Friends, clones, countrymen, lend me your minds;
I come to bury Individuality, not to praise it.
The deeds that men do live after them;
The inactive are oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Individuality. The noble Collective
Hath told you Individuality was inconsiderate:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Individuality answer’d it.
Here, under leave of the Collective–
The Collective is an honourable body;
Believes itself to be so, a worthy concept –
Come I to speak in Individuality’s funeral.
He was my expression, substance and purpose:
But The Collective says he was intolerant
Is not The Collective an honourable body?
Individuality hath brought many minds home to develop
Whose potential did the honourable Collective develop?
Did this in Individuality seem intolerant?
When that the persona became overwhelmed
Individuality hath emerged to buoy him up.
Intolerance should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet The Collective says he was conceited;
And is not The Collective an honourable body?
Who here has not a hero, a muse?
One who inspired your spirit,
Conducted you to raise up great deeds?
Did such a hero submerge within the throng?
Who hath e’er been thus inspired by the Collective?
Woulds’t thou to the Collective?
Yet The Collective says he was conceited
And, sure, the Collective is an honourable entity.
I speak not to disprove what The Collective spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
We cannot be Collective for we are individual souls
And art the Collective but a usurper of the soul?
You all embraced Individuality once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then, to mourn for it?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Individuality,
And I must pause til it come back to me.
With acknowledgements to William Shakespeare: Julius Caesar, Act 3, Scene 2