FH by AR
> “Not in the same city. Not on the same earth,” said Mallory. “But you made it happen. It’s possible.... I’ll never be afraid again.”
> “Of what?”
> Mallory put the sketch down on the table, cautiously. He answered:
> “You said something yesterday about a first law. A law demanding that man seek the best.... It was funny.... The unrecognized genius—that’s an old story. Have you ever thought of a much worse one—the genius recognized too well? ... That a great many men are poor fools who can’t see the best—that’s nothing. One can’t get angry at that. But do you understand about the men who see it and don’t want it?”
> “No.”
> “No. You wouldn’t. I spent all night thinking about you. I didn’t sleep at all. Do you know what your secret is? It’s your terrible innocence.”
> Roark laughed aloud, looking at the boyish face.
> “No,” said Mallory, “it’s not funny. I know what I’m talking about—and you don’t. You can’t know. It’s because of that absolute health of yours. You’re so healthy that you can’t conceive of disease. You know of it. But you don’t really believe it. I do. I’m wiser than you are about some things, because I’m weaker. I understand—the other side. That’s what did it to me ... what you saw yesterday.”
> “That’s over.”
> “Probably. But not quite. I’m not afraid any more. But I know that the terror exists. I know the kind of terror it is. You can’t conceive of that kind. Listen, what’s the most horrible experience you can imagine? To me—it’s being left, unarmed, in a sealed cell with a drooling beast of prey or a maniac who’s had some disease that’s eaten his brain out. You’d have nothing then but your voice—your voice and your thought. You’d scream to that creature why it should not touch you, you’d have the most eloquent words, the unanswerable words, you’d become the vessel of the absolute truth. And you’d see living eyes watching you and you’d know that the thing can’t hear you, that it can’t be reached, not reached, not in any way, yet it’s breathing and moving there before you with a purpose of its own. That’s horror. Well, that’s what’s hanging over the world, prowling somewhere through mankind, that same thing, something closed, mindless, utterly wanton, but something with an aim and a cunning of its own. I don’t think I’m a coward, but I’m afraid of it. And that’s all I know—only that it exists. I don’t know its purpose, I don’t know its nature.”
I still have trouble conceiving of irrationality and evil. I don't quite get it. It always seems a little unreal. How can people really want to ruin their minds, lie to themselves, live badly ineffectively immorally, refuse to improve, be cruel, and so on? What for? Why? It makes no sense. I always sort of expect, at any moment, people to realize their mistake and live like decent human beings. Time after time they don't, but I don't understand it.
I know things about it. I know psycho-epistemological explanations. I know about the anti-capitalistic mentality, the strain of individual responsibility, Szasz's writings, etc
AR says a lot comes down to one choice: to think or not to think. Why wouldn't you think? It makes no sense.
A drooling beast cannot be reached, but a man can. Can't he? Why not? What's to stop progress, learning, improvement? Don't I just need to explain better ideas than his bad ones, and that should be that? It's in his self-interest, and mine. There's mutual benefit available, and people reject that for mutual loss. It's so hard to understand it.
-- Elliot Temple
http://elliottemple.com/