The Ludwig von Mises Institute presents The Libertarian Tradition, an audio series with
Jeff Rigenbach.
The late Samuel Edward Konkin III was a firm believer in the power of science fiction to
spread the libertarian message.
He himself had been converted to libertarianism partly by reading the works of Robert A. Heinlein,
Heinlein remained his favorite science fiction writer for the rest of his life.
Every July, for years, he threw a joint birthday party for himself and Robert A. Heinlein.
Sam's birthday was July 8th, Heinlein's was July 7th.
The last and largest issue of his magazine, New Libertarian, was devoted to Heinlein,
as was a sort of mini-conference he held, also in the late 1980s, under the auspices
of His Agorist Institute. This mini-conference featured presentations by Sam, J. Neil Schulman
and yours truly, along with much spirited discussion. But if the works of Robert A. Heinlein
topped Sam's list of great libertarian science fiction, they were far from the only titles
on that list. He was also a great admirer of Eric Frank Russell's Great Explosion,
for example. He expressed enthusiasm for A. E. van Vogt's fiction, especially The Weapon
Shops of Ischer. And, he told me more than once in conversation, he held C. M. Kornbluth's
1953 novel, The Syndic, in high esteem, and considered it lamentably little known and
much underappreciated among libertarian science fiction novels. I suspect part of the reason
The reason Sam never wrote about the syndic was that he felt any public display of approval on his part for a writer like C.M. Cornbluth would require at least a bit of explanation.
You see, Cornbluth was a Futurian, and libertarian science fiction fans back in Sam's heyday, the 1970s and 80s, were almost always critical of the Futurians, if not openly hostile to them.
Libertarian science fiction fans of today care a good deal less for such ancient controversies, I suspect.
Libertarian science fiction fans under 40 are probably at least a little unclear on just who or what the Futurians were.
Those old timers like me, who know who they were, have now lived long enough that we wonder whether it really matters who they were, whether it mattered even at the time.
Briefly, mercifully, the Futurians were members of a science fiction club in Manhattan in the late 1930s and early 1940s.
The club membership included a number of young fans who later became very influential as science fiction writers and editors.
Isaac Asimov, Frederick Pohl, James Blish, Damon Knight, Judith Merrill, Donald Walheim and C.M. Cornbluth.
All these people were born in the decade following the beginning of World War I, between 1914 and 1923.
The Futurians had broken off from the Greater New York Science Fiction Club in 1938
because they held certain political views they wanted to see emphasized in science fiction,
what most people would call leftist political views.
Some of the Futurians, like Wollheim and Pohl, were members of the CPUSA, if only briefly.
Others, like Judith Merrill, were Trotskyites.
Still others were New Deal Democrats of what I suppose you might call the Henry Wallace strain.
More or less all of them were therefore, in the eyes of libertarians like Sam Conkin and Eric Raymond,
and traitors to the very spirit of science fiction, which both Konkin and Raymond took
to be libertarian.
On the other hand, Sam Konkin thought he spotted something libertarian about C.M.
Kornbluth's 1953 novel, The Syndic, and he was not the only libertarian who did so.
Another was Michael Moorcock.
Now Moorcock is not a libertarian of our sort.
is a libertarian of the other sort, the kind who imagines a society without coercive government,
which is to say, without the state, but in which, by some mysterious magic, no one would
be allowed to own property or invest savings in a productive enterprise in the expectation
of future profit.
In his 1977 essay Starship Stormtroopers, he rails against Heinlein, Rand and other
Under science fiction writers, libertarians of our sort tend to venerate.
And he writes that, leaving aside the very worthy, but to my mind journalistic, the dispossessed
by UK Le Guin, it is quite hard for me to find many other examples of SF books which,
as it were, promote libertarian ideas.
Nevertheless, he does come up with a few titles, then comments, I also have a soft spot for
William Cornbluff, who to my mind had a rather stronger political conscience than he allowed
himself, so that his stories are sometimes confused as he tried to mesh middle American
ideas with his own radicalism.
One of my favorites is The Syndic.
So what exactly do we find if we open a copy of The Syndic and begin reading?
In effect, we find a dramatization of the following quotation from Murray Rothbard.
If you wish to know how libertarians regard the state and any of its acts, he wrote in
For a New Liberty, simply think of the state as a criminal band, and all of the libertarian
attitudes will logically fall into place.
More specifically, when you open the first pages of the syndic, you find yourself in
by the company of a character named Charles Orsino, who lives in New York and works as a bagman for the syndic.
He walks around the two and a half square miles of the 101st New York police precinct,
it's in Queens, if that matters, collecting protection money from small businesses.
Near the very beginning of the story, he drops in at Mother McGinnis's old sod pub,
only to be told by Mother McGinnis herself that,
It's the business, Mr. Orsino. It's the business. You'll pardon me if I say that I can't see how to spare $25 from the till, not if my life depended on it. I can go to $15, but so help me. That's when Orsino cuts her off.
You realize, Mrs. McGuinness, he tells her, that you're letting the syndic down. What would the people in syndic territory do for protection if everybody took your attitude?
But he lets her slide with a $15 payment this week.
Orsino likes it best if things remain pleasant and cordial between him and the people he
thinks of as his customers.
He reflects, after leaving Mother McGinnis's bar, that it was pleasant to be able to do
things for nice people.
It was pleasant to stroll along the sunny street, acknowledging tipped hats and friendly
words.
These events are happening, by the way, about 150 years from now, sometime in the late 22nd
century.
Civilization has pretty much collapsed in the world outside North America.
Places like Europe have reverted to forest and are thinly inhabited by Neolithic tribes
living in caves, lean-tos and mud huts, and hunting with spears.
North America is divided into syndic territory and mob territory.
The syndic runs things in the east, the mob runs things in the west.
As Orsino's Uncle Frank, a syndic higher up, relates the relevant history, in the beginning,
people demanded inexpensive liquor, tobacco and consumer goods, clean women and a chance
to win a fortune, and our ancestors obliged them.
Our ancestors were sneered at in their day, you know.
They were called criminals when they distributed goods and services at a price people could
Government incessantly harassed these so-called criminals and also adopted various policies
that left the people with less and less discretionary income.
And ultimately, when people had had enough hounding and restriction, they rose in their
might.
They demanded freedom of choice.
Men of talent and ingenuity rose to lead them in the syndic and the mob, and they drove
the government into the sea.
The government was now located on Iceland.
The Canaries and Ascension were outposts.
It was from these islands in the Atlantic that the government, as Uncle Frank puts it,
still occasionally ventures to annoy our coastal cities.
In Uncle Frank's view, the government and the old-time bankers who backed it deserved
everything they got.
They brought it on themselves, he tells Charles.
They had what they called laissez-faire and it worked for a while until they got to tinkering
with it.
They demanded things called protective tariffs, tax remissions, subsidies, regulation, regulation,
regulation, always of the other fellow.
But there were enough bankers on all sides for everybody to be somebody else's other
fellow.
Coercion snowballed and the government lost public acceptance.
They had a thing called the public debt, which I can't begin to explain to you except to
say that it was something written on paper and that it raised the cost of everything
tremendously.
Well, believe me or not, they didn't just throw away the piece of paper or scratch out
the writing on it.
They let it ride until ordinary people couldn't afford the pleasant things in life.
As our story begins, the mob and the syndic, under the terms of the Treaty of Las Vegas
signed during the late 21st century, have been at peace for a hundred years.
This is not to say that they think highly of each other or anything like that.
As one syndic bigwig puts it, I won't pretend I'm happy about the way things are in mob
territory.
I won't pretend I think the mob clients are enjoying anywhere near the service that syndic
clients enjoy.
I'm perfectly aware that on our visits of state to mob territory we see pretty much
what our hosts want us to see.
But I cannot believe that any group which is rooted on the principles of freedom and
service can have gone very wrong.
As for the North American government, as it rather grandiosely calls itself, the same
syndic Bigwig says, as long as they stick to a little commerce rating and a few coastal
Attacks, I can't say I'm really unhappy about them, they don't do much harm and they keep
us on our toes, and, maybe this one is most important, they keep our clients' memories
of the bad old days that we delivered them from alive.
But this relatively benign view of the government is not shared by all the syndic leadership.
As another of them says, somewhat indignantly, let me point out what the so-called government
stands for brutal taxation, extirpation of gambling, denial of life's simple pleasures
to the poor and severe limitation of them to all but the wealthy, sexual prudery viciously
enforced by penal laws of appalling barbarity, endless regulation and coercion governing
every waking minute of the day.
That was its record during the days of its power and that would be its record if it returned
to power.
I fail to see how this menace to our liberty can be condoned by certain marginal benefits which are claimed to accrue from its continued existence.
Of course, the syndic is not held in high regard by the government either.
A government bureaucrat working in Ireland is shocked, shocked, at the absence of victimless crime laws in syndic territory,
and, at the absence, as he sees it, of respect for the home, sanctity of marriage, sexual
morality, law and order.
He splutters almost apoplectically to a resident of Sindic territory whom he happens to meet.
I know how you people live.
Are you telling me you don't have sexual promiscuity, polygamy, polyandry, open gambling,
uncontrolled liquor trade, corruption and shakedowns?
A secret government agent operating in Sindic territory and, frustrated by his failure to
locate someone he is trying to find, notes ruefully that, in the crazily undisciplined
Sindic territory, it was impossible to trace anybody.
Charles Orsino's Uncle Frank is adamant on one point.
We are not a government, he always yelled. We are not a government. We must not think like a government.
And again, in a calmer moment, the syndic is not a government. It must not become enmeshed in the symbols and folklore of a government, or it will be first chained and then strangled by them.
After Orsino is set as an undercover syndic spy to infiltrate the North American government,
he has many adventures, during which he sees for himself how things are both for subjects
of the government and for those who live in mob territory.
And the reader comes to realize by watching over Orsino's shoulders, so to speak, that
partly thanks to Uncle Frank's unrelenting advice on this point, syndic territory is
is the most nearly libertarian of the three more or less civilized societies depicted in Kornbluth's novel.
How could a member of the dreaded Futurians write so libertarian a novel?
We should not forget how very young Kornbluth was when he joined the newly formed Futurians.
He was 15 years old.
He was born in 1923 and was still in high school
When he graduated from high school in his native New York City, he went off to the University of Chicago for some higher education, but his sojourn there was interrupted by World War II.
After the war, he returned to Chicago, finished up his degree and began working in journalism, a trade he continued to practice after his return to New York in the late 1940s.
In those same post-war years back in his hometown among his old friends, he resumed contributing to
the science fiction magazines that had been such an important part of his life when he was in high
school. He also began writing novels. By the time he wrote The Syndic, he was 29 and had seen a
little of life in the world. I think he'd seen through the political absurdities he had believed
Cornblath was born with a weak heart.
On the first day of spring 1958, he had an appointment in New York and when he came out
of his Long Island home to jump in his car and drive over to the train station where
he could catch the Long Island Railroad into the city, he found that a rare late snowfall
The name of Cyril M. Kornbluth no longer looms as large as it once did in the annals of science fiction.
The syndic is currently out of print, though it can be had as a digital download, its complete
text is posted online, and it's easy to find secondhand copies of it on the used book market.
Libertarians in particular have good reason to remember this novel, and to keep its memory
alive.
This is Jeff Rigenbach.
www.fieggen.com