We have a system that increasingly taxes work and subsidizes

Hear the words of Milton Friedman, fiery voice of liberty and champion of the free market: “We have a system that increasingly taxes work and subsidizes nonwork.” Though spoken in the age of modern governments, the spirit of these words is as ancient as civilization itself. They strike at the heart of justice and labor, warning us of a danger that has toppled empires before ours: when the rewards of toil are diminished, and the rewards of idleness are multiplied, the strength of a people withers.

For to tax work is to burden the hands of the builder, the farmer, the craftsman, the teacher—the very ones whose sweat nourishes the life of the nation. To overburden them is to dim the fire that drives progress, for why should a man plow harder if the fruits of his labor are taken away? And to subsidize nonwork is to feed idleness, to reward what is barren rather than what is fruitful. It creates a system where the strong are weakened and the idle are strengthened, until the natural order of effort and reward is overturned.

Friedman spoke these words as a warning, born of his study of history and economics. He saw that when governments grow vast, they often seek to comfort by redistribution, yet in doing so they risk punishing the very engine of prosperity. In ancient Rome, the emperors offered bread and circuses to appease the masses. For a time, this kept peace, but in the long years it drained the vigor of the Republic. Soldiers who once fought for land and honor now fought for pay; citizens who once labored with pride came to depend upon grain doles from the state. The empire glittered still, but within, the will to labor had grown soft.

To subsidize nonwork does not mean to neglect compassion for the weak—for every society must care for those truly unable to bear the weight of labor—but it means to mistake dependence for kindness. True compassion lifts a man so that he may walk again; false compassion binds him so that he may never rise. Thus Friedman’s cry is not for cruelty, but for balance: reward effort, honor work, and provide aid not as a permanent substitute for labor, but as a bridge back to it.

The lesson is not only for nations but for individuals. In each life, the principle holds: if you punish yourself for effort and reward yourself for indolence, your spirit will decline. The man who avoids labor for comfort grows weaker, while the man who pushes himself through hardship grows stronger. Civilizations mirror this truth. Those that exalt discipline, creativity, and enterprise ascend; those that exalt comfort and dependency decay.

Consider the story of Japan after the Second World War. Its cities lay in ruins, its people impoverished, yet it did not wait idly for others to carry its burden. Its workers labored tirelessly, its people embraced discipline, and its society honored effort. Within a generation, it rose from ashes to become an industrial power. Here was a nation that chose to reward work rather than dependence, and its story testifies to the power of Friedman’s warning.

So let this teaching be carried forward: a system that punishes labor and rewards idleness is a system that devours itself. For in time, the workers will tire, and the idle will grow many, until there are none left to bear the weight. If you would preserve strength—whether in your life, your household, or your nation—then reward work with honor, and give aid with the intent of renewal, not stagnation.

In practice, this means: cherish your own labor, seek fairness in the fruits of your work, and demand of your society that it honors effort rather than drains it. Help the weak, yes, but help them to rise, not to sink further into dependence. For only in this way will life remain strong, purposeful, and free. Thus Friedman’s wisdom echoes across the ages: a people who weaken work will weaken themselves, but a people who honor it will endure.