An Interview with Ayn Rand

Ayn Rand is universally accepted as the greatest (pre-Greatman) thinker the world has ever known. Her philosophy of objective selfishness has bettered the lives of dozens, teaching them how to break the cycle of their own mediocrity. She began the work of conditioning the minds of the uninformed masses, allowing at least some of them to glimpse objective reality. And most importantly she paved the way for me. I have only one small problem with Ayn Rand: she's dead. Imagine if you will what she and I could have accomplished together, with her acting as the Dagny Taggart to my John Galt. Quite frankly it angers me greatly that she chose to die before my coming. This was what I was thinking on last night as I took my quotidian dose of mescaline. It would seem that my desire to speak with Ayn was at that moment so strong that it communicated itself beyond the linear temporal framework, for when I awoke a few hours later I found the great lady herself perched upon the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door. I of course took the opportunity presented to engage in a dialog with Ayn. What follows in this post is a transcription of that interrogation.

Me: Mistress Rand, I thank you for joining me this evening. I imagine it must be a great honor for you.

Ayn Rand: A great honor indeed, Mr. Greatman. Thank you for calling me here.

Me: As I plan to share this discussion with the denizens of the cyberweb do you have anything you wish to say to them?

Ayn Rand: Only that I am gravely disappointed that mankind has failed to take my teachings to heart.

Me: Me too, me too. Perhaps though the blame lies not entirely with the children who refused to learn, but also with the teacher who failed to properly teach. But rest easy, I shall pick up where you left off, and this time make sure the message is beaten into the heads of the moronic masses.

Ayn Rand: For that you have my undying gratitude Mr. Greatman.

Me: Of course I do. Now let's get started, shall we? You were born in Russia, is that correct?

Ayn Rand: Yes, I was born in St. Petersburg.

Me: Does that then make you a red commie?

Ayn Rand: No sir, I despise communism.

Me: Not even a little bit pinko?

Ayn Rand: I stand firmly with the whites.

Me: Good to hear. I want to talk now about philosophy. One of the core tenets of your philosophy is that the initiation of force is evil, but what happens when the initiation of force is the best, or only, way to act in your own rational self-interest? For example, what if there is only one doughnut left in the break room at work and Steve from accounting is reaching for it. You know that it is in your own best interest to eat that doughnut, but you'll never reach it before Steve does. Is it not then okay to shove Steve and take the doughnut for yourself?

Ayn Rand: In the scenario which you describe it would indeed be okay to shove Steve; in fact it would be the only moral thing to do. It would however not be an initiation of force. By not allowing you to have the doughnut which you desired Steve is in fact the one initiating the force. Anyone standing in the way of you achieving your own interests is in fact initiating force against you. This is a basic concept, one which I am certain you already firmly grasp Mr. Greatman.

Me: You are right. I was testing you, and you passed. Now another test: you collected social security benefits. How do explain your taking advantage of such an evil collectivist program?

Ayn Rand: It was in my own rational self-interest to do so.

Me: Great answer, but it brings up an interesting question. In a situation such as this it would seem that we must abandon our philosophical beliefs in order to follow our philosophical beliefs. Is that not a contradiction?

Ayn Rand: No, contradictions cannot exist, therefore this cannot be a contradiction. We live in a reality which exists, and while we may work toward creating a new reality, we cannot ignore the framework of the existing reality. If in the existing reality the socialists wish to hand me money I am morally obligated to take it. It is as simple as that.

Me: Bravo my dear, you have passed my second test with flying colors. I must admit that I was afraid I might have tripped you up with that one. Let's move on to your influences. It is known that Aristotle provided the kernel which you then greatly expanded into your far-reaching philosophy, but some people say that there is evidence that you were also influenced by the famous degenerate Friedrich Nietzsche. Would you care to address these vile rumors?

Ayn Rand: Nietzsche was a perverted mystic, as evidenced by his man-love for the charlatan Zoroaster, who believed that the will took precedence over reason. I studied him briefly in my younger days, but only so as to understand how best to eviscerate him and his ideology. Never have I admired him, nor have his beliefs in any way poisoned the purity of my reason.

Me: And do you have anything to say about that other monster of pseudo-philosophy, Immanuel Kant?

Ayn Rand: If I were to express the fullness of my hatred for that buffoon we would be here all year. Allow me instead to just say that Kant was the worst human being to have ever lived, who brought about the worst catastrophe to have ever happened to our species. His Critiques, in particular his Critique of Pure Reason, are what began the human race's slow degeneration back into the bestial state. It is my greatest hope that you Mr. Greatman can triumph where I failed, and successfully combat the insidious evil which Kant released upon the world.

Me: Please rein in your emotions Ayn, you are embarrassing yourself. Rest assured that I will be the death of Kantian thought.

Ayn Rand: I apologize sir, sometimes I allow my womanly nature to get the better of me.

Me: It's quite understandable. Let us now discuss aesthetics, in particular the aesthetics of art. You propose that art can be measured by its objective aesthetic value, yet some of your detractors have opined that you only assigned objective value to art because your novels received poor critical reception. In effect they are saying that the aesthetic aspect of your philosophy was developed for no other reason than to attempt to prove your critics wrong.

Ayn Rand: Classic misdirection from my enemies. They propose that my aesthetic values were somehow influenced by my art. This is not possible, as those values are objective. No, it is in reality the other way around; my art was influenced by those objective aesthetic values, and is therefore objectively good.

Me: Speaking of your fiction, many people have told me that I remind them of a more personally powerful John Galt. Do you agree with this assessment?

Ayn Rand: I see you more as a hybrid, taking the best qualities of both John Galt and Howard Roark, and of course improving on them. Like Galt you are the paragon of ethical egoism, but like Roark you are a brilliant artist destined to change the world. You truly are the Perfectly Beautiful Man.

Me: So you see me as something of a Jonward Groalt?

Ayn Rand: Yes, exactly. Once again Mr. Greatman you are able to take my muddled thoughts and force them into cohesion.

Me: Other than your own novels, and of course my masterpiece, what would you say is your favorite work of fiction?

Ayn Rand: Fifty Shades of Grey, no question. It's just so sexy. Though I do like Twilight as well, mostly because of the innovative way in which the vampires sparkle.

Me: Interesting. I've grown a bit bored with this conversation, so I'm afraid we'll have to end here. Is there anything else you would like to say before we call it an evening?

Ayn Rand: You are an extremely attractive man Mr. Greatman. Would you mind terribly if I came down from my perch upon this bust and sat a little nearer to you?

Book Review: The Fellowship of the Ring

I have decided that since my novel has been idiotically labeled as fantasy I will endeavor to read and objectively review certain works of that ridiculous genre. My goal here is simple: to show how shallow and meaningless the Fantasy genre is, and therefor prove beyond any doubt that my world-shatteringly important novel cannot possibly belong to said genre. This is a monumental task which I undertake, and so I shall begin at the beginning, with the work that started it all; John Ronald Reuel Tolkien's The Fellowship of the Ring.

In brief, this is the story of physically and mentally weak half-humans who have willingly submitted themselves to the tyranny of societal obligation. The story begins with capitalist hero Bilbo Baggins planning a lavish birthday party for himself and his freeloading nephew Frodo. Every half-human in the village is invited to behold the greatness of Bilbo's wealth, and Bilbo calls in all his markers, even securing the services of a wizard, to ensure that the lazy villagers are suitably impressed. At the party our hero hands out extravagant gifts to all his guests, which on the surface may seem an altruistic misstep, but in actuality is a brilliant way for Bilbo to impress upon his inferiors just how much better he is than they. He then proceeds to give a speech in which he cleverly insults everyone, then disappears, thereby ensuring that he gets the last laugh. At this point of the novel I am still a fan of Bilbo; he is a rich half-man who has learned how to live his life for himself and use his vast wealth to get what he wants when he wants it. The other mediocre half-humans envy his power and importance, and like all Takers try to elevate the value of their mediocrity so as to devalue Bilbo's greatness. But Bilbo has stood strong against their vile attempts to tear him down for sixty-odd years, laughing in their pitiful faces all that time. I have only one small worry; Bilbo's soft spot for his do-nothing nephew.

After the party we discover that Bilbo plans to leave the village forever, and to bequeath his vast personal fortune to Frodo, who has done nothing to earn it. All he plans to keep is one small ring. While packing Bilbo is confronted by the wizard Gandalf, who forces him to leave the ring to Frodo. All my respect for Bilbo is now gone. Not only has he given everything he owns to his lazy nephew, but he has also allowed himself to be dominated by someone else's will. On the other hand I feel that Gandalf has potential; the way he used his great personal power to break Bilbo's will impressed me. Sadly this impression would not last.

Bilbo is now gone from the story, and it is at this point that we begin our journey with the pathetic Frodo. To be brief about it Frodo discovers that the ring his uncle left him is in fact extraordinarily powerful, and instead of taking that power for himself he decides to travel with his friends, Sam, Merry, and Perry, to the collectivist enclave of Riverdell, where the fate of the ring, Frodo's personal property, will be decided by people who have no ownership claim to it. Along the way they run into trouble and have to be saved by the powerful hippie Thomas Bombadil. Bombadil refuses to journey with the half-humans, presumably because he needs to tend to his marijuana plants, and thankfully we never see him again. Before the group reaches Riverdell we are introduced to two more characters of note; Aragorn, a failure constantly whining about about his family's lost glory rather than making something of himself, and Glorfindel, an incredibly powerful elf. Once at Riverdell Frodo bows to the demands of a council of bureaucrats, who decide that the ring of power should be destroyed. Why this should be done is never clearly explained; all we are given is some leftist jibber-jabber about the corrosive nature of power. A group of disparate persons, the titular fellowship, is chosen to take the ring to a volcano and throw it in. Startlingly Glorfindel is not chosen to be in this group, though the much less powerful elf Legoland is. Only one person from amongst this fellowship is in any way intriguing. Boromir is the prince of some place or other, and he wants to use the ring to destroy his enemies. Of course the pantywaists who comprise the rest of the fellowship shout him down. They would rather see the ring destroyed than allow Boromir, or anyone else, to achieve personal power and distinguish themselves from the pedestrian masses.

What follows in an insipid and uninspired story of weak-willed people constantly sacrificing themselves on the alter of the Greater Good. Only one character, the ostensible antagonist Sauron, acts in his own rational self-interest, while we the readers are treated to several hundred pages of disturbingly short-sighted protagonists and their naïvely altruistic philosophies. One can only hope that as this story continues into the next two novels, which I will not read, Frodo will finally wake up and utilize the ring for his own personal profit, or failing that, Sauron will regain the ring, which belonged to him originally, and destroy those who oppose him. Likely though the story will not end that way. How exactly it will end I do not know, or care to know. What I do know however is this: if Bilbo had left the ring to the Sackville-Bagginses instead of his worthless nephew Frodo none of us would have had to suffer through this travesty.

Magician's First Maxim Free on Amazon

I understand that not all of you have the means to purchase my novel.  Normally I would scold you for your inability to generate money; your laziness physically disgusts me.  But I have come to realize that the filthy, penniless masses are the very people who can most benefit from my wisdom, and so for a short time I am offering my novel, Magician's First Maxim, for free on Amazon.com.  I am setting aside my strongly held capitalist beliefs so that you may gain the knowledge of  how to rise up and live your lives.  Take this opportunity that I am so graciously providing you to better yourselves.  Your poverty is the product of your own weakness, of your inability to live selfishly.  Allow my novel to impart upon you the strength and ruthlessness you will need if you are ever to break free from your parasitic lifestyle, and become a real person.

Magician's First Maxim

A Note on Genre Fallacies and Feces Consumption

It has come to my attention that some people are under the impression that my first mind expanding novel belongs in the Fantasy genre.  These people are imbeciles, unable, or unwilling, to confront the truth.  They shout that since my novel contains wizards, witches, magic swords, dragons, goblins, and revolves around a quest to find a magical artifact, that it must therefore be fantasy.  They fail to recognize that the above mentioned things are mere vehicles for the larger message.  As everyone knows the Fantasy genre is an endless, repetitive loop of moral turpitude, a serpent defecating into its own mouth, if you will.  Since the publication of the reprobate John Ronald Reuel Tolkien's simplistic and depraved trilogy fans of the genre have demanded that nothing change, that all must fit within the narrow framework of what has come before.  And yet my novel does not fit within that framework, does not follow the tired path fantasy fans have come to expect.  My novel is something new, filled with fresh ideas and bursting with moral clarity.  So I ask you, how can my novel be fantasy?  The answer is that it cannot.  These deviant fans of this worn out genre may be content to feed on the feces of the serpent, but I expect better of you, my children.  Do not let the beast defecate into your mouths as well.

I Am Born

Greetings children, you have dreamed me and I have come.  For years you have called for me, wallowing in your depraved misery, searching for your moral compass.  And for years I have resisted that call.  I told myself that you did not deserve me, that you could offer me nothing, that you should stand up and live your own lives.  But after much contemplation I have found a small flaw in my logic.  You can indeed offer me something: great personal power.  And though you still do not deserve me I find it in my own rational self-interest to lead you nonetheless.  And so I will serve as your moral compass, and teach you how to live your lives in service to me.  Please do not thank me, I do not do this thing for you, I do it for myself.

The first thing you barbarous troglodytes need is instruction, and I have agonized over how best to deliver that instruction to you.  My problem is simple; you are not yet awake enough to comprehend my truth.  Should I hand it to you in all its unveiled glory your tiny minds would most certainly explode.  Therefore I had to find a different delivery method, one which would allow me to impart small pieces of the whole unto you in digestible chunks, one which would allow me to condition your minds slowly so that you may one day be ready to accept the great knowledge which I, and I alone, possess.  The question was in which format would your simple brains be best able to process my gifts.  My message must reach your subconscious, while my method keeps your conscious mind occupied.  The answer was clear: fiction.  After years of research I have discovered that the best way to condition the minds of children is by telling them stories, stories which contain cleverly hidden moral truths.  And so I have decided to write a series of novels, ones in which you will find action, adventure, political intrigue, true love, and other important human themes.  But within these novels will run a vein of perfect moral clarity, and while reading you will become infected by unblemished understanding.  Most people will not get it, and those who do not will rail against me and my wisdom.  Do not mistake them, they only seek to deny you the greatness which they are unable to attain, their venomous words nothing more than the desperate cries of fools forever doomed to live in darkness.  But those of you who do get it, those of you capable of grasping my revelations, will be changed, will be remade in my image.  You will become my prime movers, and the world will tremble at your coming.  You are welcome.