Goddess of the Market: Ayn Rand and the American Right (22 page)

Before long a chill crept into their letters. Busy with her writing, Rand was unable to maintain the relationship at a level that satisfied Paterson’s emotional needs. After a three-month gap in correspondence Paterson felt neglected, telling Rand, “I assume that one speaks to a friend, or writes a letter, spontaneously. It is not a task.”
⁶⁸
Rand’s silence hit a particularly sensitive spot for Paterson, who had noticed, “after authors have become successful I hear no more of them. They have many important affairs to attend to.”
⁶⁹
Paterson feared that Rand, like so many other aspiring writers, had simply cultivated her for professional advancement. Rand’s affection for Paterson was genuine, but she had trouble soothing her friend’s insecurities. It was another seven months, mid-1945, before Rand could reply, confessing, “I have been afraid to write you.”
⁷⁰
She explained in detail her anxiety about writing letters to friends, born of her correspondence with Russian family members,
whose letters might be read by government censors; her fears she would be misunderstood; and her busy schedule. Paterson was not placated, telling Rand in response, “A person is not an object or lamp post, to be regarded as always ‘there’ for your convenience and having no other existence.”
⁷¹
The rest of her letter was equally tart. Where before she had overflowed with effusive praise for Rand and her work, Paterson now challenged Rand’s philosophical assumptions and her grasp of history.

Paterson was particularly harsh on Rand’s new venture into philosophy. Responding to Rand’s critical comments on the philosophers she had been reading, Paterson mused, “to be fair to them, one must envisage the whole problem of systematic thinking as from scratch.” She then told Rand, “the ‘frightening kind of rationality’ you find in the philosophers is precisely your own kind.”
⁷²
Although she had once celebrated their joint achievement in working out “the necessary axioms and deductions of a free society,” Paterson now doubted the whole goal of syllogistic reasoning.
⁷³
The real problem was not creating a rational system, but making sure the assumptions that underlay it were correct. And she was not at all clear that Rand would do it right, observing, “in lesser matters, you talk a lot of ‘reason,’ but frequently don’t use it, because you make assumptions that are not valid.” She also had a few suggestions to make about Rand’s behavior. It struck Paterson as rude that Rand constantly talked about sales of
The Fountainhead
when Paterson’s book had failed commercially: “it appears to me that one could be a copper riveted individualist without being a solipsist.”
⁷⁴
Paterson’s complaints about Rand and her ideas were a dramatic switch from earlier letters. No doubt her tone was partially inspired by her mood swings, but Rand’s failure to carefully tend the relationship had also drawn forth this dyspeptic and angry response.

Rand was scandalized by the letter. She accused Paterson of putting words in her mouth and ignoring what she actually said. She rejected Paterson’s comparison of her to other philosophers, insisting, “I have not
adopted
any philosophy. I have created my own. I do not care to be tagged with anyone else’s labels.” Though rigorously abstract, Rand’s discourse was in many ways aggressively anti-intellectual. She was uninterested in placing herself within the broader community of thinkers and cared little about the intersections between different schools of thought. “I see no point in discussing what some fools said in the past
and why they said it and what error they made and where they went off the rails,” she told Paterson. Rand was also concerned that Paterson had brought up the issue of God, and was immediately suspicious that “you believe that unless I accept God, I will have betrayed the cause of individualism.”
⁷⁵
In response Paterson gave little quarter, sending a second critical missive to her friend. She did not think Rand knew what she was talking about when it came to reason or argumentation: “I suggest that you are confusing logical necessity with an assumed necessity of actually following a logical sequence from a given premise, whether in thought or in words or in action, and also with the fact that an act has its own consequences.” And she rejected Rand’s claim to originality, telling her, “if you should hold a theory which has already been thought out . . . I will use the word already existent for the thing.”
⁷⁶

But as it turned out, Rand was right about Paterson and God. Paterson
did
think that belief in God was essential to individualism, arguing, “but if you do start with a statement of atheism, you won’t have any basis for human rights.” This was the same criticism that Lane and the FEE readers had made. Rand’s theory of natural rights was based on fiat, on her stating it must be so. But in a world where rights were constantly challenged by despotic governments and violent crime, a more solid grounding was imperative. Paterson concluded her letter with another snide remark. Rand had written about Thaddeus Ashby, her new “adopted son,” whom she characterized as a replica of herself. Paterson was sharp: “I don’t know what would be interesting about a ‘replica’ of oneself. Would your replica write
The Fountainhead
again? It sounds kind of silly to me. However, it’s your own business.”
⁷⁷
Intellectual differences, compounded by personal pride, began to snowball as the relationship between the two women deteriorated.

Before reaching the edge both Rand and Paterson pulled back. Rand had not yet responded to the latest blast when she received another letter from Paterson, this one friendly and happy and gossipy. Paterson had been invited to Maryland to meet several DuPont executives, and the meeting’s success had buoyed her outlook. Rand wisely decided not to respond to the longer letter, for the two women would see each other soon in New York. It would be easier to iron out differences and resolve the communication problem in person. Both probably sensed the fragility of their connection, for in raising the issue of Rand’s atheism Paterson
had struck at a foundational difference between the two. Rand, not usually one to avoid an argument, did not press the point because Paterson was one of her most valued friends. In New York the two reached some sort of truce. As Rand described it to a fan, she had “an understanding . . . with all [her] friends” that she would not respond to letters when in an intense period of writing.
⁷⁸
For two years she and Paterson stayed in touch over the telephone instead, until meeting again in person when Rand came east another time.

When their correspondence resumed in early 1948 it was marked by the same personal warmth and the same intellectual antagonism over religion. Rand still considered Paterson a valuable teacher, heeding her advice about deleting adjectives from her writing. She was writing steadily now and generously identified Paterson as part of the inspiration for her latest burst of creativity. Paterson responded with more New York gossip, including a tidbit about Don Levine’s bizarre new concept of competing government agencies. It was the first glimmer of anarcho-capitalism, Rand’s bête noire in the years ahead. But now Levine’s strange views simply signaled to both Rand and Paterson that his newest venture was not worth supporting.

After more chitchat about current events Rand made a fatal slip, asking Paterson what she thought of the latest Fulton Sheen book. Sheen, soon to be ordained bishop of New York, was a prolific Catholic author. His latest book, the anti-Communist volume
Communism and the Conscience of the West
, had been sent to Rand from their shared publisher. Paterson brushed off Sheen as “not worth your time,” but Rand pursued the point in a second letter, telling Paterson, “something awful seems to be happening to the Catholic thinkers.” What concerned her was that Catholic thinkers like Sheen, long known for their anti-Communism, now appeared to be “turning quite deliberately toward Statism.”
⁷⁹
This drew forth a longer response from Paterson, in which she attempted to explain why Catholicism supported state action. Rand responded with outrage—not at Paterson, but at Catholic theology. And the battle was joined.

Although Paterson was not Catholic, she couldn’t stand Rand’s dismissive attitude toward religion. Sufficiently angered, she became cutting toward Rand’s intellectual abilities. “You ought to get your creeds straight,” she wrote, telling Rand she misunderstood the concepts of
original sin and depravity. More problematic was Rand’s willingness to reject Catholicism whole cloth. She accused Rand of misanthropy for her sweeping condemnation of Catholic philosophers: “Can you indict such a considerable number of the human race, including some of the greatest minds the human race has exhibited, without certain implications as to the human race itself?” Rand, for her part, was unapologetic. “Why yes, I certainly can,” she told Paterson.
⁸⁰

This issue over Catholicism quickly led to more perilous territory, as the two women began to clash over how and whether Rand had influenced Paterson’s thinking on morality. The question of influence was a particularly sensitive point for Rand, who now believed that Paterson had unfairly borrowed her ideas about altruism in
God of the Machine
. Prior to publication Paterson had asked Rand if she could draw on their discussions in her work without citing Rand specifically. Although Rand agreed to this arrangement, when the book was published she discovered sentences she described as “verbatim mine” from their conversations. Rand had never directly confronted Paterson about this, but her letter now hinted at this past history. In reply Paterson insisted that Rand had only helped clarify her thoughts on a specific application of “enlightened self interest.”
⁸¹

Points of contention began to multiply as the two women argued over specific conversations in the past, who had said what, and who had agreed with whom. Once more letters proved a poor medium for communication. Paterson thought the fault was Rand’s: “I read your letters exactly, but sometimes you are not very exact.” Again a scheduled visit helped smooth over the problems. Paterson was finally coming out to California, and Rand deferred further discussion until she arrived. She had high hopes for the visit and even agreed to pay Paterson’s travel costs. Rand envisioned a return to the golden days of their friendship: “I am looking forward most eagerly to staying up with you all night, if you care to. Incidentally, the sun rises here are very beautiful, so I think we will have a good time.” At the very least the California trip afforded a chance to resolve the many disagreements that were piling up.
⁸²

From the beginning Paterson’s visit was a disaster. Rand discovered that her old friend “seemed to have lost interest in ideas. She talked much more about personal gossip of a literary nature: who is writing what, what authors are doing, what her old friends are doing.” Paterson
may have been trying to keep conversation on safe territory, but Rand had little interest in a nonintellectual relationship. Known for her irascible temperament, in California Paterson was particularly disagreeable. Rand had arranged several social evenings at her house, which Paterson systemically ruined. She called two of Rand’s friends “fools” to their faces and told Rand after meeting Morrie Ryskind, “I don’t like Jewish intellectuals.” Rand was blunt in her response: “Pat, then I don’t know why you like me.”
⁸³
Tension between the two old friends was building with each hour. Paterson even let it be known that she had passed up the chance to review
The Fountainhead
so many years before.

The final insult came when Paterson met William Mullendore, by now one of Rand’s closest political allies. Paterson was seeking backing for a new political magazine, but when Mullendore began questioning her about the venture she lost her temper. Rand remembered, “She exploded, but literally. And she started yelling that none of them appreciated her, hadn’t she worked hard enough, why should she have to write samples. Couldn’t they take her word?” Mullendore, who had been forewarned about Paterson’s character, was prepared for the outburst and kept his cool.
⁸⁴
But Rand was mortified. When Paterson offered to leave the next day, Rand agreed. And when Paterson tried to change her mind in the morning, Rand held firm and sent Paterson on her way. It was the last time the two women would meet.

With the ending of their friendship, one of Rand’s rare intellectual idols had crumbled. Rand had always been extravagant in her praise of Paterson, identifying her as one of the few people who had influenced her intellectual development. Even in the lead-up to their fight she was still assuring Paterson, “I learned
from you
the historical and economic aspects of Capitalism, which I knew before only in a general way.” But afterward she would revise her estimate of Paterson, calling her “completely unoriginal. . . . She was a good technical, competent, lady-novelist—and that was all.” Paterson, famous in conservative circles for being “difficult,” bears much of the responsibility for the ending of the friendship. As William F. Buckley Jr. later wrote in her obituary, Paterson was “intolerably impolite, impossibly arrogant, obstinately vindictive.” But the friendship’s end speaks to Rand’s weaknesses as well. Unable to meet Paterson’s demands for connection, she retreated into silence, a move that exacerbated any intellectual differences between the two. After
their break she could no longer retain respect for Paterson, downgrading her to a second-rate novelist rather than an important thinker.
⁸⁵