The Journals of Ayn Rand (18 page)

To add to what I have written: The great tragedy and problem of the modern age is the absence of all values. The preachers and moralists yell that capitalistic selfishness is responsible for it, and all those idealistically inclined embrace communism as the cure for this guilt of selfishness. Exactly the opposite is true:
the absence of values is caused by the absence of ego.
As explained before, no ethics of any sort are possible without a feeling of egoism. Unless a man
wants
to be honorable and takes pride in being honorable—he is not going to be honorable. If humanity, for twenty dreary centuries, has been battered by Christianity into believing selflessness is a virtue and into considering as ideals things which are inherently impossible to it—all idealism is gone. All ambition toward an ideal, that which makes men wish to attain the highest possible, is gone, since that highest, as preached by Christianity, is unattainable.

If all of life has been brought down to flattering the mob, if those who can please the mob are the only ones to succeed—why should anyone feel any high aspirations and cherish any ideals? The capitalistic world is low, unprincipled and corrupt. But how can it have any incentive toward principles when its ideology has killed the
only
source of principles—man’s “I”? Christianity has succeeded in eliminating “self” from the world of ethics, by declaring “ethics” and “self” as incompatible. But that self cannot be killed. It has only degenerated into the ugly modern struggle for material success at the cost of all higher values, since these values have been outlawed by the church. Hence—the hopelessness, the colorless drabness, the dreariness and empty brutality of our present day.

The same would happen to humanity under communism—if it could ever succeed and take the place now held by the church. As long as men live, their “self” cannot be killed. But it can be distorted into a monstrosity, as any living organism can if reared in improper conditions and under an unbearable strain.

The consequence?
Until man’s “self” regains its proper position, life will be what it is now: flat, gray, empty, lacking all beauty, all fire, all enthusiasm, all meaning, all creative urge.
That is the ultimate theme of the book—Howard Roark as the remedy for all modern ills.

The theme, then, goes like this: Howard Roark is what men should be. I show: how and why others are different from him; what forms that difference takes; what reasons create it; what it does to its victims—their successes and their ultimate tragedies. And I show what life [is] to Howard Roark, how he succeeds and what his success means. An illustrated message to the twentieth century—without benefit of Marxism.

Instead of preaching more collectivism, men must realize that it is precisely collectivism, in its logical consequences—a subtle, unnamed, unofficial, but still all-powerful collectivism—that is the cause of mankind’s tragedy. It may not be the economic collectivism for which the communists clamor, but it is a perfect form of ethical collectivism, not theoretical, but actual, living, working. And since collective ethics are claimed to be necessary for collective economy—take a look, gentlemen, we have those ethics already. We have them and we don’t like them; it is not a pretty picture.

Either “man” is the unit and the final sovereign—or else “men” are. And “men” means the mob, the State, the nation, the Soviet—anything one wishes to call it, anything that implies a
number
of humans, a herd. Man must live for the State, claim the communists. Well, man is living for other men, for the
mob,
completely and hopelessly, only we don’t say so. I will show what it means to live for others—just exactly what it actually means and how it works. If it’s not pretty—well, then, where’s the mistake? The old Christian—communist denial of “self.” Proper life is possible only when man
is
allowed (and encouraged, and taught, and practically forced) to live for himself.

(Sideline: “But a communist State will do precisely that!” yell the communists. “It will give each individual a chance!”
How?
By inoculating them with a “collective ideology”? There it is, your collective ideology, perfect and logical and working.)

If—and no communist has yet gone this far—they claim that man’s higher values will come from his sense of honor before the mob (or his “brothers”), that he will be taught to value popular approval and esteem as reward for his efforts on the State’s behalf, that in this way his egoism will become spiritual instead of materialistic—how are you going to teach a contradiction? If he is to value his pride, his feeling of achievement, his personal glory,
as his,
how can he put them into the hands of the mob? How can he want to live for himself if all his actual life, his work, his ambition, his relations with others have to be guided and motivated by the “good of the State,” by collective interests and collective gain? How—if he is asked to live for others—is he going to have an incentive for self-respect and for his own higher values? A collective form of life with individualistic ethics and spirituality? That is as impossible as the “rugged individualism” of modern capitalistic society with a collectivist form of ethics and ideals—which is what we have today. The communist utopia of a collectivist state with individual morality would come to the same dreary mess—only it will never come.

To repeat: living for others, i.e., “second-hand living,” is exactly what we have today—in actual reality. And if that’s wrong, if it doesn’t work, if it creates a repulsive, hopeless chaos, then the solution is “living for oneself.” Capitalistic democracy has no ideology. That is what the book has to give it.

Nothing has ever been created except by the will of
a
creator. Civilization is
not
a collective process, the work of many men working together. It is the work of many men working
alone.
Each did what he could and
wanted
to do. No common cause ever tied them to one another.

All civilization, all progress—ethical, esthetical, philosophical, scientific—has been accomplished not by a cooperation between an originator and his followers, between man and the mob, but by a
struggle
between man and the mob. The mob has always been against novelty, originality, everything new and forward moving. It was individual men who made the forward step in each case, only to pay for it, often with their lives, because the mob resented it. But the world did move forward, because life belongs to the leaders and the exceptions. The others follow. They don’t want to. They have to. They contribute nothing to progress, except the impediments.

If the best part of life, the mental life, everything above mere material existence, is creation, it presupposes a sense of valuation. How can one create if one does not first estimate—
value
—one’s materials? (That applies to science, arts, ethics, and all mental endeavor.) How can there be valuing without those who value? A verb does not exist in a vacuum. A verb presupposes a noun. There is no such thing as an action without the one who acts. And who can do the valuing except
a
man?

A collective valuing would amount to this: one believes what others believe,
because
others believe it. If we have ten people and each one of them chooses to believe only what the nine others believe—just exactly who establishes the belief, and how? Multiply it by millions, on a world scale, and it’s still the same. The laws of mathematics work the same for dozens, and for hundreds, and for billions. There has to be a cause of causes, a determining factor, a basic initiative. If it is not taken by a man—by whom, then, is it taken? If a man is not the one to weigh, value and decide—who decides?

A “collective” mind does not exist. It is merely the sum of endless numbers of individual minds. If we have an endless number of individual minds who are weak, meek, submissive and impotent—who renounce their creative supremacy for the sake of the “whole” and accept humbly that “whole‘s” verdict—we don’t get a collective super-brain. We get only a weak, meek, submissive and impotent collective mind.

If a man is the ultimate creator, the one who values, then the worst of all crimes is the acceptance of the opinions of others. [The worst men are those who say:] “A thing is good because others say it’s good”; they are the men who lack the ability or the courage to value on their own.

As a ridiculous and petty but clear example of this type: the movie producers and the Hollywood type of mentality. The movies have produced no great work of art, no immortal masterpiece to compare with the masterpieces of other arts. Why? Because the movies are not an art? Rubbish! Because those in charge do not create what they think is good, but what they think others will think is good. Because those in charge have no values of their own (and refuse to have) but accept blindly anything and everything approved by someone else—anyone else.

The movies are the perfect example of collective ideology and of “living for others.” Why did all the other arts reach heights the movies never attained? Why did they prosper and survive in spite of the fact that they did not consider the “box-office,” the mob’s approval? Precisely because they did not consider the mob’s approval. They created—and
forced
the mob to accept their creations. But the movies “live for others.” And—they do not live at all. Not as an achievement and an end in themselves. Those working in the movies work to make money, not to work in the movies. Fine, if that’s all they want. But what do they get out of the money? What do they get in exchange for giving up the reality of their work and of their lives? They spend their lives at a
second-hand task,
a task secondary to their real purpose, a task which is only a means to an end. What is the end? Shouldn’t the end be precisely that at which they spend their lives? But—they’re only second-hand people with second-hand lives!

This is an example which is clearer and plainer than any other form of activity. It applies to other professions as well. The principle is the same. The result is the same.

 

An important thing to remember and bring out in the book: while Howard Roark, at first glance, is monstrously selfish and inconsiderate of others—one sees, in the end, his great consideration for the rights of others (when they warrant it) and his ruthlessness only in major issues; while Peter Keating, at first glance, is unusually kind, thoughtful, considerate of others and unselfish—in the end, it is clear that he will sacrifice anyone and everyone to his own small ends, whether he has to or not. In other words, those who show too much concern for others and not for themselves, have no true respect for either. Only the one who respects himself can also respect others (and only as a secondary matter,
after
himself). No other neighbor-feeling is possible.

While, at first glance, Howard Roark is a stern, austere, gloomy man, who does not laugh readily, who does not crack jokes and enjoy “comedy-relief,” he is [actually] the truly joyous man, full of a profound, exuberant joy of living, an earnest, reverent joy, a living power, a healthy, unquenchable vitality. While, at first glance, Peter Keating is cheerful, optimistic, the “life of the party,” the true “good fellow”—he is [actually] a sad, desolate man, empty, desperate in his emptiness, without life, without joy, hope or aim, a bitter cynic hiding his cynical despair under a superficial, forced gaiety.

The truly joyous man does not laugh too much, because there is little to laugh at in life as it is today. The truly joyous man takes himself
very seriously,
because there is no joy without self and pride in self. Those who preach and practice “not taking anything seriously” are not the gay, light hearted ones. They are merely the empty-hearted. “Taking seriously” is the very essence of life. If one does not “take oneself seriously,” one can take nothing seriously. And—“the noble soul has reverence for itself.” One does not revere with a giggle.

Above all, bring out the noble, all-pervading, joyous energy that permeates the being of Howard Roark and his whole life and every action, even in his tragedy. And—the dreary hopelessness of Peter Keating.