Atlas Shrugged, 2010 reading journal/notes/? Part 1

Quotes from Atlas Shrugged that need answers:

"Dagny, the whole world's in a terrible state right now. I don't know what's wrong with it, but something's very wrong. Men have to get together and find a way out. But who's to decide which way to take unless it's the majority? I guess that's the only fair method of deciding, I don't see any other. I suppose somebody's got to be sacrificed. If it turned out to be me, I have no right to complain...."
This is Dan Conway, talking to Dagny right after the Anti-Dog-Eat-Dog rule passed, p.80 in my current copy of the book. In this quote we get the idea of valuing the collective good over that of any individual, the power of numbers over that of facts and realty, and individual sacrifice. Rand has definite answers for each of these components, but it is less clear what happens to these answers when one throws in the idea of sustainability, a goal which Rand would either have to reject, or situate within the context of the individual. I think maybe the problem with Objectivist sustainability might not be that it is a contradiction in terms, but that it doesn't allow the government to use force to implement sustainability at all. Rand assumes businessmen are good, but as Murray Rothbard pointed out in his critique of Rand's work, big-businessmen are also politicians, and they play dirty, so that while a man like Francisco d'Anconia or Hank Reardon would be honest and honorable and would not need government supervision, real business as it is done now requires more regulation and regular supervision. This is not to say it would be impossible for 'good' businessmen to come to power in the absence of the more paternalistic or restrictive regulations, and surely some of the big businessmen now are better than people want to admit.

[ Not that I've met people that really remind me of the other men in this book, but it is a very different experience reading about Hank Rearden this time. I never liked him all that much before, but mostly because I had a rather hard time picturing him in my mind. He always wound up looking like Jimmy Stewart, which works well enough for the character, but I was never attracted to Jimmy Stewart. This time someone else's manner is creeping into Hank's character, and he is much improved.]

I still find the term 'Rearden metal' obnoxious, but then again we have Bessemer steel in real life, which is almost certainly the real-world version of Rand's story here. Henry Bessemer was British, and the details of his story are different, but he did end up financing his own development of steel production using his method, because no one else wanted to use it.

Note to self for later: Ayn Rand refers to differential equations in such a way as makes me wonder just how far Rand got in math. I know she liked math and studied it in college, but I also know that the expectations for bachelor of arts degrees have shifted since she graduated. For me, ordinary differential equations was the most advanced course I was required to take for a math minor. Had I continued to finish the major I would have had to take partial differential equations, and a few other higher-level courses. How much math did Rand know? I have always considered the concept of a differential equation quite straightforward, at least since someone told me what they meant by the term. (ref. p 93)

I think I have at least some idea now why Dagny had to choose John Galt over Francisco. Francisco d'Anconia wasn't in love with Dagny. He loved her, but because she was the embodiment of Taggart Transcontinental. John Galt was in love with her; while both men could recognize that she was the true motive power behind her company, Galt's interest in her was personal, in response to who she was as an individual very capable woman, in full recognition of the fact that in the absence of her company she could begin a new one. And, a John Galt played by Brad Pitt would almost have to be sexier than any man they could cast for d'Anconia.

Ayn Rand seems to have believed that it was impossible, or perhaps just unacceptably immoral, to work towards fixing people, and as firmly felt she was alone, having never truly met her equal. Surely since she built up her philosophy, she might consider those who needed her to teach them her philosophy to be less than her full equals, and if she couldn't accept the idea that people could be fixed psychologically, she'd not be able to accept Nathaniel Branden's ideas even if they hadn't had their bizarre romantic drama.

Depressive episodes from seeing too much?

Probably not, but you never know. In less than 6 hours, I went from something approximating normal to this sort of moodiness bordering on depression, with no new stimuli. Sure, I am still not sure how the hell I can arrange written exams so that I can physically complete them, and I will still be somewhat worried about that until I have talked to all my professors who administer such exams and after I have successfully found a solution, really, but that is the sort of problem that is fairly routine. I am still a bit frustrated at not having anyone with whom I can discuss the ideas in my head, but there has never really been anyone, so nothing has really changed. If I had to characterize in more detail the state of my mind, moreover, I would say it is more tired than depressed, and not as in sleepy. I can still feel the sensation from my reading this weekend, the same sort of 'awareness' that I always feel when constructing lattices of information in my head, or when I am trying to wrap my head around the universe. That is in fact exactly what I was doing this weekend, using the model Mr. Latour created, and drawing it out, using all I know about space and time, and all the bits of science I have ever absorbed, only more of it fit together this time. In fact, it wasn't so much that I had bits I couldn't fit, as I am just not sure how to translate what I ended up with into text, to communicate it to others, let alone how to make it useful.

The Urantia Book, something rather bizarre that can be found in most city libraries, a rather entertaining romp worth trying to wrap your head around just for practice, btw, talked a lot about the idea of the limits to human understanding, and offered the reader challenges to just try to imagine the unimaginable. As a kid, and this was in about 6th grade, so a while ago, I fancied that some of what this book took as impossible for us to imagine was not so hard after all. In college, in physics classes, occasionally professors would mention the gulf between what even the poorer students in those classes could imagine and what they could, especially in quantum physics, because we started out from different assumptions.

All this may not 'go anywhere' tonight, but it came to mind as linked to this tired brain I am about to send off to bed for the night. At the end of the first season of the revived Doctor Who, the Doctor's life is saved by Rose, who takes the whole of the time vortex in her head, and while it might have killed her eventually, she survived a small dose of it. Donna Noble, several seasons later, is forcibly retired from accompanying the Doctor, because she has a timelord's consciousness stuffed in her brain. This all begs the question, what are the limits to what humans can understand. Every so often someone has the balls to suggest that we have solved all the big problems in science and are now just mopping up the details. (So far they all have balls, but if we wait long enough I am sure a woman will come up with something silly like that too.) So far, something has always come along to stir things up shortly after, and if Latour's model, and the glorious 4-D thing in my head are right, there is no end to science, just an expanding event horizon of our collective human understanding.

Back to constructing great glass-bead games

This week's theory reading gets to be a lot more thoroughly read and considered, and decidedly before the day it's supposed to be done, a treatment that really should be the case for everything I read for any and all classes, but thanks to the absolute limits of time and energy is often short-cutted to my detriment. I don't think I could have had a useful interpretation or reaction to this one, if I was trying to read it less thoroughly. Bruno Latour's metaphysics, as explained in Politics of Nature, while brilliant, is the sort of stuff that requires a lot of time and caffeinated sugary soft-drinks, and even then it makes one's brain tired rather easily. Actually, I tried to get this reading started at least once a week every week since the semester began, and until this weekend, as my schoolmates could attest, I really hated it. I in fact hated it until late Friday night, after I had spent a few hours letting my thoughts drift back to Herman Hesse's glass-bead games, that lovely idea of a way to take the beautiful lace of knowledge in my head and put it out into the world, to communicate that intricate beauty to my friends. I am still not thrilled with all of Latour's new terms, especially as I am not sure that the words in the English translation of his French ideas have the connotations necessary to convey his ideas as he would have stated them in French. Not knowing much French, I can't test this idea by reading his French writings, so I am left feeling a bit uneasy about some of it. Still, Latour's model creates out of the chaos of the Universe an emerging lace, as collectives join up the points to create giant abstract bead-games as collaborative, democratic, evolving narrative frameworks.

Actually this unease is not so bad, within Latour's own ideas, because when I have reconciled all that unease and congealed all of my impressions of his metaphysics into something aproblematic, I run the risk of creating out of this complex topic of concern a rigid fact, missing the subtleties that would then remain unexamined by me in my mistaken certainty. I have some issues with some of his language about rationality, still, reading as a Randite Objectivist, but interestingly, I think there is enough reasonableness in Latour's world that Rand's ideas could be quite compatible. I don't know any other Objectivists with whom I could expect to discuss this possibility, unfortunately, and for reasons I won't go into in print just yet, I have little hope of meeting any. I have just the vague impression now of what Objectivism would look like when mapped into Latour's world, but that may be a good summer project.

I am rather curious as to how this book will be received by my class, now. The biggest limitation I can see with approaching the Universe as a complex mesh of interacting propositions/points/glass beads is that we humans are specialized into our respective fields, and it takes a lot of seemingly unproductive time to reach a point where one has read and studied and thought enough to understand more than a small part of the whole mass of the sum total of human knowledge. In reading this book, I have read Plato, and Darwin, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and thanks to my History of Science class a few years ago I've spent a semester looking at how humans have dealt with the concepts of space and time. In addition, I have all these science images- the old idea of ether and of the newer reincarnation of an ether-like stuff, the idea of binomial nomenclature of species and the extent to which that has controlled systematists' perceptions of organisms, the constant redefinition of genetics as we add more information to what we think we know, and my favorite, the image of the light-boundary of our Universe, beyond which we cannot know about the Universe yet, and which is always expanding with time. All of this, plus my readings of Herman Hesse's Magister Ludi/ The Glass Bead Game and of Douglas Adams, was nearly indispensable for me to digest and absorb Latour's model of the Universe. This is not a criticism of the validity of his model, but it is certainly a potential problem, if he is right. How can we adjust our systems to create more people capable of thinking across so many disciplines, so that each discipline is not reinventing the wheel, and so that when these disciplines try to communicate with each other they can actually understand where they already agree?

Arrogance inherent in theory

One of the books I read last week, I think for class, mentioned just in passing the observation that to write the sorts of theory that get at the fundamental structures of the universe requires a certain measure of hubris. Even having been an Objectivist for over a decade now, I am still wrestling this part of intellectual life. If I was not handicapped I probably would have moved on to some mainstream job by now and would not be bothered by any of this any more, but as a handicapped person, my very capable brain is easily my best asset, and intellectual pursuits are easily the best, most rewarding part of my life. I almost never fit in with any social group as well as I'd like, and much of what my friends and schoolmates entertain themselves with is difficult or impossible for me to enjoy, but taking the wealth of ideas from all the subjects I've studied and weaving them into something new- that is what makes this life worth living, even during the rough parts.

Unfortunately the joy that comes of stringing my ever more elaborate glass bead games, seeking the perfection of knowledge Herman Hesse alluded to, that pleasure is private. The magic of the full glass bead game is that it was knowledge-made-art, a way of making all these fantastic connections between factoids and dynamics communicable to an audience. In absence of this medium, the beauty of the weavings in my mind are locked there until I can figure out how to articulate each tedious strand and all the loops that draw the web into its complete shape. It can be frustrating enough just trying to explain this image of the glass bead game, even to folks who read Hesse's book. Trying to communicate any of those incompletely articulated bits of ideas is almost pointless. The game becomes instead trying to design mini-weavings that can be contained in a single discipline, so that in this world I can somehow make myself fit in, to finish enough school, earn a high enough scholarly rank, and find a suitable job, where I can continue to develop the words to enclose and describe my particular Game.

How did I get to grumbling and whining about all this anyway? Well, to any reasonable person, the way all this translates seems to be that I am insufferably arrogant, a know-it-all who isn't at all as good as I think I am. The fact is that while everyone else was getting jobs, learning to drive, playing sports, dating and having an active social life, I was reading and thinking about stuff. I was very fortunate to have been born with a brain capable of genius functioning, because it gave me something to offset everything else, but in any social group none of this context matters much. Nobody likes arrogant people, and very few like people who know too much. Right now, actually, I don't know 'too much,' at least relative to years past. I have ideas as to how to expand models of ecosystems and societies using differential equations and matrix algebra, but I haven't done calculus in so long I don't remember the very basic integrals any longer. And, in every place I have been so far, that loss of knowledge has been somewhat beneficial, allowing people to consider me approachable.

Lately, though I am in school with many brilliant people now, in an environment where I am hardly the only active, creative mind, I am once again growing frustrated. Maybe it is just our culture, but whatever the reasons, I find myself feeling the need to apologize again for what I know, or trying to temper what I say so as to not intimidate other people with my 'brilliance.' I really do not know anyone yet with whom I could discuss my ideas fully, and every time I move into a new discipline the chances of my meeting such people decreases a bit. Surely there are people around my department, perhaps even people I am acquainted with already- there is almost certainly a disconnect between the reality of my surroundings and my perception of it, and knowing other people is so much harder than knowing about inanimate stuff.

In the meantime, though, I am still weaving away at the fabric of the universe in isolation, feeling all too keenly all those popular observations about the loneliness of true genius. It doesn't, after all, make you rich, or even wealthy enough to be safe from homelessness; it doesn't win you friends, or attract more people to love you, and in fact, it tends to make life more solitary and alone, even when people are all around. Being a genius doesn't mean you automatically get great grades in grad school, because there is always a canon of accepted ideas, even in such diffuse fields as political science, and the more you weave together ideas from outside that canon, the harder it is to fit your own world-view into the context of that one discipline. 'Isms' and other such groupings of ideas, especially, tend to weaken, and become fuzzy, as the many other possible orderings of information already in your head make those seemingly obvious disciplinary tools seem more arbitrary.

I suppose maybe the most valuable take-home message I could glean from all this is that while there are, no doubt, coping mechanisms that geniuses have adopted to make it easier to live in society, and enjoy that life, I have obviously not found them yet. I have been reading and digesting all sorts of ideas about my extrinsic universe, and perhaps when I have time to do so, I should be reading biographies and especially autobiographies from some of the geniuses who succeeded, so that, since I am almost resolved that I will in fact continue living past this upcoming birthday, I might have more of a chance at having a truly happy, fulfilling life.

New standards or cheap imitations

I am still torn as to what I think about the various pop-Celtic programs that have been around lately. I was never one of the critics grumbling about the lack of cultural authenticity in the music of the Irish Rovers, and frankly I prefer quite a few of their interpretations of traditional Irish tunes over the more traditional arrangements other groups produced. It's easy in today's America-bashing environment to get caught up in non-American music for all the wrong reasons, and I know quite a few people who have been listening to 'world music' for just those reasons. I am currently in a sort of British roots kick that has everything to do with my genealogy research. Knowing where on those islands many of my ancestors lived, I would like to have a mental image of what their lives were like. What did they think about and read and listen to? Thus the YouTube browsing for traditional Celtic music.

Of course, music is not dead, the way ancient history and Latin are. Celtic music is constantly being remade, and some of the newer stuff is quite good. I have reconciled myself to the fact that the Celtic Thunder singers are entertaining and made some good music. Their live video recording of "Caledonia" is by far my favorite, so far, and I have listened to practically every recording of this song on the Internet in making that ranking. The High Kings, a group also linked to this pop-Celtic entertainment spectrum, is also quite good, and I do hope they continue to record together.

I am not so sure, though, about Celtic Woman. My biggest issues with this program have to do with their choice of songs, and here I am confronting the question of song standards. On the one hand I know many songs from recent decades that are known independent of their writers and of any person who sang them. I've heard enough versions of "Sentimental Journey," "Baby, It's Cold Outside," and just about anything else Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra or Bing Crosby ever sang that I would have to google those songs to find out who actually recorded them first or where they came from. Yet, I find it very hard to imagine songs I know Josh Groban recorded, and especially songs he wrote, being picked up by other singers. It was annoying listening to Rhydian Roberts singing Mr. Groban's songs, even though Rhydian has such a similar voice that his versions of those songs seemed more like poor copies of what I'd already heard.

Celtic Woman, though, takes a bunch of women I've never heard of, and has them sing insipidly sweet versions of all sorts of songs, very few of them having anything to do with Celts. After watching Josh teasing the anthem aspect of "You Raise Me Up," I can't help but laugh a little when I hear that song, but when these ladies sing it, and yes I am listening to their version now, that anthemic pop song becomes this sort of heavenly choir singing elevator music instead. Panis Angelicus turns into something similar in their hands. This production has also included "Ave Maria," "The Prayer." Add to this the Rhydian Roberts recordings of "To Where You Are," "The Prayer," and "Anthem," and its starting to seem like this cheap imitation idea is getting too much popularity for what it's worth. It's not, after all, like these guys are on par with the Beatles, having recorded so much that if there are a few remakes, there are so many originals among them. These remakes are all these folks seem to do.

But, on the other hand, every song is written by someone, and certainly not all of the material in Josh Groban's first album was his, first. "The Prayer" was certainly not new, nor was "Vincent." And he's gone on to write his own songs, making his own original music, much of which may last long enough for people to be remaking it long after he's gone. And Ella Fitzgerald was 'just' a singer, not a songwriter. We don't dismiss her as cheap because she recorded songs people had heard before. I think it was in an interview of David Foster that the idea was mentioned of Josh fitting into a particular musical niche, that he could make it as a balladeer, because even with a glut of pop singers, we really had no one doing ballads any more, and the idea of a standard song is part of that tradition. Maybe we, as a culture, are forgetting just a bit how that part of music making works. In our concern over digital copyright protections and our unfulfillable taste for novelty perhaps the idea of a song as common culture is in need of rehearsal.

Future-oriented thinking and falling

Having finished reading Breakthrough again, post-class discussion, I still really liked this book. However, I will concede a point to my classmates that it does little to really provide practical policy direction. Breakthrough really is strongly rooted in psychology, not political science or environmental science, and while I really did enjoy reading a book the draws together so much of what I know, it may have been difficult to appreciate within the context of our course. Whether their criticism of piecemeal environmental fixes is warranted or not, and regardless of the viability and efficacy of their energy investment and health care proposals, this really is a good read. I am also quite certain from the parallels between this book and President Obama's speeches and online presence that he must have been strongly influenced by these two men and their ideas. Certainly they know each other somewhat, from the mention of Senator Obama's involvement in a policy project in the latter portion of this book. And just as certainly, Mr. Obama has adopted a very positive, future-oriented tone in all of his addresses to his public. His State of the Union address, given within a time of economic uncertainty easily equal to that of the Great Depression, was designed to acknowledge the nation's problems and inject hope and empowerment into the American people.

I've been playing through a few of my newer albums this weekend, while reading, and with all this thinking about optimism in politics, part of my brain went off on a tangent on the word "fall." It occurs a lot in Breakthrough, often in quotes and paraphrases from environmentalists and social critics, usually in a context of man's fall from some past Eden or semi-Utopia to our present depraved conditions. However, in my playlists I have two songs in particular that also center on falling. One is sung by Josh Groban, "Let Me Fall," from a Cirque de Soleil program; the other is "Fall," sung by Clay Walker. Both are meant to be more uplifting/positive, at least in that they both ascribe no fault to the person falling, and imply that the result of falling need not be disastrous, but they differ markedly in explaining what keeps the fall from ending badly.

Mr. Walker's song rests in the realm of community, in that the speaker is there to catch the one falling, cushioning their fall, a fall that has been just waiting to happen. In this narrative, the fall is occasioned by letting go and accepting the weakness and exhaustion underlying the constant effort put forth by the one falling. I am sure many if not all of us have experienced this to some extent, that sense of hanging on by one's toenails in the face of fatigue or lingering fatalism. Certainly when there is someone there to catch you, there's nothing wrong with accepting their gift of support. But too often there is no one, which is what makes this song not just soothing but potentially quite depressing.

"Let Me Fall," on the other hand, puts its faith in the ability of the individual falling to find their own strength and courage to not just deal with the consequences of having fallen, but to let go and fall knowing there is no one waiting below with open arms or a safety net. Where Clay Walker's song is grounding, a story of a fall to the earth, Josh Groban's song is a narrative of falling and quite possibly catching the wind to fly, like the fall of an albatross. This song doesn't pretend falling is any less scary for our being able to fly, nor is it impossible for us to crash, but the only way to get into the air is to let go. Ideally I suppose it would be best to have that strength and courage and still have someone waiting in case of a crash, of course, but why make someone wait on the ground if they could fly too?

Rereading Breakthrough

Francisco Domingo Carlos Andres Sebastian d'Anconia sat on the floor playing marbles.
-Ayn Rand, from Atlas Shrugged


One of those odd discussions that takes on a mind of its own, two weeks ago my environmental political theory seminar was reading a book called Breakthrough(Nordhaus and Shellenberger, 2007). As often happens with school reading, I got behind in my reading just enough that while I finished the book in time for class I had to read the second half too quickly to really get more than the gist of it. In any case, I really liked this book. Their argument is not so much against negative pessimistic approaches to environmentalism, life, etc., as it is in favor of positive optimistic constructive approaches and attitudes. Much of what they are saying refers back to what I know pretty well already from psychology, and makes a lot of sense. The first half of their book focuses more on environmentalism and why it is outdated as a movement. Really a lot of what they said in these chapters has come up in previous weeks' discussions as our own ideas, only their phrasing is inspiring and quotable. The second half shifts to socioeconomic issues, with similar arguments and ideas. Conversations before class with fellow classmates was overwhelmingly positive about this book.

So how did it fare in class? Miserably. I honestly wish I had taken more notes on my class and its reactions, because it would perhaps be more interesting than anything the authors said. What was wrong with this book? It was unrealistic, for one. It somehow was not grounded in reality, and as the discussion grew, practically no one had anything good to say about it. Perhaps some of this had to do with the amount of psychology used in building this book's points, since as far as I am aware, I am the only person in that group who studied psychology, let alone earned a degree in it. Still, the idea was pretty simple, that how people perceive their situation affects their ability to respond to it constructively. If people feel powerless, weak and victimized, or if they feel that they are unable to avoid doing wrong, they are not going to be mobilized by this to improve. Given the same physical conditions, if those same people feel that empowered, strong and capable, they can not only be mobilized to act, but they can become independent agents that will figure out how to act more effectively. In practice, this means maybe throwing out a lot of what is currently done for such ideals as the environment, justice and freedom.

This may be a huge part of the seductiveness of Objectivism, too. Ayn Rand's philosophy insists that each person thinks for himself and makes his own independent decisions about her ideas and about everything else, and teaches that each of us, barring mental illness, is fully capable of this. The various groups and institutes dedicated to teaching her work can subvert or at least undermine this, by spoon-feeding to young would-be Objectivists the right answers to all the 'right' questions, from what to think about economics to how to appreciate art and which musical composers are good. As much as I like the idea of an Objectivist party, I am disinclined to trust that the people at the head of such a group really are a) independent-minded Objectivists, and b) leaders worthy of the trust a statesman must hold to function in politics. In the back of my mind, really since high-school, I have always held the untarnished image of Francisco d'Anconia as a sort of litmus paper, with which to measure those who might earn such respect from me as Francisco could were he real.