There are few historical figures better suited to modern America than Henry George.
This is unfortunate because Henry George spent most of his life explaining exactly how modern America might happen.
He saw it coming.
Not every detail, of course. He never predicted luxury apartment complexes named things like The Foundry or The Edison that charge $2,400 per month for the privilege of sharing a wall with a man learning drums. He did not foresee hedge funds purchasing suburban neighborhoods. He never imagined real estate influencers filming themselves beside infinity pools while explaining how passive income is a mindset.
But the basic problem?
He absolutely saw that coming.
And he spent decades trying to warn everyone.
Today, if Henry George returned to America and discovered that a college graduate earning a respectable salary could barely afford a one-bedroom apartment, he would not be shocked.
He would be furious.
Then he would become insufferably smug.
Which, in fairness, he would have earned.
Most Americans have never heard of Henry George.
This is one of the stranger facts in American history.
In the late nineteenth century, George was one of the most famous writers in the English-speaking world. His book Progress and Poverty sold millions of copies. Politicians quoted him. Labor activists quoted him. Reformers quoted him. Industrialists complained about him.
Even Leo Tolstoy admired him.
So did Theodore Roosevelt.
So did Winston Churchill.
For a time, George was arguably one of the most influential economic thinkers on the planet.
Then history largely forgot him.
Which is a shame because modern housing debates often sound like someone accidentally rediscovered his notes.
George's great question was remarkably simple.
Why does prosperity so often make ordinary people poorer?
The nineteenth century was experiencing explosive economic growth.
Railroads expanded.
Factories multiplied.
Cities grew.
Technology advanced.
Wealth increased.
And yet millions of workers remained trapped in poverty.
This struck George as deeply strange.
If society was becoming richer, why weren't ordinary people sharing more fully in the benefits?
Where was all the wealth going?
After years of study, George arrived at an answer: Land.
Now, before your eyes glaze over, think about it…
George was not talking about farms. He was talking about location. The value of being somewhere. The value of being near jobs.
Near ports. Near railroads. Near customers. Near opportunity.
George observed that as cities grew, landowners often became wealthy without doing very much.
A railroad arrives. Land values rise.
A city expands.
Land values rise.
Businesses move nearby.
Land values rise.
The owner becomes richer.
Not because he built anything.
Not because he invented anything.
Not because he worked harder.
Because everyone else did.
This bothered George immensely.
His most famous observation remains devastatingly relevant:
"The ownership of land is the great fundamental fact which ultimately determines the social, the political, and consequently the intellectual and moral condition of a people."
That sentence is approximately 150 years old.
It also describes modern housing policy better than many contemporary think pieces.
Today Americans often discuss housing as though it were primarily a construction problem.
George would disagree.
Not completely.
But substantially.
He would argue that the problem is not merely building enough housing.
The problem is what happens when land itself becomes an investment vehicle.
Homes become assets.
Neighborhoods become portfolios.
Cities become speculative markets.
And ordinary people find themselves bidding against investors for the right to exist somewhere.
The modern housing market would fascinate him.
A teacher struggles to afford rent.
A nurse struggles to afford rent.
A firefighter struggles to afford rent.
A software engineer struggles to afford rent.
Meanwhile a parking lot in the correct zip code somehow becomes worth millions of dollars.
George would stare at this arrangement for several minutes.
Then begin nodding.
Not because he approved.
Because he recognized it.
One of George's greatest frustrations was that society often rewards ownership more generously than production.
The person building a business contributes something.
The person inventing a product contributes something.
The person creating wealth contributes something.
The person who happens to own the lot beneath them?
That becomes more complicated.
George never hated wealth.
This is important.
He was not anti-business.
Not anti-growth.
Not anti-capitalism.
Quite the opposite.
He loved growth.
He loved innovation.
He loved prosperity.
He simply believed that prosperity should broadly benefit the people creating it.
A radical position, apparently.
The American Dream occupies a special place in this story.
For generations Americans believed hard work could produce stability.
Not luxury.
Not yachts.
Not private islands.
A house.
A yard.
A reasonable mortgage.
The ability to raise a family without developing an intimate relationship with a budgeting spreadsheet.
This dream was never universally accessible.
But it was broadly imaginable.
Today it often feels increasingly theoretical.
Young Americans postpone homeownership.
Postpone marriage.
Postpone children.
Postpone stability.
Not because they lack ambition.
Not because they lack education.
Not because they spend too much money on coffee, despite what every newspaper columnist over the age of seventy insists.
Because housing costs have exploded faster than incomes.
Henry George would regard this as evidence.
Not anecdote.
Evidence.
Perhaps the funniest part of modern housing debates is how quickly they become ideological.
The left blames capitalism.
The right blames regulation.
Urbanists blame zoning.
Suburbanites blame urbanists.
Everyone blames somebody.
George would patiently listen.
Then explain that nearly all of them are discussing symptoms.
Not causes.
This was one reason people found him simultaneously brilliant and annoying.
He possessed a talent for reducing enormously complicated debates into a handful of uncomfortable questions.
Who owns the land?
Who benefits when land values rise?
Who created that value?
Who captures it?
The questions remain irritatingly relevant.
George's proposed solution was the famous "single tax."
This is usually the point where audiences become nervous.
Fortunately, we need not spend too much time on the mechanics.
The important thing is understanding the principle.
George believed that increases in land value created by society should benefit society.
If a neighborhood becomes more valuable because millions of people contribute to its growth, why should a tiny number of individuals capture all the gains?
This argument made many wealthy landowners very unhappy.
Which George considered a promising sign.
Modern Americans often describe housing as though it were weather.
An unfortunate natural phenomenon.
Something that simply happens.
Rent rises.
Home prices rise.
Bidding wars erupt.
Neighborhoods transform.
Nobody knows why.
George would reject this entirely.
Housing is policy.
Land use is policy.
Taxation is policy.
Development is policy.
The current system is not inevitable.
It is chosen.
This realization remains one of the most unsettling parts of his work.
One suspects George would be particularly amused by luxury apartment advertising.
Modern cities are filled with developments offering "curated living experiences."
Resort-style amenities.
Sky lounges.
Pet spas.
Community engagement spaces.
All for the low price of roughly half your paycheck.
George would likely observe that every luxury apartment brochure contains forty photographs and almost no discussion of why the apartment costs what it costs.
The answer, he would note, is not the granite countertops.
It is the location.
It was always the location.
Perhaps his most enduring insight is that economic progress alone cannot solve every social problem.
A society may become wealthier while simultaneously becoming less affordable.
Technology may improve while security declines.
Growth may accelerate while opportunity contracts.
George spent his career warning against precisely this possibility.
Modern America occasionally resembles a case study.
The strange thing is that Henry George was ultimately an optimist.
He believed poverty was solvable.
He believed prosperity could be shared.
He believed economic growth and social justice were compatible.
He believed policy mattered.
Most importantly, he believed citizens possessed the power to change the rules.
This is what separates him from many modern commentators.
George did not merely diagnose problems.
He believed solutions existed.
One imagines Henry George standing in a newly revitalized downtown district.
Luxury apartments.
Boutique coffee shops.
Craft cocktail bars.
Young professionals paying extraordinary rents.
Everyone discussing affordability.
Everyone discussing housing shortages.
Everyone discussing inequality.
He would listen carefully.
Then quietly point out that he wrote an entire book about this in 1879.
Nobody would enjoy hearing it.
Which would make it even more satisfying.
After all, there are few pleasures greater than being proven right.
Except perhaps owning a home.
Increasingly, many Americans are discovering that the second achievement is considerably harder.
— John Handcock