Someone very close to me shares one critical trait: We both question authority. However, we do so in very different ways. This other fellow has been to prison more than once, still engages in things which could bring more prison time if the wrong people notice, and is easily more intellectually developed than I. I ended up working a few years on the opposite side in law enforcement, and only saw the inside of a prison when I went to visit him.
Questioning authority arises from a thousand other questions. Given none of us are God, we tend to make plenty of mistakes in arriving at answers. That some of us happen to hold positions of authority even while we come up with wrong answers means somebody else suffers needlessly. There is enough suffering from honest mistakes, but the very act of rejecting questions almost certainly implies we question our own answers. When I saw how much pain there was from my very human mistakes while wielding authority, it not only compelled me to leave that position, but to question the very necessity of such a position existing. Perhaps the real difference between my friend and I is I know: The deepest scars on my soul are those I caused to others. What began as sorrow from my own suffering is now an even greater sorrow over the suffering of others, because I know what sorrow is.
That has led me to more rejection of authority over the years, not merely questioning it. It’s not about just me, but everyone else. I’m not convinced the suffering resulting from authority is random in every case, and it is certainly seldom necessary. Yes, the world is fallen; the taint of Adam from Eden remains with us today, and nothing we can do on our own will ever break that curse. I’m pretty sure my friend also rejects that notion, too. But for me the question is not ending all suffering, but reducing it. We can’t get perfect, but we can surely get better; on that we agree. The lack of interest in getting better is the primary red flag calling for rejection, and there’s an awful lot of it.
Of all people, I realize there are costs for every benefit. The point of debate is seldom about what is better, but bogging down over the details. We get bogged down because of too many unspoken assumptions. Those assumptions always bring us right back to authority which will not be questioned. It’s always, “Well, everyone knows…” No. Not only does everyone not know it, but it’s probably a lie. The assumptions you won’t discuss are the ones where you are most likely wrong. Granted, if you’ve spent a chunk of your life hashing certain fundamental issues, you probably aren’t eager to go back and justify it every time a two-bit idiot wants to reopen the debate. You don’t have to; you only have to realize your position is not universally accepted, and make allowances. My assumptions about God aren’t universally accepted by a long shot, but I have examined it enough to know I don’t have any choice about them.
Not having a choice about certain things in your mind is associated with the Christian doctrine of “conviction” — there is a Higher Power which has closed the debate. You can question Him if you like, but I’m not in a position to do that. If you assume I’m just being truculent and close-minded, I can easily turn that around and accuse you of having a closed mind on the subject, as well. So I operate under the assumption there is One Authority which made us all and no one has standing to question Him. By His calling and commission, I am called to question just about everything else in this world, and certainly everyone else. The difference here is, I deny having any particular authority to harm you by my closure of that debate. I’m altogether willing to negotiate everything else, and coexist in the real world with your different assumptions.
That’s the best I can do. I lack the power to go any farther. Somewhere along the way, I have to drive down the limiting stakes and say, “This far, and no more.” Funny thing is, the only people who insist on crossing that line are people in authority who care nothing about the sorrows of others. Take for example the nit-picking Linux fan-boys who argue with my choice of Etch. If their approach is, “Let’s talk about this,” they don’t presume any unjust authority. If their approach is simple rejection before they start typing in the comment block, they assume an authority they don’t have. Sure, they can type all the nastiness they like — and I can delete or edit their comments as I see fit. This is, after all, my blog. It’s inside the virtual border I am permitted to draw, my private space from which I am permitted to exclude all and sundry. You can well ask if I know what I’m doing, and offer advice, but your spiteful rejection is a waste of time.
The same authority-bearing attempts to invade are seen increasingly in government officials. It’s the nature of government to stake out an ever-widening circle of ownership, and the people who occupy those offices buy into it, often without thought. Worse, far too many appear to buy into it with malicious delight. They are little different from the jerks who slam me for sticking with Etch, because I dare to question their “authority,” or the authority they presume to accept on behalf of the experts who continue the development of Debian. Those developers surely know what they are doing, but the fan-boys might not understand, and surely too often don’t accept, what I must do.
This is the stuff of revolution and rebellions. With Debian aficionados, I do them no harm, and simply turn aside their attempts to compel my conformity with their program. I won’t upgrade. If my system then suffers from some insecurities or bugs, it won’t affect them at all. Their noise here is a the response to some imaginary insult. With religious leaders, it’s easy enough to ignore my ranting over on my ministry blog as I reject their authority and their orthodoxy. I’m not hurting them in any way, and only those who find themselves somehow insulted by my different views have ever tried to engage me in debate. Just label me a “radical” and get on with your life. Sadly, that doesn’t work with government. If the only consequence was a loss of support and protection, I coud live with that. No, the officials take that as a demand they intervene, presuming to say it’s for my own good.
Government assumes a monopoly on force. If someone else were able to wield some measure of force, it would mean they could claim some authority in governing. That was the point of the 2nd Amendment — giving the governed some option of force to have their say in how government acts. But government rejects any notion of limit to power. Sure, we have all these nice words which presume to limit the power of government to act harmfully, but we all can see where that leads. They simply inject exemptions into the paperwork and act as if those limits don’t exist, except on paper. That’s all it is — paper. It may represent some noble sentiment, but in the end, it’s the threat of force against government agents which limits government. There can be only one motive for reducing the threat to government agents — naked tyranny.
You might say another word for that is “hate.” And that hatred most certainly means to hurt you. When you are in a position to shrug it off, that’s the right course. I don’t see a need to debate the Debian fan-boys. I will gladly clarify my position for the sake of other readers, but I won’t debate things which appeal only to idiots. Let them scream impotently; I’ll generally approve such comments for honesty’s sake. When the representatives of authority are in a position to actually cause you suffering, you’ll need a means to limit that harm, a means to resist. The best resistance denies them the one thing they most want, the one thing without which the whole exercise deflates into parody. We need not list the variations of passive, aggressive, redirection, etc., in responding. You are an authority for those things which you must do, and you should feel free to creatively and intelligently make the punishment you offer them fit their crimes.
