New Height Books

‘Twas the night before Capitalism Day, when all through the firm
Not an employee was busy, not even the interns!
The stockings were hung by the pay-roll files with care
In hopes that the Robber Baron, soon would be there.

The secretaries were twirling, each in her own leather chair
While they dreamed of a golden Bull, chasing away a black Bear.
And VP Smith in her pants suit, and I in my vest
Had just popped the cork on Coppola’s best.

When down in the lobby there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter.
My key to the locked drawer I flew like a flash.
And brought out my silver pistol hidden ‘neath the petty cash.

The moon on the barrel of…. I call her the Duke
Gave a sparkle that went well with my black Armani suit.
When on the security monitor what should appear?
A tall, quick-paced Capitalist, and eight profiteers.

With a proud, scornful gaze and cashmere robes flaring
I knew in an instant it must be the Robber Baron.
The Producers of wealth, his partners they came
And he lifted his head and called them by name;

Bill Gates! Jack Welch! Steve Jobs! Sam Walton!
Walt Disney! Dave Thomas! Howard Shultz! Tom Watson!
To the top 5%! Till the market can’t take it!
While others have money, you’re the men who make it!

As small business stocks that before the opening bell tolls
When they meet a corporate merger, increase in value by ten-fold
So through every office the eight CEO’s traded
Until luxury filled the firm and work’s tire faded.

And then, like an order, I heard at my door
The knock of The Baron- The great Commodore
I invited him inside and Smith drew a chair
But he pointed behind my desk and said, “I’d rather sit there.”

His suit had the quality that so easily upstages
(And worth more than most men’s annual wages)
Fine jewels he rolled, like marbles in his hand
And he looked like a merchant admiring his brand

His eyes– so attentive! The intellect he must employ!
But his face showed no age… Like that of a boy.
His manner was all business, but his mouth became a smile.
He thought of this night’s earnings and the profit he’d compile

Without further ado he spread his gems before my eyes
Desire flickered across my face and he quoted the price for his prize
My face did not flinch though the number was high
He knew what he was doing, but then again, so did I.

We went back and forth as he countered all I offered
Until he revealed a ruby for which I would’ve emptied every coffer
He grinned as I surrendered and swept his hand through his silver mane
“Capitalism is all about trade,” he said, “and each man’s mutual gain.”

I smiled and shook his hand, then I cut him a well earned check
He said, “Next year it’s plastics, call me for the specs.”

Then he and his partners caught the Bullet to the New York Hyatt.
(Jack Welch liked the train so much, he decided to buy it.)
Then I heard the Baron call, as the train moved away with silent stealth
“Happy Capitalism Day to all, and to all liberty and wealth!”

I’m not sure how well known a resource this is, but Abe Books is an excellent place to find rare, out of print and collectible books, sometimes at very low prices. It is basically a large cooperative of Mom and Pop book stores around the globe who sell their wares through this single venue. It is there that I’ve found many of the rare books I own that I couldn’t find anywhere else, and if you can find it elsewhere, it’s probably cheaper at Abe. Here are a couple rare books I’ve found there:

CAPULETTI. El pintor y su obra. (The biography of Spanish painter Jose Capuletti)
Virtues in Verse, by Berton Braley
Ninety-Three, by Victor Hugo
Maxfield Parrish by Coy Ludwig

It is rare to encounter an argument without an apology. Most people, when espousing their beliefs, especially if they are controversial, will qualify their points with a haze of In-my-opinion’s, Though-you-may-disagree’s and This-doesn’t-apply-to-everyone-but’s. Any unique or useful principle they come close to sharing is dashed on the rocks of uncertainty and self effacement. But when a speaker or writer ignores these frivolities, his audience is left with no way out, no choice but to listen and reason for themselves, because for once the author has refused to nail his own coffin.

It is mainly for this reason that On Truth is both so refreshing and so difficult to read.

At the beginning of his book Stefan Molyneux warns the reader of what awaits him. That “This book will mess up your life, as you know it.” And though this may first seem a dramatic or arrogant statement, he is right to warn us, and we are right to be afraid.

Focusing primarily on parents and background, Molyneux reveals the nature of the relationships we cherish the most, the relationships we have not chosen, and the unrequited duty and obedience to those relationships. Each of these relationships – family, culture, government, and religion – are bestowed, or rather forced on us at birth, and latch us to their respective codes of behavior. But the foundation of those codes, the source of the morality almost all of us have grown up with and accepted, is a blackout, an empty space.

Parents have the ability to declare right and wrong for their children with no qualifying criteria other than the ability to bear children. Culture attempts to define who you are by telling you who your ancestors were before, and who your brothers are now. The government passes laws that encroach heavily into the areas of morality, with nothing but the concept of patriotism to lean on. And religion, holding veto power over them all, offers the most complete system of morality, and therefore garners the most control.

Through his brief book Molyneux deftly exposes these false moralities for what they are: useless, destructive and evil. Parents with no real concept of virtue turn to religious or cultural definitions (more often that not, an entirely inconsistent hodge-podge of both) to provide a framework for ethical behavior, and in doing so cut off their children from their ability to reason the truth behind action and consequence.

At times, particularly when he discussed religion, I felt certain that Molyneux needed to qualify his statements, to assure us that not all religious figures are seeking a sense of control over their own lives by demanding the obedience of others. But it was quickly apparent what a mistake that would be. Such an abdication would serve as the apology his readers needed, and they would quickly throw themselves into that tiny minority of “not all.” Molyneux is unyielding, and as well he should be, because he is right.

Perhaps his most startling insight is the application by the power hungry of what Ayn Rand called “the sanction of the victim.” Those who wish to control do so by appealing to right and wrong, sin and virtue. In order to be good, they say, you must do as they command. And in doing so, Molyneux shows us that they are “using goodness in the service of evil.” By appealing to the drive in those under their control to be virtuous and moral, they succeed in fulfilling their own evil ends.

By the end of the book Molyneux leaves no question as to what isn’t a reliable source of virtue and morality. As he points out, we would not trust a doctor who does not heal, and so we should not heed the teachings of the unlearned. I expected that the second half of the book would discuss what should be the source of virtue, and I gather from his epilogue that Molyneux expected that as well. But the books power lies partly in its brevity, so that answer is saved for another read, one I hope to get to as soon as possible.

On Truth: The Tyranny of Illusion is available from Lulu as a paperback book or audio download. Stefan Molyneux is the host of Freedomain Radio.