시사저널 [단독]"대장동 민간개발했다면 최대 수익은 3400억원…이재명이 관·민개발해 1조원 수익" [인터뷰]'이재명 배임 의혹' 제기한 이강길 전 씨세븐 대표 "6000억원 수익은 부동산값 상승 아닌 토지 헐값 수용으로 생긴 것" leej**** 이게 팩트지. 자꾸 민간이 6천억가져갔을거란 궤변을 늘어놓는데, 토지수용가가 올라가고, 분양가 상한제에 걸렸을거라서 민간단독으로 했으면 총이익이 엄청나게 줄어든다. 성남시와 화천대유가 가져간 돈은 민간에서 뺏어온게 아니라 대장동 원주민이 더 받아야 할 돈을 뺏고, 입주민들에게 돈을 더 걷어서 나눠준거다. 전형적인 민주당식 갈라치기지. 원주민 입주민은 소수이니 뜯어내고, 20만원씩 나눠주면 좋아하는 생각없는 사람들한테 표 받아내고. 본인들이 토실토실 살오르면 다음 사냥감이 될것도 모르고 ㅉㅉ self**** 이거 다 아는건데, 대장동 문제는 공영으로 강제수용(공시지가)로후려치고, 민간 이익은 찢천대유로 다 흘러간거임... 민간만 했으면 원주민 토지보상 비용, 공영을 했으면 분양가가 많이 낮았을거임... 도대체 회수했다는 것도 은수미가 이어받아서 10만원씩 성남주민 준건데 그게 머야 도대체 ㅋㅋ --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 오마이뉴스 "대장동, 민간업자가 1조6000억원 챙겼다" 경실련 "공공 환수는 10%에 불과, 누가 설계했는지 밝혀야" ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 성김 “종전선언 제안 계속 논의 고대…이번 주말 방한” 성 김 미국 국무부 대북특별대표가 이번 주말 방한해 한국 측과 종전선언에 대한 논의를 지속해나가겠다는 뜻을 밝혔다. 동아일보 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 휘그의 과학사관이 초래한 재난 휘그Whig의 과학사관은 휘그의 역사관과 유사하다. 휘그 역사관의 요지는, 과학과 지식의 성장은 과거부터 현재까지 한걸음 한걸음 앞으로 나아온 역사라는 생각이다. 휘그 사관이 의미하는 바는, 고대의 애호가가 아닌 이상, 과거의 과학을 알 필요가 없다는 것이다. 왜냐하면 이전의 과학은 이미 오류로 판정 났고, 현재의 과학만이 진실이기 때문이다. 휘그 사관의 또 다른 의미는, 과학이 발전과정에서 모든 가정과 전제를 실험해서, 취사선택 했으므로, 어떤 지식도 유실되지 않았다는 것이다. <과학 혁명의 구조>를 쓴 토마스 쿤은 철학자가 아니라, 과학의 사학자로, 또 사회학자로 흥미로운 사람이다. 그는 과학이 선형적으로, 단계적으로 발전하지 않았으며, 패러다임이라 불리는 당대의 기본적인 신념이 있다고 말한다. 그리고 그런 패러다임이 여러 문제들을 설명하지 못할 때, 새로운 패러다임이 나타나서 문제들을 해결하면, 그 새로운 패러다임이 과학계의 기본 지식이 된다는 것이다. 따라서 사회과학이나 경제학에서 새로운 패러다임이 등장하면, 구 패러다임에 속한 지식들을 모두 폐기 되고, 우리는 그 지식들을 잃어버리게 된다. 따라서 1850년대에 쓰여진 책에, 경제학이나 철학 등에서, 현재보다 더 나은 진실과 진리가 담겨 있을 수 있는 것이다. 따라서 역사가는 비판적이어야 하고, 과거의 경제학자나 철학자가 과연 옳은지, 얼마나 옳은지를 판단해야 한다. 사학자 액튼 경은, 사학자의 임무는 선을 칭찬하고 악을 비난하는 것이라고 했다. 그는 나아가 역사의 잘못을 바로잡기 위해, 사학자는 판관이 되어야 하고, 그것도 교수형을 집행하는 판관이 되어야 한다는 것이다. History of Science: Whiggism Gone Wild Murray N. Rothbard Excerpted from an edited transcript of "Ideology and Theories of History," the first in a series of six lectures, given in 1986, on the history of economic thought. The Whig theory of the history of science is very similar, of course, to the Whig theory of the history itself. The Whig theory of history of science was dominant until the 1960s. (It probably still is dominant in high school textbooks.) It essentially said that science, the growth of knowledge, is an onward-and-upward, step-by-step approach, from the year zero to now. What are the implications of that? One implication is that you don't have to read a history of science unless you're an antiquarian. If you're a physicist in 1986, there's no point in reading some physicist from 1930; unless you're interested in the special conditions of what happened to him, you don't learn anything from it. In other words, you never lose any knowledge. The theory is that, every step of the way, science patiently tests its assumptions and premises; it discards those that turn out to be unacceptable, false, and adds those that are acceptable. Everybody's always patiently testing their axioms, steadily advancing. Therefore, there's no loss of knowledge. The current textbook then incorporates all the best of everything from the year zero to the present. This is the theory, at any rate. Here, the famous Kuhn doctrine I think comes in very neatly, the famous paradigm theory of Thomas Kuhn from The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. He effected a revolution in the history of science. Kuhn has caught a lot of flak on his philosophy of science, which he claims he doesn't really have. I think he's not interesting as a philosopher; he is interesting as a historian and a sociologist of science, asking, How did science actually develop? And essentially what he says is that this linear, step-by-step stuff isn't the case. First of all, nobody ever tests their basic axioms, ever. That's of course obviously true. That's of course obviously true. Once an axiom (or a "paradigm," as he put it, a set of basic beliefs) is adopted, people just apply it. Now, various peripheral matters or "puzzles," he calls them, come up, but anybody who challenges the basic paradigm is considered not a scientist. Not that he's refuted, I think, just out of the dialogue: he's had it. So this pegs on for a while until various anomalies pop up until the theory begins obviously to fail in explaining a lot of stuff, and then there's a crisis situation, as he calls it, where confusion and competing paradigms come up. If some new paradigm can solve these puzzles better, it then begins to take over and establishes a new paradigm, and they forget all the rest of the stuff. Now, he is alleged to have said that no paradigm's any better than the other. I don't think that's true. But at any rate, the interesting thing, what happens here is that you lose knowledge. Even if this paradigm's better than that, often stuff gets lost along the way. One example is, of course, Greek fire. We didn't know until very recently what Greek fire was. We now know it's like flamethrowers, but we only found that out when we invented flamethrowers. In 1900 nobody knew what Greek fire had been. Another example of course was the Stradivarius violin varnish, which nobody can duplicate, because you can't test everything, can't figure out the composition — secret formulas, in other words, which get lost. These are obvious, blatant examples. A friend of mine in the history of science says there are certain laws of 18th-century optics that we've forgotten. We know less about certain areas of optics than they did in the 18th century. At any rate, when we get to the social sciences and philosophy, this is much more true. By the way, another thing I should say is that the old guys never change, they don't shift to the new paradigms, usually. The old guys will stick to it until they die. The people who adopt the new paradigms are the younger people — graduate students, college students who are not intellectually locked into the old paradigm. A famous example of that is Joseph Priestley, the late-18th-century libertarian and physicist, who discovered oxygen, and refused to believe it was really oxygen. He was so locked into the Phlogiston theory that he said it's only dephlogisticated air. He refused to acknowledge the implication of his own invention, his own discovery. Incredible. At any rate, this is very typical. This is why, by the way, strategically, if you're an Austrian, you shouldn't spend time trying to convert Paul Samuelson or Milton Friedman. These guys are not going to be converted: they're locked into their paradigm. You convert people who are just coming up, new people, people who are on the fence. Graduate students, these are the people you can convert. Don't waste your time trying to convert Samuelson or Friedman or whoever the other paradigm people are. So the war is for the souls of the people coming up, so to speak. Obviously, it's pretty clear that in social sciences, economics, philosophy, etc., there's even more of this, because there's less testable stuff, obviously. If this is true in science, physical science, which I think it is, it's all the more true in social science, and economics, where you can really lose knowledge very rapidly because you can replace a good paradigm by a lousy one. It may be difficult to do it in physics, but it's certainly very easy to do in philosophy and economics and political thought. It's very easy for a new paradigm to get established for one reason or another that has nothing to do with its truth value. It could be fashion; it could be politics; it could be the king; it could be throwing all the old paradigm people into the Lubyanka, and whatever. So reading history of economic thought (of philosophic thought even more so) is not just of interest for historians to see how a theory developed. It is of interest also to find out the truth, because somebody in 1850 might be better than somebody writing now — matter of fact, usually is — in economics, philosophy, and whatever. So the whole history of thought then becomes, in the social sciences and philosophy, a much more exciting enterprise, it seems to me, than in physics. Again, the guiding philosophy in the history of thought and history of economics now, to get into that, the guiding doctrine has been Whig again, even though Whig theory seems to be obviously untrue. In almost every textbook, a hallmark would be this: Any group, whoever they're talking about, any group has something positive to contribute to the building of economics. Whatever, even if they're totally contradictory — one group is obviously nutty — doesn't make a difference. They're not nutty; they're part of the "great dialogue." So any group then takes their place. Whoever you're talking about — the French, the Scholastics, the British classicists, the Austrians, the Keynesians, institutionalists, they're all great guys. They're all somehow contributing to a great edifice. The historian of economic thought who says this is "noncontroversial," undogmatic, a nice guy, because he likes everybody. He's "tolerant." The fact that he's got it wrong doesn't seem to make much difference. It seems to me these histories are almost worthless. It's true that even a Whig approach can sum up what each group says, what each person says, but that's not really enough. It seems to me the historian should be critical, should find out, "Is this guy wrong?" or "To what extent is he wrong? Is he right? What's going on here?" Especially in economics or philosophy, where it's not just the cut-and-dried thing, where we now have the laser beam, and before we only had rubbing two sticks together. By the way, probably the worst example of this sort of thing is the Leo Straussian doctrine in the history of liberal thought. Leo Strauss was a German refugee, came to the University of Chicago and set up what can only be called a cult group of Straussians, and all very self-consciously Straussian. "Follow the master in all things," etc. Straussians take a few what they call "great thinkers" — I'm going to criticize that too, the concept of taking only great thinkers — they take a few great thinkers, more or less arbitrarily selected. How do they know they're great thinkers? Well, everybody says they're great. Machiavelli, Aristotle, Dewey, whatever. Hobbes. Then they say, "Since this guy is a great figure, he must've been consistent. Why does he have to be consistent? Well, he's a great thinker? Who am I, a schnook professor, to challenge the greatness of this guy?" The assumption is this guy's a great thinker. Most of these guys are very inconsistent. They contradict themselves on every page. Keynes did this all the time. It looks as if he contradicted himself, say the Straussians, but he couldn't, because he's a great thinker and therefore consistent. So we have to look for the "deep inner consistency." The deep inner consistency amounts almost to astrology. It's numerology. Strauss will say if you take the fifth book of Machiavelli's Prince and compare it with the fifth book of the Laws, it's this number magic, you see, the five, you look for the deep things, really explain what he's saying. It's really bizarre. Whiggism gone hog wild. And he desperately, actually, thinks everybody's great, and consistent as well as contributing to the edifice of thought. So we have to realize, it seems to me, that it's just the opposite: many thinkers are great; other thinkers are lousy. Some developed truth; others sank into error. Therefore, analyzing economists, separating who these guys are, we have to ask, To what extent were they correct? To what extent were they bad? To what extent did they push economics in a wrong detour? Etc. There is supposedly the vice of so-called presentism, where you attack everybody for not having read Human Action, and you attack Aquinas for not having read Human Action. It's called presentism. Very few people do that. I think it's a straw man. I don't know of anybody that really does that. The real vice is the other way around. The real vice is to think everybody's great and everybody's true in some sense. To paraphrase one of my favorite quotes from Oscar Wilde, Miss Prism, in The Importance of Being Earnest, was asked whether her novel — she'd written a three-volume novel — whether it had a happy ending or not. She drew herself up and she said, "The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what Fiction means." Of course, I would say with Lord Acton that the role of the historians is to praise the good and denounce the bad; that's the meaning of History. Acton says the muse of the historian is not Clio, the official Greek muse of history, but Rhadamanthus, the avenger of innocent blood. Acton went on to say, "The historian must be a judge, and a hanging judge at that, to right the wrongs of history." Excerpted from an edited transcript of "Ideology and Theories of History," the first in a series of six lectures, given in 1986, on the history of economic thought. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 누가 도로를 건설할 것인가? 도로 건설을 통해 혜택을 입는 모든 사람이 건설한다. 공공재는 그 생산에 비용을 기여하지도 않으면서, 무료로 이용하므로, 정부가 제공해야 한다고 주장한다. “누가 도로를 건설할 것인가?”라는 질문은, 정부가 없으면 민간에서는 도로를 건설할 동기도, 재정도 없다는 가정에 근거해 있다. 하지만 미국사의 초기에는 턴파이크 열풍turnpike craze이라는 게 있었다. 턴파이크는 사적으로 건설되고 운영된 도로를 가리킨다. 초기 미국인들은 시장 경제와 그들의 마을을 연결시키고 싶은 열망에, 턴파이크 회사에 기꺼이 투자했다. 미국사의 초기에 시장이 통합되고 산업화가 본격화 될 때, 대부분의 도로는 사적으로 건설되었다. 턴파이크 회사들이 파산하기도 하고 배당금을 잘 나눠주지도 않았지만, 개인 투자가들은 계속해서 투자를 했는데, 사학자 존 마주스키John Majewski에 따르면 그 이유는 배당금을 받기 위해서라기보다는, 도로를 통해서 얻는 상업의 발달과 지가 상승 등의 간접적인 혜택 때문이라는 것이다. Who Will Build the Roads? Anyone Who Stands to Benefit from Them. Chris Calton Any freshman economics major can attest that nobody gets through their introductory economics courses without learning the theory of public goods and the so-called free-rider problem. As espoused by Paul Samuelson in the 1950s, public goods are consumed collectively, therefore making them nonrivalrous and nonexcludable—or, putting aside economic jargon, consumers do not compete against each other for such goods and producers cannot regulate access to them. In consequence, “free riders” can enjoy public goods without contributing to the cost of production. This doctrine is invoked to justify government provision of public goods, which flies in the face of another of the first lessons young economists are taught: that economic science should be value neutral. The theory of public goods asserts that without government provision or subsidization, public goods will be underproduced, which is a normative judgment resting on assumptions about how much of a good constitutes the “correct” amount in a given economy. But as this fallacy has already been detailed elsewhere, my goal is to consider the free rider problem in historical perspective. When students are taught about public goods, roads and highways serve as the default example in virtually every economics class. The cliché question every libertarian has encountered—“Who will build the roads?”—is predicated on the idea that without the state, private actors will have no incentive to construct or finance roadways because they will be unable to monetize them (or, at least, unable to do so sufficiently to meet the needs of the community). This assumption is accepted with such a degree of faith that few scholars have seen fit to even question whether and to what degree private roads have been constructed historically. But in the early years of the new republic, Americans underwent what some historians have described as a “turnpike craze.” The term “turnpike” specifically refers to roadways constructed and operated privately. Early Americans, wanting to connect their communities to the developing market economy, eagerly subscribed to turnpike corporations for local roads. In fact, turnpike corporations were among the first for-profit corporations in the country, and dramatically widened the population of shareholders at a time when corporate stock was rarely available to the public. For the first few decades of the United States, as markets rapidly integrated and industrialization took off, most roads were privately financed and constructed. It is worth acknowledging that this was rarely an example of purely private enterprise. As with any corporate endeavor in the early republic, states granted certain privileges and often purchased shares in public utility companies (which originally referred primarily to transportation and infrastructure companies). This practice was hardly due to the inadequacy of private financiers, but rather the desire of state and local governments (as well as political cronies) to reap some of the potential profits. By the second quarter of the nineteenth century, state and local governments had started to become more reluctant to purchase corporate stock. This was partially the result of political controversies in which some businesses were favored over others, which was greatly stigmatized by the democratic Jacksonians. Another reason for government withdrawal was that turnpike corporations were proving to be unprofitable ventures, rarely paying dividends and often going bankrupt. But before one pounces on the unprofitability of these companies to reaffirm the need for governments to provide public goods, we should ask why private investors continued to eagerly finance these disastrous investments. Historian John Majewski, in his research on turnpike corporations, provides an answer to this question. “Stockholders,” he writes, “hoped to reap rewards for their investment not so much through direct returns (such as dividends and stock appreciation), but from indirect benefits (increased commerce and higher land value).” What’s crucial to note here is that modern public goods theory suggests that only the state, in their obligation to provide the “public good” (the cornerstone of early republic theory from which the modern economic theory is derived), has any motive to construct anything that provides only “indirect benefits” to a community. The bulk of economists overwhelmingly ignore the facts of history, which suggest the opposite. But even this doesn’t explain the free-rider problem, which Majewski addresses as well: Consider the following scenario: Farmer Smith, after patiently listening to boosters discuss the great benefits of a turnpike, decides that the project would raise the value of his land by $500. Farmer Smith also knows that any initial investment in the turnpike company would be lost—a share purchased for $100 would quickly become worth only a few dollars. While $400 is undoubtedly a tidy profit on a single share, Farmer Smith knew how to get an even bigger return: Let Farmer Jones or another neighbor invest in the turnpike. According to public goods theory, every farmer in the neighborhood should have thought like Farmer Smith, and the turnpike should never have been built. Economic logic, ironically enough, demonstrates the inadequacy of theories of development built around “profit maximization.” Austrian economics is practically the only school of economics today that consciously avoids equating self-interest with profit maximization, which is likely why Austrians are less skeptical of the private sector’s ability to provide roadways. As Majewski acknowledges, “nonpecuniary motivations did not mean that self-interest was absent.” Self-interest included indirect benefits in land values and access to markets where farmers could profitably unload their surplus. However, self-interest was not the only motivator behind private investment in unprofitable turnpike corporations. people were also incentivized by an interest in their community—what Alexis de Tocqueville referred to as “self-interest rightly understood.” Perfect economic rationality may demand investors avoid subscribing to unprofitable corporations (as state and local government increasingly did, irrespective of the “public good” that roads provided), but Mises’s view of rationality explains what neoclassical rationality cannot. For Mises, “rationality” referred to the use of reason—or “ratiocination”—in deciding the most suitable means to a desired end, and the “desired end” need not be pecuniary profit. If the purpose of theory is to explain observable phenomena, the Misesian theory of rationality seems far superior to that taught in standard economics courses. To the question of “Why did people invest in unprofitable turnpike corporations?” we can deduce the answer Mises would give: they valued the personal and communal benefits the roads provided more than the dividends of a profitable company. The implications of this history are relevant to contemporary analysis as well. Privately constructed roads are not merely a thing of the past. Even today, many neighborhood roads are privately maintained, often further combatting free riders by adding clauses to mortgages obligating homeowners to contribute to the cost of road maintenance. Some commercial leases have similar clauses, and we might wonder why they aren’t more common. Most businesses rent the buildings they operate from, and commercial real estate is unmarketable if not connected to a roadway. Even for highways and interstates, entrepreneurs have developed innovative means of monetizing roadways without the free-rider problems, as anybody who has seen a billboard should already be aware. Government-provided roads, in essence, serve as de facto subsidies for private businesses (often large, national corporations) at the expense of local taxpayers. But even if private businesses would remain content with their customers hiking through unpaved terrain to visit them, the history of early America demonstrates that residents of a community do not have to be coerced to finance road construction. The appropriate question is not “Who will build the roads?” but rather “Who will pay for them without taxation?” And the answer, historically speaking, seems to be anybody who stands to benefit from them. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------