Gregory Yates: thoughts, theses and collected theologies.

‘ello.

Why haven’t I posted for so long? Well, I didn’t want to, basically. I’ve been too busy. Now, I understand that it would only take a little time to write a blog entry, but this is where my theory of preoccupation comes into play: busy people don’t do small things, because there are thousands and thousands of small things to be doing. There are probably some important things I could be doing right now, but, well, I’m ill, so I suppose they can wait.

I got into Oxford University since I wrote last - Corpus Christi college, specifically. So long as I don’t completely screw up my exams in June, I’ll be writing, this time next year, from the Corpus common room.

In the short term, though, I’d like to be able to eat something without vomiting. Please?

A ’good-for-nothing’ just believes that good comes to nothing, and thus does nothing good. 

…I like it!

I woke up to the soothing voice of Stephen Fry, thanks to my new clock, and spent the next five minutes quietly mourning for wasted mornings without this gentle alarm. Let’s just hope it continues to, err, actually wake me up.

Thought I’d share that. I’ll get back to work (essay writing - wonderful!) so I have enough time to get through more of Paradise Lost later, and perhaps, years late, complete the first Halo game.

Belated goodwill, etc, your king, etc, christmas, etc. 

I actually did have a brilliant post, good-to-go, about judiciary and how, essentially, law is arbitrary by definition - but then IE decided that I didn’t, in fact, deserve to blog. I find it hard to be too aggravated by this, though, as yesterday I recieved an offer to read English Literature at Corpus Christi college, Oxford; understandably, I’m wearing too much of a grin about the place to be significantly affected by a technological hitch.

I’ll part with some ironic words:

"The anarchist is the enemy of humanity, the enemy of all mankind, and his is a deeper degree of criminality than any other." - Theodore Roosevelt, 1901.

I wholeheartedly agree. An anarchist is the enemy of humanity and mankind, as those imply organised collectives that, in some way, gain some validation by merit of them being collective; an anarchist views humanity as a huge group of separate individuals, and mankind as a similar collection of individual men. To an anarchist, there is no banner behind which people can unify, as we all possess wholly different politics, philosophies and desires; when this is attempted, individuals are forced to yield to a majority, or even a minority (as with government) viewpoint. It is a dangerous fallacy to act on the presumption that there is a ’mankind’ so much as there is a ‘lot of men’ - so, yes, anarchism is the enemy of humanity and mankind.

As for ’criminality’, well, yes, but I find it very difficult to be insulted by a word that was effectively contrived to explain an already contrived idea. If I reject concepts of ‘legal’ and ’illegal’ as pointless and arbitrary, in the manner that I have described on this blog, then it follows that a word with the function of describing one who does just this is a little feckless. Law is an extension of authority, which in turn is something anarchy opposes viciously; therefore, when Teddy refers to anarchists as ‘criminal’ he is essentially arguing that anarchists are anarchists.

Never mind, eh?      

The standard argument against the rejection of arbitrary state ‘rules’ goes as follows:

1. The rules of Britain are clearly defined and concern the whole of Britain.

2. You live in Britain.

3. If you did not like the rules, you could just leave.

4. You have not left, so you must appreciate the rules. 

I’ll challenge two significant premises of this argument - the first being that we are expected to be aware of the ‘rules’ of this country and the second being the more general idea that these policies are reasonably entrenched within society. I will begin, naturally, with the first.

Consent implies knowledge. If a CEO of a particular business I have just been employed by for details for me, on my first day, the company policy - perhaps it is considered unprofessional to wear a brightly coloured shirt, among other things - and I agree to work according to these principles, then of course I have consented. My boss has a legitimate mandate to impose sanctions on me, providing I was aware of the punishments for transgressions in the first place. If I wear that ostentatious pink shirt, I can expect reprecussions. Nothing wrong with that. 

However, let us suppose that he murmured and mumbled parts of it; I asked him to speak up, but he largely ignored me. As a result, I know the vague outline of the policy, but the details escape me. Unbeknownst to poor I, wearing brown shoes is a gross violation of this corporation’s ethical code; when I wear them the next day, I am punished severely, more so than I could have possibly expected. I was aware that flamboyant clothing was generally off-limits, but not that brown shoes crossed the threshold of ‘unprofessional’! Far from it.

Now picture the government as this ambiguous CEO. The analogy (like all my carefully picked analogies!) stands up surprisingly well. The government, quite simply, has laid out a contract. By living in Britain, and working for the government - we pay taxes, which equates to financial labour, and are in return given law and order, foreign defence and economic regulation - we agree to take on company policy. Problem is, the terms and conditions laid out are difficult to comprehend. In the same way the dithering CEO mumbles certain parts of the company code, so does the government give us hazy, sometimes incredibly difficult to comprehend, details on the law. For example, I know that assault is illegal, but what about self-defence? I know I am allowed to defend myself, but what constitutes ‘reasonable’ force?

Obviously, I can go to look this up - but this is one issue among many that I would presume the vast majority of the population are blissfully unaware of. Nobody, save for perhaps the judiciary (and even they are unsure of certain aspects of law) could know every regulation involved with living in this country, especially given the incomprehensibility of many legal documents; some date back decades, even centuries. It is just not practical to ask a member of the public to memorise each and every law, but if they don’t, they find themselves at an ignorant loss. Perhaps if we did know the entirety of the British law, we would scoff and say: "I’m not agreeing to that!" and thus refuse to vote for any political party continuing this law at the time of a general election?

We probably never will. Again, it just isn’t feasible. The government’s mandate to impose their rules upon us seems to be little more than an extremely long contract, predominantly comprised of barely legible small-print.

If this is what passes for consent in government, I’ll stick with anarchy, thanks. 

Government taxation amounts to theft.

I do not believe that at any point I gave consent to pay British ’Value Added Tax’ in addition to the base price of products I regularly purchase; yet, the government collects this sum from me. I did not vote for this policy on a party manifesto, either, as I did not vote this current Labour party into government. This collection of tax from me is therefore unmandated and non-consensual - effectively theft.

I refuse to accept that my continued living in England equates to consent, either; I’ll tackle this idea another time, when I can get my thoughts together.

Government makes us ‘less good’ as individuals.

This is not as ambiguous as it sounds.

There is an old adage that a good deed undertaken with forced hand is not a good deed at all; in layman’s terms: if somebody makes you do a good thing, you can’t be credited as a good person for doing it. If a Big Issue seller drew a pistol and forced members of the public to donate to their cause, the victims could hardly be called generous or liberal. It was not their choice.

Government taxation represents exactly this. Let us assume that, perhaps, every twenty pence in every pound I am taxed goes to the poorer families of my state - and that this taxation, like all taxation, carries a penalty for evasion. When I pay my taxes, and thus provide for these low-income households, I am attempting to avoid reprecussions such as a fine, community service or jailtime. Though the money is going to good ends, I am effectively being intimidated into paying it; ergo, the act is not undertaken out of compassion but out of fear of reprehension.

This is not a good act! This is government blackmail.

Now, given a chance, the public may well have decided to give this sum of money to a just cause. They may equally not have done so; this is immaterial, as the point of the matter lies in their free choice to do so. I may not have enough money to pay both taxes and give to whichever interest my moral compass indicates - so I am left with merely the forced deed. The best I can do is give my taxes willingly and happily, convincing myself that I really did it for the greater good and not because I feared the penalties for neglect.

An anarchist state insists upon no form of taxation, thus allowing for the individual to redistribute their wealth and resources as they deem appropriate, and thus allowing others to respect their free choice, and thus their goodness - rather than have it marred by state control.

Anarchists destroy the model of government simply by wishing it…

The concept of democratic government hinges upon the tenuous ideal that my views can be represented in policy.

I support the abolition of all government.

This will, obviously, never be represented in the House of Commons, as no government could support ‘abolition of government’.

I am therefore not represented and never can be. The government has failed its fundamental role.

It follows that the more anarchists there are, the more the theory of democratic government falters simply by anarchists willing it to be so.

Referring to my previous post: Democracy - A two way failing…

Everyone ought to take a ‘British Government’ exam before they are allowed to vote. This would ascertain whether or not they are capable of making an informed decision; this would ascertain, essentially, whether they are politically illiterate, as most are.

Impractical, yes, but so is government.

I advocate anarchy. Seems much simpler than all this election crap.

I hate urinals. I’m not quite sure at which point the men of Western society decided that it was, in fact, perfectly acceptable to urinate communally, much of the time with complete strangers, but I do know that I have not sufficiently made the evolutionary leap that would allow me to do so. I get nervous if there’s somebody next to me when I’m attempting to use the toilet; this makes it difficult to complete the process, more difficult still to start, which must give off the impression that I have some problems in that department - which is untrue! I’m perfectly healthy. I just don’t like urinals.

Last night, unfortunately, I had to use one. I’m quite sure a man looked at my penis.

This is where my trouble began. The urinals were the typical archetype: about half a foot apart, fixed to the wall, etc. This meant that there was a man directly to the right of me, close enough, had he looked, to see my penis. There was no concealing it; this is the nature of urinating. My private parts were at the mercy of his roving eyes. I was thoroughly vulnerable.

Now, let us look at the situation in a little more depth. At the time, I was convinced that I had seen this man, at the edge of my vision, glancing sidelong at my penis. This brought about puzzling logical connotations. I could either do nothing, or check to see if my suspicions were true by sneaking a peek at him.

Whilst the former course of action may seem the most appropriate, there are risks involved. If I neglect to act, my antagonist may assume, reasonably, that I am not aware of his intrusion, and continue. This would make me uncomfortable. Worse still, he may assume that I am aware of his intrusion and seek to do nothing about it - thus consenting his lascivious behaviour, and provoking  lewd action of a more serious kind. Perhaps I would even offend him? After all, as aforementioned, I am generally unused to urinals. This could have been some form of ettiquette: observe my penis, I will observe yours, we are men, and we are content to be so. Did I appear uncouth? Perhaps ashamed of my body?

The obvious action seemed to be to return the favour. This way, I could quickly ascertain whether my penis was being scrutinised or not and put paid to my frantic worrying. The peril of this route is obvious: if this man was not, in fact, looking at my penis, I have committed a terrible faux pas. If this man is so inclined, he may think I am attempting to elicit sexual behaviour from him, which could lead to disastrous results: either a beating, or a misunderstood sexual exploit, depending on his preference.

The thread of inquiry continues. If he is of a similar disposition to me, he may well catch a glimpse of my investigation, and go through the same thought process - in which I have made him uncomfortable if he neglects to look, and me uncomfortable if he looks. I could interpret that second look as certain sexual intent, and act rashly based off this!

There is literally no correct way to act in that situation.

This is why I avoid urinals.