Over the last several months, since I began working on this WPWI blog, I've become increasingly aware of the power of social online networking (i.e., Facebook, Twitter, blogs and the like). I'm consistently amazed at so much of the amazing information that comes to my awareness that I might not otherwise have known existed. I'm profoundly grateful and, more often than not, I feel compelled to share what I am learning -- in one form or another. One of the reasons I am so deeply gratified by my WPWI work is that I have the opportunity to reach out and share what I am learning with so many.
Today is no exception. Rick Gaber introduced this piece on Twitter and I offer it here for your consideration and reflection. I do not think it is important whether one agrees or disagrees with the author. Rather, I think the importance is found in her insistence that we think -- long and hard -- about the essence of her message.
Thank you, Rick, for bringing this piece to my awareness.
Rick suggested that we pass this along; I follow his recommendation and make that same suggestion to you. I have observed the address was made in 1974; however, it appears to me the message is timeless and bears repeating and repeating and repeating.
Philosophy: Who Needs It
By Ayn Rand
In March 1974, Ayn Rand faced the improbable task of lecturing on the crucial importance of philosophy—to the graduating class of West Point. She succeeded magnificently: she attracted three times the expected attendance, she elicited an enthusiastic ovation, and her lecture was reprinted in a new philosophy textbook published by the U.S. Military Academy. Relive this memorable occasion, and rediscover the irresistible intellectual power of Ayn Rand.
Lecture:
Q&A:
The Ayn Rand Multimedia Library is presented through the generosity of the Estate of Ayn Rand.
© Ayn Rand Institute. All rights reserved. Reproduction or linking is prohibited.
Address To The Graduating Class Of
The United States Military Academy at West Point
New York - March 6, 1974
Since I am a fiction writer,
let us start with a short short story. Suppose that you are an astronaut whose
spaceship gets out of control and crashes on an unknown planet. When you regain
consciousness and find that you are not hurt badly, the first three questions
in or mind would be: Where am I? How can I discover it? What should I do?
You see unfamiliar vegetation
outside, and there is air to breathe; the sunlight seems paler than you
remember it and colder. You turn to look at the sky, but stop. You are struck
by a sudden feeling: it you don't look, you won't have to know that you are,
perhaps, too far from the earth and no return is possible; so long as you don't
know it, you are free to believe what you wish--and you experience a foggy,
pleasant, but somehow guilty, kind of hope.
You turn to your instruments:
they may be damaged, you don't know how seriously. But you stop, struck by a
sudden fear: how can you trust these instruments? How can you be sure that they
won't mislead you? How can you know whether they will work in a different
world? You turn away from the instruments.
Now you begin to wonder why you
have no desire to do anything. It seems so much safer just to wait for
something to turn up somehow; it is better, you tell yourself, not to rock the
spaceship. Far in the distance, you see some sort of living creatures
approaching; you don't know whether they are human, but they walk on two feet. They,
you decide, will tell you what to do.
You are never heard from again.
This is fantasy, you say? You
would not act like that and no astronaut ever would? Perhaps not. But this is
the way most men live their lives, here, on earth.
Most men spend their days
struggling to evade three questions, the answers to which underlie man's every
thought, feeling and action, whether he is consciously aware of it or not:
Where am I? How do I know it? What should I do?
By the time they are old enough
to understand these questions, men believe that they know the answers. Where am
I? Say, in New York City. How do I know it? It's self-evident. What should I
do? Here, they are not too sure--but the usual answer is: whatever everybody
does. The only trouble seems to be that they are not very active, not very
confident, not very happy--and they experience, at times, a causeless fear and
an undefined guilt, which they cannot explain or get rid of.
They have never discovered the
fact that the trouble comes from the three unanswered questions--and that there
is only one science that can answer them: philosophy.
Philosophy studies the fundamental
nature of existence, of man, and of man's relationship to existence. As against
the special sciences, which deal only with particular aspects, philosophy deals
with those aspects of the universe which pertain to everything that exists. In
the realm of cognition, the special sciences are the trees, but philosophy is
the soil which makes the forest possible.
Philosophy would not tell you,
for instance, whether you are in New York City or in Zanzibar (though it would
give you the means to find out). But here is what it would tell you: Are
you in a universe which is ruled by natural laws and, therefore, is stable,
firm, absolute--and knowable? Or are you in an incomprehensible chaos, a realm
of inexplicable miracles, an unpredictable, unknowable flux, which your mind is
impotent to grasp? Are the tings you see around you real--or are they only an
illusion? Do they exist independent of any observer--or are they created by the
observer? Are they the object or the subject of man's consciousness? Are they what
they are--or can they be changed by a mere act of your consciousness, such
as a wish?
The nature of your actions-and
of your ambition--will be different, according to which set of answers you come
to accept. These answers are the province of metaphysics--the study of
existence as such or, in Aristotle's words, of "being qua being"--the
basic branch of philosophy.
No matter what conclusions you
reach, you will be confronted by the necessity to answer another, corollary
question: How do I know it? Since man is not omniscient or infallible, you have
to discover what you can claim as knowledge and how to prove the
validity of your conclusions. Does man acquire knowledge by a process of
reason--or by sudden revelation from a supernatural power? Is reason a faculty
that identifies and integrates the material provided by man's senses--or is it
fed by innate ideas, implanted in man's mind before he was born? Is reason
competent to perceive reality--or does man possess some other cognitive faculty
which is superior to reason? Can man achieve certainty--or is he doomed to
perpetual doubt?
The extent of your
self-confidence--and of your success--will be different, according to which set
of answers you accept. These answers are the province of epistemology,
the theory of knowledge, which studies man's means of cognition.
These two branches are the
theoretical foundation of philosophy. The third branch--ethics--may be
regarded as its technology. Ethics does not apply to everything that exists,
only to man, but it applies to every aspect of man's life: his character, his
actions, his values, his relationship to all of existence. Ethics, or morality,
defines a code of values to guide man's choices and actions--the choices and
actions that determine the course of his life.
Just as the astronaut in my
story did not know what he should do, because he refused to know where he was
and how to discover it, so you cannot know what you should do until you know
the nature of the universe you deal with, the nature of your means of
cognition--and your own nature. Before you come to ethics, you must answer the
questions posed by metaphysics and epistemology: Is man a rational being, able
to deal with reality--or is he a helplessly blind misfit, a chip buffeted by
the universal flux? Are achievement and enjoyment possible to man on earth--or
is he doomed to failure and distaste? Depending on the answers, you can proceed
to consider the questions posed by ethics: What is good or evil for man--and
why? Should man's primary concern be a quest for joy--or an escape from
suffering? Should man hold self-fulfillment--or self-destruction--as the goal
of his life? Should man pursue his values--or should he place the interests of
others above his own? Should man seek happiness--or self-sacrifice?
I do not have to point out the
different consequences of these two sets of answers. You can see them
everywhere--within you and around you.
The answers given by ethics
determine how man should treat other men, and this determines the fourth branch
of philosophy: politics, which defines the principles of a proper social
system. As an example of philosophy's function, political philosophy will not
tell you how much rationed gas you should be given and on which day of the
week--it will tell you whether the government has the right to impost any
rationing on anything.
The fifth and last branch of
philosophy is esthetics, the study of art, which is based on
metaphysics, epistemology and ethics. Art deals with the needs--the
refueling--of man's consciousness.
Now some of you might say, as
many people do: "Aw, I never think in such abstract terms--I want to deal
with concrete, particular, real-life problems--what do I need philosophy
for?" My answer is: In order to be able to deal with concrete, particular,
real-life problems--i.e., in order to be able to live on earth.
You might claim--as most people
do--that you have never been influenced by philosophy. I will ask you to check
that claim. Have you ever thought or said the following? "Don't be so
sure--nobody can be certain of anything." You got that notion from David
Hume (and many, many others), even though you might never have heard of him.
Or: "This may be good in theory, but it doesn't work in practice.” You got
that from Plato. Or: "That was a rotten thing to do, but it's only human,
nobody is perfect in this world." You got that from Augustine. Or:
"It may be true for you, but it's not true for me." You got it from
William James. Or: "I couldn't help it! Nobody can help anything he
does." You got it from Hegel. Or: "I can't prove it, but I feel
that it's true." You got it from Kant. Or: "It's logical, but logic
has nothing to do with reality." You got it from Kant. Or: "It's
evil, because it's selfish." You got it from Kant. Have you heard the
modern activists say: "Act first, think afterward"? They got it from
John Dewey.
Some people might answer:
"Sure, I've said those things at different times, but I don't have to
believe that stuff all of the time. It may have been true yesterday, but
it's not true today." They got it from Hegel. They might say:
"Consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds." They got it from a
very little mind, Emerson. They might say: "But can't one compromise and
borrow different ideas from different philosophies according to the expediency
of the moment?" They got it from Richard Nixon--who got it from William
James.
Now ask yourself: if you are
not interested in abstract ideas, why do you (and all men) feel compelled to
use them? The fact is that abstract ideas are conceptual integrations which subsume
an incalculable number of concretes--and that without abstract ideas you would
not be able to deal with concrete, particular, real-life problems. You would be
in the position of a newborn infant, to whom every object is a unique,
unprecedented phenomenon. The difference between his mental state and yours
lies in the number of conceptual integrations your mind has performed.
You have no choice about the
necessity to integrate your observations, your experiences, your knowledge into
abstract ideas, i.e., into principles. Your only choice is whether these
principles are true or false, whether they represent your conscious, rational
conviction--or a grab-bag of notions snatched at random, whose sources,
validity, context and consequences you do not know, notions which, more often
than not, you would drop like a hot potato if you knew.
But the principles you accept
(consciously or subconsciously) may clash with or contradict one another; they,
too, have to be integrated. What integrates them? Philosophy. A philosophic
system is an integrated view of existence. As a human being, you have no choice
about the fact that you need a philosophy. Your only choice is whether you
define you philosophy by a conscious, rational, disciplined process of thought
and scrupulously logical deliberation--or let your subconscious accumulate a
junk heap of unwarranted conclusions, false generalizations, undefined
contradictions, undigested slogans, unidentified whishes, doubts and fears,
thrown together by chance, but integrated by your subconscious into a kind of
mongrel philosophy and fused into a single, solid weight: self-doubt,
like a ball and chain in the place where your mind's wings should have grown.
You might say, as many people
do, that it is not easy always to act on abstract principles. No, it is not
easy. But how much harder is it, to have to act on them without knowing what
they are?
Your subconscious is like a
computer--more complex a computer than men can build--and its main function is
the integration of your ideas. Who programs it? Your conscious mind programs it.
If you default, if you don't reach any firm convictions, your subconscious is
programmed by chance--and you deliver yourself into the power of ideas you do
not know you have accepted. But one way or the other, your computer gives you
print-outs, daily and hourly, in the form of emotions--which are
lightning-like estimates of the things around you, calculated according to your
values. If you programmed your computer by conscious thinking, you know the
nature of your values and emotions. If you didn't, you don't.
Many people, particularly
today, claim that man cannot live by logic alone, that there's the emotional
element of his nature to consider, and that they rely on the guidance of their
emotions. Well, so did the astronaut in my story. The joke is on him--and on
them: man's values and emotions are determined by his fundamental view of life.
The ultimate programmer of his subconscious is philosophy--the science
which, according to the emotionalists, is impotent to affect or penetrate the
murky mysteries of their feelings.
The quality of a computer's
output is determined by the quality of its input. If your subconscious is
programmed by chance, its output will have a corresponding character. You have
probably heard the computer operators' eloquent term "gigo"--which
means: "Garbage in, garbage out." The same formula applies to the
relationship between a man's thinking and his emotions.
A man who is run by emotions is
like a man who is run by a computer whose print-outs he cannot read. He does
not know whether its programming is true or false, right or wrong, whether it's
set to lead him to success or destruction, whether it serves his goals or those
of some evil, unknowable power. He is blind on two fronts: blind to the world
around him and to his own inner world, unable to grasp reality or his own
motives, and he is in chronic terror of both. Emotions are not tools of
cognition. The men who are not interested in philosophy need it most urgently:
they are most helplessly in its power.
The men who are not interested
in philosophy absorb its principles from the cultural atmosphere around
them--from schools, colleges, books, magazines, newspapers, movies, television,
etc. Who sets the tone of a culture? A small handful of men: the philosophers.
Others follow their lead, either by conviction or by default. For some two
hundred years, under the influence of Immanuel Kant, the dominant trend of
philosophy has been directed to a single goal: the destruction of man's mind,
of his confidence in the power of reason. Today, we are seeing the climax of
that trend.
When men abandon reason, they
find not only that their emotions cannot guide them, but that they can
experience no emotions save one: terror. The spread of drug addiction among
young people brought up on today's intellectual fashions, demonstrates the
unbearable inner state of men who are deprived of their means of cognition and
who seek escape from reality--from the terror of their impotence to deal with
existence. Observe these young people's dread of independence and their frantic
desire to "belong," to attach themselves to some group, clique or
gang. Most of them have never heard of philosophy, but they sense that they
need some fundamental answers to questions they dare not ask--and they hope
that the tribe will tell them how to live. They are ready to be taken
over by any witch doctor, guru, or dictator. One of the most dangerous things a
man can do is to surrender his moral autonomy to others: like the
astronaut in my story, he does not know whether they are human, even though
they walk on two feet.
Now you may ask: If philosophy
can be that evil, why should one study it? Particularly, why should one study
the philosophical theories which are blatantly false, make no sense, and bear
no relation to real life?
My answer is: In
self-protection--and in defense of truth, justice, freedom, and any value you
ever held or may ever hold.
Not all philosophies are evil,
though too many of them are, particularly in modern history. On the other hand,
at the root of every civilized achievement, such as science, technology,
progress, freedom--at the root of every value we enjoy today, including the
birth of this country--you will find the achievement of one man, who
lived over two thousand years ago: Aristotle.
If you feel nothing but boredom
when reading the virtually unintelligible theories of some philosophers,
you have my deepest sympathy. But if you brush them aside, saying: "Why
should I study that stuff when I know it's nonsense?"--you are
mistaken. It is nonsense, but you don't know it--not so long as
you go on accepting all their conclusions, all the vicious catch phrases
generated by those philosophers. And not so long as you are unable to refute
them.
That nonsense deals with the
most crucial, the life-or-death issues of man's existence. At the root of every
significant philosophic theory, there is a legitimate issue--in the sense that
there is an authentic need of man's consciousness, which some theories struggle
to clarify and others struggle to obfuscate, to corrupt, to prevent man from
ever discovering. The battle of philosophers is a battle for man's mind. If you
do not understand their theories, you are vulnerable to the worst among them.
The best way to study philosophy
is to approach it as one approaches a detective story: follow every trail, clue
and implication, in order to discover who is a murderer and who is a hero. The
criterion of detection is two questions: Why? and How? If a given tenet seems
to be true--why? If another tenet seems to be false--why? and how is it being
put over? You will not find all the answers immediately, but you will acquire
an invaluable characteristic: the ability to think in terms of essentials.
Nothing is given to man
automatically, neither knowledge, nor self-confidence, nor inner serenity, nor
the right way to use his mind. Every value he needs or wants has to be
discovered, learned and acquired--even the proper posture of his body. In this
context, I want to say that I have always admired the posture of West Point
graduates, a posture that projects man in proud, disciplined control of his
body. Well, philosophical training gives man the proper intellectual
posture--a proud, disciplined control of his mind.
In your own profession, in
military science, you know the importance of keeping track of the enemy's
weapons, strategy and tactics--and of being prepared to counter them. The same
is true in philosophy: you have to understand the enemy's ideas and be prepared
to refute them, you have to know his basic arguments and be able to blast them.
In physical warfare, you would
not send your men into a booby trap: you would make every effort to discover
its location. Well, Kant's system is the biggest and most intricate booby trap
in the history of philosophy--but it's so full of holes that once you grasp its
gimmick, you can defuse it without any trouble and walk forward over it in
perfect safety. And, once it is defused, the lesser Kantians--the lower ranks
of his army, the philosophical sergeants, buck privates, and mercenaries of
today--will fall of their own weightlessness, by chain reaction.
There is a special reason why
you, the future leaders of the United States Army, need to be philosophically
armed today. You are the target of a special attack by the
Kantian-Hegelian-collectivist establishment that dominates our cultural
institutions at present. You are the army of the last semi-free country left on
earth, yet you are accused of being a tool of imperialism--and "imperialism"
is the name given to the foreign policy of this country, which has never
engaged in military conquest and has never profited from the two world wars,
which she did not initiate, but entered and won. (It was, incidentally, a
foolishly overgenerous policy, which made this country waste her wealth on
helping both her allies and her former enemies.) Something called "the
military-industrial complex"--which is a myth or worse--is being blamed
for all of this country's troubles. Bloody college hoodlums scream demands that
R.O.T.C. units be banned from college campuses. Our defense budget is being
attacked, denounced and undercut by people who claim that financial priority
should be given to ecological rose gardens and to classes in esthetic
self-expression for the residents of the slums.
Some of you may be bewildered
by this campaign and may be wondering, in good faith, what errors you committed
to bring it about. If so, it is urgently important for you to understand the
nature of the enemy. You are attacked, not for any errors or flaws, but for
your virtues. You are denounced, not for any weaknesses, but for your strength
and your competence. You are penalized for being the protectors of the United
States. On a lower level of the same issue, a similar kind of campaign is
conducted against the police force. Those who seek to destroy this country,
seek to disarm it--intellectually and physically. But it is not a mere
political issue; politics is not the cause, but the last consequence of
philosophical ideas. It is not a communist conspiracy, though some communists
may be involved--as maggots cashing in on a disaster they had no power to
originate. The motive of the destroyers is not love for communism, but hatred
for America. Why hatred? Because America is the living refutation of a Kantian
universe.
Today's mawkish concern with
and compassion for the feeble, the flawed, the suffering, the guilty, is a
cover for the profoundly Kantian hatred of the innocent, the strong, the able,
the successful, the virtuous, the confident, the happy. A philosophy out to
destroy man's mind is necessarily a philosophy of hatred for man, for man's
life, and for every human value. Hatred of the good for being the good, is the
hallmark of the twentieth century. This is the enemy you are facing.
A battle of this kind requires
special weapons. It has to be fought with a full understanding of your cause, a
full confidence in yourself, and the fullest certainty of the moral
rightness of both. Only philosophy can provide you with these weapons.
The assignment I gave myself
for tonight is not to sell you on my philosophy, but on philosophy as
such. I have, however, been speaking implicitly of my philosophy in every
sentence--since none of us and no statement can escape from philosophical
premises. What is my selfish interest in the matter? I am confident
enough to think that if you accept the importance of philosophy and the task of
examining it critically, it is my philosophy that you will come to
accept. Formally, I call it Objectivism, but informally I call it a philosophy
for living on earth. You will find an explicit presentation of it in my books,
particularly in Atlas Shrugged.
In conclusion, allow me to
speak in personal terms. This evening means a great deal to me. I feel deeply
honored by the opportunity to address you. I can say--not as a patriotic
bromide, but with full knowledge of the necessary metaphysical,
epistemological, ethical, political and esthetic roots--that the United States
of America is the greatest, the noblest and, in its original founding
principles, the only moral country in the history of the world. There is
a kind of quiet radiance associated in my mind with the name West
Point--because you have preserved the spirit of those original founding
principles and you are their symbol. There were contradictions and omissions in
those principles, and there may be in yours--but I am speaking of the
essentials. There may be individuals in your history who did not live up to
your highest standards--as there are in every institution--since no
institutions and no social system can guarantee the automatic perfection of all
its members; this depends on an individual's free will. I am speaking of your
standards. You have preserved three qualities of character which were typical
at the time of America's birth, but are virtually nonexistent today:
earnestness--dedication--a sense of honor. Honor is self-esteem made visible in
action.
You have chosen to risk your
lives for the defense of this country. I will not insult you by saying that you
are dedicated to selfless service--it is not a virtue in my morality. In
my morality, the defense of one's country means that a man is personally
unwilling to live as the conquered slave of any enemy, foreign or domestic. This
is an enormous virtue. Some of you may not be consciously aware of it. I want
to help you to realize it.
The army of a free country has
a great responsibility: the right to use force, but not as an instrument of
compulsion and brute conquest--as the armies of other countries have done in
their histories--only as an instrument of a free nation's self-defense, which
means: the defense of a man's individual rights. The principle of using force
only in retaliation against those who initiate its use, is the principle of
subordinating might to right. The highest integrity and sense of honor are
required for such a task. No other army in the world has achieved it. You have.
West Point has given America a
long line of heroes, known and unknown. You, this year's graduates, have a
glorious tradition to carry on--which I admire profoundly, not because it is a
tradition, but because it is glorious.
Since I came from a country
guilty of the worst tyranny on earth, I am particularly able to appreciate the
meaning, the greatness and the supreme value of that which you are defending.
So, in my own name and in the name of many people who think as I do, I want to
say, to all the men of West Point, past, present and future: Thank you.
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