National Review’s latest cover story is a revaluation of Ayn Rand. Though less damning that Whittaker Chambers’ original review of Atlas Shrugged, it’s still critical. These pieces are eloquent enough on many of Rand’s faults, so I needn’t rehash those points. Nor do I think there’s much need to contribute my own separate critiques. Rand’s sins, both philosophical and personal, have been detailed often enough (amusingly, my copy of Atlas Shrugged is old enough to contain the original dedication to Nathaniel Branden).
Rather, what interests me is that so many people who have read Rand’s works and cite them as influences have taken relatively little harm from them. The ranks of serious Objectivists are tiny compared to those whom have read and admired Rand’s books. I won’t say no harm has been done, but certainly there has been less than one might expect.
Humans, as it turns out, are generally resistant to ideology. Most are too caught up in their daily lives to be caught up in causes and ideas. This is a mixed blessing, but I think it is on balance a blessing. With regard to Rand’s books, few read them as a guide to life, society, and everything else. They do not leave them with a philosophy, but with some sentiments and ideas that are very irregularly applied to life. A suspicion toward government and central planning may be strengthened. Many of the really harmful bits, like the prideful atomistic individualism, are quickly tempered by reality. Rand’s heroes may bestride the earth like demigods, but not so those of us who are real. Likewise, Rand may have railed against religion, but her readers are more likely to find it a helpful part of their lives than the philosophy expressed in the ridiculously long speeches of her heroes. Lived reality and culture trump Rand’s idealized fantasies.
I can’t cheer Rand’s popularity, since she was a third-rate novelist and a fifth-rate philosopher, but I’m not too perturbed by it either.
