I know not if this Earth on which I stand is the core of the universe or if it is but a speck of dust lost in eternity.  I know not and I care not.  For I know what happiness is possible to me on Earth, and my happiness needs no higher aim to vindicate it.  My happiness is not the means to any end.  It is the end.  It is its own goal.  It is its own purpose.

Neither am I the means to any end others may wish to accomplish.  I am not a tool for their use.  I am not a servant of their needs.  I am not a bandage for their wounds.  I am not a sacrifice on their altars.

I owe nothing to my brothers, nor do I gather debts from them.  I ask none to live for me, nor do I live for any others.  I covet no man’s soul nor is my soul theirs to covet.

I am neither foe nor friend to my brothers, but such as each of them shall deserve of me.  And to earn my love, my brothers must do more than to have been born.  I do not grant my love without reason, nor to any chance passer-by who may wish to claim it.  I honor men with my love.  But honor is a thing to be earned.

I shall choose friends among men, but neither slaves nor masters.   And I shall choose only such as please me, and them I shall love and respect, but neither command nor obey.  And we shall join hands when we wish, or walk alone when we so desire.  For in the temple of his spirit, each man is alone.  Let each man keep his temple untouched, and undefiled.  Then let him join hands with others if he wishes, but only beyond his holy threshold.

For the word “we” must never be spoken, save by one’s choice and as a second thought.  This word must never be placed within man’s soul, else it becomes a monster, the root of all evils on earth, the root of man’s torture by men, and of an unspeakable lie.

The word “we” is as lime poured over men, which sets and hardens to stone, and crushes all beneath it, and that which is white and that which is black are lost equally in the gray of it.  It is the word by which the depraved steal the virtue of the good, by which the weak steal the might of the strong, by which the fools steal the wisdom of the sages.

What is my joy if all hands, even the unclean, can reach into it?  What is my wisdom, if even fools can dictate to me?  What is my freedom, if all creatures, even the botched and the impotent, are my masters?  What is my life, if I am but to bow, to agree and to obey?

But I am done with this creed of corruption.

I am done with the monster of “we”, the word of serfdom, of plunder, of misery, falsehood and shame.  I choose a new word “I”, the individual, and to this will I follow.