Atlas Shrugged – Day 035 – pp. 339-348
Part II – Either-Or.
(What the hell was Part I called? “Non-Contradiction.” Uh Huh. . .)
Chapter I (we’re resetting the counter.) The Man Who Belonged on Earth. (?)
It’s the book.
We are in Dr Stadler’s office. He’s waiting for Dr. Ferris to arrive. He is distracted by the unusual chill in the air. But more so by the presence of that book on his desk.
The book was authored by Dr Ferris and published by the State Science Institute (ostensibly sanctioned by Dr Stadler) and apparently full of shit.
It’s titled “Why Do You Think You Think?” A challenge if I’ve ever heard one. And apparently the book is filled with . . . well let’s look.
“Thought is a primitive superstition. Reason is an irrational idea. . . . What you think you think is an illusion created by your glands, your emotions and in the last analysis, by the content of your stomach. . . The more certain you feel of your rational conclusions, the more certain you are to be wrong. . . The entire history of science is a progression of exploded fallacies, not of achievements. . . Only the crassest ignoramus can still hold to the old-fashioned notion that seeing is believing. . . . The latest scientific discoveries . have demonstrated conclusively tat our reason is incapable of dealing with the nature of the universe. . . .Do now look for common sense. To demand sense is the hallmark of nonsense. . . . Let us break the chains of prejudice called logic. . . “
Whooooooooooooooa Nellie. That’s some serious shit-talkin’ there. Sounds almost like a manifesto, written under the auspices of a man-made authority figure to sway the thinking and opinion of the mass public. (But that’s probably just me being paranoid.)
In any case, Dr. S had nothing to do with the book’s creation and wants no association with the message (i.e. crap) it promotes. We’ll see.
Dr Ferris arrives half an hour late. He had car trouble and “…there’s getting to be so few damn cars out on the road that half the service stations are closed.” (Uh Huh! It’s starting already)
So let’s get a little background.
Dr S thinks Dr F has been neglecting his duties around the lab and spending too much time in Washington. Dr F replies that Dr S has named him the “watchdog of the institute” making that his most essential duty.
What about his oil shortage “mess.”
Dr F is hurt. They’ve done all they could but no one else involved has seen fit to call it a “mess.”
Huh? What’s he talking about?
Why the Wyatt Reclamation project. Seems since Wyatt’s been gone, no one has been able to replicate his success of reanimating dead wells. They’ve put the SSI in charge — with appropriate funding. Mr. Wesley Mouch is pleased so far. (Before any evil befalls him in the next 900 pages, Hank has to kill that guy. Slow. With his bare hands.)
They have succeeded “in forcing a flow from one of the wells, to the extent of six and a half gallons. This, of course, is merely of experimental significance. . .”
Uh Huh. What Dr S really meant was the oil shortage at the institute. Why’s it so damned cold?!
Oh that! That’s as a result of the national emergency. When Wyatt went out of business, he was the only source of oil in the country. So the G had to step in an impose rationing to “protect the essential enterprises.” But as for the temp in the office, Dr F can fix that.
Point 1. Get on board and get fed at the trough.
By the way Dr F, what the hell is Project X?
Top secret government project. Totally hush hush. X stands for xylophone because it has to do with sound. But completely under wraps, the media must never hear about it. You needn’t concern yourself Dr S.
(That was strange. Wonder what project X really is. . .)
Point 2. Don’t stick your nose where it don’t belong.
But on to more important things. The book.
Dr S would like an explanation of the book. Dr F plays coy. So Dr S must cut to the chase:
“If a drunken lout could find the power to express himself on paper. . . if he could give voice to his essence — the eternal savage leering his hatred of the mind, this is the sort of book I would expect him to write. But to see it come from a scientist…”
“But Dr Stadler, this book was not intended to be read by scientists. It was written for that drunken lout.”
“What do you mean?”
“For the general public”
There you go now. The unwashed masses that we have to whip into line in a hurry. What better way than challenging everything they think.
Or better still, doing their thinking for them . . .
“You see Dr Stadler, people don’t want to think. And the deeper they get into trouble, the less they want to think. But by some sort of instinct, they feel that they ought to and it makes them feel guilty. So they’ll bless and follow anyone who gives them a justification for not thinking. Anyone who make a virtue — a highly intellectual virtue — out of what they know to be their sin, their weakness and their guilt.”
Yep, absolve them of their sin of not wanting to think, and you have ’em right where you want ’em.
And why court the public’s popularity by doing this?
“We are a public institution … supported by public funds.”
O-M-G Was politics this dirty all the way back then? Or is this just some kind of genius visionary Ayn Rand who could see exactly what’s going on now. . . today?
Let’s close it out.
“Dr Stadler, it would be disastrous if you allowed the realm of public relations to distract you from the work which you alone on earth are capable of doing.”
Point 3. Translation: shut up and stay out of it.
I think Dr S, though confused is somewhat morally offended by this whole proposition. To be fair, he recommended the idea of the SSI to free science from the control of money. It only seems he may not have realized that putting the G in charge of anything only makes it all about money — public money.
Leaving, Dr F apologizes for the tardy start. He has ordered a new car, a Hammond convertible — best car on the market, but Lawrence Hammond has suddenly gone out of business. Add him to the list.
After his departure, Dr S stands wondering —
A face came to his mind, suddenly and clearly, as if he were seeing the purity of its every line, a young face he had not permitted himself to recall for year. He thought “no, he has not read this book. he won’t see it, he’d eead, he must have died long ago . . .”
Who’s thinking what I’m thinking?
Suddenly, as the section ends, a call comes in for Dr Stadler.