Most people hold their desires wit
hout any context whatever, as ends
hanging in a foggy vacuum, the fog hi
ding any concept of means. They
rouse themselves mentally only long enough to utter an “
I wish
,”
and stop
there, and wait, as if the re
st were up to some unknown power.
What they evade is
the responsibility of judging the social world
.
They
take the world as the given. “A worl
d I never made” is the deepest essence
of their attitude—and they seek only to adjust themselves uncritically to the
incomprehensible requirements of th
ose unknowable othe
rs who did make
the world, whoever those might be.
But humility and presumptuousness are two sides of the same
psychological medal. In
the willingness to throw oneself blindly on the
mercy of others there is the implic
it privilege of making blind demands on
one’s masters.
There are countless ways in which th
is sort of “metaphysical humility”
reveals itself. For instance, there is th
e man who wishes to be rich, but never
thinks of discovering what means,
actions and conditions are required to
achieve wealth. Who is he to j
udge? He never made the world—and
“nobody gave him a break.”
There is the girl who wishes to be loved, but never thinks of discovering
what love is, what values it requires,
and whether she possesses any virtues
to be loved for. Who is she to judge?
Love, she feels, is an inexplicable
favor—so she merely longs
for it, feeling that some
body has deprived her of
her share in the distribution of favors.
There are the parents who suffer deep
ly and genuinely, because their son
(or daughter) does not love
them, and who, simulta
neously, ignore, oppose
or attempt to destroy everything they
know of their son’s convictions, values
and goals, never thinking of the conne
ction between these two facts, never
making an attempt to understand their
son. The world they never made and
dare not challenge, has to
ld them that children love parents automatically.
here is the man who wants a job, but
never thinks of discovering what
qualifications the job requires or wh
at constitutes doing one’s work well.
Who is he to judge? He never made
the world. Somebody owes him a living.
How?
Somehow
.
A European architect of my acquaintan
ce was talking, one day, of his trip
to Puerto Rico. He described—with
great indignation at the universe at
large—the squalor of the Puerto
Ricans’ living conditions. Then he
described what wonders modern housi
ng could do for them, which he had
daydreamed in detail, including electric
refrigerators and
tiled bathrooms. I
asked: “Who would pay for it?” He answ
ered, in a faintly offended, almost
huffy tone of voice: “Oh, that’s not
for me to worry about! An architect’s
task is only to project what
should
be done. Let somebody else think about
the money.”
That
is the psychology from which all “soc
ial reforms” or “welfare states”
or “noble experiments” or the de
struction of the world have come.
In dropping the responsibility for one’s
own interests a
nd life, one drops
the responsibility of ever having to
consider the interests and lives of
others—of those others who are, some
how, to provide the satisfaction of
one’s desires.
Whoever allows a “somehow” into hi
s view of the means by which his
desires are to be achieved, is guilty
of that “metaphysical humility” which,
psychologically, is the premise of a pa
rasite. As Nathaniel Branden pointed
out in a lecture, “
somehow
”
always means “
somebody
.”
Da Ayn Rand, The Virtue of Selfishness