My Quest for Truth and Liberty
Posts tagged The State
Not such a bright idea…
Sep 3rd
Last week we had a salesman come into work…I can’t remember what company he was from, but they sell basically everything. He handed us a catalog that was about 3″ thick. We gave him a tour of the shop and he was about to leave when he said, “oh, btw, just so you know, the lightbulbs you use in those lights there won’t be available next year. We have lights that you can buy to replace them with, if you’re interested.” When probed further he said, “yeah…the government is making them illegal…but that’s another story,” and like it is treason to doubt the government he quickly added, “and the new bulbs are really much more efficient and…” I wasn’t really talking with him, just listening in, so I didn’t think it was polite to add my two cents, but I wanted to say, “if they are so efficient, why does the government have to force us to buy them?” Were people forced to buy cars instead of buggies? Did the government have to outlaw telegraphs when the telephone was invented? There’s this myth that people are stupid and are only interested in cheap, ugly, inefficient things and that somehow when some of these stupid people become government officials they are suddenly filled with a desire to make our lives better…but we’re just too dumb to appreciate their efforts.
This whole issue of lightbulbs came up the next day when I went shopping for a new desk lamp. There were no 60 watt lamps to be found. Either these 60 watt giant floor lamps or a dinky 40 watt desk lamp. Seriously? What happened to 60 watt lights? While I don’t have a source for this, I’m absolutely certain the reason for a shortage of 60 watt lamps is that the government doesn’t want them made anymore. Isn’t it for me (the consumer) to decide if a product is inefficient? Thankfully I finally found a decent 60 watt lamp at Target that is now giving me enough light to write this post.
If things keep going this way, the government is going to throw us back into the dark ages…literally…
What the 4th of July Should Be
Jul 4th
I need to preface this with a confession, taken from my latest Facebook status. “I’m afraid I’m a hopeless introvert.” It is true. Probably part of my aversion to 4th of July parades, county fairs, and all those fun American things is that I just don’t like people much. I mean, there are particular people I like, and some I like very much, but I find the general population to be so insipid, close-minded, self-centered, and utterly boring that I don’t really care much for being around people. Under certain circumstances, I enjoy watching people, but I find it hard to interact with them. Anyways…I’m sure some people get a warm, fuzzy feeling when they attend a 4th of July parade, it just doesn’t happen for me.
So, today I was attending the 4th of July parade in a small town nearby, rather reluctantly. I think my mother worries about me sitting at home alone, happily reading a book while everyone else enjoys the festivities of the day; consequently, I was persuaded to attend. I got the most pleasure out of seeing my baby brother become overwhelmed with excitement at seeing so many tractors, trucks, and other loud motor vehicles. As in any small Midwest town, we had a super-abundance of tractors in the parade. Of course the parade started with the police. We got a lot of fire engines too. And some politicians. And several military/veteran groups. Eventually the businesses came around (and they threw more candy than any gov’t participant, I might add) and then the tractors and so forth.
I really think that the 4th of July parade should be made up entirely of tractors, businesses, and other forms of free market contributions. Instead of the 4th being a celebration of our government, it should be a celebration of our culture and our heritage. Having just finished a book that took place partially in the Midwest, it was very inspiring for me to see the antique tractors and farm equipment that has shaped our community. The technology and resources are all a result of voluntary interactions of the free market. We should celebrate those who sacrificed present consumption so we might enjoy better farm machinery and therefore cheaper, more abundant food. We should honor those who risked their fortunes and life to improve society with a more efficient method of planting, harvesting, or processing crops. We should celebrate those who instead of sitting back and collecting unemployment, toiled long hours in hot, dusty fields to earn an honest living. Such was my great-grandfather and great-grandmother, who even after their children were grown and married, moved to the Rockford area and bought a farm. My great-grandfather had a manufacturing job, and my great-grandmother spent her days working the 160 acres of our farm…only to come inside in the evenings to lay the beautiful hardwood floors that are still in our house today. And this was in the midst of WWII, with all the uncertainty and fear surrounding it. So many Americans just plodded on, growing food, raising animals, and keeping the lifeblood of the country flowing.
This morning we had a discussion about patriotism. I was explaining to my sisters that patriotism implies loyalty to and love of your government. That’s why I don’t like the word patriotism. I wish there was a good English word for loyalty to and love for your society, your culture, your community, your heritage. We could only come up with, “I love the geographical area of North America known as the Midwest,” which is, admittedly, very clumsy. But that’s what we should celebrate and appreciate, not the acts of violence, aggression, and force which our government has been committing since 1789.
The Reality of the Market
Jun 18th
I really enjoy my job, for several reasons. One reason is that my company is the perfect real-life example of many concepts I learned in economics. I have to get my boss credit, he is sometimes a very quotable person and says things just like I’ve heard in my econ books…except he really is an entrepreneur who is dealing with very real customers (believe me…I have to talk to them every day…).
First example illustrates consumer sovereignty. He said, “A lot of people think that business-owners run their company. That’s not true. The customer runs the business. The customers decide what happens under this roof, not me.” If only Marx had talked to a real, live capitalist, he would have discovered that consumers aren’t being exploited… and if you must have some exploiting going on, it is probably the consumers exploiting the producers. At my workplace we make capital goods. Lots of little metal parts for all sorts of things, from airplanes to Caterpillars. So our customers aren’t even the consumers; they just take our parts, add some more, and send it on to another capital goods company. But can you imagine the pressure of the customers in a consumer goods business?
Second example illustrates what Jeffrey Tucker mentioned a couple months ago in an article. He said something like, “businesses are future-oriented. They don’t care what happened yesterday. They may be having a really bad today. But they’re always looking towards to tomorrow.” I’ve observed that in my workplace, and I certainly think like that as well sometimes. But yesterday my boss and I were talking and he said, “If I think about today, it makes me want to jump in my grave. But if I think about the future, I get all excited.” Isn’t that great? Jeffrey Tucker was so spot-on with what he said, that’s exactly how businesses go.
On a related topic, there’s been some discussion on the Mises blog about how fastidious Austrians should be. Should we condemn McDonalds because of the gov’t food subsidies it receives? The list goes on, for the leviathan has tainted every aspect of our lives. Some go the negative way and reject anything in the market which has anything to do with government. Jeffrey Tucker, and others, have argued that we should enjoy and appreciate the aspects of the market which are more free. Sure, we can complain about food subsidies. But let’s also marvel (as Jeffrey Tucker has done) at the efficiency of McDonalds at satisfying the consumer demand for cheap, convenient food. In the same way, I know that eventually the parts my company makes will be used by the government in the ambiguous ”defense” of this country. I don’t like to say I work in the defense industry because 1) I don’t really and 2) the sort of defense our government engages in isn’t the kind of defense I’m proud of. Instead I like to say I work in the areospace industry which is more accurate and something I’m happy about. So although down the line our parts are used for immoral actions, I can marvel at the market tendencies all around me.
Path of Grass Excerpt
May 5th
One of the other nuns came to relieve me. I laid down for a few minutes and fell asleep. Sometime in the afternoon I woke up and went to check on the men. Most were sleeping. Franz wasn’t. He beckoned me to come near.
“Yes?” I said.
“I am lonely. I haven’t talked to anyone in ages.”
So I sat down to listen to him.
“Do you know how long this war has lasted? It isn’t over yet, either, I can tell you that. Have you ever hated anyone? In this army, we live on it. My father was murdered by the Allies. My mother and the rest of my family died of starvation. I was so young then, and I remember watching them die away, like flowers wilt and are gone. They’ve done that to us…it is their fault we are in this now.” He clenched my hand so tightly I nearly cried out in pain. “My mother, she was so kind and so beautiful. I loved her with all my heart. She was so full of life and vigor, always ready for a game with us children. But little by little all her strength drained away. She worked, she toiled to let us survive. When I was very young, I remember her laughing gaily. But as the English, the Russians, and the Americans sucked our very life away, my mother became weak and tired. She didn’t laugh and romp with us. If she had the energy, she slaved for a bit of bread, but the energy died. She sat listlessly, with hollow eyes, watching us scavenge for food. Then one morning she didn’t wake up. And it was all because of them.” He nearly started crying. After a moment he regained his composure. “After this war, my dear,” he said hesitantly, “we’ll do something together. We can start a life together, can’t we? After we pound the Allies to pulp, then we’ll live in riches and victory, just you and I.” He squeezed my hand again. I was thoroughly embarrassed and had no idea what to say. I just sat silently, and he took that for an agreement. I heard someone moaning from the other room and left Franz for a moment.
It was the man with the strange melancholy gaze who was making sounds.
“Are you alright?” I asked him.
“Do you ever feel a dull aching right about here?” He put his hand over his heart. “That is my ailment. What is your name, child?” He spoke so sadly and so gently.
“Adele. I mean, Catherine.” I cursed myself for saying Adele; I didn’t know why that came out. I hadn’t called myself Adele for years, at least not out loud.
“Do you forget who you are?” He said with a queer smile. “You aren’t the only one.”
- From Part One, Chapter 14
Path of Grass Excerpt
Apr 29th
But I had a dream. I was sitting on my cot, and a soldier came in. He stomped his way over to me and stood over me, smelling of beer, cigars, blood, and sauerkraut. I cringed and tried to turn away. He grabbed my neck and mumbled something in garbled German. He took out a sharp, shiny knife.
“This is for those who lie. Those who are self-centered. Those who pretend they are righteous but are not. Those who take food from the mouths of the innocent. I shall either use this,” he ran his finger across the blade, “or burn you alive in this room.” I shook at the thought of dying in a fire. He took advantage of my fear. “I think that is the best way to remove hypocrites from the world.” He took a match from his pocket, pulled the blanket off my bed, and made a pile in the middle of the floor with it. He snatched my father’s books from the shelf. “Perfect tinder,” he muttered. He crumpled the sheets up on the blanket. “I’ll light the match, and as soon as the paper has caught fire, I’ll leave and lock the door after me. I’d better tie you up so you don’t escape.” He used his belt to wrap me to the bed frame. Then, holding the match firmly, he lit it and carefully dropped it in among a treatise on the development of civil law. The greedy flame consumed the first sheet within seconds, and then the man left. I heard him bar the door. With agonizing awareness, I watched the fire spread and grow. It charred the blanket and crept closer to the bed. Then in a moment it caught the mattress and the straw inside. Another moment, and it was inches from my body. I could feel the intense heat, and I screamed.
I woke up, sweating and throwing the covers off me. I looked around desperately for the fire, but there was none. The fear choked my throat; I could not swallow. Oh, no—I can’t live like this. Please, I must escape; I must do something to get away. It will be like this every night. Every night I shall be haunted by what I have done. So I worried and fretted until morning came.
- From Part One, Chapter 10
Path of Grass Excerpt
Apr 25th
After a futile attempt at sleep, I went back downstairs, where my aunt was sitting and drinking warm water as a poor substitute for tea.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“No.”
“In the convent, did you hear any news of the world?”
“Some of the nuns had acquaintances outside who would give them news, but I didn’t really hear anything. The nunnery really was its own little world.”
“Do you know anything about our history? Do you know who Hitler is?”
I shook my head.
“Here’s a cup of water. It might calm you down. Pretend it is hot cocoa or something nice.” She handed me a mug and continued, “You weren’t around to remember the Great War. It was horror beyond imagination. It was just a big fight between everyone. But we lost. The winners made us pay for everything. They made us give them our factories, our food, our money; they forced us to kneel down before them like nasty sniveling little creatures begging for their lives. I watched everyone around us die. We all withered away, just barely clinging to life. All because of them…they ground us into the dust. It was humiliation and shame you can’t imagine. Then Hitler rose up. He came to save his people. He promised freedom, life, and happiness. And look at us now…” she laughed a little wildly, “we can’t speak our thoughts to any other living being. We can’t whisper rebellion to our pillow at night without being thrown in prison. People are dying like flies, all over, everywhere. And this is happiness. If this is happiness, I don’t want to see unhappiness. So that’s why we are here.”
Uncle Gottlieb came into the room, and my aunt cut off her lecture. I had a feeling he preferred not to speak any more than necessary and wanted everyone to follow his habit, too.
We didn’t go outside that day. It started snowing a little, and the streets were littered with soldiers and people—dead and alive. I walked all over the house, trying to stay a little warm and trying to keep my mind off the terror of the night. It didn’t help very much.
- From Part One, Chapter 9
Path of Grass Excerpt
Apr 22nd
So two days later I was ushered out of the nunnery, out of the big hollow room through which I had first come. Through roundabout ways my aunt’s address was found. I had only to find the street. I stepped out into the street with too-large shoes on, and a very bland baggy dress. I pulled the door closed behind me and then regretted it. The streets were full of people shouting and crowding all over. I didn’t want to walk out into it, but it was too late to go back now. I took a deep breath and pushed my way through. I walked in the path of least resistance for a while, just trying to get my bearings. The stores were empty, the windows dirty and bare. Children ran around begging from everyone. I was frightened when they came near me, and at last I made them see I had no money or food either. Infants were crying from all over. The big houses were disheveled and crumbling. Most of the people I passed had a listless, hollow look in their eyes. They gazed at the city, but they really didn’t see it. They didn’t want to see it; they tried to block it out. But others were livid, and their eyes were full of hate and scorn. I was scared of those people. No one ever looked like that at the convent. I had never seen anyone glaring with disgusted gleams of revenge. I shuddered and quickly passed the people like that. I stopped and asked a few women for directions. I wouldn’t speak to the men; they were too loud and rough. After walking for what seemed like all day I found Aunt Matilda’s house. I was shocked to see it just as dilapidated as everything else. I had the strange idea that her home would always be the same. There was no wooden door, just a dirty ripped sheet. I walked in very slowly. If the houses could change so much, maybe my relatives could, too.
“Hello; is anyone here? I am Catherine from the convent. Auntie, are you here? Hello?”
I walked into the kitchen, where there were pots strewn all over, but not one had anything in it. A dog barked, and I almost screamed. The little thing jumped out from behind the stove and ran at me. It made ferocious sounds and nipped my ankles. I grabbed its neck, I am afraid to say, and muffled it in a bucket until it stopped barking.
“What are you doing?” A voice from behind me sounded. I turned around, still keeping a tight hold on the dog. It was a gruff man staring at me. “That’s my dog. Let go of it. What are you trying to do, kill it?”
- From Part One, Chapter 8






