The income tax created more criminals than any other single act

"The income tax created more criminals than any other single act of government." Thus spoke Barry Goldwater, the fiery voice of American conservatism, whose spirit burned with the desire to see freedom unchained from the grasp of excessive government. In these words lies not only a protest against taxation, but a warning about the corruption of liberty itself. For Goldwater, the income tax was not merely a fiscal policy — it was a symbol of intrusion, a sign of the state’s growing reach into the private lives and labor of its citizens. His lament is not that men refuse to pay their dues, but that a system so complex and overbearing turns honest laborers into unwilling lawbreakers and the state into a relentless collector of virtue’s reward.

Goldwater’s words were forged in the crucible of the 20th century, when America stood at the crossroads of prosperity and bureaucracy. A man of rugged independence, he believed deeply in the old republican spirit — that government should be the servant, never the master, of the people. When the Sixteenth Amendment established the federal income tax in 1913, it was justified as a tool for fairness and necessity. Yet as the decades passed, the code grew vast, obscure, and punishing. To Goldwater, this creeping leviathan had not only burdened the economy but had wounded the moral fabric of society. Ordinary citizens, bewildered by regulations they could not understand, were left to navigate a maze where error became crime and diligence no longer guaranteed innocence.

The meaning of his words runs deeper than economics. Goldwater saw the income tax as a mirror of the relationship between the state and the individual — and what he saw disturbed him. In a land founded on liberty, where a man’s labor was his sacred property, the idea that the government could claim a portion of his earnings as its own seemed a moral trespass. When law reaches too far into the private sphere, even the righteous begin to stumble beneath its weight. Thus, Goldwater’s phrase “created more criminals” speaks not of malice, but of despair — of good citizens turned into transgressors by a system too complex for virtue to thrive within.

History offers examples of this truth. In Prohibition-era America, lawmakers sought to enforce morality through the law, banning the manufacture and sale of alcohol. But the result was not purity; it was lawlessness, as countless ordinary citizens became criminals overnight. Likewise, with the income tax, Goldwater saw another kind of moral distortion: a law so burdensome and confusing that even the honest struggled to comply. Where the law should be a beacon of justice, it became instead a trap — one that punished diligence, rewarded evasion, and made suspicion the default relationship between citizen and state.

In his critique, Goldwater echoes the wisdom of the ancients. Cicero, in the days of the Roman Republic, warned that oppressive taxation was the sign of a dying state. When Rome began to feed its empire through ever-growing levies on its people, corruption flourished and liberty withered. The wealthy learned to avoid their duties; the poor, crushed under the burden, turned against their leaders. In this pattern, Goldwater saw America’s own danger — that the moral bond between government and governed might dissolve under the weight of excessive control. For every dollar taken unjustly, a measure of trust was lost; for every regulation added, a spark of independence dimmed.

Yet Goldwater’s message was not merely one of anger, but of awakening. His words challenge us to consider what kind of government we wish to serve — one that feeds upon its people’s labor, or one that nourishes their freedom. He calls for a return to simplicity and justice, where law is clear and limited, and where taxation serves the common good without punishing success or ambition. For in a healthy republic, the citizen must be both free and responsible, guided by conscience rather than coerced by fear. The problem, he suggests, is not that men are unwilling to contribute, but that the state too often mistakes coercion for order and complexity for wisdom.

The lesson, then, is timeless and profound: when laws multiply beyond understanding, virtue itself becomes endangered. A just society must never make honesty impossible or error inevitable. Citizens should strive for integrity in their dealings, but they must also demand clarity and restraint from those who govern. True justice is not found in endless codes, but in fairness that honors both freedom and responsibility. Let the people remember that taxation, though sometimes necessary, must always be bounded by the principle that what a person earns through honest labor is the foundation of their dignity.

So remember the wisdom of Barry Goldwater: that when government overreaches, it does not merely empty the purse — it endangers the soul. The income tax, in his eyes, was not just a fiscal burden, but a moral warning — that power, once granted, rarely retreats. Let this truth guide every generation: that a nation prospers not through the weight of its laws, but through the virtue of its people, and that liberty, once surrendered to the machinery of control, is the hardest treasure to reclaim.