The Journals of Ayn Rand Page 2

  Too many of AR’s professed admirers in print are academics of the scholastic persuasion. The Journals gives us the original, a purely Objectivist mind at work—mostly right, sometimes wrong, but always, from start to finish, reality-oriented.

  In terms of cognitive value to the reader, the new material alone in this volume warrants the price. It is new to me also. No matter how clear Objectivism is in my mind, every time I read another Ayn Rand book, it becomes clearer. This book is no exception.

  David Harriman has done an excellent editorial job. He has brought order to dozens of large cardboard cartons filled with scattered papers and mementos. He has selected the best of the notes, organized them chronologically, offered explanations when these were available and helpful, and edited the wording, especially for grammar, of the early pages, when AR had not yet fully grasped English. For all this work, I am grateful to David Harriman, as all fans of AR should be.

  The final chapter of the Journals shows us AR near the end of her life. There is nothing to publish in regard to her work on mathematics or neurology, but some of her notes on psycho-epistemology have been included—along with every word she wrote for her last projected novel.

  To Lorne Dieterling was to be “the story of a woman [a dancer] who is totally motivated by love for values—and how one maintains such a state when alone in an enemy world.” (This formulation is from November 1957, a month after Atlas Shrugged was published.) The two basic “sense of life” music numbers to be danced by the heroine in the novel are the Overture to La Traviata and “Will O’ the Wisp,” one of AR’s favorite “tiddly wink” pieces.

  Verdi’s La Traviata Overture, she writes, is to be “the dance of rising, without ever moving from one spot—done by means of her arms and body—ending on ‘Dominique’s statue’ posture, as ’higher than raised arms,‘ as the achieved, as the total surrender to a vision and, simultaneously, ’This is I.‘ (The open, the naked, the ’without armor.‘)” As to “Will O’ the Wisp,” it represents “the triumph—the tap dance and ballet combined—my total sense of life.... (Probably danced in a low-grade dive, with Lome [the hero] present....”

  Such was the sense of life not only of a young immigrant in her twenties ho was brimming over with new ideas, but also of a philosopher in her sev enties, who had lived consistently by every one of her ideas. Such was the sense of life of an artist “alone in an enemy world,” who had already endured her greatest disappointments—and created her greatest achievements.

  As David Harriman puts it in his eloquent conclusion:

  “Ayn Rand has come full circle. She returned at the end to [the] problem [of irrational people] that had concerned her from the beginning.... At this stage, however, she knows the solution ...

  “It is fitting, therefore, that her last fiction notes are about a woman like herself, who maintains such a [joyous and lighthearted] view of life to the end, even while those around her do not.”

  She did it—how? In essence, by means of these Journals (and their equivalents through the decades). In other words, she did it in part through the knowledge she methodically struggled to gain, but above all through the intransigent will at the root of such a struggle: the will to think, in every issue and all her life long.

  Whoever cares to match the price can reach the same result. As the first payment—I say this to those with their lives still ahead of them—I suggest that you read this book.

  Leonard Peikoff

  Irvine, California

  October 1996

  EDITOR’S PREfACE

  In a note to herself at the age of twenty-three, AR wrote: “From now on—no thought whatever about yourself, only about your work. You are only a writing engine. Don’t stop, until you really and honestly know that you cannot go on.” Throughout her long career, she remained true to this pledge—she was a “writing engine.” With the publication of her journals, we can now see the “writing behind the writing” and appreciate fully the prodigious effort that went into her published work.

  AR’s notes, typically handwritten, were spread among the numerous boxes of papers she left behind at her death in 1982. My editing of this material has consisted of selection, organization, line editing, and insertion of explanatory comments.

  Selection. This book presents AR’s working journals—i.e., the notes in which she developed her literary and philosophical ideas. Notes of a personal nature will be included in a forthcoming authorized biography.

  Approximately three-quarters of the working journals are presented here. I have included the material that I judge to be of interest to serious, philosophical admirers of AR’s novels and ideas. This standard is, in effect, a middle ground between the scholar who wants every note, and the casual fan who might be satisfied with a selection of notes on fiction.

  In most cases, I have described specific omissions in the chapter introductions. In general, notes have been omitted for the following reasons:1. Repetition with other notes. AR sometimes rewrote her notes, often for the purpose of condensing and essentializing. I have included such later material only when it contains provocative new formulations.

  2. Repetition with published material. Lengthy notes that merely state what the reader of her published work already knows, such as final outlines for novels, have been omitted.

  3. Quotes or paraphrases of other authors. In her research, AR often quoted or paraphrased material she had read. I have usually included these notes only when she adds her own comments.

  4. Isolated, usually political, notes that are unrelated to the surrounding philosophiclliterary material. For example, AR’s critique of President Truman’s decision to fire General MacArthur was omitted because the only other notes from the period were on Atlas Shrugged.

  5. Cryptic notes. Some material was too cryptic to be intelligible. Since AR typically wrote in complete sentences, such notes are rare.

  I have taken this opportunity to publish a few pieces that are not from AR’s journals, but are closely related to her notes and of great interest to her fans. In Chapter 10, for example, I have included AR’s testimony before the House Un-American Activities Committee, which is followed by her notes on the hearings.

  Organization. The journals are presented chronologically, so the reader may follow the development of AR’s ideas. However, for the purpose of grouping together the notes on a particular topic, some departures from chronological order have proved necessary. For example, the presentation of her architectural research for The Fountainhead in a separate chapter required minor violations of the chronology. Also, her notes from 1947 dealing with collectivist propaganda in the movies are presented before the Atlas Shrugged notes, which begin in 1945. But in all such cases, the reason for my order is obvious.

  When a note is undated, I have made a guess at the approximate date, and placed it next to related notes written at about that time.

  The book divides naturally into five parts. As might be expected, the two longest parts are the notes for The Fountainhead (Part 2) and Atlas Shrugged (Part 4). Part 3 pertains to projects she worked on in the years between these novels. Parts 1 and 5 are relatively short; they present respectively her notes from the years prior to The Fountainhead and from the post-Atlas Shrugged period. Within each part, the reasons for the chapter divisions are either obvious or explained in my introductions.

  Line editing. AR wrote her thoughts down as they occurred to her; she did not outline material prior to writing the notes, and she did not edit the wording afterwards.

  Even so, not a great deal of line editing was required. I found few grammatical errors, except in the early notes of Part 1, which were written before she had mastered English. Most of my line editing was done to facilitate one’s reading. I broke up paragraphs and sentences that were too long, occasionally supplied grammar that was merely implied, and eliminated the distracting overuse of parentheses, dashes and underlining. (Italics are used here to indicate her underlining; boldface type indicates words that she underlin
ed twice.)

  A certain amount of wordiness is endemic to journal writing. It is impossible—even for AR—consistently to find concise formulations while thinking aloud on paper. In many sentences, therefore, I have been able to eliminate words without affecting the meaning. However, I typically made such changes only when the original sentence was difficult to read. My restrained approach to the editing allows the journals to retain the spontaneous, informal character of notes to herself.

  It was occasionally necessary to insert my word(s) into a sentence when the formulation was potentially confusing. My insertions are always enclosed in square brackets (not parentheses). When the editing of the book was complete, I double-checked all such changes against the original notes. I am confident that my insertions have not altered her intended meaning.

  I have indicated my omission of passages within the notes by ellipsis points in square brackets; ellipsis points without the brackets are hers.

  Explanatory comments. In general, I thought it best to leave the reader alone with the journals, and therefore I have kept my interruptions to a minimum. Many of my comments simply introduce the topic. When I could and where it was helpful, I have identified people, ideas or events unfamiliar to the general reader.

  Sometimes it was necessary to comment on a philosophical passage that is clearly inconsistent with AR’s mature views. In such cases, I do not attempt to explain the inconsistency; I simply cite the published work where the reader can find her definitive view.

  In certain places, I could not resist calling the reader’s attention to a striking aspect of a note. For example, I have identified a few notes in which she discusses a person or idea that later formed the basis for a character in The Fountainhead or Atlas Shrugged.

  The only other comments inserted in the journals are some quotations from the biographical interviews given by AR in the early 1960s. During the interviews, she occasionally made remarks that offer special insight into the notes presented here.

  My goal in all these changes has been to present the journals in a form that is easy to read, while intruding on her words as little as possible. I am satisfied with the result.

  I wish to thank Leonard Peikoff for giving me access to the journals and for his continual editorial advice. Dr. Peikoff was particularly helpful in making my comments more concise and in suggesting to me additional comments. Thanks also to Catherine Dickerson and Diane LeMont for their careful, accurate typing of journals that were often difficult to read, and to Dina Garmong for translating the Russian passages in the earliest journals.

  Finally, I owe a special debt to my wife, Barbara Belli, for her support and love throughout this lengthy project. Thank you, Barbara, for being my emotional fuel.

  PART 1

  EARLY PROJECTS

  1

  THE HOLLYWOOD YEARS

  AR began her career in America by writing scenarios for the silent screen, work she could do despite having only a rudimentary knowledge of English. A little more than a year after coming to America, at the age of twenty-two, she was living at the Hollywood Studio Club and working as a junior screenwriter for Cecil B. DeMille.

  This chapter begins with material found in two composition notebooks dating from the summer of 1927. The books contain two complete scenarios and one fragment. Although these scenarios are not explicitly philosophical, the reader will recognize in them characteristic features of AR. They are romantic adventure stories, which portray man as a heroic being capable of overcoming great obstacles to achieve his goals. It is easy to recognize the author of The Fountainhead when, at the age of twenty-two, she writes: “Life is achievement.... Give yourself an aim, something you want to do, then go after it, breaking through everything, with nothing in mind but your aim, all will, all concentration—and get it.”

  It is fascinating to see the seeds of her later work in these stories. In the first scenario, The Skyscraper, the hero is an architect named Howord Kane who—despite being charged with a serious crime and threatened with a lengthy prison sentence—ends by standing triumphantly at the top of his greatest creation, a New York skyscraper. The second scenario ends with the heroine rushing to the rescue of the hero, whom the villains hove left strapped to a torture machine. When AR had a good plot idea, she did not forget it

  July-September 1927

  [AR begins with notes on a book of short stories about railroad workers (Held for Orders by Frank H. Spearman). Apparently, she considered it as a possible source of ideas for scenarios.]

  1. The Switchman’s Story: ShockleyHis past. His regeneration through work. His strength and success with the work. His sacrifice to save a friend.

  2. The Wiper’s Story: How McGrath Got an EngineAn obscure man proves his worth by doing a very dangerous and difficult thing that no one else could do, and gets his reward—what he wanted.

  3. The Roadmaster’s Story: The Spider WaterThe tragedy of a good, strong, wonderful worker—dismissed for lack of education.

  4. The Striker’s Story: McTerzaPersonal courage—in a big fight.

  5. The Dispatcher’s Story: The Last OrderThe tragedy of a fatal mistake committed [by the dispatcher].

  6. The Nightman’s Story: BullheadA man’s regeneration through work; a big danger, brought about by his fault, that is [overcome by] a heroic effort.

  7. The Master Mechanic’s Story: DelarooFriendship in work—and professional sacrifice for a friend.

  8. The Operator’s Story: DeMolay FourA man’s hard, heroic work. Another man’s lazy negligence—and the crime or catastrophe from it.

  9. The Trainmaster’s Story: Of the Old GuardA fight between his conscience and his work.

  10. The Yellow Mail Story: Jimmy the WindA big enterprise—saved by one man.

  [AR notes the following idea for a scenario entitled The Country Doctor.]

  A story about a country doctor.

  What interesting situation can he be in?

  He saves the life of his enemy (or his enemy’s son).

  What kind of an enemy can he have? Who could hurt him and how? What can hurt him? To lose his job. His enemy has taken his job away from him.

  How could he? The job was in the hands of his enemy. How? Through competition. The enemy opens a hospital and [hires] a new doctor.

  Why is the enemy angry? The doctor has done something against his wishes. It must be something good. He helped his son to elope with a girl. How to connect the hospital with the beginning? The job was promised to the doctor and it was his ambition. What can make his position more tragic? His marriage depended on his new job.

  He builds his hopes on getting a job in a hospital.

  He does not get the job because of his enemy.

  He saves the life of his enemy’s son and gets his job.

  [The following notes pertain to a story about a builder.]

  The strength, energy, heroism of a superintendent.

  What can be the energy of the superintendent? What can express it? How can it be shown?

  What is the difference between a good and a bad superintendent?

  What mistakes can be made? How? How will they be discovered? Can there be a big, fatal mistake? What and how?

  What mistakes can be made on the building intentionally, and how? What will be the result of it? How could the superintendent be prevented from noticing it? How does he finally discover it?

  Who can be against the construction of a building and why? What can they do? What can threaten a building? What are the difficulties a superintendent meets in his work?

  If somebody is against the superintendent, what can they do to hurt him professionally? Who is likely to be against him? Who are the professional enemies he can have? What are the professional tragedies?

  Can there be a very dangerous and difficult thing that no one can do—and that one man does? Is there a possibility and an occasion for one-man heroism? Or a professional sacrifice?

  What can be the dangerous, tragic consequences of a person’s laziness and neg
ligence?

  Is it possible for a man to be in a position in which the good of his work interferes with his own good? How?

  We want the story of how a building is constructed and everything that gets in its way—the energy of breaking through obstacles. What can prevent the building? Are there any obstacles possible? Can the building of a certain skyscraper hurt somebody? How and why?

  The tremendous energy of that work. What expresses it in the best and strongest way?

  The Skyscraper

  [DeMille bought a story entitled The Skyscraper, written by Dudley Murphy, and assigned AR to work on the scenario. Many years later, AR recalled: It was the story that gave me the most trouble. The original involved two tough construction workers who were in love with the same girl. The events consisted of them throwing rivets at each other, or almost falling off the girders; they fight but they are really the best of friends—it was that kind of story. DeMille said that I didn’t have to follow the original, just do a scenario that projected the drama and heroism of constructing a skyscraper.

  AR’s first attempt is recognizably based on the original story.] Strength—energy—work. Steel and sweat.

  A story about the building of a skyscraper.

  A story about a steel-worker.

  The worker saves the building from a fire, risking his own life.