its
refinement into saws, axes, motors; the growing of hemp and bringing it through
all the stages to heavy and strong rope; the logging camps with their beds and
mess halls, the cookery and the raising of all the foods. Why, untold thousands
of persons had a hand in every cup of coffee the loggers drink!
The
logs are shipped to a mill in San Leandro, California. Can you imagine the
individuals who make flat cars and rails and railroad engines and who construct
and install the communication systems incidental thereto? These legions are
among my antecedents.
Consider
the millwork in San Leandro. The cedar logs are cut into small, pencil-length
slats less than one-fourth of an inch in thickness. These are kiln dried and
then tinted for the same reason women put rouge on their faces. People prefer
that I look pretty, not a pallid white. The slats are waxed and kiln dried
again. How many skills went into the making of the tint and the kilns, into
supplying the heat, the light and power, the belts, motors, and all the other
things a mill requires? Sweepers in the mill among my ancestors? Yes, and
included are the men who poured the concrete for the dam of a Pacific Gas &
Electric Company hydroplant which supplies the mill’s power!
Don’t
overlook the ancestors present and distant who have a hand in transporting sixty
carloads of slats across the nation.
Once
in the pencil factory—$4,000,000 in machinery and building, all capital
accumulated by thrifty and saving parents of mine—each slat is given eight
grooves by a complex machine, after which another machine lays leads in every
other slat, applies glue, and places another slat atop—a lead sandwich, so to
speak. Seven brothers and I are mechanically carved from this “wood-clinched”
sandwich.
My
“lead” itself—it contains no lead at all—is complex. The graphite is mined in
Ceylon [Sri Lanka]. Consider these miners and those who make their many tools
and the makers of the paper sacks in which the graphite is shipped and those who
make the string that ties the sacks and those who put them aboard ships and
those who make the ships. Even the lighthouse keepers along the way assisted in
my birth—and the harbor pilots.
The
graphite is mixed with clay from Mississippi in which ammonium hydroxide is used
in the refining process. Then wetting agents are added such as sulfonated
tallow—animal fats chemically reacted with sulfuric acid. After passing through
numerous machines, the mixture finally appears as endless extrusions—as from a
sausage grinder—cut to size, dried, and baked for several hours at 1,850 degrees
Fahrenheit. To increase their strength and smoothness the leads are then treated
with a hot mixture which includes candelilla wax from Mexico, paraffin wax, and
hydrogenated natural fats.
My
cedar receives six coats of lacquer. Do you know all the ingredients of lacquer?
Who would think that the growers of castor beans and the refiners of castor oil
are a part of it? They are. Why, even the processes by which the lacquer is made
a beautiful yellow involve the skills of more persons than one can
enumerate!
Observe
the labeling. That’s a film formed by applying heat to carbon black mixed with
resins. How do you make resins and what, pray, is carbon black?
My
bit of metal—the ferrule—is brass. Think of all the persons who mine zinc and
copper and those who have the skills to make shiny sheet brass from these
products of nature. Those black rings on my ferrule are black nickel. What is
black nickel and how is it applied? The complete story of why the center of my
ferrule has no black nickel on it would take pages to explain.
Then
there’s my crowning glory, inelegantly referred to in the trade as “the plug,”
the part man uses to erase the errors he makes with me. An ingredient called
“factice” is what does the erasing. It is a rubber-like product made by reacting
rapeseed oil from the Dutch East Indies [Indonesia] with sulfur chloride.
Rubber, contrary to the common notion, is only for binding purposes. Then, too,
there are numerous vulcanizing and accelerating agents. The pumice comes from
Italy; and the pigment which gives “the plug” its color is cadmium sulfide.
No One Knows
Does
anyone wish to challenge my earlier assertion that no single person on the face
of this earth knows how to make me?
Actually,
millions of human beings have had a hand in my creation, no one of whom even
knows more than a very few of the others. Now, you may say that I go too far in
relating the picker of a coffee berry in far-off Brazil and food growers
elsewhere to my creation; that this is an extreme position. I shall stand by my
claim. There isn’t a single person in all these millions, including the
president of the pencil company, who contributes more than a tiny, infinitesimal
bit of know-how. From the standpoint of know-how the only difference between the
miner of graphite in Ceylon and the logger in Oregon is in the type of know-how.
Neither the miner nor the logger can be dispensed with, any more than can the
chemist at the factory or the worker in the oil field—paraffin being a
by-product of petroleum.
Here
is an astounding fact: Neither the worker in the oil field nor the chemist nor
the digger of graphite or clay nor any who mans or makes the ships or trains or
trucks nor the one who runs the machine that does the knurling on my bit of
metal nor the president of the company performs his singular task because he
wants me. Each one wants me less, perhaps, than does a child in the first grade.
Indeed, there are some among this vast multitude who never saw a pencil nor
would they know how to use one. Their motivation is other than me. Perhaps it is
something like this: Each of these millions sees that he can thus exchange his
tiny know-how for the goods and services he needs or wants. I may or may not be
among these items.
No Master Mind
There
is a fact still more astounding: The absence of a master mind, of anyone
dictating or forcibly directing these countless actions which bring me into
being. No trace of such a person can be found. Instead, we find the Invisible
Hand at work. This is the mystery to which I earlier referred.
It
has been said that “only God can make a tree.” Why do we agree with this? Isn’t
it because we realize that we ourselves could not make one? Indeed, can we even
describe a tree? We cannot, except in superficial terms. We can say, for
instance, that a certain molecular configuration manifests itself as a tree. But
what mind is there among men that could even record, let alone direct, the
constant changes in molecules that transpire in the life span of a tree? Such a
feat is utterly unthinkable!
I,
Pencil, am a complex combination of miracles: a tree, zinc, copper, graphite,
and so on. But to these miracles which manifest themselves in Nature an even
more extraordinary miracle has been added: the configuration of creative human
energies—millions of tiny know-hows configurating naturally and spontaneously in
response to human necessity and desire and in the absence of any human
masterminding! Since only God can make a tree, I insist that only God could make
me. Man can no more direct these millions of know-hows to bring me into being
than he can put molecules together to create a tree.
The
above is what I meant when writing, “If you can become aware of the
miraculousness which I symbolize, you can help save the freedom mankind is so
unhappily losing.” For, if one is aware that these know-hows will naturally,
yes, automatically, arrange themselves into creative and productive patterns in
response to human necessity and demand— that is, in the absence of governmental
or any other coercive master-minding—then one will possess an absolutely
essential ingredient for freedom: a faith in free people. Freedom is impossible
without this faith.
Once
government has had a monopoly of a creative activity such, for instance, as the
delivery of the mails, most individuals will believe that the mails could not be
efficiently delivered by men acting freely. And here is the reason: Each one
acknowledges that he himself doesn’t know how to do all the things incident to
mail delivery. He also recognizes that no other individual could do it. These
assumptions are correct. No individual possesses enough know-how to perform a
nation’s mail delivery any more than any individual possesses enough know-how to
make a pencil. Now, in the absence of faith in free people—in the unawareness
that millions of tiny know-hows would naturally and miraculously form and
cooperate to satisfy this necessity—the individual cannot help but reach the
erroneous conclusion that mail can be delivered only by governmental
“masterminding.”
Testimony Galore
If
I, Pencil, were the only item that could offer testimony on what men and women
can accomplish when free to try, then those with little faith would have a fair
case. However, there is testimony galore; it’s all about us and on every hand.
Mail delivery is exceedingly simple when compared, for instance, to the making
of an automobile or a calculating machine or a grain combine or a milling
machine or to tens of thousands of other things. Delivery? Why, in this area
where men have been left free to try, they deliver the human voice around the
world in less than one second; they deliver an event visually and in motion to
any person’s home when it is happening; they deliver 150 passengers from Seattle
to Baltimore in less than four hours; they deliver gas from Texas to one’s range
or furnace in New York at unbelievably low rates and without subsidy; they
deliver each four pounds of oil from the Persian Gulf to our Eastern
Seaboard—halfway around the world—for less money than the government charges for
delivering a one-ounce letter across the street!
The
lesson I have to teach is this: Leave all creative energies uninhibited. Merely
organize society to act in harmony with this lesson. Let society’s legal
apparatus remove all obstacles the best it can. Permit these creative know-hows
freely to flow. Have faith that free men and women will respond to the Invisible
Hand. This faith will be confirmed. I, Pencil, seemingly simple though I am,
offer the miracle of my creation as testimony that this is a practical faith, as
practical as the sun, the rain, a cedar tree, the good earth.
***
Afterword
By
Milton Friedman, Nobel Laureate, 1976
Leonard
Read’s delightful story, “I, Pencil,” has become a classic, and deservedly so. I
know of no other piece of literature that so succinctly, persuasively, and
effectively illustrates the meaning of both Adam Smith’s invisible hand—the
possibility of cooperation without coercion—and Friedrich Hayek’s emphasis on
the importance of dispersed knowledge and the role of the price system in
communicating information that “will make the individuals do the desirable
things without anyone having to tell them what to do.”
We
used Leonard’s story in our television show, “Free to Choose,” and in the
accompanying book of the same title to illustrate “the power of the market” (the
title of both the first segment of the TV show and of chapter one of the book).
We summarized the story and then went on to say:
“None
of the thousands of persons involved in producing the pencil performed his task
because he wanted a pencil. Some among them never saw a pencil and would not
know what it is for. Each saw his work as a way to get the goods and services he
wanted—goods and services we produced in order to get the pencil we wanted.
Every time we go to the store and buy a pencil, we are exchanging a little bit
of our services for the infinitesimal amount of services that each of the
thousands contributed toward producing the pencil.
“It
is even more astounding that the pencil was ever produced. No one sitting in a
central office gave orders to these thousands of people. No military police
enforced the orders that were not given. These people live in many lands, speak
different languages, practice different religions, may even hate one another—yet
none of these differences prevented them from cooperating to produce a pencil.
How did it happen? Adam Smith gave us the answer two hundred years ago.”
“I,
Pencil” is a typical Leonard Read product: imaginative, simple yet subtle,
breathing the love of freedom that imbued everything Leonard wrote or did. As in
the rest of his work, he was not trying to tell people what to do or how to
conduct themselves. He was simply trying to enhance individuals’ understanding
of themselves and of the system they live in.
That
was his basic credo and one that he stuck to consistently during his long period
of service to the public—not public service in the sense of government service.
Whatever the pressure, he stuck to his guns, refusing to compromise his
principles. That was why he was so effective in keeping alive, in the early
days, and then spreading the basic idea that human freedom required private
property, free competition, and severely limited government.
***
FOUNDATION
FOR ECONOMIC EDUCATION
Freedom’s
Home Since 1946
The
Foundation for Economic Education (FEE), the oldest free-market organization in
the United States, was established in 1946 by Leonard E. Read to study and
advance the freedom philosophy. FEE’s mission is to offer the most consistent
case for the first principles of freedom: the sanctity of private property,
individual liberty, the rule of law, the free market, and the moral superiority
of individual choice and responsibility over coercion.
The
Foundation’s periodicals The Freeman: Ideas on Liberty and Notes from FEE
present timeless insights on the positive case for human liberty to thousands of
people around the world. Throughout the year FEE’s lecture series, programs, and
seminars bring together hundreds of individuals of all ages to explore the
foundations of free enterprise and market competition. The Foundation plays a
major role in publishing and promoting numerous essential books on the freedom
philosophy.
Millions
of people a year visit our state-of-the-art website, www.fee.org. Cybervisitors
can read books and periodicals, listen to speakers, take a virtual tour of the
Foundation, purchase books, register for events and programs, and much more. Our
popular e-commentary, In Brief, remains an indispensable source of daily
information for thousands of people.
The
Foundation for Economic Education is a non-political, non-profit, tax-exempt
educational foundation and accepts no taxpayer money. FEE is supported solely by
contributions from private individuals and foundations.
Read more: http://www.fee.org/library/detail/i-pencil-audio-pdf-and-html#ixzz2IzxewA5l