The Journals of Ayn Rand (51 page)

 

The art of writing is the art of doing what you think you’re doing.

This is not as simple as it sounds. It implies a very difficult undertaking: the necessity to think. And it implies the requirement to think out three separate, very hard problems: What is it you want to say? How are you going to say it? Have you really said it?

It’s a coldly intellectual process. If your emotions do not proceed from your intellect, you will not be able to apply it, even if you know all the rules. The mental ability of a writer determines the literary level of his output. If you grasp only home problems well, you’ll be only a writer of good homey stories. (But what about Tolstoy?)

 

 

Note on altruism:
in private and voluntary instances of help to another person (and this is only
kindness,
not
altruism)
it works well
only
when the recipient of help is a worthwhile person (essentially an “action” person) who is temporarily in need, purely through accident, not through his own nature. Such a person eventually gets back on his own feet and feels benevolence (or gratitude) toward the one who helped him. But when the recipient is essentially a “passive” person, chronically in need through his own nature, the help of another gets him deeper into parasitism and has vicious results: he hates the benefactor. Therefore, here’s the paradox about “helping another”:
one can help only those who don’t actually need it.
With the others, help leads only to disaster. Help is proper only in a catastrophe or emergency—such as rescuing a drowning man. It seems right by the very nature of things: a catastrophe is the opposite of the normal; therefore, that which is proper in a catastrophe is the opposite of that proper to a normal, healthy human existence.

Besides, all instances of legitimate help seem to be of a physical nature—rescues in illness or physical disaster. The possibility of spiritual help seems doubtful. Incidental assistance—yes. Real, crucial help—no. But material wealth is the result and consequence of a spiritual effort—work and thought. Why should it be distributed according to a rule (altruism) inapplicable to the primary sphere, to its source, the spiritual life of man?

Proper relation of men
—justice. A fair exchange to mutual advantage—not charity. No, not in any way. A man owes his fairest judgment to another man—nothing else. This is a moral law—up to each man, not to be imposed by force or by the state.

 

 

“Only a man fit for solitude is fit for human association.” He must bring an entity to his relationship with others; otherwise his own vacuum creates a suction, he
must
feed on the
substance
of others, he becomes “a second-hander who cannot exist except as a leech on the soul of others.”

 

 

[AR now critiques her original draft. The foreword is referred to here as the “Introduction ”; “Axiom” is Chapter 1; “Theorem 1: The Basic Alternative” is Chapter 2; “Theorem 2: The Life Giver—the Active Man” is Chapter 3.
]

Excellent in content and general effect. Bad in language—too journalistic and uncertain. Shaky. No unity of style, because no unity of method and approach. Reorganize and rewrite, keeping the same beginning and end. Go easy on and be careful of “journalistic” references—keep them specific and general at once—general primarily, and specific only to the extent needed to drive the idea home, only in the nature of a concrete illustration. (But remember that it must be clear to the contemporary reader, and clear to any reader at any time. When in doubt, aim for the latter.)

In speaking of [altruism in history], cover the point that your statement holds true
even
if most of the followers of an altruistic leader acted for “selfish” material gain. (Such as—“the real purpose of the Crusades was Oriental trade.”) If [the motives were selfish], why didn’t the leaders recruit men for the purpose of “selfish” looting?
And
—if an ideal is such a handy cover-up for the lowest “selfish” purposes—isn’t there something wrong with the ideal? Isn’t it because the ideal cannot be defined and is impossible to practice?

To cover more thoroughly the [point that] “reason” is the determining faculty of man: it is obvious that man’s physical survival and progress have been achieved
only
through his reason. If that is the prime law of the survival of his body—can his soul (or spirit, or consciousness) have a contradictory, opposite prime law of survival? Reason is a faculty of the spirit. Applied to the physical realm it has performed miracles. It has never been applied consistently to the spiritual realm—to ethics, which is the code of spiritual laws—and look at the state of our morality!

Chapter I should begin by stating the axiom. Then define man’s nature. Then ask
[AR interrupts her thought, crossing out the preceding two words]. Or
—begin by asking whether a moral code is necessary? Prove that it is-for a rational being. What is the rational? That which is true
to facts.
To exist one must be true to facts. If one goes contrary to the facts of existence—one perishes, simply by being or making oneself
unfit
for existence.
[Here we see AR grasping the crucial point that ethics begins by asking not “What are the right values? ” but rather “Why are values necessary? ”]

What is the rational? To be right. What is the moral? To be (or do) right. (Why is the same term used?) A code of ethics must be totally, profoundly, completely
practical
—or else it is a means of self-destruction (as altruism is). It is altruism that has caused the idea that morality is “impractical,” something for which one must suffer, that “virtue is its
own
reward,” meaning its
only
reward, and that “idealism” or “theory” are the opposite of reality and practice.

[Regarding the point that man must choose to be man:] This might be the place for the statement that: “Man screams in terror at his own greatness, begging by every possible means to be delivered from it. The greatness is being
a free agent.”

Chapter I is not well-organized; it leaps into side-lines, does not follow a straight progression.
Reorganize
the material and the order of presentation.

When you speak of “reason” and “the rational faculty,” illustrate the concrete application of what you mean once in a while.

An additional point here: if someone says “But so many crucial mental conclusions in a man’s life are made under the
influence
of other men (or proceed from other men)”—the answer is: “Quite so. For
some
men. But some other man had to think of it in the first place. Even if it’s only a small improvement on the material left by others—if it is an improvement and a new step, some
one
man had to think of it.” And as general historical illustration and proof—the greatest achievements and advances were made in individualist societies, when men worked alone—
not
in collectivist ones, where men were encouraged and
forced
to work together. Also, the great epoch-making discoveries (such as the Wright brothers’ airplane) were made by single, individual men. Only the minor improvements and variations are made by collectivists (such as the boasted discoveries of Nazi Germany or Soviet Russia). There is almost a law here: if a man gets his major impetus from the material (or influence) of others, he is of lesser stature than the man who strikes out the farthest by himself. And the achievement of the first will be less than that of the second.

Point to cover: Edison, born in the jungle, would not have invented the electric light. But he would have invented the torch—or some other equivalent of his achievement—equivalent in the sense of a tremendous step forward in comparison to what was known before. The savage who died in the swamp at that time, having achieved nothing, still exists today—he is every man who has never held a thought of his own. It is not society that made Edison’s achievement possible (nor the social heritage)—it is Edison.

The important point: the thoughts of others (the heritage of civilization) can be of tremendous help to man—but
only
if weighed, examined and accepted by his own reason. They become a death trap and a menace when accepted merely on
the authority
of other men.

[Regarding the disintegration of spirit in the parasite:
] Clarify this thought. I mean here: if he persists in this action or to the extent to which he persists. He may still act as a rational being in other spheres—but the poison is planted and will continue to grow.
And
—the more he indulges in the non-rational (the second-hand), the more he acts on the death principle and the faster he comes to one form or another of actual destruction.

[Regarding social relations:]
Before you come to “any principle as a guide in his relations to other men,” cover the point of how the morality of reason applies to man alone—even to a man on a desert island. The first commandment is to exercise his reason.
Morality is not social
(and don’t forget the evils that come from thinking that it is). Only after you have established this, can you come to morality in relation to other men.
[Here we see AR’s transition, in regard to the primary virtue, from independence to rationality.]

[Regarding the choice to be a parasite:]
This needs the added statement that the degree of a man’s intelligence is not the essential, determining factor here—the exercise of his intelligence
is.
(And a necessary addition to this is: if you cannot venture independently into difficult intellectual spheres—
don’t venture
into them. There is no moral obligation to know and solve everything, to have an independent judgment upon everything. There
is
a moral obligation that such judgments as you
do
hold
must
be your own. Let your sphere of concern be as large or as small as you feel capable of handling (and you’re the sole judge here)—
but it must be
the sphere of your independent rational judgment. There is
never
an obligation upon man to handle more than his intellect will permit him. If he finds himself in a position where it seems that he has to—he has brought it upon himself, through second-handedness. If a writer steals, because he cannot invent, he had no business being a writer. The test for a person in any field is the question: What do I know about this by myself, without having heard it from others?)

Chapter II is extremely confused. The material is out of sequence and covers too many fields too soon.

Excellent in thought, but not definite in statement and much too soon in sequence. I take virtues for granted, instead of proving that they are virtues. Since it draws parallels between egoism and altruism, it must come later, after both have been stated, defined, and analyzed.

Man’s sole means of survival is the rational faculty. It is a spiritual faculty through which he controls matter. Yet he has excluded it from his spiritual field—and does his damnedest to find himself excuses to be set free of it. (Man screaming against his own greatness.) He doesn’t want to realize that he himself must be controlled by the same faculty—and by himself. He dreads the responsibility. He wants the license of chaos within himself. What for? (“It’s such a big responsibility really to desire something.”)

 

 

Be very careful to keep in mind that the axiom of your morality is
not
“Man must survive,”
but:
“Man must survive
as man.”
This is the crucial point; otherwise it becomes an issue of any kind of survival, and any criminal moron can claim that he is moral when he murders, because that is his only means of survival. This point, clarified, must cover such cases as when a man chooses to die, rather than compromise with evil. Since man’s status as man is within his own keeping (and he is the only such creature,
that
is his crucial distinction), the basis of his morality is the preservation of himself
as man,
not just the preservation of a physical hulk (which, incidentally, cannot be preserved without the preservation of his human spirit).