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The Adventures of Jonathan Gullible
A Free Market Odyssey
Chapter 2: Second Chances
The road led Jonathan into a busy town where the air buzzed with the sounds of hammering, sawing, and chatter. Wandering along the lane, the noise faded as many shops were shuttered, their signs faded and cracked. Across one wooden door, a notice had been nailed:
“Closed by Order of the Licensing Guild.”
Puzzled, Jonathan paused before a small barber shop where a man sat on the steps, sharpening his scissors on a stone. [Ken: the licensing of barbers is already the subject of Chapter 14: Escalating Crimes. I would suggest that we introduce another licensed industry rather than a repeat, i.e. garbage collectors, tree trimmers, nail painters, or masseuses.]
“Good afternoon!” Jonathan greeted. “Do you own this shop?”
“Yes, it’s mine” the man sighed. “But the Guild took away my license. Now I’m forbidden to cut even a strand of hair.”
Jonathan blinked. “Did you wrong a customer?”
“No, I wronged my friend,” the man said. “It happened a long time ago. When we were young, we got drunk. I gave him a ride home. We hit a tree. My friend lost an eye. Served my time, made my peace, and tried to start fresh. [K: The issue here is satisfactory compensation to the victim, not a debt to the state. Better to have him compensate the victim so that he is satisfied with a lost eye. The involvement of the state is only to insure satisfying compensation
rather than to exact punishment that does no benefit to the victim.] But when I applied for my license again, they said I was unfit to trim beards.” [K: Perhaps a contrast could be made with officials conducting wars.]
Jonathan frowned. “What does drunk driving have to do with cutting hair?”
The man shrugged. “You’ll have to ask the Guild. They say they must ‘protect the public.’ From what, I’m not sure.”
A woman nearby overheard. “It’s the same for me,” she said, holding a basket of broken pottery. “As a teenager, I was caught stealing food. Now, they won’t license me to sell my work. Rules are rules, they say.” [K: Perhaps a contrast could be made with officials stealing taxes.]
Jonathan looked around at the shuttered shops. “So none of you may work in your trades?”
“Not unless the Guild says so,” the barber replied. “Without a license, we can’t earn a living. Even if we’ve changed our ways.”
“Then how do people survive?” asked Jonathan.
“Some leave. Some steal. Some beg. Others work in secret until the Inspectors catch them.”
Just then, a man in fine robes passed by. Jonathan noticed a golden key glittering at his belt. The others grew silent.
Jonathan called out, “Sir, may I ask who you are?”
“I,” the man said proudly, “am a Lord Licenser of the Guild. I keep our trades pure and our people safe. Without us, unapproved barbers might nick an ear, or rogue potters might sell uneven mugs!”
Jonathan hesitated. “But aren’t these people only trying to work and rebuild their lives?”
“Dear boy,” the Lord chuckled, “we cannot let sentiment cloud our decisions. Once a rule is made, it must be enforced for the good of all.”
Jonathan nodded thoughtfully. “But if a man can never work again, how can he ever do good again?”
The Lord frowned. “You are young and idealistic. Safety must come before forgiveness. TheGuild holds the keys to the city.”
Jonathan’s gaze drifted to the golden key. “And those keys, do they open opportunity, or only lock it away?”
The Lord turned sharply and strode off without a word.
Later That Evening
Jonathan found his way to the great marble hall of the Council of Lords, where the island’s laws were decreed. An aged Lord sat behind a tall desk, surrounded by scrolls with wax seals.
Jonathan bowed. “Sir, may I ask about the Licensing Guild?”
The Lord smiled. “Of course! They are our city’s protectors. They guard the trades against unworthy hands.”
“But who decides what makes a person unworthy?” Jonathan asked. “I’ve met people who’ve paid their debts [K: This gets into a whole extra line of thought. A prison sentence is a penalty imposed by the state as a debt to the state. I prefer to suggest that he compensated his victim and the state has nothing to do with it] but are still denied the chance to work.”
The Lord waved a hand. “We cannot be too careful. Once a wrongdoer, always a risk. Better to bar a thousand reformed souls than to endanger one citizen.”
Jonathan frowned. “Yet by barring them, you keep them idle. And idle hands make trouble. Wouldn’t steady work keep them honest?”
The Lord’s pen paused mid-stroke. “Perhaps. But the people trust us to decide. Better safe than sorry is our motto.”
Jonathan looked at the mountain of scrolls. “And all these papers?”
“Applications,” the Lord said proudly. “Each reviewed, stamped, and approved. After payment of the proper fees, of course.”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “So the Guild protects the people’s safety... and its own purse?”
The Lord stiffened. “Mind your words, boy. The Guild’s work is sacred.”
Jonathan bowed slightly. “Sacred, perhaps. But whose interests does it serve?”
The Lord said nothing more.
Epilogue
The Barber’s Lantern
As Jonathan left town, he noticed a faint glow behind a boarded-up shop. Peering through a crack, he saw the barber trimming a man’s hair by lantern light.
The customer smiled. “You have a steady hand, my friend. It’s a pity you have no license.”
The barber grinned. “A license won’t make my hand steadier. Only practice does that.”
Jonathan tapped lightly on the door. The barber opened it, startled.
“Don’t worry,” Jonathan whispered. “I won’t tell the Guild.”
The barber laughed softly. “They’ll find me soon enough. But until then, I’ll keep this lantern burning for those who need a haircut. And for those who need a second chance.”
Jonathan smiled. “Perhaps someday the Guild will see that light.”
As he walked away, the lantern’s glow flickered defiantly against the night.
Jonathan thought of the Lord’s golden key and the barber’s humble lamp. One locked doors; the other opened hearts.
Lesson of the Story
When governments claim the power to decide who may work, they hold the keys to every man’s livelihood. True public safety comes from allowing individuals to earn trust through honest effort. A society that forbids second chances locks away hope itself.
Chapter 3: Golden Rails
The morning sun shimmered on the cobblestones as Jonathan followed a path toward a distant whistle. The sound was unlike anything he had heard before. It was deep and metallic. Jonathan rounded a bend and stopped in astonishment.
Before him sprawled a great yard of iron tracks and shiny engines. [K: In the original I tried to minimize advanced technology since the first episode is resistance even to hatchets.] Workers bustled everywhere. Many were loading crates. A few were waving flags. A large banner fluttered over the scene:
“GRAND OPENING: THE GOLDEN RAILWAY!”
Jonathan stepped aside as a puffing engine rumbled past, pulling a string of empty cars gilded in gold paint. Near the platform stood a man in a silk waistcoat and gleaming boots, beaming with pride as he spoke to a crowd.
“Friends!” the man declared, spreading his arms. “Behold the future of Prosperity! With the Lords’ generous support, our Golden Railway shall carry goods across the island. It will spread joy to every corner of the realm!
”The crowd applauded. Jonathan turned to a nearby farmer who was leaning on his pitchfork.
“Who is that?” Jonathan asked.
“That,” said the farmer, “is Baron Ironwheel. [K: It might do well to have this Lady Bess Tweed again.] He owns the new railway. The Council of Lords granted him a handsome subsidy from the Treasury to build it.”
Jonathan frowned. “A subsidy? What is that?”
“It’s when the Lords take money from everyone and give it to someone they like,” the farmer said. “They say it’s for the good of all. Though I’ve yet to see a single turnip take a train ride.”
Jonathan looked at the shining engines. “But surely the railway will help trade?”
“Perhaps,” said the farmer, “but I already have a cart and horse. My neighbor, too. We pay our own way. Yet the Baron’s iron horses are fed with our taxes.”
Just then, a man in overalls approached, wiping sweat from his brow. “You’re lucky to be a farmer,” he said bitterly. “I ran a small freight wagon company. Used to carry goods from the harbor to the mills. But since the Lords funded the Baron’s line, I can’t compete. His prices are lower. He rides on my taxes.”
Jonathan blinked. “So your money goes to your rival?
”The man nodded grimly. “And if I refuse, they’ll seize my wagon to pay the tax.”
The Council’s Visit
The Baron clapped his hands, and the crowd parted as a procession of Lords approached, robes fluttering. At their head strode the Lord of the Treasury, carrying a golden shovel.
“Today,” he proclaimed, “we invest in progress! The Golden Railway shall create jobs and place our island at the forefront of the modern world!”
A woman in the crowd shouted, “What of our roads, my Lord? They’re full of holes!”
The Lord smiled serenely. “Fear not. The benefits will trickle down from the trains. Soon you shall see better wagons, new inns, more prosperity!”
Jonathan stepped forward. “Excuse me, my Lord, but who paid for this railway?”
“Why, the people, of course!” said the Lord proudly. “It is a partnership between public and private enterprise.”
Jonathan tilted his head. “If it succeeds, who receives the profit?”
“The Baron does,” replied the Lord.
“And if it fails?”
“The people pay,” said the Lord, without hesitation. “That is the beauty of shared responsibility.”
Jonathan frowned. “Then it seems the people take the risk, but the Baron takes the reward.”
The Lord chuckled indulgently. “Young man, you must learn the art of economic development. By lifting a few, we raise all.”
Jonathan looked at the nearby workers. Most were wearing tattered clothes and watching the Lords dine under a silk canopy. “But it looks as if some are lifted much higher than others.”
The Lord frowned slightly. “Progress always requires that wise and benevolent leaders pick the winners in the economic race.”
The Abandoned Line
That evening, Jonathan wandered down the tracks toward the edge of town. The golden paint faded quickly to rust. In the distance, he found another rail yard. This one was silent and overgrown. A bent sign read:“
The People’s Rail - Closed by Order of the Council.”
An old man sat nearby, mending a boot beside the derelict engine.
“What happened here?” Jonathan asked.
“Ah,” said the old man, “this was the Silver Spur Railway. We built it years ago, before the Barons got their subsidies. Hard work, no favors. We charged fair fares and carried folks where they wanted to go.”
Jonathan peered into the broken train car. “Why did it close?”
“The Golden Railway took all our customers,” said the man. “Their service was cheaper because the Lords covered their costs. We couldn’t match the Baron’s prices. So the Council called us ‘inefficient’ and shut us down. Said it was progress.” [K: Echoes of Chapt XX: Bored of Digestion, comparing private cafes (or private schools) that cannot compete against government subsidized cafeterias (or government schools).]
Jonathan sighed. “But if your line provided good service and earned a profit without subsidies, wasn’t that the real progress?”
The old man smiled sadly. “Aye, but the Lords don’t measure progress by how little they take from the people. Only by how grandly they give it away.”
The Debate of the Rails
The next day, the Lords held a ceremony to celebrate the “success” of their investment. The crowd gathered again, but this time murmurs rippled through them. Some grumbled about newtaxes. Others complained that the promised jobs had not come.
Jonathan raised his voice. “Who decides which businesses are blessed and which are broken? Who measures worthiness?”
“Why, we do,” said the Lord proudly. “We study the problems. We consult the experts. We estimate the benefits. We invest where returns seem greatest.”
Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. “Returns for whom?”
The Lord turned away. “Enough chit chat. The ceremony continues!”
The Big Engine That Couldn’t
As trumpets sounded, the Baron climbed into his engine, ready to demonstrate his “modern marvel.” But when he pulled the lever, the train groaned and refused to move. The crowd snickered. He tried again. Nothing.
A mechanic whispered urgently, “My Lord, the coal shipment was delayed. The supplier closed last month. Couldn’t pay the new railway tax.”
The Baron’s smile froze.
Jonathan called out, “It seems your golden train depends on the very people it left behind.”
The Lord of the Treasury flushed crimson. “This is a temporary setback!”
“But a costly one,” Jonathan said. “When profit depends on permission, not performance, even gold rusts.”
The Lords retreated to their carriages, promising “further study.” The crowd murmured and dispersed.
Epilogue
The Tracks of Choice
That night, Jonathan sat beside the abandoned Silver Spur engine with the old man and a few workers. Their campfire was casting a warm glow over the rusted rails.
“Do you think they’ll learn?” asked the old man.
“Perhaps,” Jonathan said. “But only when you, the people, demand the end of favoritism.”
The flames flickered, reflecting off the steel tracks that stretched in two directions.
Lesson of the Story
When governments play favorites, they trade meritocracy for corruption. Each subsidy given to one man is a tax taken from another. True prosperity grows from freedom, not favoritism. Progress comes from competitive capitalism, not cronyism.
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