I’ve noted before that I interpret the trajectory of my life, from my enlistment in the Navy at age 17, to my early interest in the so-called Great Books of the Western World, to my conversion to Roman Catholicism, to my decision to go to law school, to my conversion to Quakerism, as a quest to understand and participate more deeply in the common sense and common wisdom of the society in which I live and from which I grew. Indeed, I can directly trace my gradual conversion to philosophical anarchism back to a conscious decision I made about 7 or so years ago to study and consider more closely the American Revolution and the establishment of the Constitution. As I recall, the first book I read in this endeavor was Bernard Bailyn’s The Ideological Origins of the American Revolution and the second book I read was Founding Father: Rediscovering George Washington by Richard Brookhiser.

It’s been said that everything worth saying has already been said. There is nothing new under the sun. Our thoughts aren’t as original as we think. If I quote some luminary from the past, as I quoted Thoreau in my previous post, it’s probably partly because he’s said what I think better than I ever could and partly because I value and wish to invoke a tradition that unites us. I remember our class being assigned to read Thoreau (and not just Walden) by a public school teacher in the public high school I attended. My instincts are the opposite of heretical. I regard myself as a true disciple of the one true and self-evident religion. A “radical,” etymologically, is simply one who is drawn to the “root” of the matter. Where are the branches united if not at the root?

A note on Thoreau’s “Slavery in Massachusetts,” which I quoted at length in my last post: A modern reader might be inclined to think Thoreau’s essay not relevant today, since he was writing about the Fugitive Slave Law, and we have abolished Slavery. To the contrary, Thoreau was writing about an enormity committed by the State against a single man:

For my part, my old and wor­thi­est pur­suits have lost I can­not say how much of their at­trac­tion, and I feel that my in­vest­ment in life here is worth many per cent less since Mas­sa­chu­setts last de­lib­er­ately sent back an in­no­cent man, Anthony Burns, to slav­ery.

We are fools if we cannot point to similar enormities deliberately and openly in the light of day committed against innocent men by the State and with our “consent” in the past year. Do we really imagine ourselves to be so much better than Thomas Jefferson or George Washington, or than the citizens of Massachusetts who suffered Anthony Burns to be robbed by a judge of his very freedom?

“I am more and more con­vinced that, with ref­er­ence to any pub­lic ques­tion, it is more im­por­tant to know what the coun­try thinks of it than what the city thinks. The city does not think much. On any moral ques­tion, I would rather have the opin­ion of Box­boro’ than of Bos­ton and New York put to­gether. When the former speaks, I feel as if some­body had spoken, as if hu­man­ity was yet, and a rea­son­a­ble be­ing had as­serted its rights — as if some un­prej­u­diced men among the coun­try’s hills had at length turned their at­ten­tion to the sub­ject, and by a few sen­si­ble words re­deemed the rep­u­ta­tion of the race. When, in some ob­scure coun­try town, the farm­ers come to­gether to a spe­cial town-meet­ing, to ex­press their opin­ion on some sub­ject which is vex­ing the land, that, I think, is the true Con­gress, and the most re­spect­a­ble one that is ever as­sem­bled in the United States. [¶24]

. . .

“The ef­fect of a good gov­ern­ment is to make life more val­u­a­ble — of a bad one, to make it less val­u­a­ble. We can af­ford that rail­road and all merely ma­te­rial stock should lose some of its value, for that only com­pels us to live more sim­ply and ec­o­nom­i­cally; but sup­pose that the value of life it­self should be di­min­ished! How can we make a less de­mand on man and na­ture, how live more ec­o­nom­i­cally in re­spect to vir­tue and all no­ble qualities, than we do? I have lived for the last month — and I think that every man in Mas­sa­chu­setts ca­pa­ble of the sen­ti­ment of pa­tri­ot­ism must have had a sim­i­lar ex­pe­ri­ence — with the sense of hav­ing suf­fered a vast and in­def­i­nite loss. I did not know at first what ailed me. At last it oc­curred to me that what I had lost was a coun­try. I had never re­spected the gov­ern­ment near to which I lived, but I had fool­ishly thought that I might man­age to live here, mind­ing my pri­vate af­fairs, and forget it. For my part, my old and wor­thi­est pur­suits have lost I can­not say how much of their at­trac­tion, and I feel that my in­vest­ment in life here is worth many per cent less since Mas­sa­chu­setts last de­lib­er­ately sent back an in­no­cent man, Anthony Burns, to slav­ery. I dwelt be­fore, per­haps, in the il­lu­sion that my life passed some­where only be­tween heaven and hell, but now I can­not per­suade my­self that I do not dwell wholly within hell. The site of that po­lit­i­cal or­gan­i­za­tion called Mas­sa­chu­setts is to me mor­ally cov­ered with vol­canic sco­riae and cin­ders, such as Mil­ton de­scribes in the in­fer­nal re­gions. If there is any hell more un­prin­ci­pled than our rul­ers, and we, the ruled, I feel cu­ri­ous to see it. Life itself be­ing worth less, all things with it, which min­is­ter to it, are worth less. Sup­pose you have a small li­brary, with pic­tures to adorn the walls — a gar­den laid out around — and con­tem­plate sci­en­tific and lit­er­ary pur­suits, &c., and dis­cover all at once that your villa, with all its con­tents is lo­cated in hell, and that the jus­tice of the peace has a clo­ven foot and a forked tail — do not these things sud­denly lose their value in your eyes? [¶46]

“I feel that, to some ex­tent, the State has fa­tally in­ter­fered with my law­ful busi­ness. It has not only in­ter­rupted me in my pas­sage through Court Street on er­rands of trade, but it has in­ter­rupted me and every man on his on­ward and up­ward path, on which he had trusted soon to leave Court Street far be­hind. What right had it to re­mind me of Court Street? I have found that hol­low which even I had re­lied on for solid. [¶47]

“I am sur­prised to see men go­ing about their busi­ness as if noth­ing had hap­pened. I say to my­self, “Un­for­tu­nates! they have not heard the news.” I am sur­prised that the man whom I just met on horse­back should be so ear­nest to over­take his newly bought cows run­ning away — since all prop­erty is in­se­cure, and if they do not run away again, they may be taken away from him when he gets them. Fool! does he not know that his seed-corn is worth less this year — that all be­nef­i­cent har­vests fail as you ap­proach the em­pire of hell? No pru­dent man will build a stone house un­der these cir­cum­stances, or en­gage in any peace­ful en­ter­prise which it re­quires a long time to ac­com­plish. Art is as long as ever, but life is more in­ter­rupted and less avail­a­ble for a man’s proper pur­suits. It is not an era of re­pose. We have used up all our in­her­ited free­dom. If we would save our lives, we must fight for them. [¶48]

“I walk toward one of our ponds; but what sig­ni­fies the beauty of na­ture when men are base? We walk to lakes to see our se­ren­ity re­flected in them; when we are not se­rene, we go not to them. Who can be se­rene in a coun­try where both the rul­ers and the ruled are with­out prin­ci­ple? The re­mem­brance of my coun­try spoils my walk. My thoughts are mur­der to the State, and in­vol­un­ta­rily go plot­ting against her. [¶49]

“But it chanced the other day that I scented a white wa­ter-lily, and a sea­son I had waited for had ar­rived. It is the em­blem of pu­rity. It bursts up so pure and fair to the eye, and so sweet to the scent, as if to show us what pu­rity and sweet­ness re­side in, and can be ex­tracted from, the slime and muck of earth. I think I have plucked the first one that has opened for a mile. What con­fir­ma­tion of our hopes is in the fra­grance of this flower! I shall not so soon de­spair of the world for it, not­with­stand­ing slav­ery, and the cow­ard­ice and want of prin­ci­ple of North­ern men. It sug­gests what kind of laws have pre­vailed long­est and wid­est, and still pre­vail, and that the time may come when man’s deeds will smell as sweet. Such is the odor which the plant emits. If Na­ture can com­pound this fra­grance still an­nually, I shall be­lieve her still young and full of vigor, her in­teg­rity and genius un­im­paired, and that there is vir­tue even in man, too, who is fit­ted to per­ceive and love it. It re­minds me that Na­ture has been part­ner to no Mis­souri Com­pro­mise. I scent no com­pro­mise in the fra­grance of the wa­ter-lily. It is not a Nym­phæa Doug­lasii. In it, the sweet, and pure, and in­no­cent are wholly sun­dered from the ob­scene and bale­ful. I do not scent in this the time-serv­ing ir­res­o­lu­tion of a Mas­sa­chu­setts Gov­er­nor, nor of a Bos­ton Mayor. So be­have that the odor of your ac­tions may en­hance the gen­eral sweet­ness of the at­mos­phere, that when we be­hold or scent a flower, we may not be re­minded how in­con­sis­tent your deeds are with it; for all odor is but one form of ad­ver­tise­ment of a moral qual­ity, and if fair ac­tions had not been per­formed, the lily would not smell sweet. The foul slime stands for the sloth and vice of man, the de­cay of hu­man­ity; the fra­grant flower that springs from it, for the pu­rity and cour­age which are immortal. [¶50]

“Slav­ery and ser­vil­ity have pro­duced no sweet-scented flower an­nually, to charm the senses of men, for they have no real life: they are merely a de­cay­ing and a death, of­fen­sive to all healthy nos­trils. We do not com­plain that they live, but that they do not get bur­ied. Let the liv­ing bury them: even they are good for manure.” [¶51]

— Henry David Thoreau’s “Slavery in Massachusetts” (1854)

But one of the greatest lawyers who’ve ever lived, Lysander Spooner, never “practiced” much law. One of the greatest lawyers alive today, Tony Serra, confessed to his biographer that he regarded “going into law” as for him “a fall from grace.”

I suspect being a lawyer is like being a priest. The priest can repudiate the Church. He can be excommunicated by the Church. But he’s still a priest.

(H/T Matt Brown)

//www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9PY1WtUf1k

The official demonization of “anarchists” by State propagandizers continues on apace, in this instance by an agent of an “agency”-without-principals which intends to violently evict Occupy protesters from Portland parks this weekend. Meanwhile, a real-life “anarch” (leader of leaderlessness), Wendy McElroy, explores, at the Daily Anarchist, what an anarchist system of justice might look like, and in reply to a comment on her post writes:

At some point, you have to do a comparative assessment and choose the system that does it best rather than does it ‘right’…because there is no right. That’s the horror of violence. It sets the natural order so viciously out of whack that it may not be possible to ever return it to ‘right’. My ideal “just system” is 90% prevention so that you don’t have to deal with raped women, traumatized children, men killed for $10 in their wallets. Imagine a free market law enforcement industry that actually existed to prevent violence, that drew its customer salary from the efficiency with which it managed to prevent violence. What a revolution that would be! Oh Brave New World in which I wish to live.

I contributed the following comments (slightly edited) to the discussion in the comments section on Wendy’s post:

I’ve recently been thinking that anarchic justice should depend on “consensus” rather than “consent,” manifested in a common-law, customary-law kind of system. As John Hasnas has argued, such a system properly understood is free market law. Law is rarely based on consent. The thief caught shoplifting or committing more serious crimes presumably will only rarely “consent” to the consequences imposed by society. It should take a consensus of society to impose any restriction on liberty. Punishments, whether of the restitution or retribution / deterrence / incapacitation variety (and I think the limitations of a restitution-only paradigm are seen in the hypothetical murder of a homeless man with no family or friends to whom restitution for his “wrongful death” might be paid), should likewise be no harsher than a consensus of society approves. Consensus is the social embodiment of the Presumption of Innocence, which is fundamental to a free society. Consensus is only practical in small groups, which points the way to a society of Thomas Jefferson’s “ward republics” and to confederation along the lines of the Great Law of Peace of the Iroquois Confederacy, which operated by consensus.

. . .

It all depends on what the conventions are. Right now the conventions that prevail in society are very unlibertarian. Specifically, these conventions hold the text of a Constitution put together by men long dead for less than noble purposes 200 years ago to be binding on the living, and vulgarly and arbitrarily equate democracy with the will of the majority (even a bare majority of 51%). It seems the goal of libertarianism is precisely to change those conventions. Apparently in contrast to many posters here, I think the so-called Rule of Lenity is a convention at the heart of liberty. So is the Presumption of Innocence. So is the notion that “government” derives its just powers from the “consent of the governed,” but instead of speaking of the “consent of the governed” I’d speak of the “consensus of the self-governing.” If 95%+ of the people in a community agree that it is just to use force to prevent or punish murder that’s a pretty good indication that force is in fact justified to prevent or punish murder, and it’s pretty clear that in any event murder isn’t going to be tolerated by that community. On the other hand, if only 75% agree that it is just to use force to prevent or punish eating magic mushrooms that’s a pretty good indication that force is not justified to prevent or punish eating magic mushrooms, and a society which values consensus and applies societally the same presumption against violence that decent people generally apply as individuals will not use force to prevent or punish eating magic mushrooms, even if, hypothetically, 75% think such force would be justified and 95% think eating magic mushrooms is “immoral.”

. . .

Ideally, the so-called traditional common law, which John Hasnas illuminates as depoliticized law, reflects reason and natural law, and its evolution is likewise guided by reason and natural law. Each case is to be decided on the basis of Justice, informed by how such cases have been decided before.

. . .

I urge all anarchists to give Henry George a second look. Georgism represents a principle by which such claims [to land] may rest not only on force but on justice. I’m of the opinion that in an anarchic society “national defense” (i.e., defense not of a nation but defense from nations) will still be necessary, that such defense will necessarily be defense of a territory by those in the territory, and that Georgism would provide the natural means of funding such defense.

Our Enemy, the State, by Albert Jay Nock, whom I personally regard as my number one libertarian muse, is shot through with Georgism.

. . .

The Hasnas article on “The Depoliticization of Law” is also directly on point: http://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=987829

. . .

Consensus, as I conceive it, is close to or identical with the very essence of anarchism, and of the “libertarian framework.” In the realm of collective action it whittles the use of force down to what Nietzsche called the “song of the necessary,” in the same diatribe in which he called the State the “coldest of all cold monsters.” Unless “we” all agree violence is necessary and justified, “we” don’t use violence.

. . .

I think Justice is most appropriately defined not positively but negatively, as “the absence of crime.” All the things we do to try to fight or deter or somehow provide “satisfaction” for crime are then seen to be “justice” only in a secondary and derivative sense. The criminal defense attorney serves Justice more directly than the prosecutor.

Albert Jay Nock notes what I think is the relevant distinction:

As the word masses is commonly used, it suggests agglomerations of poor and underprivileged people, labouring people, proletarians, and it means nothing like that; it means simply the majority. The mass-man is one who has neither the force of intellect to apprehend the principles issuing in what we know as the humane life, nor the force of character to adhere to those principles steadily and strictly as laws of conduct; and because such people make up the great and overwhelming majority of mankind, they are called collectively the masses. The line of differentiation between the masses and the Remnant is set invariably by quality, not by circumstance. The Remnant are those who by force of intellect are able to apprehend these principles, and by force of character are able, at least measurably, to cleave to them. The masses are those who are unable to do either.

Poverty causes crime, and the State causes Poverty. We should bitch about that rather than bitch about poor people having babies they can’t afford. Thomas Jefferson seems to have understood:

The property of this country is absolutely concentred in a very few hands, having revenues of from half a million of guineas a year downwards. These employ the flower of the country as servants, some of them having as many as 200 domestics, not laboring. They employ also a great number of manufacturers and tradesmen, and lastly the class of laboring husbandmen. But after all there comes the most numerous of all classes, that is, the poor who cannot find work. I asked myself what could be the reason so many should be permitted to beg who are willing to work, in a country where there is a very considerable proportion of uncultivated lands? These lands are undisturbed only for the sake of game. It should seem then that it must be because of the enormous wealth of the proprietors which places them above attention to the increase of their revenues by permitting these lands to be labored. I am conscious that an equal division of property is impracticable, but the consequences of this enormous inequality producing so much misery to the bulk of mankind, legislators cannot invent too many devices for subdividing property, only taking care to let their subdivisions go hand in hand with the natural affections of the human mind. The descent of property of every kind therefore to all the children, or to all the brothers and sisters, or other relations in equal degree, is a politic measure and a practicable one. Another means of silently lessening the inequality of property is to exempt all from taxation below a certain point, and to tax the higher portions or property in geometrical progression as they rise. Whenever there are in any country uncultivated lands and unemployed poor, it is clear that the laws of property have been so far extended as to violate natural right. The earth is given as a common stock for man to labor and live on. If for the encouragement of industry we allow it to be appropriated, we must take care that other employment be provided to those excluded from the appropriation. If we do not, the fundamental right to labor the earth returns to the unemployed. It is too soon yet in our country to say that every man who cannot find employment, but who can find uncultivated land, shall be at liberty to cultivate it, paying a moderate rent. But it is not too soon to provide by every possible means that as few as possible shall be without a little portion of land. The small landholders are the most precious part of a state.

Any man knows when he is justified, and all the wits in the world cannot enlighten him on that point. The murderer always knows that he is justly punished; but when a government takes the life of a man without the consent of his conscience, it is an audacious government, and is taking a step towards its own dissolution. Is it not possible that an individual may be right and a government wrong? Are laws to be enforced simply because they were made? or declared by any number of men to be good, if they are not good? Is there any necessity for a man’s being a tool to perform a deed of which his better nature disapproves? Is it the intention of law-makers that good men shall be hung ever? Are judges to interpret the law according to the letter, and not the spirit? What right have you to enter into a compact with yourself that you will do thus or so, against the light within you? Is it for you to make up your mind, — to form any resolution whatever, — and not accept the convictions that are forced upon you, and which ever pass your understanding? I do not believe in lawyers, in that mode of attacking or defending a man, because you descend to meet the judge on his own ground, and, in cases of the highest importance, it is of no consequence whether a man breaks a human law or not. Let lawyers decide trivial cases. Business men may arrange that among themselves. If they were the interpreters of the everlasting laws which rightfully bind man, that would be another thing. A counterfeiting law-factory, standing half in a slave land and half in free! What kind of laws for free men can you expect from that?

I am here to plead his cause with you. I plead not for his life, but for his character, — his immortal life; and so it becomes your cause wholly, and is not his in the least. Some eighteen hundred years ago Christ was crucified; this morning, perchance, Captain Brown was hung. These are the two ends of a chain which is not without its links. He is not Old Brown any longer; he is an angel of light.

The post I was going to write, until I got sidetracked, would have been prompted by the piquant comments IOZ incurred for declaring himself a radical but not a revolutionary. It would have cited Thoreau’s Civil Disobedience:

It is not a man’s duty, as a mat­ter of course, to de­vote him­self to the erad­i­cat­ion of any, even the most enor­mous wrong; he may still prop­erly have other con­cerns to en­gage him; but it is his duty, at least, to wash his hands of it, and, if he gives it no thought longer, not to give it prac­ti­cally his sup­port. If I de­vote my­self to other pur­suits and con­tem­plat­ions, I must first see, at least, that I do not pur­sue them sit­ting upon an­other man’s shoul­ders. I must get off him first, that he may pur­sue his con­tem­plat­ions too. See what gross in­con­sis­tency is tol­er­a­ted. I have heard some of my towns­men say, “I should like to have them or­der me out to help put down an in­sur­rec­tion of the slaves, or to march to Mex­ico, — see if I would go;” and yet these very men have each, di­rectly by their al­le­giance, and so in­di­rectly, at least, by their money, fur­nished a sub­sti­tute.

. . .

As for adopt­ing the ways which the State has pro­vided for rem­edy­ing the evil, I know not of such ways. They take too much time, and a man’s life will be gone. I have other af­fairs to at­tend to. I came into this world, not chiefly to make this a good place to live in, but to live in it, be it good or bad. A man has not ev­ery thing to do, but some­thing; and be­cause he can­not do ev­ery thing, it is not nec­es­sary that he should do some­thing wrong. It is not my busi­ness to be pe­ti­tion­ing the governor or the legislature any more than it is theirs to pe­ti­tion me; and, if they should not hear my pe­ti­tion, what should I do then? But in this case the State has pro­vided no way: its very Constitution is the evil. This may seem to be harsh and stub­born and un­con­cil­i­a­tory; but it is to treat with the ut­most kind­ness and con­sid­er­ation the only spirit that can ap­pre­ci­ate or de­serves it. So is all change for the bet­ter, like birth and death which con­vulse the body.

. . .

How­ever, the gov­ern­ment does not con­cern me much, and I shall be­stow the few­est pos­si­ble thoughts on it. It is not many mo­ments that I live un­der a gov­ern­ment, even in this world. If a man is thought-free, fancy-free, imag­i­na­tion-free, that which is not never for a long time ap­pear­ing to be to him, un­wise rulers or re­form­ers can­not fa­tally in­ter­rupt him.

The post I would have written if I hadn’t gotten sidetracked would also have cited Albert Jay Nock on Isaiah’s Job:

The prophet’s career began at the end of King Uzziah’s reign, say about 740 B.C. This reign was uncommonly long, almost half a century, and apparently prosperous. It was one of those prosperous reigns, however – like the reign of Marcus Aurelius at Rome, or the administration of Eubulus at Athens, or of Mr. Coolidge at Washington – where at the end the prosperity suddenly peters out and things go by the board with a resounding crash.

In the year of Uzziah’s death, the Lord commissioned the prophet to go out and warn the people of the wrath to come. “Tell them what a worthless lot they are.” He said, “Tell them what is wrong, and why and what is going to happen unless they have a change of heart and straighten up. Don’t mince matters. Make it clear that they are positively down to their last chance. Give it to them good and strong and keep on giving it to them. I suppose perhaps I ought to tell you,” He added, “that it won’t do any good. The official class and their intelligentsia will turn up their noses at you and the masses will not even listen. They will all keep on in their own ways until they carry everything down to destruction, and you will probably be lucky if you get out with your life.”

Isaiah had been very willing to take on the job – in fact, he had asked for it – but the prospect put a new face on the situation. It raised the obvious question: Why, if all that were so – if the enterprise were to be a failure from the start – was there any sense in starting it? “Ah,” the Lord said, “you do not get the point. There is a Remnant there that you know nothing about. They are obscure, unorganized, inarticulate, each one rubbing along as best he can. They need to be encouraged and braced up because when everything has gone completely to the dogs, they are the ones who will come back and build up a new society; and meanwhile, your preaching will reassure them and keep them hanging on. Your job is to take care of the Remnant, so be off now and set about it.”

Where there are still peoples, the state is not understood, and is hated as the evil eye, and as sin against laws and customs.

I hold up as support for Nietzsche’s observation the Great Law of Peace of the Iroquois Confederacy and the attitude of the Iroquois to the authoritarian governments brought over by the British colonists, and recommend Charles Mann’s 2005 op-ed in the New York Times on this subject. In his book 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus, Mann wrote:

Different nations had different numbers of sachems, but the inequality meant little because all decisions had to be unanimous; the Five Nations regarded consensus as a social ideal. As in all consensus-driven bodies, though, members felt intense pressure not to impede progress with frivolous objections.

John Hasnas correctly observes that “law is rarely grounded in consent.” Rather, what Nietzsche refers to as “laws and customs” are ultimately grounded in consensus.

In consensus, also, appears the social embodiment of the Presumption of Innocence.

That’s a thin reed indeed, and in fact I see no separation whatsoever. Anarchy prevails betwixt the governments of the world. What is an individual laying claim to a house and a yard but a little government? My prescription for what ails the world: balkanization (all the way down to that schlub in his castle) and confederation mediated by Georgism.

As for the kind of legal “systems” such balkanized confederacies should form, I’m partial to John Hasnas’ argument in The Depoliticization of Law:

Advocates of the privatization of law often assume that unless law
springs from some act of agreement, some express or implicit social
contract by which individuals consent to be bound, it is nothing
more than force. In this Article, I argue that this is a false dilemma.
Although law is rarely grounded in consent, this does not imply that
law necessarily gives some individuals command over others. Law
can arise through a process of evolution. When this is the case, those
subject to law are indeed bound, but not by the will of any particular
human beings. Although this depoliticized law is inherently coercive, it
is not inherently a vehicle for domination. This Article argues that such
a system of depoliticized law is consistent with the ideal of the rule
of law, and, in fact, is free market law, when that phrase is properly
understood.

Smith, who had been released from custody in 2006 pending the government’s appeal of her case, is expected to return to prison before Christmas, her attorney said.

. . .

Lawrence Daniels, a supervising deputy attorney general who argued the case for restoring Smith’s conviction, said he couldn’t answer questions about the case until he had fully reviewed the 18-page decision.

Smith’s attorney, Michael J. Brennan, said he would file a clemency petition with the state government but that the chances of it being granted were “extremely slim.”

“The attorney general’s office has fought vigorously to reincarcerate her for years. They don’t have the authority to say, ‘Just kidding, she doesn’t have to go back to jail,’ ” Brennan said.

. . .

made me think of this:

Somewhere there are still peoples and herds, but not with us, my brothers: here there are states.

A state? What is that? Well! open now your ears to me, for now I will speak to you about the death of peoples.

State is the name of the coldest of all cold monsters. Coldly it lies; and this lie slips from its mouth: “I, the state, am the people.”

It is a lie! It was creators who created peoples, and hung a faith and a love over them: thus they served life.

Destroyers are they who lay snares for the many, and call it state: they hang a sword and a hundred cravings over them.

Where there are still peoples, the state is not understood, and is hated as the evil eye, and as sin against laws and customs.

This sign I give to you: every people speaks its own language of good and evil, which its neighbor does not understand. It has created its own language of laws and customs.

But the state lies in all the tongues of good and evil; and whatever it says it lies; and whatever it has it has stolen.

Everything in it is false; it bites with stolen teeth, and bites often. It is false down to its bowels.

Confusion of tongues of good and evil; this sign I give you as the sign of the state. This sign points to the will to death! it points to the preachers of death!

All too many are born: for the superfluous the state was created!

See how it entices them to it, the all-too-many! How it swallows and chews and rechews them!

“On earth there is nothing greater than I: I am the governing hand of God.” — thus roars the monster. And not only the long-eared and short-sighted fall upon their knees!

Ah! even in your ears, you great souls, it whispers its gloomy lies! Ah! it finds out the rich hearts which willingly squander themselves!

Yes, it finds you too, you conquerors of the old God! You became weary of conflict, and now your weariness serves the new idol!

It would set up heroes and honorable ones around it, the new idol! Gladly it basks in the sunshine of good consciences, — the cold monster!

It will give everything to you, if you worship it, the new idol: thus it buys the lustre of your virtue, and the glance of your proud eyes.

Through you it seeks to seduce the all-too-many! Yes, a hellish artifice has been created here, a death-horse jingling with the trappings of divine honors!

Yes, a dying for many has been created here, which glorifies itself as life: verily, a great service to all preachers of death!

The state, I call it, where all drink poison, the good and the bad: the state, where all lose themselves, the good and the bad: the state, where the slow suicide of all — is called “life.”

Behold the superfluous! They steal the works of the creators and the treasures of the wise. Education, they call their theft — and everything becomes sickness and trouble to them!

Behold the superfluous! They are always sick; they vomit their bile and call it a newspaper. They devour each other and cannot even digest themselves.

Behold the superfluous! They acquire wealth and become the poorer for it. They seek power, and the lever of power, much money — these impotent ones!

See them clamber, these nimble apes! They clamber over one another, and thus pull each other into the mud and the abyss.

They all strive for the throne: this is their madness — as if happiness sat on the throne! Often filth sits on the throne. — and often also the throne on filth.

Madmen they all seem to me, and clambering apes, and too eager. Foul smells their idol to me, the cold monster: foul they all smell to me, these idolaters.

My brothers, will you suffocate in the fumes of their maws and appetites! Better to break the windows and jump into the open air!

Escape from their foul stench! Escape from the idolatry of the superfluous!

Escape from their foul stench! Escape from the steam of these human sacrifices!

The earth is yet free for great souls. There are still many empty sites for the lonesome and the twosome, surrounded by the fragrance of tranquil seas.

A free life is yet possible for great souls. He who possesses little is that much less possessed: blessed be a little poverty!

There, where the state ends — there only begins the man who is not superfluous: there begins the song of the necessary, the single and irreplaceable melody.

There, where the state ends — look there, my brothers! Do you not see it, the rainbow and the bridges of the Overman?

Thus spoke Zarathustra.