Many People Enter Ayn Rand Essay S Introduction Dissertation Droit Pnal
2009's 2012's most influential author (especially if you are Paul Ryan) is a mirthless Russian-American who loves money, hates God, and swings a gigantic dick. And the Great Recession is all their faultgoddamn, the experience of being 19 years old and reading Ayn Rand! A weirdly specific thing happens with the books of Ayn Rand.
The crystal-shivering-at-the-breaking-pitch intensity of it! Not just for that 19-year-old, but for everybody unfortunate enough to be caught in his psychic blast radius. It's not just the what of the books, but when a reader discovers them—almost always during the first or second year of college.
He created a broad-based conception of what was cool and hip. He made a joke about jerking off into a liver, and no one in the audience knew what he was talking about. You can still make Howard Roark jokes that play, but it's been at least twenty years since you could do that with Portnoy. Philip Roth is a great writer, but his signature character has had far less purchase on the collective imagination than Galt or Roark. The countless "nonentities" and "looters" who've been slapped upside the head with it. And to a degree that still confounds mainstream academic philosophers (most of whom find Rand's work laughable), that is how it has been taken.
During his last five years as CEO, BBT's charitable arm awarded nearly million to support the study of capitalism from a moral perspective on college campuses—in most cases with the stipulation that be required course reading."I was a 19-year-old at the University of North Carolina the first time I read it," Allison recalls.
Clarence Thomas makes his clerks watch the 1949 Gary Cooper film version of _The Fountainhead. There's even an Ayn Rand dating Web site, for Christ's sake: the Atlasphere.
_Mark Cuban requires no quiz: Which individual has most influenced the lives of Americans in the past twenty-five years? Which presents two related questions: Do Objectivists look to the novels for amorous, as well as economic, instruction?
That kid stands up, walks outside, and reflects on the 727 pages of he's just wolfed down. Nearly 2,000 hectoring, brook-no-ambiguity, you're-either-a-lion-or-a-leech pages of breathtaking psychological obtuseness. But none of us can escape the shadow of the lone straight shaft of the Taggart Building tumescing in the distance. Then you, sir, need to give thanks to Ayn Rand Assholes everywhere—as well as the steely loins from which they sprang. He's a New York City author and blogger who calls himself both a genius and an "elitist anarchist." What's that mean?
And realizes: That was nearly 2,000 pages (more, really, given that Rand's loathing of collectivist parasites is matched only by her loathing of paragraph indents) without a single instance of irony or humor. In time, he begins to understand that his ordeal consists of two phases. And then there is the digesting, which is quite another. The operatic rapes heralded by whips and rock drills. This is because there are boys and girls among us who have never overcome the Randian infection. And now the rest of us have to spend the next decade scaling the slippery slopes of the huge suppurative crater that was left behind. almost purely at the level of injunction—taking the things John Galt says and does as straight as a biblical literalist takes the eye of the needle? It means that if a panhandler asks him for a little money or food, Malice says, "I called me 'a hateful blowhard who touts his genius-level intellect and dismisses most of the world as inferior, deluded, or hypocritical.' They also called me a 'human cockroach,' because I'm indestructible.