Freddie Bastiat was a sharp cookie. He was a French economist who lived in the first half of the 19th century. He used to cheat off me in math class, but I’ve long since forgiven him. Here’s the Wikiup summation of his worldview:

Bastiat asserted that the sole purpose of government is to protect the right of an individual to life, liberty and property and that it is dangerous and morally wrong for government to interfere with an individual’s other personal matters. From this, Bastiat concluded that the law cannot defend life, liberty and property if it promotes legal or legalized plunder which he defined as using government force and laws to take something from one individual and give it to others (as opposed to a transfer of property via mutually agreed contracts without using fraud or violent threats against the other party, which Bastiat considered a legitimate transfer of property)

If a person who is currently employed by the government learned that paragraph by heart, they’d have to throw away their head if they wanted to keep working. They should change the motto on the Great Seal to read E Pluribus Plunder “Я” Us and get it over with.

Bastiat didn’t coin the term “opportunity cost,” but he basically came up with the concept. He was a pithy writer, and explained it as the parable of the broken window. It illustrated that there are two downstream results from any action: That Which is Seen, and That Which is Not Seen:

Have you ever witnessed the anger of the good shopkeeper, James Goodfellow, when his careless son has happened to break a pane of glass? If you have been present at such a scene, you will most assuredly bear witness to the fact that every one of the spectators, were there even thirty of them, by common consent apparently, offered the unfortunate owner this invariable consolation – “It is an ill wind that blows nobody good. Everybody must live, and what would become of the glaziers if panes of glass were never broken?”

Now, this form of condolence contains an entire theory, which it will be well to show up in this simple case, seeing that it is precisely the same as that which, unhappily, regulates the greater part of our economical institutions.

Suppose it cost six francs to repair the damage, and you say that the accident brings six francs to the glazier’s trade – that it encourages that trade to the amount of six francs – I grant it; I have not a word to say against it; you reason justly. The glazier comes, performs his task, receives his six francs, rubs his hands, and, in his heart, blesses the careless child. All this is that which is seen.

But if, on the other hand, you come to the conclusion, as is too often the case, that it is a good thing to break windows, that it causes money to circulate, and that the encouragement of industry in general will be the result of it, you will oblige me to call out, “Stop there! Your theory is confined to that which is seen; it takes no account of that which is not seen.”

It is not seen that as our shopkeeper has spent six francs upon one thing, he cannot spend them upon another. It is not seen that if he had not had a window to replace, he would, perhaps, have replaced his old shoes, or added another book to his library. In short, he would have employed his six francs in some way, which this accident has prevented.

He’s not just referring to opportunity cost here, either, if you read it more deeply. He’s glossing on a biblical allusion, too, with his seen and unseen reference. The concept is useful for examining actions whose salutary effects might be visible, but whose downsides are hidden, and vice versa. A broken window repair making a new pair of shoes impossible is a small scale example. Modern life does most things on gargantuan scales, and it’s easy to demagogue things into existence and then never get rid of them, or to get a brigade of like-minded zealots to attack the drawbacks of a thing relentlessly until people support getting rid of it, because the benefits they bring are less visible.

Here’s an example: Lawns are bad. Says who? I don’t. The internet sure does. If you’ve got a century or two, search the intertunnel for “lawn is bad for the environment” and read what you find. Or you can read the first one, and skip the other 10,000,000 identical sentiments. On the flip side, if you’ve got 3 or 4 minutes you can search for “environmental benefits of lawns” and read them all.

So what’s seen?

• Lawns are a indication of traditional American life. That’s bad
• Lawns require water. In the only uninhabitable parts of the country, where everyone wants to live now, this is a problem
• Lawns need to be mowed and raked. This sounds like work
• Some people care desperately if there are weeds in their lawn, which is silly, and try to kill them with chemicals 1/50th as dangerous as the stuff you take with a  prescription
• Some people use fertilizer on their lawns. This gets into waterways because people want waterfront property and a sylvan glade next to it, no matter how silly the juxtaposition
• Lawns take up space. Environmentalists only require one big park in the center of the city to get mugged in, and the rest should be concrete, like God and Le Corbusier intended

You get the picture. You could probably fill in a thousand more if you read any news outlet regularly. But what’s not seen, and why?

The benefits of a lawn are so great and so varied in the aggregate that they can’t be seen. It’s like asking a fish about water. They’ll say huh? What’s water? I just wriggle around in, well, something. Show him a couple of hooks hanging down, and he’ll vote to drain the pond. What’s the worst that could happen? In the case of arguing for no lawns, the unseen is flooding, wildfires, insect rebellions, skinned knees, no touch football, heat islands, and the occasional dust storm.

The opposite seen and unseen concept is useful to consider, too. People look at things like Facebook, and think it would be fun to exchange info with some friends. What’s the possible harm in it? If you ask me, it’s a ten-million-ton iceberg of bad things with an ice cube of benefit showing above the water line, but that’s the only part you see.

It’s a bait and switch Bastiat world, all the way down. I advise you to listen to that famous philosopher, Professor Gaye, to make your way through it. Believe half of what you see, and none of what you hear. And remember, the unseen just might be hiding behind the door to your glorious future with a sockful of pennies.