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I was thinking about some of the life-learning and wisdom of Nathaniel Branden, half-convinced in my mind that I was remembering a quote accurately, that Nathaniel Branden had written "disagree" and "disagreeable" much like I thought in the title of this entry. I did find a phrase, something like I remembered and put it in fuller context at bottrom. But first some thoughts from the departed. The natural inclination of a child is to take pleasure in the use of the mind no less than of the body. The child's primary business is learning. It is also the primary entertainment. To retain that orientation into adulthood, so that consciousness is not a burden but a joy, is the mark of the successfully developed human being. Nathaniel Branden We do not hear the term "compassionate" applied to business executives or entrepreneurs, certainly not when they are engaged in their normal work. Yet in terms of results in the measurable form of jobs created, lives enriched, communities built, living standards raised, and poverty healed, a handful of capitalists has done infinitely more for mankind than all the self-serving politicians, academics, social workers, and religionists who march under the banner of "compassion". Nathaniel Branden “When I disagree with a rational man, I let reality be our final arbiter; if I am right, he will learn; if I am wrong, I will; one of us will win, but both will profit.” Ayn Rand Thinking of someone with whom I have useful disagreements. Watauga Lake, Tennessee.

Branden defines self-esteem as:“a disposition [grounded in reality], to experience oneself as being competent to cope with the basic challenges of life, and naturally worthy of happiness, fulfillment, success and achievement [as opposed to] fantasies of superiority and exaggerated notions of one’s accomplishments.”The “success and achievement” that Branden associates with self-esteem is not “grounded” in some objective “reality”, as he implies, but simply grounded in the social consensus one happens to live in or subscribe to i.e. in culturally relative and invented social reality. The self-esteem gotten from putting a spear through a fish’s head would be, according to Branden, more “grounded in reality” in a Tribal African culture than in say, American culture, where putting a rubber ball through a hoop would provide a self-esteem more “grounded in reality”. If I invent a game of speed counting blades of grass in various geometric patterns, I should, according to Branden, only “realistically” value my achievements in the game once the game has gained some popularity. If no one wants to play the game, then I can’t gain any self-esteem from it. It is only if others decide to value the game, and if I can then prove my proficiency in the game, that I can “realistically” gain self-esteem. Using this example, “false” self-esteem, according to Branden, would mean thinking that I was better (or worse) at the game than I really was.We have over 30 years of evidence coming from Terror Management Theory to show that when Homo sapiens gained self-awareness, s/he also gained an end-of self awareness: an awareness of his/her animal insignificance and finitude. This led to a crippling anxiety that in turn led to the creation of culture as we know it: to beliefs and activities that would provide individuals with the illusion of being persons of value in a world of meaning - usually by inflating the significance and meaning of tiny slivers of invented reality, so that we wouldn’t have to face the insignificance and meaninglessness of our place in the big scheme of things.The cultures that provided the best belief systems to counter our fear of animal insignificance and death were prehistoric, because they embraced an animistic spirituality that granted cosmic significance to each and every individual in the tribe.With the shift to civilization, we entered an era of materialism that increasingly relied on an (unequally distributed) earthly (as opposed to cosmic) self-esteem. Since the illusion of earthly significance is smaller than the illusion of cosmic significance, most individuals in civilization came to exist in a chronically deprived state of self-esteem. To quote Ernest Becker in 1973:“Our own everyday rituals today seem shallow pre­cisely because they lack the cosmic connection. Instead of only using one's fellow man as a mirror to make one's face shine, the primitive used the whole cosmos. We can really only get inside primitive societies by seeing them as religious priesthoods with each person having a role to play in the generative rituals. We don't know what it means to contribute a dance, a chant, or a spell in a community dramatization of the forces of nature-unless we belong to an ac­tive religious community. Nor can we feel the immense sense of achievement that follows from such a ritual contribution: the ritual­ist has done nothing less than enable life to continue; he has contributed to sustaining and renewing the universe. If rituals generate and redistribute life power, then each person is a generator of life. That is how important a person could feel, within the ritual­ist view of nature, by occupying a ritual place in a community. Even the humblest person was a cosmic creator. The primitive feels the effect of his ability to generate life, he is ennobled by it, even though it may be an illusion. Primitive man set up his society as a stage, surrounded himself with actors to play different roles, invented gods to address the performance to, and then ran off one ritual drama after the other, raising himself to the stars and bringing the stars down into the affairs of men. He staged the dance of life, with himself at the center.”From this light, we can see that Branden’s emphasis on mindfulness, self-acceptance, assertiveness, responsibility, purpose, discipline, integrity etc are all basically attempts to make the best out of a bad situation; attempts to squeeze the maximum juice out of various impoverished social consensus schemes that lack the capacity to (in his words) “honor” the self-esteem that humans truly “want and need”.(As a small side note, I may add that Branden had a preference for libertarian capitalism that influenced his ideas of how to best achieve this goal.)So when Branden insists that we see ourselves as being deserving of love, or for example, recommends as an exercise that we state “I have a right to exist”, we have to realize how, in comparison to primitives who felt they had a right to “raise themselves to the stars”; this sounds more like a shy “I have a right to keep my neck above the water”.In fact the very existence of the book bespeaks a social lack - the impoverished self-esteem granting capacity of our culture.

Unable to attend the Memorial program in Los Angeles, I took advantage of the "streaming" online version. I don't know how the acoustics were in the hall, but on streaming it was abysmal. David Kelley was at times inaudible, and speaking just right - if you were standing right next to him!. Some of the speakers were not announced. One presenter, (couldn't get his name,...a Judge something) tried to play a portion of Nathaniel's lecture on Ayn Rand and Romantic Love, but instead of using a recorded version on CD or tape, he attempted to play the excerpt by sticking his wife's iPhone next to the microphone. The result, predictably, was once again, inaudible. One of the comments running along side the streaming image, noted that the bad sound was probably from their using the podium microphone for the hall, rather than the microphone for the streaming, which was apparently not "On." Then, to top it off the presentation was interrupted about every ten minutes wth "Pringles" commercials. The speakers were not aware of the commercial breaks and kept on talking, but the streaming audience missed whatever they were saying. Duncan Scott, a professional film maker, was listed as the producer. Somehow, he was not aware of the acoustics problem and apparently no one at the hall was monitoring the streaming session. I am sure that any ARIan devotee was delighted.

The following announcement was posted on Facebook. If you plan to attend, click on the eventbrite link to register. http://www.eventbrite.com/e/in-memory-of-nathaniel-branden-registration-15431319492?aff=es2&rank=1

The Atlas Society is sponsoring a Memorial Event for Nathaniel Branden, in Los Angeles, Feb. 22. Below is a partial screen capture of the details of the event. If interested, you must register as soon as possible. See the direct link to the "Eventbrite" announcement in my post in the "Nathaniel Branden" section. Please join us for a memorial gathering to honor Nathaniel Branden and celebrate his life and achievements, sponsored by The Atlas Society, John and Danis Fickewirth, and Nathaniel's family. The gathering will be a cocktail-style reception, with brief remembrances by those who knew Nathaniel and his work, with memorabilia from his long and productive life. Refreshments will be served. Nathaniel was a long-time associate of Ayn Rand and helped systematize and promote her philosophy of Objectivism. He launched the Nathaniel Branden Institute in 1958. His course The Basic Principles of Objectivism was the first systematic statement of the philosophy—and the first of many courses offered through NBI. With Ayn Rand, he edited The Objectivist Newsletter and The Objectivist magazine, where his early work on psychology was published. After a break with Rand, Nathaniel continued his career in psychology, as an innovative therapist and teacher of therapists. His many books and lectures earned him worldwide respect as a pioneer on the subject of self-esteem. He fought against those who identify self-esteem with narcissism—both those who denigrate self-esteem for that reason and those who promote narcissism in the name of self-esteem. Through his research, teaching, and publications, He argued that genuine self-esteem is earned by pursuing the essentially Objectivist values of rationality, integrity, productiveness, and responsibility. Please join his family and his many friends and admirers February 22nd to honor his memory. He opened new roads in psychological theory, and new paths in life for his many patients. We look forward to seeing you. Have questions about In Memory of Nathaniel Branden? Contact The Atlas Society Save This Event When & Where

The publisher of The Vision of Ayn Rand: The Basic Principles of Objectivism, Cobden Press (a division of the Moorfield Storey Institute), published in 2009 ; has just announced that a "Study Guide for the book, including a corrected Index will be available by the end of January, 2014. See their announcement at www.fr33minds.com. Due to a pagination error during the original printing, the page numbers in that Index were mismatched. The corrected Index included in the Study Guide.

FINALLY! The Amazon Kindle eBook edition of "The Vision of Ayn Rand: The Basic Principles of Objectivism," by Nathaniel Branden is NOW available ( Amazon site listing. Price $9.99).Downloadable, of course. The original NBI course from the 1960s, given by tape transcription in over 80 cities (and a Polaris submarine!), worldwide. Published in print in late 2009, by Cobden Books, but difficult to obtain in the cloth and hardcover edition. With a New Preface by Barbara Branden, "The Dawn of Objectivism," and an Epilogue, by Nathaniel Branden, "Benefits and Hazards of the Philosophy of Ayn Rand" (an updated version of a lecture with the same title from the 1990s, I think). Curiously, this eBook edition does NOT include the newly revised and corrected index by Roger Bissell (still available from fr33minds.com as a separate pamphlet). In fact, no index is included.

Following is an excerpt from JUDGMENT PLAY: My Years With Ayn Rynd, by Gnat Bloominthrall (first published in two parts in the Feb. 2, 2014 and Feb. 9, 2014 issues of The Libertarian Enterprise). THIS LITTLE book of 16,000 words or so was conceived in response to Nathaniel Branden’s 1989 memoir Judgment Day: My Years With Ayn Rand. Branden’s compelling blend of pomposity, indelicacy, and bitter swipes at former associates seemed ripe for parody. After I had gotten about halfway through my retelling of the memoir’s epic events, I set the effort aside for a little while. Next thing I knew it was a quarter century later, 2014. Among other depressing features of the annum, the socialist Obamacare had arrived and the flying antigrav cars had not. One excuse for not finishing my manuscript had come in 1999 with the publication of the second, revised, cleansed edition of Branden’s memoir, entitled simply My Years With Ayn Rand. I gather that this version deletes much of the vindictiveness and perhaps other indiscretions of the original, making Judgment Play even more pointless than before unless one enjoys this sort of thing and has access to library systems and second-hand books or vaguely remembers a book read 25 years ago. So perhaps I should have just let my manuscript molder in my computer. However, I kind of like it myself; and this being the age of the Internet and e-books, which are even groovier than flying antigrav cars, it is easier than ever to inflict dubious reading matter on the public. So here we are. If, despite the hurdles, readers show enough interest in what follows, I shall proceed to Part Two, which I would expect to fashion even faster than Harlan Ellison churned out The Last Dangerous Visions. Chapter One The Culmination of My Childhood MY CHILDHOOD was so fascinating. Let me tell you about it. It began when I was fourteen and I overheard some girls reading aloud from what was, apparently, a rather dramatic novel. They were giggling and excited. To my age-fourteen self, their behavior seemed foolish. I felt lordly, superior and disdainful, as if I had attained a pitch of maturity that they could never hope to match. When they had left the room I plucked the volume up. The Funnelhead by Ayn Rynd, were the words gracing the cover. Hmm. I began to read. “Howard Hunk laughed.” That was how it began. It was the story of a lone individualist who fought for his vision with a fearless integrity against the collectivist mob. A man who pursued his own happiness as his highest moral purpose. A man with strangely-hued hair and a strange girlfriend. ...She stood, as insult to the place below and to all of existence. Her dress, the color of pale orange rind, too simple and too expensive, its pleats like the knife edges of shards of orange-colored glass—her thin heels like spikes as daggers to stab the traitorous earth—the fragility of her body against the harsh lemon sky like a wind-whipped stem against a yellow background—added up to an emblem of grace, of protest and of doom that was both song and scream—not at all evocative of the fastidious drawing rooms she’d hailed from. She looked down. Her eyes stopped on the orange hair—which also resembled orange rind, incidentally—of the incredibly sexy and dynamic man working hard in the quarry below who raised his head and looked at her. Their glances locked in a dynamic interplay of sexually-charged mutual cognition. “Are you looking at me?” she inquired, harshly. “You don’t have any sexual interest in me, I hope?” The man had gaunt, hollow cheeks and a severely pitiless cast to the planes of his countenance. Immediately she wanted to destroy him. “Yes, I am looking at you,” he said contemptuously, tossing a chunk of granite out of the way of his drill. He turned off the drill. “Unless it bothers you.” “It does bother me.” He looked away and started up the drill. “Hey you!” she shouted. “Mister!” He turned off the drill. “Yes ma’am?” “You needn’t call me ma’am. I’m Francine Dominant. My father owns this quarry.” “Goodie for you.” Her eyes became two narrow slits of gray; gray as the gray of the quarry granite. “You want something, don’t you? What do you want?” “I want to take you sexually by force. Okay with you? I know you’re the type of dame who won’t put out for just anyone.” “Goddamn you,” she hissed. “Submit the appropriate forms to the Ministry of Rough Romantic Foreplay.” She whirled and was gone. She wants it, Hunk thought: she wants to be “taken by force,” so to speak, or she wouldn’t have asked me to file an MRRF form when I mentioned my intention to do precisely that. Hunk didn’t think actually filing the forms was strictly necessary. But that night he did so anyway, making sure to send Francine’s copy to her by certified mail, and keeping another copy for his files. Better to cover your ass in these kinds of cases, he reflected. When he had finished filling out the forms Hunk felt tired, very tired. Dropping the forms off at the post office the next day was like a point reached for him—a stop. He waited in line with the rest of them. Then he had to get up early the next day to go back to the quarry. He picked up the drill. I’m getting too old for this shit, he thought. ... After several more carefully choreographed encounters, Francine presented Hunk with a notarized affidavit declaring that she wanted him to come fix the damaged marble of her fireplace; that she had scratched the marble herself as a way to request his presence and to attempt, and fail, to humiliate him; that Hunk hereby had her permission to damage the marble work further as manifestation of masculine contempt for her feckless desire to humiliate him, as prelude to her being taken by him by force; and that she would provide him with further instructions at that time. Hunk was to be paid his normal wage for the work. After Hunk had initialed the affidavit, Francine walked away, disappointed. She felt that their secret understanding was lost. He had complied with her demands as if but a simple job plus sexual adventure were involved that she would have offered to any other rippling-muscled, orange-rind-haired workman. Then she felt the sinking gasp inside, that feeling of shame and pleasure which he always gave her: she realized that their understanding had been more intimate and flagrant than ever—in his natural acceptance of an unnatural offer; he had shown her how much he knew—by his lack of astonishment. She turned. “Do you realize the shame and pleasure you are giving me by this unnaturally natural acceptance of an unnatural offer?” she asked him. “Yes I do,” said Hunk. “My contemptuous indifference to your overtures will be followed by violently taking you by force.” “I will send you an engraved invitation,” said Francine, “you bastard.” Hunk received the engraved invitation by certified mail the next day. ... When Hunk came by to fix the scratch in the fireplace he said, “Good evening.” He walked with the relaxed, muscle-bunched gait of a cougar approaching an easy kill. She said: “Good evening.” Hunk walked straight to the fireplace. “I see the inconsequential scratch,” he said. “Yes.” “Well...guess I’ll go ahead and create some damage.” He struck the fireplace with a sharp tool. “Okay...now it’s damaged and has to be replaced. That what you wanted?” She asked calmly: “Know what kind of marble this is and how to get another piece like it?” “Sure toots.” He went to work removing the marble. “Got anything else to say?” she asked finally. “Yes. This is an atrocious fireplace.” “What would you know of architecture?” she sneered. “Well, I’m an architect. Actually, I worked for your father once. He fired me, because of my integrity. Have you seen my work? It’s quite good. I’m a genius.” She shrugged. “So you have integrity, eh?” “Lots of it. Like you.” “I don’t believe in integrity. At least not in any physical manifestation. The world destroys it. I destroy things myself, to protect them from being destroyed by others. It’s my hobby. For example, I threw a beautiful statue down an elevator shaft so it would smash to pieces and no one else would ever get to see it and thereby sully its magnificence. If we ever fell in love, I would have to protect you. I would do so by obliterating you like a gnat.” “Now why would you want to do a fool thing like that?” “It’s too complicated to explain. I’ll send you several recent volumes of my diary though and you can....” “Okay, send me the volumes,” said Hunk, realizing this was not going to be such an easy lay after all. “The marble can be replaced within a few days. I will be sure to get exactly the same kind. You know, I hope, that this type marble is created by suppressed pressures bubbling up to the surface, much like the suppressed pressures of our psychologies, eager to erupt all over the place, via sperm and so forth.” “Okay.” “The replacement marble will arrive in two or three days.” Hunk turned to leave. “Wait!” yelped Francine, her hair swaying like liquid mercury. “Yes?” “Will you set the new piece yourself?” Hunk froze. He had wanted it to be a surprise. “No,” he said slowly. “No...I won’t. Somebody named Pasquale Orsini will do it.” ... A few days later Pasquale Orsini showed up to set the new marble. Francine was furious that Hunk had not been the one to come. “Damn him!” she said. And yet, she had known ahead of time that it would be Pasquale Orsini who would come. “Red down at the quarry, he said you wanna I setta the mar—” “Yes yes,” she said. Immediately she shot off a telegram to Hunk: DO NOT BE IN QUARRY WHEN I ARRIVE EARLY WEDNESDAY EVENING 6:32 PM STOP BE ON HORSE PATH NEAR WILLOW TREE AT THIRD BEND STOP I WILL LASH YOU WITH TWIG AS I GALLOP PAST STOP DO YOU AGREE STOP IF SO SIGN ATTACHED AND RETURN STOP. Early the next day she received the signed permission. That evening she struck him across the face with the twig. “Ouch!” he said. She had struck him much harder than was necessary. ... “Here to ‘rape’ me?” she asked when Hunk arrived “unexpectedly” at her home the next day. “What do you think?” asked Hunk, reaching into his back pocket. But he had left the engraved invitation back at the cabin. Damn. Damn damn damn. “Uh...I’ll be right back,” said Hunk.... All my ideas changed. Everything about The Funnelhead fascinated me. I wanted to be just like Howard Hunk. Someday, I vowed, I would be. I WAS what you might call a normal teenager with pretensions to godhood. Part of my context at the time was that my parents were middle-American, or in this case lower-Canadian, members of the bourgeoisie with psychiatric problems of the sort endemic to the modern age and which perplexed me. I felt alienated from them and from the world. To add insult to injury, I was living in Canada, not the most glamorous country in the world. Many-a-day I felt: what kind of universe is it in which I am based in Canada and surrounded by ordinary people who do not subordinate themselves to my every whim? Despite my ennui and frustration, however, I did not succumb to the malevolent-universe premise. Instead, I decided I needed to understand people better so that I could effectively manipulate them for their sake and for my own. I decided to become a psychologist. The little detail that Howard Hunk did not go around manipulating people unfortunately eluded me at the time. Many years later I would come to regret my innocent misinterpretation of Rynd’s novel. My fascination with The Funnelhead disturbed my parents, who fretted that my reading was becoming limited to this one book. My mother called in a specialist on such matters. The specialist could not know that my psychological understanding of myself was far superior to her own. Nevertheless, I was eager for her opinion of the book. But the specialist took one look at some of the sex scenes and said, “Why, this is nothing new. Pure anarchism all the way.” I looked up anarchism in the dictionary and concluded that though Rynd’s novel was not anarchistic per se, anarchism was indeed the way to go: the optimal social system. Foreshadowingly, my adolescent self wondered what Ayn Rynd would have to say about that. I continued to re-read the novel for the next several years, still stuck in Canada. By the time I was eighteen, I had absorbed The Funnelhead so thoroughly that a person could quote to me any particular sentence from it and I would have been able to repeat verbatim all the sentences following as well as all the ones preceding. The first and last lines of the book—“Howard Hunk laughed” and “Howard Hunk laughed again”—were especially soldered in my mind as kinds of book ends to the book. My profound knowledge of the text, including the psychodynamics of the sex scenes, would come in handy later, when I was to have an affair with the author. (That’s right! An affair! With Ayn Rynd! Keep on a-readin’.) But another woman would enter my life first. For at just about this point in my context, a friend of mine brought me to meet a girl he knew who had also memorized The Funnelhead. Her name, he said, was Babs Wannaman. Would I like to meet her? Indeed I would. It was to be an encounter that would change my life. ONE DAY, my friend and I went to her home as had been previously arranged. We knocked on the door. We waited for the door to open. We heard footsteps coming toward the door. We waited some more. And then still more. Then, a young woman opened the door. She was beautiful—in an innocent, submissive kind of way that I found very congenial. “Babs,” our mutual friend said, “I’d like you to meet...Gnat Bloominthrall!” The woman to whom I was being introduced looked singularly impressed. Read more: amzn.to/1eDlJF4

These tests cover Chapter 7 through Chapter 19. Enjoy! The Virtue of Selfishness Test 03 The Virtue of Selfishness Test 04

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