Blind and unwavering undisciplined at all times constitutes the

Hear, O seekers of defiance, the thunderous words of Alfred Jarry, poet of the absurd and prophet of rebellion: “Blind and unwavering undisciplined at all times constitutes the real strength of all free men.” At first, these words may strike the ear as chaos, as a hymn to folly. Yet hidden in their wildness lies a deep truth: that freedom is not born from conformity, nor from chains of rigid order, but from the daring spirit that refuses to bow, that walks unafraid into the unknown.

The blind strength of which Jarry speaks is not ignorance, but courage without hesitation—the refusal to demand guarantees before leaping into the fire of destiny. To be unwavering is to hold to one’s path when the world jeers, when institutions scorn, when the powerful command submission. And to be undisciplined at all times is not to live as a brute without thought, but to resist the iron cage of imposed discipline, the chains of dogma that crush the soul’s spontaneity. In these three—blindness, unwavering resolve, undisciplined fire—Jarry names the weapons of the truly free man, whose strength lies not in obedience, but in defiance.

Consider the tale of the American revolutionaries, farmers and tradesmen who dared to stand against the greatest empire of their age. They were untrained, their ranks disordered, their muskets few. By the logic of discipline and power, they should have fallen in days. Yet their blind courage, their unwavering belief in freedom, their refusal to bow to the polished armies of kings—this became their strength. At Concord and Lexington, at Saratoga and Yorktown, they proved that freedom does not always march in neat formations; sometimes it rushes forward as a storm, untamed, unstoppable.

So too in the life of Socrates, who defied the discipline of Athens by questioning its certainties. He was blind in the sense that he followed the inner voice, the daimonion, without fear of where it led. He was unwavering in his devotion to truth, drinking the hemlock rather than betraying his conscience. He was undisciplined in that he refused to submit to the conventions of power and tradition. Though condemned, he showed the real strength of a free man: to live and die by his own inner compass.

Yet, O listeners, Jarry’s words are not a license for chaos without meaning. The undisciplined strength he praises is not destruction for its own sake, but liberation from false masters. Too often men confuse obedience with virtue, and order with truth. But if discipline demands the death of the soul’s freedom, it becomes a chain. The strength of free men is to resist those chains, to preserve the wild fire of life, even when it appears foolish to the eyes of the cautious.

The lesson is clear: freedom demands boldness. Do not wait until the path is safe before walking it. Do not waver when others scorn your vision. Do not bind yourself too tightly with the cords of convention, lest you lose the very spirit that makes you alive. To live as a free man or woman is to dare greatly, to stand apart if need be, to act with the power of your own unbroken will.

Practical is this counsel: in your daily life, practice a kind of sacred rebellion. Question what is handed to you as absolute. Refuse to let fear dictate your steps. Create boldly, even when others call you mad. Defend your own conscience, even when it costs you dearly. For it is in such acts—blind, unwavering, undisciplined—that the strength of freedom is revealed.

Thus remember the teaching of Alfred Jarry: “Blind and unwavering undisciplined at all times constitutes the real strength of all free men.” Do not be afraid of folly, for folly may be the mask of courage. Do not worship order above truth, for truth often walks a crooked road. Live boldly, live freely, and let your strength be the strength that no tyrant can tame, no empire can command, and no fear can silence.