CommentStreams:A4808a1613b2cf0938f03ab21cc6ad2a

'The man who’s crying kippers just outside my window has a personal interest in good sales, and when his wife or anyone else wishes him the like, it remains a personal interest nonetheless. On the other hand, if a thief stole his basket from him, then there would immediately arise an interest of the many, of the whole city, of the whole country, or, in a word, of all who abhor theft; an interest in which the kipper-seller’s person would become indifferent, and in its place the category of the “robbery victim” would come to the fore. But even here it could all come down to a personal interest, as each participant thinks that he must agree to the punishment of the thief, because otherwise unpunished stealing might become general and he too might be robbed of his own. But such a calculation can hardly be assumed for the many, and one will instead hear the cry: the thief is a “criminal.” Here we have a judgment before us, as the thief’s action receives its expression in the concept “crime.” Now the matter is posed like this: even if a crime didn’t cause the least bit of damage either to me or to any of those in whom I take an interest, I would still condemn it. Why? Because I am enthusiastic for morality, I am filled with the idea of morality; I persecute what is hostile to it. Proudhon, for example, because for him theft counts as unquestionably despicable, believes that with the sentence “property is theft” he has already denounced property. In the priestly sense, theft is always a crime, or at least an offense.'