As has become fairly clear in the two blogs I have written to date, I deeply resent the government's arrogance in thinking it can manage my money better than I can. Other than the few necessities - national security, interstates and defending its citizen's rights (which I will not attempt to name here, though I know this is also a point of controversy) among very few others - the government does little (nothing?) good with the money it has taken from its citizens by force. I am no scholar on the matter, but I do understand enough to know that the following excerpt from Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged has profound insights which would do anyone good to hear; especially if the listener believes in our current tax system, or something worse: taking more money yet.
I am amazed at how much sense Rand makes to me. Atlas Shrugged has become something of a 'blankie' to me. I feel as though I want to take it with me everywhere I go, to ward off those who believe that we should leave all responsibility of saving money, healthcare, education, etc. to the wiles of the government. (Incidentally, Howard Roark, who I mentioned in my 20th point in my first blog is from her other book, The Fountainhead.) But enough out of me. I am now going to let Ayn Rand do the talking. The following is taken from chapter 3 of part 2 of Atlas Shrugged:
"When you felt proud of the rail of the John Galt Line," said Francisco, the measured rhythm of his voice giving a ruthless clarity to his words, "what sort of men did you think of? Did you want to see that Line used by your equals - by giants of productive energy, such as Ellis Wyatt, whom it would help to reach higher and still higher achievements of their own?"
"Yes," said Rearden eagerly.
"Did you want to see it used by men who could not equal the power of your mind, but who would equal your moral integrity - men such as Eddie Willers - who could never invent your Metal, but who would do their best, work as hard as you did, live by their own effort, and - riding on your rail - give a moment's silent thanks to the man who gave them more than they could give him?"
"Yes," Reardon said gently.
"Did you want to see it used by whining rotters who never rouse themselves to any effort, who do not possess the ability of a filing clerk, but demand the income of a company president, who drift from failure to failure and expect you to pay their bills, who hold their wishing as an equivalent of your work and their need as a higher claim to reward than your effort, who demand that you serve them, who demand that it be the aim of your life to serve them, unrewarded slave of their impotence, who proclaim that you are born to serfdom by reason of your genius, while they are born to rule by the grace of incompetence, that yours is only to give, but theirs only to take, that yours is to produce, but theirs to consume, that you are not to be paid, neither in matter nor in spirit, neither by wealth nor by recognition nor by respect nor by gratitude - so that they would ride on your rail and sneer at you and curse you, since they owe you nothing, not even the effort of taking off their hats which you paid for? Would this be what you wanted? Would you feel proud of it?"
"I'd blast that rail first," said Rearden, his lips white.
"Then why don't you do it Mr. Reardon? Of the three kinds of men I described - which men are being destroyed and which are using your Line today?"
They heard the distant metal heartbeats of the mills through the long thread of silence.
"What I described last," said Franscisco, "is any man who proclaims his right to a single penny of another man's effort."
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