The Journals of Ayn Rand Read online

  His great asset is the fact that he is by no means dull. He has nothing new to offer, but he is perfect at the old and he can do the conventional better than anyone else—the secret and key to his success. He sells pills of bromides, but he can devise brand new coatings for them—the sure way to popular acclaim. He is genuinely witty—[usually] in a sharp, insidiously sarcastic way. His sarcasm, for which he is famous, is an art: it is subtle, elaborately polite, personal, “deadly” according to those in his frame of mind. Elaborate politeness is another of his specialties. His manners are impeccable. He speaks with a faint touch of the broad “a”—just faint enough to be considered charming and distinguished. “Distinguished” is his favorite adjective to apply to himself.

  Sarcasm is his pet weapon—as natural to him as smell to the skunk—as a method of offense and defense. He is magnificently, maliciously catty. He does not fight his opponents by straight argument or logical refutation—he disqualifies them from the game, dismisses them by mockery. Perhaps he has no refutation to offer, but that does not matter for his purpose. He communicates to his audience the feeling of his superiority over his opponents, the impression that he does not answer them because they are not even worth answering. With an intelligent audience this does not work so well, but then he is not after an intelligent audience. With the rest—the vast majority, the pseudo-intellectuals particularly—the trick works like magic. He convinces them and wins them to his point of view by a snappy crack and a superior shrug at the right time.

  Individualism, of course, and everything connected with it, is the great butt of his cracks. Everything heroic is dismissed with a: “My dear fellow, this is utter, childish rot. Very pretty, but one must grow up, you know.” He goes in a big way for the “scientific spirit” and uses all the latest scientific terms, all the phony, complicated “isms,” coining a few of his own, when necessary. His pet convenience is vague generalizations, the terms devoid of all concrete reality, the kind that take volumes to interpret and that can be used nicely to muddle up an issue, while giving the appearance of great scientific precision. The inferiority complex thus created in the audience, which is not so glibly familiar with the terms, is also a great help in making converts and winning his point.

  “Above all, let us be modern” is his pet slogan—with “modernity” given his own interpretation. With the help of his erudition, it is easy to point out that the whole process of history has been leading in his direction, has been but a prelude to the “modern” ideas which he represents and which are, as he can prove, the goal, culmination and apotheosis of all human progress. There is also the little trick of astounding and confusing his opponents with his stunts of memory: he can quote, without a second’s hesitation, the date of any battle in ancient Greece, of the birth and death of any pharaoh of Egypt or any parliamentary leader of England, along with the date, number of workers and financial damage in dollars and cents of any strike. If his opponent doesn’t know as much—who, ladies and gentlemen of the audience, is obviously the more educated man and obviously in the right?

  Naturally, his sympathies are always to the Left. But he does not assume the pose or appearance of a soap-box proletarian. He is friendly to them, but faintly superior. After all, as he likes to refer to himself, he is “a gentleman and a scholar.” He may defend the lower classes, but his consuming vanity will never let him appear as one of them in a society where they are still recognized as the lower classes. As long as things are as they are, he will preserve all the outward symbols of superiority as it is commonly understood around him, and, above all, he will be accepted as a superior in his social intercourse. Hence, his immaculate appearance, his exquisite grooming, not too foppish, only slightly so, not too startling, only quietly, conservatively elegant. He likes to think of his “conservative good taste,” where personal appearance is concerned. The same applies to his voice and to his style of writing—smooth, elegant, well-rounded, just spiced with his exquisite sarcasm.

  His manner with people is quiet, so polite, very faintly effeminate—and “brilliant.” He is a “brilliant” conversationalist and storyteller. He is an addition to any party and a favorite with hostesses, particularly intellectual ones. He is never offensive; if he wishes to insult someone with his sarcasm—it is done so exquisitely that the insulted one seems offensive. His manner is friendly in a cool, impersonal, slightly patronizing way. He is never emotional and has never lost his perfect poise. If, sometimes, he chooses to make his voice tremble with intense feeling, it is done artistically, like a gentleman, and one gets the impression of great emotion hidden under a perfect self-control, which creates in his listeners admiration and a conviction of his utter sincerity. His pose is eternal and immutable; it is the same in a drawing room, on a lecture platform, in a bathroom or during sexual intercourse : cool, self-possessed, faintly patronizing.

  He loves to address an audience—the larger, the better—and never misses a chance to do so. Is perfectly at home on the speaker’s platform. He loves and devours publicity—the “dignified” kind, but does not talk about this. (“My dear, I never read my clippings—haven’t the faintest idea what they say about me.” He knows every word of every clipping by heart.)

  He has an attractive, colorful style, with a great deal of merit in form, if not in content, which makes him easy to read or to hear. Wins great popular success through this. He is adept at coining phrases, epigrams and “mots justes”; he loves to know that he is quoted.

  When talking beautifully of the proletariat, he never visualizes himself as one of them. He is the superior benefactor, the teacher and leader, the benevolent father of his flock. [He views himself as] “a shepherd,” along with the conception of others as sheep. Spiritually, he is very much the condensation of the worst features of a pedagogue. He started life as a teacher; he is now a college professor of esthetics, with art and architecture as specialty. The experience of molding the lives and destinies of young pupils gave the impetus to his absorbing desire to mold the lives and destinies of all men. On the side, as a pet hobby, he is a vocational advisor. He thinks of himself and demands to be considered as the final authority on every subject. He is pettily impatient and intolerant of opposition, of any refusal to take his word as the final proof.

  Extremely fastidious in his clothes and his living room, although his bedroom and study are inclined to be somewhat dusty and sloppy. His daily routine is timed to the second and unbroken. He cannot be interrupted during his writing, even if it be a long distance phone call from his dying mother. His meals are eaten on time and his calories scientifically counted, his food rations being weighed on apothecaries’ scales. His daily cold shower is timed with a stop watch. The room where he receives visitors is exquisitely simple and modern, its few ornaments consisting of rare and precious art objects and old editions. He is a connoisseur of wines and never orders less than the best, which he cannot afford often. (“What’s not good enough for Morgan is not good enough for me.”) He proclaims the supremacy and “rhythm” of toil, but his hardest physical exertion is to brush his teeth. (“After all, mental labor is the hardest labor.”)

  The “friend of humanity” has no friends. A great many admirers and fans, particularly women-fans who write him passionate letters after every lecture or radio-broadcast. But no real “pals.” His cold pose forbids it. He does not feel any lack from it. Loving all humanity as he does, he has never loved a single human being. When approached for help or money, he refuses, but makes the person who asked feel guilty and cruel at having imposed on his better feelings. “My dear, I am refusing for your own good. Believe me, it is harder for me than it is for you. But it is against my principles. It will destroy your feeling of self-reliance.” Intent on saving mankind, he has never helped a man. He does not do favors. When he stuffs choice positions with his protégés, it is done for his own sake and for the sake of his principles, never for the protégé. He prides himself on the epi thets : “impartial,” “fair,” “objective” and “incorruptible.”

  The question of sex is a touchy one to him. Here, as in everything else, he craves superiority. He is no great power as a male and he is very conscious that his sexual organs are rather inadequate. He makes up for it by the most exquisite and varied perversions. (“My dear, we must be modern.”) Has a great collection of the most unusual aphrodisiacs (all the “happy boxes” and then some). Loves to think of himself as a great lover and as irresistible to women. (“For the life of me, I don’t see what attracts women to my unprepossessing self, God knows I’m no Apollo, and you’d never think that intellectual appeal counts in sex, would you?”) He has had mistresses—more than one at a time—but never a love affair. Visits whorehouses when necessary. Is very fastidious about his mistresses—they must be, above all, beautiful and feminine. Doesn’t go for intellectual women. His mistresses are seldom the pick of the chorus, but a good second best. He will not be seen with an unattractive woman. Makes a point of this. (He will have nothing but the best.)

  Is naturally liberal in his sexual views, contending that the family is a bourgeois institution, but does not go for the subject of sex much. Too physical and consequently unimportant. After all, he is concerned with the purely intellectual aspects of life.

  Although raised with religion and having undergone a mild attack of religious hysteria in his adolescence, he is now an agnostic, rather prone to frown on religion. After all, religion is a sort of individual refuge and as such it is dangerous. His insatiable lust for spiritual power would rather focus all emotion on the earthly collective, because the earthly collective—“c‘est moi.”

  He is not a member of the Communist Party, because that Party is still considered lower class. (“Besides, I am a man of science, not a politician.”) He is not an op
en supporter of Soviet Russia. (“After all, I am an impartial observer.”) But his sympathies are with both—fervently, but always “objectively.”

  He is a man so completely poisoned spiritually, that his puny physical appearance seems to be a walking testimonial to the spiritual pus filling his blood vessels.

  1937

  [After writing her character description of Toohey, AR attended two lectures by a prominent British socialist, Harold Laski (1893-1950). During an interview in 1961, she recalled: Laski was the soul of Ellsworth Toohey in the flesh. After seeing Laski, I just had to remember how he lectured—his mannerisms, the pseudo-intellectual snideness, the whole manner of speaking on important subjects with inappropriate sarcasm as his only weapon, acting as if he were a charming scholar in a drawing room, but you could sense the bared teeth behind the smile, you could feel something evil—and I would know how Toohey would act in any circumstance; it gave me the complete sense of life of that type. Toohey is larger scale than Laski, who was a cheap little snide socialist, but Laski projected Toohey’s essential characteristics . Even his appearance was ideal. I drew a sketch during the lecture, with the narrow cadaverous face and glasses and big ears, and I gave it all to Toohey.

  The following notes are from the second of the Laski lectures.]

  Extremely well-dressed women (not too young, typically around forty and over) with a vapid and aggressive look—hatred of [the intellect] and insistently trying to acquire it. Only one I saw to be fairly attractive. A good type: a woman nearing fifty, medium height, slender, very well groomed; long, narrow face, mainly nose, pleasantly smiling, upturned lips (smiling too easily, with such a set, rehearsed, partly patronizing pleasantness), no eyes—all you see is the yellow-white lids and you have the uncomfortable feeling that the face has no focus and no opening, a face with no person behind it; a beige coat of smooth brown fur, a Russian-looking, fancy hat of the same cloth and fur; and—most prominent, the first thing you notice—glasses with a heavy black ribbon hanging ostentatiously from the corner of her eye.

  Also a great many shabby, old-maid-librarian types of middle-aged women, most unbecomingly dressed; the first thing jumping off from them, hitting you in the face, is the fact that you simply cannot imagine a man [making love to] them.

  Also—aggressive house-wife types, with old-fashioned hats and dirty-looking complexions.

  Also—a great many homely young girls, poorly dressed, of all degrees of homeliness, amazing variations of it, all of them with flat shoes and very unkempt, uncombed hair. A sad look of defensive aggressiveness, unconvincing assurance, and that awful feeling of “we’re miscarriages physically, but we’re making up for it intellectually.”

  Most of the audience are women. Few men comparatively and these better looking than the women, more prosperous, less freaky. Most of the men seem a little sheepish, quite a few seeming like good Babbitts dragged here by their wives—just as they are dragged to the play of their wives’ choice.

  Single most unpleasant characterization of this audience—the mouths. There is more meekness and insincerity in the mouth than in any other part of the face. Is that the most expressive and most betraying organ?

  Above all impressions—the horrible [spectacle] of intellectual vulgarity. A crowd of this same mental caliber going to a dance hall or saloon is much more attractive, honest and bearable than this phony search for intel lectuality. A pretense of brains should not be allowed to anyone except those who have brains. What horrible, horrible things can be done with the mind, through, with and for half-brains! How much better no brain is than half a brain!

  A woman with horrible piano legs sitting right in the front row on the stage, facing the audience, with a short skirt, her legs crossed and lisle stockings ! Well-dressed and flaunting the stockings; also diamonds on her fingers quite [prominently] displayed.

  It’s the aggressive, imperious expressions that are awful—on these people who are supposed to stand for equality, freedom, kindness, justice, etc. Isn’t that significant? Think of the implications, beyond the obvious ones.

  Here comes Toohey [i.e., Laski]:

  He starts with explanations and “advice.” The audience laughs before any point is made.

  “The great world”—“The grim reality”—always using important words sarcastically.

  “A sovereign state is an anachronism”—“When the pound sterling falls, the heart of the secretary of the U.S. Treasury beats faster.”

  Wears glasses. Long neck, sloping shoulders, too narrow chin, wide temples, large ears.

  “The white man’s burden has been borne by the black.”

  “It would be possible to show—if it weren’t impolite to show ...”

  The audience laughs every time he says “simple-minded.”

  He looks terribly at ease, a little weary, a little bored—not offensively so, just gracefully so. (He leans limply sidewise against the stand.)

  Simplicity and clarity of sentences—yet a few “exquisite” words.

  “A stick to beat Mr. Chambers with—and let me say the bigger the stick the more honorable the purpose—” (Note the “witty” asides.)

  “The limits of euphemism are infinite.”

  “The poor, the lame, the halt ...”

  “The government—whose discomfort at public discussion I can wholly understand—”

  (The gals on the stage are yawning—the one with the lisle stockings, too.)

  “It’s pure accident, it just happened that way”—[in regard to] something he quite definitely means was not an accident.

  “I made up my mind twenty-five years ago to be a rank-and-file [member] of the Labour Party.”

  March 15, 1937

  An agency for writers has on its office wall a huge photograph of a mob (with mob faces) and the big letters: “Don’t forget whom you’re writing for.”(! )

  March 27, 1937

  A typical instance of the rising power of the masses—the open arrogance of inferiors who no longer try to imitate their superiors, but boldly flaunt their inferiority, their [mediocrity], their “popular appeal.” A state of affairs where quality is no longer of any importance, and where it is coming to be shunned, avoided, even despised. The paradox of the dregs of humanity actually feeling contempt for their betters, because they are better. Quantity alone considered important—quality no longer even considered. The masses triumphant.

  Example of this: the head of a “charm school,” a contemptible racket, having been attacked by a “high brow” magazine, states haughtily: “Why should I worry? In all the years they’ve been in existence, they have only a hundred thousand circulation. I have a million customers in a year!”

  March 28, 1937

  More about Toohey.

  He is vociferously rational while doing his best to deny reason. Basically, he is all for the heart above the mind, emotion above thought. [Superficially], he is strictly scientific, rational, materialistic, with only a few lapses into talk about the “soul.” His trick is the same as that of Christian Science. He realizes subconsciously that reason is the enemy of all “heart hokum” and of all spiritual rackets. Consequently, he destroys it by appearing to support it. He defends reason loudly, but [substitutes] for reason his own preposterous brand of pseudo-science. He betrays himself occasionally by his talk about the “pure in heart,” the “universal spirit” and other such mystic-Christian-communistic catch-words.

  5

  RCHITECTURAL RESEARCH

  Before Ayn Rand could work out the plot of The Fountainhead and begin writing, she needed to know more about the profession of architecture. She asked the New York Public Library to recommend a list of books for her research. She read most of them in 1937, making extensive notes in her journal.