I just finished Ayn Rand's

I just finished Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead. I enjoyed it much more than I thought I would. I actually found myself agreeing with most of it. I actually found myself talking to K about it, and talking to work friends about it. I actually think about it more than a couple times a day, even though I'm finished with it. But, I don't know what I like and why.

First, let me just say I didn't like the writing, and I don't like the author's way of trying to make a point. But what I did like was the structure of ideas and the way she made things fit together, it was a creative work--one which I hear she repeats over and over again in every book she wrote, but still there was that initial step of finding what this book was about, and it was done relatively well.

Okay, now that I've qualified my reasons for liking it--because I feel like it's a popular book to like, so popular, that it's also become a popular book to dislike, and many people will hold a strong personal grudge on me either way. So, if you disagree with me, let me know.

Actually, the ideas in the book scare me a little. Because it seems to resonate with my instincts. I don't like working in groups. I don't like popular culture, and the mentality behind it. I think it is a monster, an invisible enemy, that shapes the popular mind, I think that most people are second-handers, good reshapers of what other people think and say. I don't even know if I'm not one myself. I constantly feel like Peter Keating, begging for recognition, doubting if I'm right, waiting for someone to validate my work before I feel like it was worth doing. But there are some things I don't require that for, they're of course hard to name off the top of one's head. That was the first scary thought--who am I, in that book.

Second worry: is there any value to community on the web. More importantly, is there any value to bustercafe. I mean, once it's up. Will the act of people writing together, in small groups, create anything better than the sum of its parts? Can writing be a collective effort? In college, fiction workshops were my favorite classes, but most of the work that came out of those was crap. But I felt that my work improved. I gained knowledge from people, most of whom didn't even know what they were talking about, but at least I knew, like Gail Wynand that I'm writing for the man on the street whose face nobody can remember--not for the intellectual, or the critic. All the arguments, though, point to failure. What is the value of a critic. Is he Ellsworth Toohey, who finds that praise itself is more important than actual value in a work--meaning that whatever is praised before people view a piece of art, will sway them to like it, for the most part? I find that many websites out there, the popular ones, could never regain their popularity if they had to start fresh, from a new name, and no connections. They got to where they are on merits other than are showing today. Maybe it was a good word in the beginning from Ellsworth. Maybe it was affiliation with a group of people, or a company. No fingers pointing, notice. These people already must know this trick, and are keeping quiet hoping that it goes away. And it will.

So, in conclusion, I believe Ayn Rand was wrong. Why. Because, like a work friend said, (does this make it sound like I'm just being pushed around by other peoples' words? how can i prove otherwise?) some of her premises are wrong. Like, the fact that ... see I can't think of a reason right away, because I never thought of it before, which means I would allow myself to get this far into a sentence convinced I had something to say, and it would've been (had I been forced to continue the sentence out loud without the option of meta-side comments) that she doesn't believe in God, that she believes that we cannot be concerned for other people, and still be independant, that being a servant is a mind-trick.

Servants. To serve God, man, your country. An ancient trick to make us value other opinions, works, ideas more than our own and to therefore trust in something that (if it too trusts in others more than itself) leads to an endless putting off of ultimate value, which is then open for grabs by any corrupt columnist in town. Or, the only way to live in a relationship with God, man, your country--a relationship that is give and take, and one which will ultimately allow you to receive as much as you give. What, the second option asks, is so valuable that we need to guard it from the world. If I serve people, let them take from me what they want, let them ask of me what they want, let myself do things as they want me to, will I still be able to be as individual as Ayn Rand would have me be, still able to create works without needing praise, without caring about lack of support, still be able to have opinions without just repeating what I've heard is the popular stance, or would it all be an illusion.

This sucks. This is why I hate philosophy and intellectuals. They could talk about this for hours. I could too, I guess, which is why I hate myself. I am no different from the things I hate. Which is what sucks.

How the hell do I know what the answer is. Stop asking. Should I turn the questions off. Should I say, once and for all, that, it seems like I'm able to feel obligated to in some ways be a servant to man, to in some ways fail at serving man, to feel guilty for not serving man as I ought, and to still function independantly of popular culture and have emotions untied from what other people think of me (to an extent) and to be able to create original works of creativity that have the same value as Howard Roark's buildings. Yes, I will say that. When I feel better about myself.

Comments

[Bought The T-Shirt]

When I entered university I had just finished reading The Fountainhead, it inspired me to the point of renouncing my faith in God and declaring my independency from others. I had always suceeded in isolation and the ideas expressed in The Fountainhead gave me validation for my way of life. Before that I thought I was lacking in interaction, that it was a weakness. With a side expressed that it's actually healthier and more productive in the grander string of things to exist as Ayn Rand professes, I embraced it.

I had never felt so empty as I did after the initial infatuation with my superiority faded away after a couple months. My opinion on the book presently is that it's an intellectual Mein Kampf, and the truth on the matter is that Ayn Rand was similar to me, a coward that does not wish to take chances with people. Better validate isolation than fight it. Let your character defects close off your contact with people completely with theoretical backing.

I believe that interaction, mutual support, faith in a power greater than ourselves and humility give us sanity. Simply questioning these facts causes webs of doubt to be spun until our death where we wish we had one more moment to do one more thing, and we die without closure.

[Ryan]

It's been a few years since I read the book, but it seems like Bought The T-Shirt missed the point. It's not about isolating yourself, it's about surrounding yourself with people who, like you, believe in the power of your individualism and the value of you as an individual. Roark didn't hole himself up all alone, he had his crew. What he didn't need was the other hangers-on or people who were just looking to take from him without giving in return, or paying for it. It's a similar theme in Atlas Shrugged. The heroes (it's also been awhile, names escape me) remove them selves from where the people are taking from them.

Eric, ask yourself not "Do I need to give to people?" because I think the agreed answer is yes. But ask "To whom do I need to give and for what in return?" Because if the people to whom you are giving are not willing to pay you back for it, how much do they value what you're giving? And if they don't value it enough to repay you, why are you wasting your time giving something of value to someone who doesn't value it? The answer that Ayn Rand drives at is that you need to give to people who value what you have to give such that they are willing, even insistent, on paying you for it - in whatever form of payment you agree on. It could be money, it could be love, it could be a smile and a thank you. The people you DON'T need to give to are Elsworth and Peter.

When BTTS says, "Ayn Rand was similar to me, a coward that does not wish to take chances with people" he misses the key point. It's about taking selective chances with people you value enough to take chances with. Howard takes chances with the brilliant artist, with the construction guy, with the woman (sorry again for the lack of names, but the message is what stuck with me from years ago). These are not the same people that the less talented or less deserving take chances with. If your art or your talent isn't enough to propel you on your own as an individual, you better go searching for an Ellsworth...you'll need him.