By Mark R. Crovelli

Lew Rockwell

A few weeks ago, I was lounging on the edge of a beautiful corn field in Eastern Colorado having one of the most interesting conversations of my entire life, although I didn’t realize it at the time. My friends and I were in the field that day in the hope of doing some dove hunting, but there were virtually no birds flying. As a consequence, I was sprawled out in the hot grass with my shotgun tossed out in the dirt. My friends and their shotguns were similarly situated, which left us completely unprepared for the two or three birds that did show up.

We had plenty of time to chat, since there was nothing to shoot at, so I eventually managed to bring the conversation around to anarchism, as is my habit. A few of them were not aware that I am an incorrigible anarchist, so I took the opportunity to explain to them why I think free-market anarchism is ethically and economically superior to every other conceivable social arrangement.

Their response to my arguments, unsurprisingly, appealed to the Hobbesian idea that men would act like barbarians or beasts in the absence of government. Without cops, everyone would be running around robbing, raping and killing one another until the species died out completely.

Now, setting aside the fact that anarchism does not imply an absence of law or defense, and setting aside the fact that Hobbes’ ideas about the state of nature are completely ridiculous, just consider how interesting their claim was in that particular situation. Five armed men sitting in a field dozens and dozens of miles from a police officer having a civil chat about anarchism without any one of us trying to rape, rob or kill any of the others is a rather remarkable thing if Thomas Hobbes is right about human nature. Equally interesting is the fact that none of us feared or even contemplated the possibility of being raped, robbed or killed by anyone out there in the wilds of the Colorado plains that day. Like Coloradoans of the 19^th century, we met scores of armed men over the course of the day, none of which we personally knew, and yet it never even crossed any of our minds to be concerned for our chastity, our wealth or our lives.

What is more, none of my friends grew fearful when they learned that I was an anarchist. If Thomas Hobbes is right that men are wolves, one would think that my friends would have sprung to their feet, seized their shotguns, and slowly backed out of the field upon learning that there was a man who despises government in their midst. If government is necessary to keep men from butchering one another, then how could my friends have ever turned their backs on a savage like me who despises cops, detests politicians, and thinks government judges are below contempt? How could such a man ever be trusted – especially out on the lawless plains of Colorado, where cops are about as scarce as doves were that day?

Yet, my friends did not bat an eye when they discovered I am an anarchist. It’s true that they found it intellectually startling, but we all nevertheless continued to laze and chat in the hot prairie grass, sipping cold beer and looking for birds that never arrived.

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