A version of this blog post appeared on Dollars and Crosses (March 25, 2004), on Israel Is Moral (March 25, 2004), and in the Hamilton College Spectator (April 2, 2004).
It was enough that when Yasir Arafat promised his people gender equality, he meant that the fairer sex should take part in suicide bombing. Now, 13 months later, we learn that the Palestinians are manipulating 11-and 14-year-olds into that same twisted fate—to blow themselves up.
If having children only so they can strap shrapnel and TNT to their chests, to massacre as many Israelis as possible, does not make the world condemn the Palestinians as as a whole, what must one do today to warrant condemnation? Is there no shame? No self-worth? No love for one’s family and friends that trumps one’s hatred for one’s enemies?
Thomas Friedman, the foreign affairs columnist for the New York Times, answered as follows a year ago. “The world must understand that the Palestinians have not chosen suicide bombing out of ‘desperation’ stemming from the Israeli occupation. That is a huge lie.” The Palestinians “actually want to win their independence in blood and fire. All they can agree on as a community is what they want to destroy, not what they want to build. Have you ever heard Mr. Arafat talk about what sort of education system or economy he would prefer, what sort of constitution he wants?”
To be sure, there are individual Palestinians who condemn suicide bombing. But since the Palestinian Authority is a dictatorship, those courageous individuals are usually the régime’s first victims (“political prisoners”), and are drowned out by leaders who glorify such “jihad” and “martyrdom” as a religious duty. If the Palestinians as a people truly condemn suicide bombing, why does it continue? Tom Friedman again explains. People tolerate terrorism, and terrorism is successful, because terrorists “are almost always acting on the basis of widely shared feelings or yearnings. As Israeli political scientist Ehud Sprinzak rightly put it, these so-called extremists are usually just the tip of an iceberg that is connected in a deep and fundamental way to the bases of their respective societies.”
Unpublished Notes
Then, in March, we learned that they were using 11- and 14-year-olds as suicide bombers. Now, a New York Times two-part series informs us that Rukon, a 10-year-old, “[a]sked if he thought he could be friends with an Israeli boy his age,” “drew a hand across his throat. ‘I want only to stab him,’ he said. Mr. Nashrati [Rukon’s father] hastily said Rukon was young and ignorant. ‘This son is old enough to understand,’ he said, indicating Munir, 20. Asked if he could be friends with an Israeli his age, Munir Nashrati said, ‘It’s impossible.’”
In 2002, Newsweek’s Christopher Dickey reported similar refrains:
“They want to be martyrs even if they don’t know the meaning of the word,” says Muhammad Abu Rukbah, principal of an elementary school in Gaza’s Jabaliya refugee camp. “They see the images on TV, the posters in the streets, the honor of the martyrs’ families, and they want that kind of honor for themselves, for their families.” Out on the dusty street of the camp, 10-year-old Aya, a pretty, bright-eyed girl in a school smock, is asked how she feels about kids just like her who are blown up by murderer-martyrs in Israel. “I don’t feel sorry for them,” she says. “Their families and their mothers are pushing them to fight us and kill us.” She adds that she’d like to be a doctor someday, “or maybe a martyr myself”. . . .
The despair that afflicts—and motivates—so much of Palestinian society is not enough to launch a concerted campaign of suicide bombings. For that, cynical technicians are required who build an infrastructure to encourage, discipline and arm the would-be shahid, or martyr. Those same technicians have worked to create a mystique around the dead, which attracts still more recruits. And all this takes money, so contributions have had to be collected from sympathizers around the world.
In Gaza and the West Bank, Islamic fundamentalists from Hamas and other groups have nurtured a cult of death for years, having learned from the example of Lebanon’s Hizbullah. . . . Teachers in Hamas day camps and preachers in mosques have kept up a constant chorus of praise for “martyrs” defending Palestinian lands. Like Hizbullah, they called for an end to the Jewish state.
Mussolini coined the ideology, and, many tweaks notwithstanding, Hitler exercised it with inexorable devotion. Nazi propagandists whipped it into a religion, so that the Third Reich incarnated the “total state” doctrine. While historians differ on how clear Hitler was in specifying his totalitarian ambitions after the failed beer hall putsch, they agree that the Nazi political ethics was always explicit.
As if lifted from the contours of Plato’s Republic, Nazi Germany embraced complete collectivism. Collectivism, explains philosopher Leonard Peikoff, holds that the collective (the Volk) has primacy over the individual. It holds that the “collective is the unit of reality and the standard of value . . . [T]he individual has reality only as part of the group, and value only insofar as he serves it; on his own he has no political rights; he is to be sacrificed for the group whenever it . . . deems this desirable.”[1]
Under collectivism, each person must merge himself into the collective, becoming one with it and existing only to serve its welfare. For the collective is more than the sum of its parts; it is a living organism, in which individuals are but rightless cells. And as Hannah Arendt observed in The Origins of Totalitarianism, because the one thing that separates people from “living corpses is the differentiation of the individual,” this killing of identity makes men goose-steppers.
The Nazis, of course, knew this, and inculcated the dynamic expertly. They glorified self-sacrifice, so Hitler could declare that a good German is “willing, to carry out the Government’s measures with blind obedience.”[2] This notion was uncontroversial, since the implementation of subservience to the collective means subservience to the state.
The state indeed was omnipotent. Every agency had but one function: to enforce uniformity, to stamp out deviance, to prescribe every detail of human activity. After all, the Fatherland’s “whole future depended” on stability (235); dissent equaled disorder, or a return to the democratic principles that had allegedly emasculated Germany for the past decade.
It was thus “vital”—not merely “important”—that Hitler “have everybody completely behind him from the outset” (235). Once the party announced policy, afterthoughts were treason. “Absolute unity,” said one Nazi report, must precede “[e]ven the consequences of wrong decisions” (235).
This notion was uncontroversial, since the Nazis, having controlled the state media for the past year, were professional propagandists. According to the Führer, “[W]e must always instill the whole nation with only one idea, concentrate its attention on one idea . . . as if hypnotized” (235). It was, of course, never necessary to define this one idea; it could be nationalism, or racial purity, or victory, or them all. But few asked, because if the collective willed it, it was, ipso facto, perfectly just.
This, then, was the Nazi’s secret. Through unquestioned bromides, they offered the masses consolation, support, escape. They made sacrifice the ideal, and equated questions with selfishness, disloyalty, and disunity. As Ayn Rand explains in her novel The Fountainhead: “If you got caught at some crucial point and somebody tells you that your doctrine doesn’t make sense . . . [y]ou tell him that there is something above sense. That here he must not try to think, he must feel. He must believe. Suspend reason and you play it deuces wild. Anything goes in any manner you wish whenever you need it. . . . Can you rule a thinking man? We don’t want any thinking men.”
Inevitably, the theory became the practice. Columnist Robert Tracinski concludes: “[N]o one [could] complain when the Nazis fr[o]ze workers’ wages—the nation need[ed] less costly tanks. No one [could] speak out when Hitlerarrest[ed] his political opponents—the nation need[ed] greater unity. And no one [could] resist when the Jews [were] tortured and murdered—the nation need[ed] Aryan purity.”[3]
[1] Leonard Peikoff, “Nazi Politics: Part 2,” Objectivist, March 1969.
[2] J. Noakes and G. Pridham (eds), Nazism, 1941-1945. Vol 2: State Economy and Society, 1933-39 (Exeter: University of Exeter, 1984), 235. All parenthetical page numbers refer to this book, specifically to document 157.
[3] Robert W. Tracinski, “Why It Can Happen Again,” Ayn Rand Institute, April 22, 2003.
Unpublished Notes
Faithful to its dominant 19th-century ideas, Germany had never entered the era of classic liberalism, which holds that people are an end in themselves and that the state exists for them. Nazism utterly reversed this philosophy.
In this way, the “land of poets and thinkers” had rendered the reich ideologically ripe for National Socialism.
“[P]assing . . . decision[s] onto the mass of the people. That was the crazy idea behind democracy” (235).
The Nazis captured this theory in such slogans as “Du bist nichts; dein Volk ist alles” (“You are nothing; your people is everything”).
Distinctions between private and public affairs cease.
In the summary of Joseph Goebbels, the Nazi propaganda minister, “To be a socialist [collectivist] is to submit the I to the Thou; socialism [collectivism] is sacrificing the individual to the whole.”
The state should indoctrinate the citizens with government-approved ideas in government-run schools, censor all art, literature and philosophy, assign men their vocations as they come of age, regulate their economic—and in certain cases even their sexual—activities, etc.
totalitarianism is all-pervasive and all-encompassing.
Hitler crafted its function and authority to totalitarian limits.
Is John Stuart Mill’s understanding and defense of free speech appropriate for a democracy?
The starting point of any political system is how the people limit the power of the state. In On Liberty, the English political theorist, John Stuart Mill, seemingly rejects most limits in favor of individual sovereignty. Yet while he appreciates the preciousness of laissez-faire, his defense of it undervalues democracy. For, ultimately, Mill grounds his properly individualist ideas in a collectivist rationalization.
The word “democracy” has today become an ambiguous, feel-good catchall for liberty. This confusion obscures the deeper truth that there are two rival conceptions of “one man, one vote.” On one hand, individualists limit democracy to a procedural role, mainly to elections by which citizens vote into office their political representatives. In this view, as philosopher David Kelley observes, democracy is a way to decide how, not what, government should do—which is to protect exclusively individual rights, which are inalienable.[1] Collectivists, however, see democracy as promoting the “public interest.” In this view, majoritarian decision-making smoothes out the peaks and valleys of individual rights.
To ascertain which conception is right, imagine you are a congressman.[2] On Monday, lobbyist A accosts you for import tariffs to protect the jobs of workers. On Tuesday, lobbyist B demands no tariffs to give buyers lower prices. On Wednesday, lobbyist C insists on subsidies to compensate the underproduction of farmers. On Thursday, lobbyist D wants you to lower taxes for nonfarmers.
How then do you decide what to do? Which lobbyist represents the “public”? Ultimately, there is no clear and distinct way to tell; any lobbyist, of any industry, on any issue, can reasonably claim the title of the Public. In dismay, you realize that collectivist democracy leads to arbitrary power, in which you must sacrifice the minority to the majority.
On the other hand, an individualist democracy curtails such corruption. For the principle that the rights of the individual are inalienable means, as the writer Onkar Ghate observes, that “no invocation of the ‘public interest’ can justify their abrogation”;[3] the state can interfere only when rights are violated. Thus, an individualist democracy makes good consistently on Mill’s maxim, “Over himself, over his own body and mind, the individual is sovereign” (611).
And yet, though usually placed in the individualist democracy camp, John Stuart Mill is ultimately a collectivist. To be sure, against today’s political theorists, he stands with such staunch individualists as Robert Nozick and Ayn Rand. But Mill mixes his many libertarian tendencies with statist tenets. Specifically, he holds that “the only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilized community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others” (610).[4] What qualifies as “harm” depends on whether the given item furthers the “permanent interests of man as a progressive being” (611).
This slippery slope threshold lends itself to conflicting interpretations. For instance, whose “interests” take precedence if Paul, as a theater proprietor, values his property rights and Peter, his customer, values the security of knowing it is illegal to shout “fire” maliciously in a theater? Whose “interests” take precedence if Jane, as a restauranteur, values her property rights and Janet, her customer, values the safety of knowing that since it is illegal to smoke in New York City bars, she will not inhale second hand smoke in one?[5] Using Mill’s harm principle—namely, the vagueness of the terms therein—one can argue either way; ascertaining who is more harmed or less harmed is a proposition pregnant with paradoxes.
Here, then, is the rub. As a utilitarian, Mill might just as well be a statist; both theories reject the principle of individual rights. But to be free, man requires rights, which explicitly codify and protect what actions man should be free to pursue in a social context. Unlike Mill’s harm principle, rights do not recognize an action or thought’s consequences (“permanent interests”), but distinguish only between coercive action, like theft and arson, and voluntary action, like gambling and prostitution (662). In this way, free speech—free because it is voluntary—is absolute insofar as I exercise it on my property or the property of others with their permission.[6]
Yet many argue that although we may agree maliciously shouting “fire” pertains only to whose property it occurs on, some say that shouting “fire” constitutes action, while others say it is speech. After all, democracy entwines procedure with substance; what we do necessarily embeds the values of how we do it. Additionally, that rights are relatively clear-cut does not guarantee that people will apply them as such. As Mill recognizes, rights are “abstract” statements, which we must fit to the specifics of complex, varying, concrete cases (611). This process is not automatic; human error and reasonable disagreement are possible.
Nonetheless, as philosopher Harry Binswanger explains, “A legal code must have not only the impersonal absolutism of a law of nature, but also the clarity and precision of a properly drafted contract.”[7] The best such code—the one that minimizes paradoxes and maximizes uniformity and specificity—confines law to the protection of individual rights. Under such a system, legislators have no say over whether rights should be violated, but only how to protect them; rights are not subject to vote, but people can, for instance, democratically vote to determine speech/action distinctions. Similarly, judges would decide only whether rights were violated and by whom; “compelling state interests” would be extraneous.
But many ask how rights are any less knotty than the principles of “harm” or “interests”? In constitutional parlance, rights are compossible; that is, they never conflict, since mine start where yours end. Thus, there can be no “right” not to encounter potentially fatal, deliberately false, actionable information (“fire”), since this prohibition necessarily censors, via the force of law, the would-be prankster. Any alleged right that entails coercion, which necessitates violating the rights of another, is not and cannot be a right. If Peter’s right to life entails, say, a right to the fruits of Paul’s labor, as by banning “fire” in Paul’s theater, then Paul thereby ceases to possess a right to property. Instead, the state grants him that privilege—which it can revoke whenever it conflicts with the “public interest.” When one begins making conditions, reservations and exceptions, as Mill does, one admits that something supersedes man’s rights—which may violate them at its discretion.
Therefore, replacing “harm” with “coercion” as the criterion for state intervention makes resolving classic free speech issues relatively easy. The new criterion shifts the debate from nonessentials (interests) to essentials (rights), so that no longer would we need to dispute endless consequences, intended and unintended, but only whose rights are allegedly violated. Thus, the rightness of shouting “fire” in a crowded theater would depend, not on a potential stampede, but only on who owns the theater; if it is mine, only I may abridge free speech therein.[8]
Still, many argue that such a system privileges property rights over “human” rights. After all, someone could conceivably die in a stampede in my theater because I permit my customers to shout “fire” on a whim. Why should my selfish right to my property trump my customer’s right to his life? A dead man is not a free man.
This hypothetical is, of course, stylized and hyperbolic; its occurrence would be extremely rare. For only a suicidal businessman would allow his customers to shout “fire” maliciously in his theater; it is in one’s self-interest to assure one’s customers a safe milieu. Nonetheless, supposing I permit my customers to shout “fire” on a whim, and one consequently dies in a stampede, the deceased’s heirs, or in their absence the state, may rightfully sue me via tort law for, say, misrepresenting the safety of my establishment. Moreover, though the deceased did not consent to die in my theater, he did voluntarily consent to my rules—which as a private company, I have every right to set my way and he had every right to disagree with by not patronizing my business.
Furthermore, either a principle is watertight, or it is an expedient that others may later just as arbitrarily foist on you. Indeed, if a majority considers such noncoercive actions as meriting the coercive power of the state, what then will protect any atheist, homosexual, prostitute, gambler, smoker or suicide from fines, imprisonment or death when any majority regards these sins as criminal? Finally, property rights are in fact basic “human” rights, though not in the sense of economic entitlements. Rather, as Ayn Rand explained: “Man has to work and produce in order to support his life. He has to support his life by his own effort and by the guidance of his own mind. If he cannot dispose of the product of his effort, he cannot dispose of his effort; if he cannot dispose of his effort, he cannot dispose of his life. Without property rights, no other rights can be practiced”;[9] “no rights can exist without the right to translate one’s rights into reality . . . The doctrine that ‘human rights’ are superior to ‘property rights’ simply means that some human beings have the right to make property out of others.”[10]
For Mill, as for me, the “danger which threatens human nature is not the excess, but the deficiency,” of individuality (639). For “only the cultivation of individuality . . . can produce[] well developed human beings” (641), such that man ceases to be man when he “ceases to possess individuality” (646). Therefore, “whatever crushes individuality is despotism” (641).
Yet Mill’s harm principle, by resting on the public interest doctrine, constitutes such despotism. For to practice individualism one needs the freedom to be an individual—come what will to the so-called public, which effectively subordinates individuals to the collective, minorities to the majority. Therefore, had he valued true individualist democracy, John Stuart Mill should have advocated the principle of individual rights. Had he done this, he would have upheld a political system that makes good consistently on his maxim that “all restraint, qua restraint, is an evil” (660).
Footnotes
[1] David Kelley, “The Corruption of Democracy,” Navigator, April 2001.
[2] Edwin A. Locke, “How to Achieve Real Campaign Finance Reform,” Capitalism Magazine, October 11, 1999.
[3] Onkar Ghate, “Campaign Finance Reform Attacks Victims of Government Corruption,” Capitalism Magazine, December 17, 2003.
[4] David Wooton, Modern Political Thought: Readings from Machiavelli to Nietzsche (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1996). All parenthetical page numbers refer to this text.
[5] Similarly: Whose “interests” take precedence if Peter seeks state recognition of his homosexual marriage, and Paul believes that gay marriage degrades traditional mores? Whose “interests” take precedence if I want to smoke a joint to relieve chronic pain, and you want to prohibit marijuana because it leads users toward criminality?
[6] A system of individual rights precludes so-called public property.
[7] Harry Binswanger, “What Is Objective Law?” Intellectual Activist, January 1992. p. 11.
[8] Civil rights, like freedom of speech, of passage and of association, are contractually stipulated; they are derivates of fundamental rights, and, as such, may be abridged. Fundamental rights—the right to life, liberty, property, and the pursuit of happiness—may not be abridged, since they are not contractually stipulated but inalienable.
[9] Ayn Rand, “What Is Capitalism?,” in Ayn Rand, Capitalism: The Unknown Ideal.
[10] Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged.
Unpublished Notes
The U.S. Supreme Court declared in Schenk v. United States (1919) that when speech poses a “clear and present danger” to “society,” the state is justified in curtailing it.
The problem with Schenk is that it bases rights-curtailment strictly on a social standard when it should have focused on who owns the property—on which the exercise of free speech depends. The problem largely arises because our mixed economy allows the communist contradiction of “public” property.
The right to freedom of speech depends on where one exercises it, on the extent to which the owner of the property in which one is speaking wishes to indulge the speaker. For example, if I own a cineplex, I can properly abridge free speech by stipulating that my patrons cannot maliciously shout “fire” in my theaters. My patrons, however, do not have an a priori right to free speech, since when they enter my cineplex, they contract, implicitly, to view a movie, rather than cause chaos.
Thus, civil rights, like freedom of speech and of passage, are contractually stipulated; they are derivates of fundamental rights and, as such, may be abridged. Fundamental rights—the rights to life, liberty, property, and the pursuit of happiness—may not be abridged, since they are not contractually stipulated but inalienable.
We should therefore oppose “public” ownership of television channels, the press and radio, since by owning these means, the government then prohibits, restricts, or otherwise censors what people can express through these media. Observe what results when taxpayers fund art. Art becomes a political football and everybody fights over which art a public museum should display.
By contrast, the great virtue of private property is that if I fund and privately display my own “indecent,” “offensive,” or “pornographic” art, then the government has no right to censor it. Indeed, all property as privately owned precludes the government’s abridgement of free speech.
***
President Bush wants to increase the budget of the National Endowment for the Arts. But gov-ernment involvement in the arts only politicizes it. Art becomes a political football, thrown around by whichever politician then in office. Remember that controversy when Mayor Giuliani refused to fund the religious painting with dung?
Posted by Jonathan Rick in 
Before entering the digital space…
I flacked for the American Conservative Union and the Cato Institute, and reported for Time magazine and the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review.