Why Nobody Takes PARC Seriously Anymore

[Ellen Stuttle]

The most interesting question, to my mind, which Valliant raises is: To what extent was Ayn Rand (a) aware of, and (b ) desirous of the culture of conformity which increasingly surrounded her? That she was increasingly surrounded by a culture of conformity, I think would be hard reasonably to doubt, even by persons who weren't there and are trying to imagine the reality through the reports of those who were. But to what extent did Ayn Rand herself know what the "sociology" of the Objectivist world was like? For example, consider the remark about the bonfires lighting all across the country following on her dismissal of Maxfield Parrish's work as "trash." Did she anticipate, in making the pronouncement, the power her judgment would have? Or, another example from the artistic realm, to what degree was she aware of the difficulties her views on Beethoven caused for umpteen numbers of her followers? Etc. Those questions just pertain to artistic tastes. To what extent did she know of the more general regimenting of opinion amongst her followers? She knew of the subscription-cancellation policy. She gave the instructions. But did she ever ask to hear the details of the policy's execution? Etc.

As much as I think that her own attitudes spread in circles from the center of the web, I remain to this day unsure of how well she understood the power on her opinions on her followers. One evidence of her being aware is of course "To Whom It May Concern." I think it's clear that she expected her say-so to be accepted, by fiat. But the example might be considered non-typical, a result of her emotional state of distress. For all I know, she might even in the following years have regretted writing something couched so unmistakably as a pronouncement from on high.

Her expressions of desire -- for worthy discussants, in later years for so much as "intelligent agreement" -- plus the stated content of a philosophy of independent thought contradict the results achieved. But did she ever realize how contradictory a result was occurring, the degree of conformity which was spreading in the wider web around her? It's something I still wonder about.

Ellen

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[Daniel Barnes]

But did she ever realize how contradictory a result was occurring, the degree of conformity which was spreading in the wider web around her? It's something I still wonder about.

Doesn't Jonathan's quote - which effectively says "Objectivism is all about my say-so" - give us a hint?

We are of course, creatures of contrary impulses. But this seems to me to be the one that ultimately dominates.

[Brant Gaede]

The most interesting question, to my mind, which Valliant raises is: To what extent was Ayn Rand (a) aware of, and (b ) desirous of the culture of conformity which increasingly surrounded her? That she was increasingly surrounded by a culture of conformity, I think would be hard reasonably to doubt, even by persons who weren't there and are trying to imagine the reality through the reports of those who were. But to what extent did Ayn Rand herself know what the "sociology" of the Objectivist world was like? For example, consider the remark about the bonfires lighting all across the country following on her dismissal of Maxfield Parrish's work as "trash." Did she anticipate, in making the pronouncement, the power her judgment would have? Or, another example from the artistic realm, to what degree was she aware of the difficulties her views on Beethoven caused for umpteen numbers of her followers? Etc. Those questions just pertain to artistic tastes. To what extent did she know of the more general regimenting of opinion amongst her followers? She knew of the subscription-cancellation policy. She gave the instructions. But did she ever ask to hear the details of the policy's execution? Etc.

As much as I think that her own attitudes spread in circles from the center of the web, I remain to this day unsure of how well she understood the power on her opinions on her followers. One evidence of her being aware is of course "To Whom It May Concern." I think it's clear that she expected her say-so to be accepted, by fiat. But the example might be considered non-typical, a result of her emotional state of distress. For all I know, she might even in the following years have regretted writing something couched so unmistakably as a pronouncement from on high.

Her expressions of desire -- for worthy discussants, in later years for so much as "intelligent agreement" -- plus the stated content of a philosophy of independent thought contradict the results achieved. But did she ever realize how contradictory a result was occurring, the degree of conformity which was spreading in the wider web around her? It's something I still wonder about.

If you are Prometheus do you think of spontaneous combustion? It wasn't her, it was Atlas Shrugged. She conformed to AS and the all the rest followed. It was rational, after all, wasn't it? It was true, wasn't it? It was the greatest thing since--Aristotle--wasn't it? She created IT--didn't she? She was greater than it--she had to be. It was her baby, wasn't it? Look, why in hell do you want to know her opinion about Maxfield Parish if you can't deal with her answer? Burn the damn paintings! Your bad! She was asked (1968) what she would do with a Picasso if she owned one. "Sell it." Laughter.

--Brant

[Robert Campbell]

For all I know, she might even in the following years have regretted writing something couched so unmistakably as a pronouncement from on high.

Like Ellen, I've wondered about this.

But she doesn't seem to have voiced such regret, in front of anyone who remembered such a statement and was inclined to repeat it.

Robert Campbell

[Ellen Stuttle]

For all I know, she might even in the following years have regretted writing something couched so unmistakably as a pronouncement from on high.

Like Ellen, I've wondered about this.

But she doesn't seem to have voiced such regret, in front of anyone who remembered such a statement and was inclined to repeat it.

Robert Campbell

I do have a report of an intimation of regret -- though only an intimation -- from the time of the Blumenthals' break with her. Allan told me that Ayn considered writing a brief statement just to announce that she and the Blumenthals were no longer associated -- in this event I think it would have been brief, unlike the intended brief statement which became TWIMC. She decided against saying anything in print because, according to Allan's report of what she said, of all the troubles that had resulted from TWIMC.

Otherwise, I never heard any indication of her expressing regret, but she might have done so in front of persons not inclined to repeat it, or she might have felt it without saying it.

Ellen

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[Ellen Stuttle]

Hospers: I agree with the gist of an assessment being expressed on SOLO -- here and here -- that Ayn probably would have been willing to see John Hospers again, even pleased to see him again, if he had worked up the resolve to "knock on her door." Ayn agreed to see Barbara again when Barbara contacted her in '81. The rift between John Hospers and Ayn was far less serious than that between Barbara and Ayn. (Nathaniel, however, I think Ayn would never have been willing to see again -- though she did talk to Devers.)

Ellen

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[Michael Stuart Kelly]

Ellen,

Never to miss an opportunity to make up some crap to lay at the feet of the Brandens, the bonehead Valliant even claims that Hospers didn't use his own mind by not making an effort to see Rand, he used the influence of the Brandens instead (see here):

I think that the Brandens helped to color Hospers' view of Rand's later life, e.g., the Efron story, etc., and that this helped keep him away -- "her enmities last."

I personally don't think that John Hospers has a cognitive impairment in autonomous thinking. He did and can think for himself. He did and can make his own judgments about his own values and what he lived (and even make his own errors if such be the case). But hey, that's me.

Valliant thinks John Hospers doesn't think for himself and that it's the fault of the Brandens.

This guy is unbelievable...

Michael

[Robert Campbell]

Ayn agreed to see Barbara again when Barbara contacted her in '81. The rift between John Hospers and Ayn was far less serious than that between Barbara and Ayn. (Nathaniel, however, I think Ayn would never have been willing to see again -- though she did talk to Devers.)

Ellen,

I think you have a point here--though somehow I don't see Jim Valliant endorsing your line of argument .

Besides, what prevented Ayn Rand from getting off her duff and reaching out to some of the folks that she had run off?

Robert Campbell

[Ellen Stuttle]

Besides, what prevented Ayn Rand from getting off her duff and reaching out to some of the folks that she had run off?

That would have been going too far, carrying an implication that maybe she had amends to make. ;-)

Ellen

Edit: PS: She could on occasion apologize. She did to Marsha Enright for misunderstanding what Marsha was talking to Frank about and losing her temper with Marsha. (She'd thought, remember, that Marsha was asking Frank something about Objectivism, when in fact -- as apparently Frank later informed Ayn -- they were just talking about cats.) In the Hospers situation, though, the move would have had to come from him.

___

Edited June 28, 2008 by Ellen Stuttle

[Ellen Stuttle]

Michael,

I said I agreed with the gist of the comments, not with every detail thereof. Yes, Hospers could make up his own mind. Hospers also tends toward not having the aggressiveness to have made the attempt. And maybe he only partly wanted to and was held back by the thought of not wanting any resumption of the bad features of knowing her -- features he described in his memoir. The point I agree with is that I think she would have been willing to see him if he had tried to resume the relationship (after some passage of years; not immediately following the rift).

Ellen

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[Greybird]

Joan Blumenthal, quoted in Full Context, about Rand: "And she thought that Mozart was pre-music!"

Ahhh yeah. Just for that, I'm putting on the "Jupiter" Symphony.

Pre-music, as well as tantamount to a Red. (I'll take Murray Rothbard's mostly-facetious short-roman-à-clef semi-testimony on this *ahem!* score, before I believe a single paragraph coming from Valliant.)

I wonder, at times, how much this woman genuinely knew about the Western civilization she maintained — and demonstrated — she admired.

Oh, yes, I'm also going to download some more Parrish illustrations. (Public domain.) Did "students of Objectivism" actually set bonfires to their Parrish prints after one of Rand's Ford Hall dismissals, or was that an exaggeration?

[Michael Stuart Kelly]

Ellen,

I don't think you agree with Valliant's interpretation. Never did.

The fact is that Barbara wrote about her relief from the pressure after the break in Passion. She phrased it something like "Do I really want this?" I sincerely believe this was operating with Hospers. From a certain angle, there is great joy in claiming your life that no experience of being next to a mentor can bring. So imagine if you need to reclaim it.

When you are able to step back and see other values, often what seemed like life or death up close next to a mentor was merely a problem of perspective. From what little I know of John Hospers, if he had really wanted to resume with Rand, he would have. I do not detect in him an excessive pride that would have prevented him from doing so.

I don't like the implication of cowardice, lack of decision or influence of the evil Brandens I have seen coming from the peanut gallery in Siberia Passion. Talk about Boneheadedness Unbound!

I'm not saying he was never these things in life at one time or another. We all have lapses. But with his relationship to Rand, there is no correspondence to reality with those positions. Forcing those on him is just plain wrong.

John Hospers is a great man who helped mark our times. He should be respected as such, at least from so-called Objectivists.

Michael

[Ellen Stuttle]

Oh, yes, I'm also going to download some more Parrish illustrations. (Public domain.) Did "students of Objectivism" actually set bonfires to their Parrish prints after one of Rand's Ford Hall dismissals, or was that an exaggeration?

The reference is to a quip Henry Scuoteguazza is quoted by Jeff Walker as having made:

The Ayn Rand Cult

Copyright © 1999 by Carus Publishing Company

pg. 126

Scuoteguazza observes that because the Objectivist ethics so extols romantic art, all too many Objectivists stifle their real preferences to avoid being labelled irrational and, at least publicly, play it safe by sticking to officially-approved works. Result: "a dismaying uniformity of artistic tastes among Objectivists." In the early 1970s many Objectivists thought they'd found a kindred artistic spirit in the paintings of Maxfield Parrish. At a Ford Hall Forum "someone asked Ayn Rand for her assessment of his work, to which she curtly replied, 'Trash!' One could almost hear the bonfires raging across the country."

I don't suppose there were literal "bonfires." But at least in the NYC area, there was a sudden diminution in the number of Maxfield Parrish prints which adorned Objectivists' apartment walls.

Ellen

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Edited June 29, 2008 by Ellen Stuttle

[Greybird]

Thanks for the quote, Ellen. It all seems to circle back to Jeff Walker. Even I'm quoted in The Ayn Rand Cult (page 197):

[Leonard] Peikoff's two books [The Ominous Parallels and OPAR] are part of a Penguin USA series called, not "The Objectivist Library," but "The Ayn Rand Library." Says neo-Objectivist Steve Reed, "If anything confesses, quite purely and simply, to how Peikoff is borrowing the unearned prestige of Rand's name for his own work, this does."

True as to Peikoff, then and now, and I stand by it. Yet I'll note that Walker didn't bother to ask permission to use that quote. Nor did he attribute it to its source, a Usenet posting. I would've gotten nowhere with any complaint, yet he had no excuse for not contacting me, as my (then) e-mail address accompanied what I wrote.

Also, I don't recall ever describing myself as a "neo-Objectivist." An Objectivist, yes — noun, before I wised up and started using it as adjective and without article. But the "neo" is silly and obfuscating.

I'd rather not be an entry in Walker's index, due to that, but it's too late now.

[Neil Parille]

I find Valliant's claim that the Brandens "helped to color Hospers' view of Rand's later life" curious in light of what he said in PARC about his role in the "collective best shot" against Rand.

Consider this additional section from PARC:

(Quote: Valliant) It should also come as no surprise that nearly all of those who do not miss Rand’s anger are now also admirers of Ms. Branden's biography, for Ms. Branden’s tale of Rand the Repressive, Moralizing Monster is one to which all of these people can comfortably repair.

But, precisely to the extent that they have endorsed Ms. Branden's deeply flawed account, they are subject to an identical critique of their own distorted objectivity.

Pleasant or unpleasant, according to Objectivism, it is morally necessary to make appropriate ethical judgments of others. If this is what the Brandens and their friends now dispute, then they no longer believe in the basics of Rand’s ethics and should say so far more plainly, rather than accuse Rand of hypocrisy.

It isn't clear whom Valliant includes among the Brandens' "friends," but I assume Hospers is one. Has he or the Brandens' other friends accused Rand of hypocrisy? Do they dispute the need to make moral judgments? What basis does Valliant have for concluding that these people have "distorted objectivity"? He doesn't question the objectivity of anyone who reports negative things about Nathaniel Branden.

As far as people who have endorsed Barbara Branden's account (post-PAR), I can think of four: Alan Greenspan, Dr. Blumenthal, Erika Holzer and Dr. Hessen. Again, what is Valliant's basis for concluding their objectivity is distorted? After all, these people (unlike Valliant) knew Rand.

Edited June 29, 2008 by Neil Parille

[Robert Campbell]

Neil,

When you get past all of Mr. Valliant's "coils of obfuscating verbiage," he is just insinuating that anyone who says negative things about Ayn Rand's conduct must have a distorted view of her.

Again and again, his "arguments" turn out to be circular.

Robert Campbell

[Ellen Stuttle]

Neil quotes a passage from PARC:

(Quote: Valliant) It should also come as no surprise that nearly all of those who do not miss Rand’s anger are now also admirers of Ms. Branden's biography, for Ms. Branden’s tale of Rand the Repressive, Moralizing Monster is one to which all of these people can comfortably repair.

But, precisely to the extent that they have endorsed Ms. Branden's deeply flawed account, they are subject to an identical critique of their own distorted objectivity.

Pleasant or unpleasant, according to Objectivism, it is morally necessary to make appropriate ethical judgments of others. If this is what the Brandens and their friends now dispute, then they no longer believe in the basics of Rand’s ethics and should say so far more plainly, rather than accuse Rand of hypocrisy.

That passage is a good example of something I continue to find puzzling about what Valliant thinks he's trying to demonstrate. I'm well familiar with the Brandens' accounts and I wouldn't describe either of them (including both versions of NB's) as presenting a portrait of Rand as "Rand the Repressive, Moralizing Monster" or as "accus[ing] Rand of hypocrisy." So where is he getting what he's apparently arguing against?

He's many times disclaimed any attempt to demonstrate that Rand was without flaw. And yet, when he sets up a straw charge to argue against -- which he does repeatedly in PARC -- what is one to conclude except that, despite disclaimers, what he is arguing for is Rand's flawlessness?

Robert's already made a similar comment.

Ellen

___

[Ellen Stuttle]

In a post on SOLO, William writes:

[Here]

** still under some question is the actual presentation at Harvard. This cite below suggests contra Stuttle, that it was indeed Sense of Life. The source is from the notes of "What Art is: The Esthetic Theory of Ayn Rand," by Louis Torres, Michelle Marder Kamhi.

[....]

I can't copy and paste the passage from Torres and Kamhi. Their source for what the paper was is John Hospers' recollection, which is what I'm questioning to begin with.

They write -- hand-copying the reference:

According to John Hospers, this paper was published in substantially the same form in The Romantic Manifesto. "Memoir: Conversations [W]ith Ayn Rand," part 2, Liberty, September 1990, 52; and letter to the authors, 23 July 1996.

"Art and Sense of Life" didn't appear in The Objectivist until March 1966. In the version in the magazine, Rand writes as the fifth paragraph:

Two of my earlier articles are the necessary base or introduction to this subject. For a discussion of the development of a sense of life, see "Philosophy and Sense of Life" (THE OBJECTIVIST, February 1966). For a discussion of the nature of art and its relation to man's cognitive faculty, see "The Psycho-Epistemology of Art" (THE OBJECTIVIST NEWSLETTER, April 1965).

In the next paragraph, she quotes from the latter.

In the January 1971 Signet paperback of The Romantic Manifesto, she leaves out both the fifth and sixth paragraphs of the original essay. However, she then proceeds still to refer directly at least to "The Psycho-Epistemology of Art," which is printed as Chapter 1 of that edition of The Romantic Manifesto. (She might later in the essay also directly refer to "Philosophy and Sense of Life," which is printed as Chapter 2 of that edition. I didn't check through the whole piece for references to the earlier works.)

I.e., the article "Art and Sense of Life" which appears in The Romantic Manifesto is the same article which didn't appear in her publication until March 1966 and which develops from a basis laid in two previous articles, one of which appeared in April 1965, the other of which appeared in February 1966. I don't see how it could be the case that the talk she gave in October 1962 was substantially the same as the later article. Possibly she used the same name as the later article, but I think the content at minimum had to be significantly amplified in the later article.

Ellen

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[Ellen Stuttle]

Pursuing the question of what paper she delivered at the American Society for Aesthetics meeting in October 1962, I found something which could reconcile dates and titles.

John Hospers wrote -- quoted here:

And so it was that on the last Friday night of October 1962, she gave her newly-written paper "Art and Sense of Life" (now included in The Romantic Manifesto).

As I've pointed out -- see the post above -- the article by that name which appears in The Romantic Manifesto wasn't published until March 1966 and it specifically states that it builds on two earlier articles, "The Psycho-Epistemology of Art," The Objectivist Newsletter, April 1965, and "Philosophy and Sense of Life," The Objectivist, February 1966.

I found in a Google search an item titled:

CHRONOLOGY & BIBLIOGRAPHY OF AYN RAND'S LIFE & WORKS

----------------------------------------------------

Version 2.98, 2006

Compiled by Todd H. Goldberg, M.D., Philadelphia, PA.

http://members.aol.com/TGoldberg/randbib.txt

Dr. Goldberg lists as an item from 1962:

[my emphasis]

#41 - "Art as Sense of Life" (address given to

American Society for Aesthetics, Cambridge, MA,

26 Oct.; revised and published 1966 as #83)

If he's correct, that clears up the issue: her talk was an earlier version of the later article.

Ellen

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Edited June 29, 2008 by Ellen Stuttle

[Ellen Stuttle]

Valliant re Allan Blumenthal:

[Here]

And, alas, Ms. Branden gives us no hint of Dr. Bluemnthal's [sic] claim that Objectivism was the product of Rand's psychological problems -- something Objectivist readers might just want to know about his position.

A very good reason why Ms. Branden would have given no hint of the comment attributed to Allan Blumenthal by Jeff Walker is that Allan hadn't made any such comment as of the time of the publication of Passion -- if indeed he made it later. I would have to hear the tape myself in order to believe that Allan said exactly what Walker quotes him as having said.

(Also, even if the quote is accurate, no, it does not, as Valliant suggests it might in PARC and is now talking as if he's sure it does, indicate a belief in psychological determinism.)

Ellen

___

Edited June 30, 2008 by Ellen Stuttle

[Neil Parille]

Valliant re Doherty's Radicals for Capitalism:

(Quote: Valliant) Doherty's erroneous claim that Rand "kicked out of her life" the Blumenthals (and the Kalbermans) is to be found on page 323 [actually, it's page 232] of his book. That he is reliant on Ms. Branden is made clear from his notes. The first reference following his claim about who was "kicked out" only mentions Greenspan (who was not, as he is aware, "kicked out.") The note preceding this reference, and the two following it, cite us to PAR for the history of the Collective, notes 21-24 from chapter five, at page 661. (Also mentioned is Mr. Branden's memoir, but he does not relate any details about the Blumenthal departure.) PAR was Doherty's explicit source for this, and PAR didn't prevent Doherty from wrongly claiming that Rand did the "kicking."

PARC's claim that this was the impression left by PAR came before Doherty's error -- and Doherty seems to have missed the memo regarding Ms. Branden's alleged clarity on the matter: his book appears to demonstrate PARC's point.

Well, let's see. The paragraph at issue in Radicals for Capitalism has two endnotes. One does mention PAR, but this note does not reference the Blumenthals' leaving Rand or even other breaks. Certainly the key pages where the Blumenthals discuss the events leading up to their departure and the departure (pages 386-88) are not cited. (None of the other endnotes that Valliant mentions refer to the key pages either.)

However, on pages 537-38 of Radicals for Capitalism, Doherty says that the Blumenthals "were driven away by Rand's continued hectoring over issues of art . . . ." Here he cites the relevant pages of PAR (pages 386-88).

So Doherty did not misread PAR and, of course, PAR is clear quoting both Allan and Joan as saying that they left Rand.

-NEIL

____

Edited June 29, 2008 by Neil Parille

[Michael Stuart Kelly]

Here's a major Valliant blank-out time, folks (see here—my emphasis in the quote below). How's this for a classic case of evasion, to coin a term?

Rand was not a therapist and she never claimed to be one, and the concept of "social metaphysics," for example, is very helpful in ways outside of the context of psychotherapy.

What the hell is this? The Romantic Manifesto, "Art and Moral Treason," pp. 142-145:

When I saw Mr. X for the first time, I thought that he had the most tragic face I had ever seen: it was not the mark left by some specific tragedy, not the look of a great sorrow, but a look of desolate hopelessness, weariness and resignation that seemed left by the chronic pain of many lifetimes. He was twenty-six years old.

He had a brilliant mind, an outstanding scholastic record in the field of engineering, a promising start in his career—and no energy to move farther. He was paralyzed by so extreme a state of indecision that any sort of choice filled him with anxiety—even the question of moving out of an inconvenient apartment. He was stagnating in a job which he had outgrown and which had become a dull, uninspiring routine. He was so lonely that he had lost the capacity to know it, he had no concept of friendship, and his few attempts at a romantic relationship had ended disastrously—he could not tell why.

At the time I met him, he was undergoing psychotherapy, struggling desperately to discover the causes of his state. There seemed to be no existential cause for it. His childhood had not been happy, but no worse and, in some respects, better than the average childhood. There were no traumatic events in his past, no major shocks, disappointments or frustrations. Yet his frozen impersonality suggested a man who neither felt nor wanted anything any longer. He was like a gray spread of ashes that had never been on fire.

Discussing his childhood, I asked him once what he had been in love with (what, not whom). "Nothing," he answered—then mentioned uncertainly a toy that had been his favorite. On another occasion, I mentioned a current political event of shocking irrationality and injustice, which he conceded indifferently to be evil. I asked whether it made him indignant. "You don't understand," he answered gently. "I never feel indignation about anything."

He had held some erroneous philosophical views (under the influence of a college course in contemporary philosophy), but his intellectual goals and motives seemed to be a confused struggle in the right direction, and I could not discover any major ideological sin, any crime commensurate with the punishment he was suffering.

Then, one day, as an almost casual remark in a conversation about the role of human ideals in art, he told me the following story. Some years earlier, he had seen a certain semi-Romantic movie and had felt an emotion he was unable to describe, particularly in response to the character of an industrialist who was moved by a passionate, intransigent, dedicated vision of his work. Mr. X was speaking incoherently, but conveying clearly that what he had experienced was more than admiration for a single character: it was the sense of seeing a different kind of universe—and his emotion had been exaltation. "It was what I wanted life to be," he said. His eyes were sparkling, his voice was eager, his face was alive and young—he was a man in love, for the span of that moment. Then, the gray lifelessness came back and he concluded in a dull tone of voice, with a trace of tortured wistfulness: "When I came out of the theater, I felt guilty about it—about having felt this."

"Guilty? Why?" I asked. He answered: "Because I thought that what made me react this way to the industrialist, is the part of me that's wrong ... It's the impractical element in me... Life is not like that..."

What I felt was a cold shudder. Whatever the root of his problems, this was the key; it was the symptom, not of amorality, but of a profound moral treason. To what and to whom can a man be willing to apologize for the best within him? And what can he expect of life after that?

(Ultimately, what saved Mr. X was his commitment to reason; he held reason as an absolute, even if he did not know its full meaning and application; an absolute that survived through the hardest periods he had to endure in his struggle to regain his psychological health—to remark and release the soul he had spent his life negating. Due to his determined perseverance, he won his battle. Today—after quitting his job and taking many calculated risks he is a brilliant success, in a career he loves, and on his way up to an ever-increasing range of achievement. He is still struggling with some remnants of his past errors. But, as a measure of his recovery and of the distance he has traveled, I would suggest that you re-read my opening paragraph before I tell you that I saw a recent snapshot of him which caught him smiling, and of all the characters in Atlas Shrugged the one whom the quality of that smile would suit best is Francisco d'Anconia.)

There are countless cases similar to this; this is merely the most dramatically obvious one in my experience and involves a man of unusual stature.

You can dress a duck up to look like a deer, but it is still going to quack. And this one above quacks real loud. If this activity wasn't therapy, the only thing missing was the fee and calling it by the word "therapy." I have no doubt Rand was helping Nathaniel in his own work.

There are too many witnesses to Rand's therapy sessions for a fully rational person to deny it, but it takes a special effort—it takes a bonehead like James Valliant—to deny it when Rand herself claims she did it.

Valliant seems to have forgotten how concepts are made in Objectivist epistemology (nah, scratch that, I don't think he ever learned how to do it): you observe and identify a lot of different referents in reality , then you mentally group them (integrate them) according to a fundamental characteristic or characteristics. This is called a concept. Then you slap a name on the mental grouping and you have your concept represented by a concrete. If everything is identical except the name, you still have the same concept. That's why many languages can use many different words to all stand for the same concept.

This is Objectivism 101.

I would be interested in hearing what Valliant thinks the fundamental characteristics of therapy are, if not what Rand described above. But let's not stop here. Let's look at the episode she cut out of that essay when it went into book form.

These patients are what she owned up to therapy-wise in her printed writing. She did not call them "patients," but I'll be damned if I can see a difference other than a bureaucratic formality between these dudes and a patient in a hospital or clinic. The Objectivist Newsletter, Vol. 4 No. 3, March 1965, Check Your Premises: "Art and Moral Treason":

The case of Mr. Y was strikingly similar, though the two men were quite different in most respects. Mr. Y was a nuclear physicist who had a distinguished name in his profession and many notable achievements to his credit while still in his early thirties. On the surface, he appeared to be a "well-adjusted" man who, outside his laboratory, led a "normal," thoroughly conventional life. His manner seemed poised, quietly self-confident, at times charmingly witty, and merely a bit too stiff. He had an extraordinary intelligence, and his passionate love for his work was one of his most attractive qualities.

Yet he was quietly going to pieces, and the form he gave to his problem (though this was not its real nature) was: doubt of his own intelligence and doubt of the efficacy of science.

He, too, was struggling to discover the roots of his inner conflicts. I did not know him too well, so it was inadvertently that I contributed an important clue to his problem. One evening, I interrupted a conversation with him to tune in for a moment on a certain TV movie: I explained to him that I wanted to hear a piece of music used in that movie, which I loved and could not obtain in record form. It was a popular number of the pre-World War I era and it was my kind of music: gay, melodic, rhythmically ingenious and projecting a totally unclouded sense of life.

I was startled by the look of his face when the first bars of that music came on: it was shock, recognition, amusement-an almost paternal amusement directed at me-bitterness, wistfulness and a terrible kind of pain. I asked him what was the matter. He was shaken by such an inner explosion that he could not speak for a while. Then, gradually, he told me.

He knew the place that my kind of music occupied in my life. In his life, that place was held by the art and music of ballet. This had been his great love. At one time, he had attended every performance of a good ballet company he could find. The emotion he had then experienced was a state of intense exaltation. He had regarded this as his guilty secret. He had tried to stifle it. He had not permitted himself to grasp the meaning of his love. He had sought to give it no place in his life and no importance in his own eyes-in the unstated hope that he could destroy it, not by eliminating it, but worse: by refusing to take it seriously. Acting, in effect, as the executioner of his own soul, he had branded it as "ludicrous."

He still loved music and he owned a large collection of records, which he played frequently-for an esthetic pleasure that conveyed no personal meaning to him and evoked no personal emotion; all the records were classics such as Bach, Haydn, Mozart; he did not own a single record of ballet music.

"Why?" I asked. He answered: "Because I am afraid of myself in that mood."

Afraid of what? Of his inability to negate his own values and to comply with the conventional standards he had been forcing on himself all his life. And the thing that had hit him, at the sound of my music, was a sudden insight telling him the meaning of what he was repressing and the full extent of his moral treason.

(Needless to say, I played ballet music for him for the rest of that evening. He has since bought the records he wanted. His problems are not yet solved, but he is improving and coming back to life month by month; and the personality that is now emerging has an authentic self-assurance that inspires enormous confidence, and a kind of subtle intellectual charm that is inimitably his own.)

There are countless cases similar to these; these two are merely the most dramatically obvious in my experience and involve two men of unusual stature.

So Rand never claimed to be a therapist?

Quack.

She just didn't use the word "therapist." But she sure as hell owned up to the concept. She was proud of it, too.

Michael

[Brant Gaede]

As a therapist, she wasn't very good. Not by the example given. Good therapy in my experience always involved altered states of consciousness. All that she was doing here was having a conversation. I'm sure just having somebody to talk to was valuable to the guy. I wouldn't in fact call this therapy at all. BTW, a psychiatrist has patients. A psychologist has clients.

--Brant

[Michael Stuart Kelly]

Brant,

Here's the simple version.

Rand stated outright that she had multiple-session techniques and procedures for teaching a person who was psychologically screwed up and miserable to become happy (mentally healthy) and productive. She not only stated she provided them, she presented two successes.

To me that's therapy.

The rest is words.

Michael

[Daniel Barnes]

Does anyone else think that the case of "Mr X" seems at best, um, highly fictionalized?