Authority (n.) in every one of its structures is a human institution — and what humans built, humans can dismantle.
Authority (n.) always carries the burden of proof: every hierarchy must justify itself, and one that can't — most of them — is illegitimate and should be dismantled.
Authority (n.) can sometimes justify itself — as when you stop your five-year-old from running into the street — but it must still give the reason.
Authority (n.) ran so deep in the early Sixties — down to how you dressed and talked with friends — that people simply submitted; life is much easier now.
Authority (n.) is, for Gouverneur Morris, what a few determined men declare themselves to be — with the halter to convince anyone who disagrees.
Authority (n.) that once served security, survival or growth must be dismantled once it adds to want instead of relieving it; every age has its own such relics to take apart.
Authority (n.) has little merit of its own; the reasons offered for giving up our rights are counterfeit, convincing only to those with a selfish interest in being convinced.
Authority (n.) should be hunted down in every corner of life — politics, ownership, marriage, parenthood, even our hold over future generations — and dismantled unless it can justify itself.
Authority (n.) can sometimes meet its burden: grabbing a grandchild who darts into a busy street is coercion, and justified.
Authority (n.) over the world's norms belongs only to those with the guns and the faith.
Authority (n.) to dictate the odds of continued life is taken by each generation of nuclear leaders without ever asking where it comes from.