According to the account published in Barbara Branden’s 1986 biography, The Passion Of Ayn Rand, it was a remarkably audacious young woman who announced the intention of her life in 1921. At the age of barely seventeen years, she set out her course during an oral examination conducted by her professor of philosophy at the University of Petrograd (renamed after Lenin’s death in 1924). N. O. Lossky queried Alice Rosenbaum exclusively on the work of Plato, and she acquitted her knowledge satisfactorily. The professor sensed something withheld in the young woman’s replies, however, and he demanded to know why she disagreed with the ancient Greek.

"My philosophical views are not part of the history of philosophy yet," she answered. "But they will be."

Seventy-six years later, it might yet be an open question to some whether that prophecy has been validated. To many others, however, there will never be any question about it: Ayn Rand has earned the place in history to which she had aspired even before that cheeky assertion.

Certainly, if strict commercial success is any indication, then only the gratuitously skeptical would dismiss an impact of over twenty million sales of Rand’s books. Somebody has to have read at least one or two of them, and people often describe giving them to friends as a matter of regular course, an occurrence which doesn’t inhibit sales of several hundred thousand per year more than sixty years after her literary entre with "We The Living". (It would also be clear to those familiar with Objectivism that "commercial success" is a badge of honor.)

More active observers will have noted, moreover, that serious academic consideration of Rand’s work has opened abroad of the Objectivist community, and that the activity, if slow off the initial mark, has shown encouraging expansion in the past decade or more. Most engaging among published examinations outside formal Objectivism were the critical anthology of 1986, The Philosophic Thought of Ayn Rand (edited by Douglas J. Den Uyl and Douglas B. Rasmussen, University of Illinois), and 1995’s Ayn Rand - The Russian Radical (Chris Matthew Sciabarra, Pennsylvania State University). Sober readers of Rand’s two most important novels, The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged, are perennially impressed with their rank among world classics of fiction, an idea which only hardens with passing years. And that is one mark of a classic.

We live too close to Rand in history to be able to judge with authority the legitimacy of her prescient claim. That’s what history is for, one of the services it renders. However, we don’t live too close to her to wonder whether those alive in the years of Locke or Aquinas also felt the impact of a great thinker in their midst with enough force to project it across centuries in the future.

With this year’s publication of the Journals of Ayn Rand, we are privileged to extraordinary insights to a mind in the process of becoming such a force. To one first exposed to the products of that power near the end of its exertion (the early 1970’s), the finished works appeared with an ex cathedra quality which was generally valid. In general, what she said made sense, with immediate clarity. However the initial sensations were accompanied with questions which never really went away and which mainly came in the forms of, "Where did she come from?" or, "How did she do this?"

This book opens the picture wider than ever before.

Edited by David Harriman, these 727 pages display the introspective rise of the philosopher and the technical development of a writer. Harriman has taken up the task of presenting us with material never before published. Drawn from her own working notes typewritten for her own illumination, these "notes" range from terse observations on research conducted in support of major works (for instance; her interviews with executives of the New York Central Railroad, November, 1947), to fully comprehensive articles of exposition on a gripping variety of topics surpassed only by the body of work previously published. In his "Preface", Harriman tells us that the material for this volume was "spread among the numerous boxes of papers she left behind at her death in 1982." Judging by what he saw fit to include, he performed an enviable task in selecting the "three-quarters" of that material for this book.

In a note to herself in 1928, Rand lays down the law: "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." And then, she goes on. Themes, premises, implications, action and plot technique which later matured with The Fountainhead are observable in embryonic sketch in scenarios for silent film written during the years of her employment with Cecil B. DeMille (The Skyscraper, The Siege), as well as her first attempt at a novel in English (The Little Street). Astute readers will enjoy the discovery of Rand emergent; clearly recognizable elements of her craftsmanship and world view abound in these early efforts.

Harriman’s edition is delightfully seasoned with lightning autodidactic strikes as only Rand could fire them. For instance; after her notes on The Skyscraper, we find a succinct five-point layout on the structure of "an epic", followed by a six-point outline of its expression. The overwhelming impression here is of Rand’s urgent necessity to concretely formulate broad abstractions. Presentation of this note so early in the book has an endearing effect of setting a cornerstone of a characteristic which was emblematic of her work for the rest of her life. For those who know what she became, something like this note, which another editor might have neglected while working a different mass of material from a different subject, is marvelously illuminating. It is a snapshot of builder surveying site.

"Part 1 - Early Projects" includes those cited above, as well as a not-surprisingly brief outline of We The Living (a novel ready to be committed without research) and, perhaps most fascinating, Rand’s "First Philosophic Journal". This last item is represented with a scant eight pages of Part 1, but it comes upon the reader with a completely different emphasis from that of the preceding work on fiction. This is the earliest glimpse of speculative Rand, venturing opinions and conclusions, testing her thoughts on paper. Harriman’s occasional interjections are not unwelcome for their pointers to comparisons and contrasts in Rand’s later work, although familiar students might make their way without him. In these notes of 1934, for instance, are contained startling rudiments of Rand’s later fully blown epistemology. We see "arithmetic" and "algebra" evident as metaphors which survived down to her detailed theory of concepts in the Introduction To Objectivist Epistemology (1979). In these "vague beginnings of an amateur philosopher" (her words), Rand is courageous and cautious: aware of the possibility of error, but not the least afraid to reach, and the portrait only serves to cement her later efforts with its trace of her journey toward certitude. She got there the hard way: she never let herself off the hook.

Comes 1935, and this book requires a Part 2: "The Fountainhead". One hundred sixty-three pages outline and detail conception of the first expansive account of Rand’s Romantic project. This is superstructure deluxe: all the vital elements of the construction are superbly opened to the viewer. Four chapters ("Theme and Characters", "Architectural Research", "Plot", and "Notes While Writing") expose the author’s ruthless commitment to excellence, beginning with statement and analysis of the novel’s purpose, and coursing through to her stewardship of the Warner Brothers film production of 1949. Along the way, the "Journals" exhibit: authentic philosophical abstraction set to the purpose of breathing life into perceptual concretes (elements of literature); hard looks around the real world for specific examples of her themes and characters (the British socialist Harold Laski as the character of Ellsworth Toohey, Louis Sullivan and Frank Lloyd Wright as inspiration for the characters of Henry Cameron and Howard Roark, her prosaic work in the offices of New York architect Ely Jacques Kahn as a matter of practical research into the field, and extensive attention to architectural literature resulting in fascinating philosophical reflection on the art and technique); industrious plot refinement, replete with itemized anecdotes set for inclusion in the work, and dissective character development.

It is virtually impossible to imagine characters more alive than those of The Fountainhead (disapproving critics’ potshots notwithstanding). However, if that was ever a problem for a reader, then the notes found in this part of the "Journals" might constitute a compelling rebirth of those whom the rest of us found memorably vibrant. Knowledgeable readers will find these notes a blessing to their years of enjoyment of a favorite novel.

The section of notes on architectural literature might be particularly fascinating for those with a special taste for Rand’s scathing brand of criticism. Anyone who values a straight shot might catch themselves laughing aloud at her pronouncements on the selections of "established" luminaries of the profession in the first half of this century. Rand definitely shoots straight and never holds her fire, but these commentaries strike one with a sort of youthful disdain for decorum which is a humorous refreshment from her later maturity into a (not much less combative and certainly distinctive) public demeanor different from her private one. One shouldn’t call it "casual", because she is never impromptu, but the parlance is interestingly more relaxed into modes of outrage and sarcasm.

This is not to be missed for behind-the-scenes Rand.

Harriman has edited "Part Three" of the Journals ("Transition Between Novels") into three chapters of material which might very well be completely unknown to many Rand aficionados.

"The Moral Basis of Individualism" (begun in 1943) was a projected nonfiction book designed to explicate the ethical and political system implicit in "The Fountainhead". The book was never finished, for reasons which Harriman makes clear in the chapter’s introduction (mainly; the distraction from fiction and the futility of presenting the upper reaches of a philosophy without its foundations in metaphysics and epistemology). However, the contemplative work devoted to the project and presented here continues the disclosure of Rand’s intellectual development. We find the forgings of ideas (many of which were later broadcast as John Galt’s speech) through relentless and precise abstraction of principle and concept. The products range from analysis of the nature and purpose of values, to their connections to the nature of man, to their practical implications in social contexts (politics). Although foundation issues of reality and knowledge are not fully developed at all here, Rand, in her naturally powerful way, nonetheless touches these matters, and this sixty-eight page chapter is a recognizable outline of thoughts presented in later nonfiction works. What is interesting here is the continuity from the earlier "First Philosophical Journal": this is a maturing Rand working with herself for herself in an effort to explore and refine a full system of thought in the classical mold. We find her more as her own student of her own mind than the later expositor of her discoveries.

Chapter Nine - "Top Secret" - is comprised of Rand’s notes on a screenplay contracted to Hal Wallis on the subject of the development of the atomic bomb. The film was evidently aborted amid competition between rival Hollywood studios, but her work on it is revealing for insight to Rand’s view of world politics set in the post-World War II context. Never one for a superficial approach to anything she worked on, Rand understood the responsibility to make clear the fullest implications of such a weapon and its possible use. Thus, we find clear connections to subjects as the roots of war and projections of a potential horror of unprecedented scale, necessarily scaled against dominant twentieth century trends of statism. Rand was also scrupulously careful to emphasize the leading creative role of "free cooperation of free men" in the bomb’s production, as a matter of denying the imprimatur of government as the prime mover of such an original project. She carefully sorts out the contributions of individual scientists and corporations working on such a project with the same productive impulse with which they created everything else of authentic value in advanced culture. This chapter includes notes of interviews with officials of the Manhatten Project, including Dr. J. R. Oppenheimer and General Leslie Groves, as well as a screenplay outline.

"Communism And HUAC" is the tenth chapter of the Journals, and discloses Rand’s involvement in with the problem of Communist propaganda in films. Harriman has included a letter from approximately 1940 which Rand wrote during a period of encouraging organization of advocacy of individualism. The letter "To All Innocent Fifth Columnists" appears designed as a declaration of principles in the battle against subversion of individualist ideals in America, likely intended to be published by an anti-Communist organization of a sort which Rand worked to help form among conservatives during the 1940’s. The chapter also includes her 1947 "Screen Guide For Americans" to the Motion Picture Alliance the Preservation of American Ideals, and her testimony before the House Un-American Activities Committee (October 20, 1947). This material is a glimpse of Rand at work in the real-life battle against Communist ideology during a time when that battle was fully-pitched to famous flash points of controversy, and concludes with her penetrating analysis of the civil rights implications of the HAUC hearings.

The general presentation of the "Journals" is chronological, and every student of Rand knows what comes next: "The Mind On Strike".

Part 4 is exclusively comprised of working material developed during the twelve-year effort on what became Atlas Shrugged. Four chapters spanning two hundred fifty-six pages reprise the insight previously rendered into the creation of The Fountainhead. This Part, however, brings us a mature Rand at the peak of her powers of abstraction and conception, challenging herself to an enormous task: a full systemic explication of her philosophy. Among other values here, this section of the Journals serves very well as a course of instruction on the art and craft of the novel form. Aspiring writers could hardly do better than to study Rand’s methods of plot design and character refinement which are detailed here. With the purpose of the novel clearly understood from the beginning, the author proceeds to the task of tracing every last implication to objects of character and action.

The author’s process is exhaustive, but the reader’s view is panoramic. The experience of The Fountainhead clearly served Rand well during the creation of Atlas Shrugged. For example: she pauses, in 1946, for a moment of analysis of Frank Lloyd Wright’s world view and character, and the exercise is evidently beneficial to refinement of character motivation. Here is Rand’s "selective re-creation of reality" - her definition of "art" - in action. She examines the world around her and distills essences as material for the novel, from sweeping (myriad cause and effect illuminated across an entire culture) to minute, such as "the cigarette made nowhere" as tantalizing glimpse of proper life somewhere beyond incipient disaster.

These four chapters are shot-through with reflections on the complete philosophy of Objectivism from basic principles (metaphysics) to implications (politics, aesthetics, etc.) established in the author’s mind as the framework of the novel. Objectivism is the philosophy, and Atlas Shrugged is the vehicle of deliverance. Part 4 of the Journals details the processes of its design and construction.

Part 5 - "Final Years" - includes notes compiled from 1955 to 1977, and which are initially emphasized with considerations of psychology, in the first of these two chapters. This is a very interesting inclusion for its view of Rand’s puzzling over human beings in the world around her and their various responses to that reality. Chapter 15 is only twenty-nine pages in length, but experienced readers can easily imagine what Rand was capable of packing into such brevity.

The final chapter includes notes on two prospective books, one novel and one nonfiction, which did not proceed far into planning.

In a note from November of 1944, Rand asserted that "The art of writing is the art of doing what you think you’re doing. This is not as simple as it sounds. It implies a very difficult undertaking: the necessity to think. And it implies the requirement to think out three separate, very hard problems: What is it you want to say? How are you going to say it? Have you really said it?" In his "Foreword" to this volume, Leonard Peikoff observes that "It was in answer to these questions that most of the ‘Journals’ was written." Peikoff’s contention is amply borne out the Journals. Aside, however, from the technical devotion to art and craft exhibited here, the Journals are also an impressive account of Rand’s amazing energy, her ardent passion for commission of the written word. This can be brought into fullest perspective by chronological comparison of this volume to The Letters of Ayn Rand (1995). In that (extremely impressive in its own right) collection, we find extraordinary depth of personal correspondence woven through the same periods of Rand’s life which occupied her with efforts at creation, the challenge of which has, throughout history, undoubtedly foiled all but the very most brilliant and driven. Nonetheless, her poise and ability never falter throughout these private commissions. The result is a body of work every bit as worthy of publication as everything already brought to market.

The Journals of Ayn Rand are a magnificent bonus; something for which her students might have longed over many years as augmentation to the familiar corpus. To any who thought her work was finished, this release enters as further evidence of the design of Rand’s life so unabashedly set forth in her own spoken words at the other end of this century. To be sure: mere volumes of words are not the criterion against which history will judge the vitality of any given individual’s effort. What sets her off as important are two things: the time in which she lived, and what she said during that time. Ayn Rand was absolutely unique in her distillations, and every word she ever wrote is precisely that important to understanding the twentieth century.

This volume takes its proper place a device of understanding.

It was a moment thirty-four years ago when the first important turning from a one-way information channel in America took its impetus. On the day that John F. Kennedy was assassinated, there was set in motion a routine of decree which was doomed by its own presumption: the exclusion of common sense to precincts of "authority". Within ten months of that wrenching moment, Americans of every stripe were handed their plate and bid a hearty "bon appetit": The Warren Commission Report came to us strained through the well-worn channel, and the traditional conception of "authority" in this country has never quite recovered.

Of course, the infirmity had its help along the subsequent way. For single instance: even Lyndon Johnson was starkly taken aback by the events of the Tet Offensive - after embracing the glossy assurances of military experts - and anyone who didn’t quite get it also had serious cause for reconsideration of the art and practice of "authority" when Johnson threw in the campaign towel without working up even half a proper Johnsonian sweat. Bless his heart: he tried to make it clear to us in his television address of March 31, 1968. He needn’t have bothered. Almost any ordinary American citizen passing on the street outside the White House was, by then, able to tell him what time it was.

Enter "Authority"

Authority is a subject which can easily span seemingly wide gulfs between, say, plumbing and ethics, or parenting and "the common good", depending on the goal and approach. Bearing in mind that the word (or any word) is designed to denote a specific concept, commentators on the subject would do well to anchor themselves with an essential specific. This is true unless, of course, they strive for comedic impact instead of intellectual incision. If the former, then Charlie Chaplin in a Nazi get-up works at least as well as the stuff we hear today, and with lots more style.

Need we drag out the dictionary on a quest for the source and validation of "authority"? Oh, let’s not. Let’s try to reasonably agree that when one hears a person say something that makes rational sense, then that person is generally accorded "authority". Let’s agree to the inverse implication. (When one hears someone utter something manifestly stupid, the stupid-saying person is immediately denied authority to the degree of the uttered stupidity.) Fair enough?

What is important in this thumbnail take is that the ethical dynamic - the evaluation - is something naturally available to every thinking person. This is something which is naturally built into anyone with the basic tools of humanity, the most important of which is a functioning rational faculty. Now, this might seem obvious to some (or many). However, the point bears important emphasis in the face of those who evidently maintain that rational discernment is the exclusive province of a cognitive elite.

One obvious question is why such an elite would ever condescend (or take the risk?) to explain itself to the presumably mentally inept. The first salient example of such condescension in 20th century America is found, of course, in the Warren Report. Here is a case where, in essence, the enduring response to the questions of skeptics has always been, "You just don’t get it." True as that may be, it nonetheless dodges the authority of the skepticism.

This is why it was with undoubtedly by-product irony that we were presented with the following by The Boston Globe:

"Unfettered by the standards and peer review required of scholarship or the transparent sourcing of journalism, anonymous communicators on the Internet post up the most preposterous theories - stories about the death of Princess Diana, government cover-ups of extraterrestrial visitors, or why Timothy McVeigh was a patsy for the feds."

(Editorial: "The Ring of Untruth", November 22, 1997)

Please note the date.

Never let it be said that presumption cannot grow up to its task.

The construction of a "peer" in the Globe’s estimation is clear enough: market share and a sturdy masthead. Oh, we see the lip-service nod to “scholarship", but we also see the necessary scratch of the other’s (the "scholar[’s]") back turned to the ability of little people to sort their way through the world without exclusive dependence on the cognitive elite. In turn, the scholar is happy to assuage the itch of the one-way information channelists for "authority". After all, to "publish" in the consumer channel is certainly valid filler between highlights of one’s academic bibliography.

In the meanwhile, little people of ordinary (i.e.: natural) rational faculty are finding their own channels to and from each other. The practical effect of this is that the concept of a "peer" is tested every day, by and among them. If one says something that makes sense, one is granted a natural authority more powerful than any ever assumed by election, or sneaked past the invisible market hand which packages hand-waving assumptions a few pages apart from the latest stock quotes.

This is the Internet: where peers make the sensible grade with every post, and cranks are great fun.

The Globe is Routine Decree, off the road where skepticism took its crucial turn on a previous November 22nd.

The whine you heard on the recent editorial page is the sound of flat tires spinning in the ditch.