COLLECTED REVIEWS

Ronald E. Merrill

MOVIE REVIEW: APOLLO 13

It's not often that a "blockbuster" movie is worth seeing. Look at top-grossing films, and one sees mindless violence and even more mindless sex; love stories peddling the same old cliches; politically correct cartoons. So it's a surprise--and a pleasure--to see *Apollo 13* become a stunning success. Who would have thought that a thinly fictionalized, semi-documentary account of a failed space mission would create so much excitement?

The movie starts slowly, building the characterization of Mission Commander Jim Lovell and the other astronauts. As we watch their training and preparation, we come to see the perfectionism, ambition, and self-discipline so characteristic of these men. The portrayal of the launch of Apollo 13 recalls the extraordinary excitement of the space program. But triumph turns to catastrophe. Apollo 13 is most of the way to the moon when an exploding oxygen tank smashes critical systems and leaves the three astronauts desperately short of power. As the spacecraft shudders and tumbles, the astronauts respond to shrieking alarms with disciplined action and a terse, controlled message: "Houston, we have a problem."

The real hero of the story is Gene Kranz, the man in charge at Mission Control. We see him hammered by a seemingly endless series of blows, as system after system goes down, disaster piles on disaster, until his people are saying it can't be happening, it's not possible for so many things to go wrong. But they have, and we sense Kranz's frustration--and his determination--when he asks, "All right. What do we have on the spacecraft that works?"

Lashed by Kranz's stubborn refusal to accept defeat, the NASA team begins solving problems. How to conserve the spacecraft's inadequate reserve of remaining power? How to come up with enough oxygen for the crew? How to put a square CO2-absorber into a round hole? Where to find just a few critical amps of electricity to start up the computer for re-entry? Struggling against tight deadlines, they improvise solutions that overcome one obstacle after another. As Kranz says, this is their finest hour.

A certain amount of tear-jerking is no doubt inevitable in telling such a story. But the movie is a paen to reason that makes surprisingly little appeal to faith, superstition, or luck. When, before the mission, Jim Lovell's wife worries about his assignment to "unlucky thirteen," he calmly tells her, "It comes after twelve." And when the crisis comes, her courage proves the equal of his. She goes about her duties, family and public, with a relentless determination that fear will not break her. She, like Kay Ludlow, refuses to hold the belief that this earth--or even space--is a realm of misery where man is doomed to destruction.

This is a story that needs no villains, and it has none to speak of. In fact, perhaps the greatest shock of the film is something that *doesn't* happen: No evil corporation is accused of causing the disaster. The only people who come off badly are the news media. We see the television networks cut off a show about the mission and return to their mindless usual programming, because space travel has become "boring." Then, only a few hours later, the disaster has made things "interesting"--and news crews gather like vultures around the houses of the astronauts, hoping for film footage of their terrified children.

But it is heroism that is central to the story, and above all the heroism of reason dominating fear. Again and again we see scientists and engineers forcing the terrifying facts on people who are reluctant to face them--not as an argument for despair, but as the first step to hope. And this is the message left to us by *Apollo 13*: Accepting reality is not an alternative to changing it; it is a prerequisite.

BOOK REVIEW:

*Inevitable Illusions: How Mistakes of Reason Rule Our Minds*, by Massimo Piatelli-Palmarini (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1994).

Is it possible for us to perceive reality, and to understand what we perceive? Do our senses give us valid information, and do our minds correctly reason from the data they provide us? This is the question pressed by epistemological skeptics for millenia. The development of psychological testing has resulted in experiments that seem to provide new ammunition for the skeptics. The arguments provoked by this work are ably explained in Piatelli-Palmarini's book.

As the author explains, his objective is to present the results obtained by two major scientists in the field, Amos Tversky and Daniel Kahneman. He himself is not an epistemological skeptic; I would characterize him as a sort of "optimistic Kantian." He believes that our means of perception and reasoning automatically distort our view of reality; but that by careful logic we can correct these "cognitive illusions." I believe he is quite wrong in his understanding of these phenomena. But he presents very illuminating information. And, in an appendix, he explains the opposing arguments with such clarity and fairness that he effectively, though no doubt unintentionally, refutes himself.

Most of the book is devoted to description of experiments that expose "heuristics" (mental shortcuts) and "tunnels" (biases) which allegedly result in incorrect reasoning. These "cognitive illusions," the author explains, are like optical illusions in that they continue even after they are explained. The wrong conclusion still *seems* correct even though we understand that it is an illusion.

Many of the examples that Piatelli-Palmarini offers fail this test, however. His very first example is the well-known "three-card problem": There are three cards, one red on both sides, one white on both sides, and one white on one side and red on the other. A card is drawn at random, and the side showing is red. What is the probability that the other side is also red? A naive analysis produces the answer one-half. ("There are two possibilities, the red-red card or the red-white card, right?") The correct answer is two-thirds. (There are actually three possibilities--the red-white card with red up; the red-red card with red side one up; the red-red card with red side two up.) It may take the student some time to understand his error; but once he sees it, the correct answer will be as firmly fixed in his mind as the incorrect one once was. Indeed, that is why this example is so commonly used in elementary statistics courses. Thus this is not a "cognitive illusion" by Piatelli-Palmarini's own standard.

Other examples represent cognitive errors of the experimenters rather than the subjects. Thus, in an example too lengthy to quote here (see pp. 52-57) it is found that people prefer a choice under which probably 400 people (but maybe more, or maybe less) will die, to a choice under which precisely 400 people will definitely die. To Piatelli-Palmarini this is irrational, for the "expected value" of the two alternatives is the same. Nonetheless, it is perfectly rational to regard the two outcomes as, in Herman Kahn's phrase, "tragic but distinguishable."

Consider this case: A coin is tossed seven times. You are to bet on which of three possible sequences is the one which actually appeared: (1) HHHHTTT; (2) THHTHTT; (3) TTTTTTT. Most people would be inclined to bet on sequence (2), which to Piatelli-Palmarini indicates irrationality, for of course all three sequences are equally likely. But this is just what is *not* true in the real world. Suppose you are playing bridge--for money--and when you pick up your hand it consists of all 13 clubs. In fact this hand is exactly as likely as any other specific hand of 13 cards. Nonetheless, the hypothesis that someone finagled the deal is likely to cross your mind--and rightly so. There is a "heuristic" of human reasoning that might be stated: "When the outcome of an apparently chance process produces a result that has real, practical significance in human affairs, suspect the possibility of cheating." This heuristic produces the best results in producing correct conclusions in the real world, which is just what we want a "rational" thinking process to do.

This brings us to the essential problem behind the "cognitive illusions" argument, and hence to the essential principle that resolves it. Much if not most of modern psychology, including "cognitive psychology," is built on what might be called the "subjunctive fallacy"--viz, that how people think can be studied by asking them what they would do under certain circumstances. This mistake is a historical artifact of the successful use of IQ tests.

Consider a typical IQ test question: "A certain rectangle has a diagonal of 10 cm and one side is 6 cm. What is the length of the other side? (A) 5 cm; (B) 8 cm; (C) 9 cm; (D) 12 cm." Now imagine an IQ test made up of questions such as: "At solving geometry problems I am: (A) very good; (B) fairly good; (C) average; (D) poor." It is not hard to see that such a test, even if its subjects did their best to be honest, would be of very limited value in measuring intelligence.

The difference is that the first question requires the subject to actually *do* something intelligent. He must exhibit insight (recognizing that the diagonal of a rectangle is the hypotenuse of a right triangle), memory (of the Pythagorean Theorem), and calculation skills. The second question, on the other hand, merely asks the subject's *opinion* about himself.

Psychologists can measure intelligence effectively because this quality is, by definition, an abstract skill that can be exercised on artificial problems. Rationality, by contrast, is a normative skill that has no meaning except in practical human action. Rationality is a measure of how effectively we deal with real-world problems; it is almost impossible to test it with artificial laboratory simulations. Actual life-and-death problems cannot be presented to subjects; so psychologists commonly rely (directly or indirectly) on subjunctive, "what would you do if" questions.

In reading this book I found myself fascinated by the experimental results--and amazed at the consistent wrong-headedness with which the author interprets them. But when I got to Appendix B I found myself saying, "Yes! Yes!" Here the author takes up the critique of Tversky and Kahneman developed notably by German psychologist Gerd Gigerenzer, which Piatelli-Palmarini calls "cognitive ecology." Here is the principle involved: One would logically expect that humans would evolve to rely on "heuristics" that allow rapid choices which are likely to be correct *for realistic, high-value problems of the types actually encountered by human beings as they live*.

Thus people are "irrationally" conservative about risks--in the context of a lab experiment that asks, "Would you bet five dollars?" But these attitudes seem much more rational in the context of real-world choices that can lead to life or death. Again, people choose to believe a hypothesis that fits in with other data and makes sense, over a hypothesis that has no logical justification except an estimate of probabilities. In real life, as opposed to the lab, hypotheses that make sense turn out to have a much higher probability of being true. Or again, people make choices without "rational" justification rather than, like Balaam's Ass, starve to death between two equally nourishing bales of hay.

A natural response to Tversky and Kahneman is simply: If you're so smart, why ain't you rich? For instance, the pari-mutuel system is based on the assumption that the population of race-goers has no bias in its collective estimate of the odds on horse races. If T&K are right, they should be able to make book on the cognitive illusions of the bettors and clean up. And in fact, Piatelli-Palmarini opens his text with the actual claim that a "rational" bookmaker can easily extract money from ordinary people by exploiting their "cognitive illusions". Why is it that T&K, or their students, are not doing this? Can we not say that it is because people do *not* exhibit cognitive illusions in real-life decisions with real values at stake? The subjunctive ("what would you do if") tests used by T&M can fool the brain, as optical illusions can fool the eye; but these artificial phenomena need not have any practical significance.

The "cognitive ecology" approach asserts that our brains are well-designed for solving real-world problems and guiding the actual actions of human beings. We will generally not go far wrong in relying on the "heuristics" that have proved so successful for our species in everyday life. However, we ought to heed the warnings about "cognitive illusions" when we operate in contexts for which our evolution has not prepared us. As primitive hunter-gatherers, we did not have to produce accurate numerical solutions of problems in Bayesian statistics. *Inevitable Illusions* can be recommended as a valuable, and very readable, stimulus to "check your premises." But by the time you finish the appendix, you should be more convinced than ever that our brains are designed to inform us, not to deceive us.

AYN RAND: THE RUSSIAN RADICAL

Chris Sciabarra

(University Park, Pennsylvania: The Pennsylvania State

University Press, 1995)

Reviewed by Ronald E. Merrill

Objectivist intellectuals, starting with Rand herself, have long had a gnawing hunger for recognition and respectability in the scholarly community. With the publication of Chris

Sciabarra's *Ayn Rand: the Russian Radical* by Penn State Press, it looks like they will finally get their desire.

In all that has been written about Rand and Objectivism, what we have lacked until now is a monograph comprehensively analyzing Rand's thought from a scholarly perspective. Leonard Peikoff's *Objectivism* is an introductory textbook. My own book, *The Ideas of Ayn Rand*, takes a scientific rather than a scholarly intellectual approach (as I acknowledge in its preface). Now the long-awaited appearance of Sciabarra's book fills that gap, and fills it brilliantly.

The reader should be warned at once that this book is no light summer read to take to the beach. Picking a sentence at random, I find at the head of page 130: "Rand's approach to the ontological foundations of philosophy was minimalist." If you had to stop and think for a moment to figure out what that means, you'll find the text heavy going. Sciabarra assumes that his reader is proficient in the esoterica of philosophical

terminology, and prepared to digest a heavy dose of Russian intellectual history. Stylistically, Sciabarra is the antithesis of Rand, who avoided academic jargon and always tried to relate even the most abstruse concepts to familiar practical issues. As I read *Ayn Rand: the Russian Radical*, the word that came repeatedly to mind was "meticulous." Sciabarra has tackled his subject with extraordinary energy and thoroughness. He has searched out practically everything that has ever been written about Rand; the bibliography alone is worth the price of the book to a Rand scholar. Beyond that, he has conducted much primary research, especially on Rand's life in Russia and her education. Perhaps the most impressive passage of the book comes in the acknowledgments, which show that Sciabarra succeeded in getting cooperation from both Leonard Peikoff and David Kelley.

Sciabarra's thesis is that Ayn Rand can best be understood as being "anti-Dualist" (yet not "Monist") in the content and methodology of her thinking; and that indeed she took a

"dialectical" approach. There is always danger in using this sort of "one size fits all" explanatory notion. One tends to stretch the meaning of the terminology so that awkward cases can be fit into the framework. I think Sciabarra falls into this difficulty in several places. Even so, his approach genuinely helps to clarify Rand's meaning, and leads to fruitful new insights.

I found the idea of anti-Dualism as a philosophical

position not useful. Dualism, in this sense, seems to be

something like dividing all phenomena into two separate or even opposing classes. It's not always clear what this really means. When we are told that the premise of anti-Dualism was common to Aristotle, Hegel, Marx, Lenin, and Rand--well, that practically establishes a *prima facie* case that the concept is

unconstitutionally vague. And as Sciabarra pursues this part of his argument, we soon find ourselves sinking into a quicksand of ambiguity and nebulous distinctions.

Let me give an example. In introducing Rand's metaphysics in his "Basic Principles of Objectivism" lectures, Nathaniel Branden emphasized the importance of the distinction between "something" and "nothing": "Nothing is not just another kind of something; nothing is nothing." This could be interpreted as a Dualist assertion (something and nothing are opposites). Or, more subtly, as anti-Dualist or even Monist (nothing really "isn't"; everything is something). One could argue the issue all day, and arrive nowhere; and why would it matter, anyway?

Sciabarra is on to something much more productive when he discusses "anti-Dualism" in a second sense, as a methodology, not philosophical content. In this sense of the term, anti-Dualism means the tendency to reason or argue by means of rejecting false antitheses. This "dialectical" method of argumentation, says Sciabarra, can be traced back to the "thesis-antithesis-

synthesis" sequence attributed to Hegel, and further to the "golden mean" sought by Aristotle. But this is not really anti-Dualist in the sense of rejecting antitheses. In fact, if we examine Rand's reasoning in detail, we find that almost always she ends up replacing the false antithesis with a new, corrected antithesis. Nonetheless, Sciabarra's insight is valuable because it stimulates us to analyze more closely the various lines of argument that Rand used.

Rand sometimes makes an argument of the form, "A and B are thought to be opposites; but actually A is just a type of B, and the true opposite to both is C." This argument is applied to criticize traditional egoism (of the Nietzschean or Stirnerian form) as merely a variant of altruism, notably in Toohey's speech in The Fountainhead.

At other times, Rand attacks the false antithesis by

changing the boundary--rotating the frame of reference, so to speak: "A and B are thought to oppose C and D; but the true opposition is A and C against B and D." We see an example of this in *Atlas Shrugged* when Tom Colby tells Rearden: "They've been telling us for years that it's you against me, Mr. Rearden. But it isn't. It's Orren Boyle and Fred Kinnan against you and me."

The familiar Randian argument for the "objective" as an alternative to the "intrinsic" or "subjective" in epistemology again involves setting up a new antithesis. "A and B are not really opposites; because they both presume the same, false, premise, the true opposite to both is C."

Prompted by Sciabarra's observation, we can see Rand using this method of identifying and rejecting false antitheses over and over again in discussing the analytic-synthetic dichotomy, the nature of mysticism and materialism, and many other issues. It is instructive to go through her work and draw Venn diagrams to clarify the various arguments she applies.

In the end, though, it's not clear that attaching the label "anti-Dualist" or "dialectical" to Rand gives us a definitive characterization of her way of thinking. After all (as Sciabarra concedes), she was repeatedly accused of seeing issues in "black and white" terms; she not only admitted doing this, she gloried in it. Above all she opposed any attempt to construct

"compromises" that blended elements of antithetical positions. Thus Rand says in Galt's speech that "There are two sides to every question: one side is right and the other is wrong, but the middle is always evil." One has to stretch a bit to call this quintessentially Randian statement "anti-Dualist." Does this label really show us how Rand was distinct from other thinkers? Sure, she attacked false antitheses--but what

philosopher doesn't?

Structurally, *Ayn Rand: the Russian Radical* is divided into three parts.

In the first, Sciabbara traces the roots of Rand's thinking in the intellectual milieu of the Russian "Silver Age" into which she was born. In his detailed analysis, he finds the source of Rand's anti-Dualism in the Russian absorbtion with Hegel and Nietzsche. He particularly emphasizes the influence of N. O. Lossky, who (apparently) taught philosophy to Rand, and to whom Sciabarra devotes a whole chapter.

A great many interesting parallels are identified in this section, and it certainly gives us a new and valuable perspective on the intellectual context in which Rand developed her ideas. I am, however, sceptical of the power of this approach for causal explanation. Like repression theory in psychology, it "explains" anything, and therefore nothing. If Rand was anti-Dualist, it's because she absorbed this from her anti-Dualist teachers. But if she was a radical individualist, it's because she was "reacting against" the commitment to *sobornost'* (communal organicism) held by her teachers. The process of intellectual development is, I would argue, far more complex than the conventional routine of scholarly appraisal can effectively comprehend.

In the second section of the book, Sciabarra conducts a top-down analysis of Objectivism, from metaphysics to politics. Deep discussions of psychological and esthetic implications are included here also.

Sciabbara begins this section by citing Lossky's ambition to see philosophy become a true science, which would no longer contain competing "schools of thought." As I have previously argued, Rand saw her task in just these terms. How ironic--and depressing--then, to find Sciabarra dividing Rand's followers into "orthodox Objectivists" (eg, Peikoff) and "neo-Objectivists" (eg, Kelley). One might therefore conclude that Rand died a failure in a very important sense. And yet, these two "schools" really differ on only three issues. First, there is the well-known but ultimately political dispute over "tolerance" and "open" vs. "closed" views of Objectivism. Second, there is the rather artificial distinction between ethical "flourishers" (orthodox) and "survivalists" (neo). Third, there is anarcho-libertarianism; orthos are firmly against it, neos more

receptive to it. Despite these splits on peripheral issues, Objectivists seem still united on basic principles, so we may hope that philosophy will yet become a real science.

To cover this extensive and detailed analysis of Rand's philosophy in a brief review would be impossible. I can only compliment Sciabarra on his thorough analysis, which perceptively relates seemingly disparate aspects of Objectivism. I was particularly interested in the way in which he integrates the psychological theories of Nathaniel Branden (both "Objectivist psychology" and the later "biocentric" approach) into the

fabric. These psychological topics, and even Rand's esthetics, are taken by Sciabarra to be prior to her metaethics and ethics, which is certainly a novel approach. While I cannot agree with all of his positions, I found his fresh perspectives on the issues provocative.

Sciabarra devotes the third section of his book to

discussing Rand's work on social and political issues,

emphasizing the problems of implementing her vision. I found this to be the weakest part of the text.

In his introduction, Sciabarra tells us that "dialectics grasps that any system emerges over time." Unfortunately, his treatment of Rand's thought, especially in the last part of the book, mostly lacks this "diachronic" perspective. Just as the Rand of *We the Living* wrote from a dramatically different standpoint from the author of *The Fountainhead*; so the Rand of the Fifties was not quite the same thinker as the Rand of the Sixties, let alone the Seventies. When Sciabarra writes of Rand's moralizing, her hostility to emotion, her views on

conservatism, and many other subjects, he relies heavily on texts from her later, even declining years. In view of her physical and emotional condition in this period, generalizations based on her essays in the post-NBI period should be made with great caution. One might as well judge Jane Austen on the basis of *Sanditon*. That's not to say that these contributions should be ignored; Rand, even when mortally ill, could think better than the average intellectual in the pink of health. But late Rand is not typical Rand, and far less is it "mature" Rand.

Objectivists often like to cite the Spanish proverb, "Take what you want, says God--and pay for it." Let us assume that Sciabarra will achieve academic respectability for Rand's ideas. What, we may legitimately ask, will be the price? I can see three drawbacks to this project.

First, is membership in the scholarly clique really

worthwhile? There is something anachronistic about the longing of Objectivist intellectuals for academic recognition--which, during the last 50 years, has increasingly become a badge less of honor than of shame. Today more than ever, what passes for "scholarship" consists mainly of the painstaking classification of intellectual coprolites. Now, if Sciabarra's book achieves the breakthrough he seeks, Rand will finally be given space in the display case on equal terms with Derrida, Heidegger, and MacKinnon. My. What a privilege.

Second, the emphasis on scholarship may easily divert attention from more substantive work. The scholar's task is to understand exactly what Rand said; why she said it; how she developed her ideas; and who influenced her thinking. That job is important and worthwhile. But far more crucial is the

scientific approach to her philosophy: What can we learn fron Rand? What productive areas for new inquiry did she open up? How can we build a higher conceptual structure on the foundation she erected? Rand's academic opponents, if they are shrewd, would like nothing better than to see her reduced to an object of study--just another dead thinker to be analyzed and discussed. Who is to carry forward the real enterprise of Objectivism? Whoever it is will not get--and, I suspect, will not desire--the plaudits of the scholarly community.

Third and most important, in appeasing the political

prejudices of the dominant Left intelligentsia, it is easy to distort the content of Objectivism. Sciabarra's discussion repeatedly emphasizes how Rand's ideas relate to those of Hegel and Marx. Indeed, the book might well be subtitled, "Objectivism for Marxists." This is certainly the best way to make Rand's philosophy accessible to the academic community: explain it in their language. And like the Japanese custom of bending over and looking at a mountain upside down between one's legs, it does give a new perspective; but one looks a little peculiar doing it. Moreover, in reframing the ideas there is inevitably the danger of debasing them. For it is hard to get into the academic church without bowing to the gods of political correctness.

In several "hot-button" areas, Sciabarra appears to

genuflect to current dogma. He recoils from Rand's moral

"intolerance," and her "insensitivity" to the plight of the poor and handicapped; he calls for a "kinder, gentler Objectivism." This simply does not do justice to Rand's thinking on this subject. Sciabbara concedes, and condemns, Rand's "homophobia" and her inadequate commitment to feminism. But, he assures us, these merely reflect Rand's personal character deficiencies, and are not integral to her thought.

Well, embarrassing though it may be, that simply is not the case. Objectivism is a philosophy that depends heavily on the input of scientific knowledge. Rand understood that if

philosophy is to become a science, it must be integrated with the scientific endeavor. Thus Objectivism, especially in its ethical reasoning, starts from specific facts about human nature. As currently formulated, Objectivist ethics derives from views that were dominant in biology and psychology in the Thirties and Forties, when Rand was developing her ideas. Unfortunately these obsolete theories contained internal contradictions, which became reflected as inconsistencies in Rand's ideas on such topics as feminism and homosexuality. One of the most important tasks facing philosophers is the revision of the Objectivist ethics to take into account new scientific knowledge. To dismiss Rand's errors in this area as mere personal idiosyncracies impedes our recognition of an important problem.

*Ayn Rand: the Russian Radical* is a first-rate piece of work. This is the book that has been needed for a long time. Sciabarra's exhaustive analysis of Rand's thought, and the new perspectives that can be discovered from his fresh viewpoint, will help encourage the renewal of Objectivism. I do worry about the response from the book's intended academic audience; for I fear that a positive reaction may almost be more dangerous than a negative. But in the end I remember a passage from *The

Fountainhead*:

"The *A.G.A. Bulletin* refers to you as a great but unruly talent--and the Museum of the Future has hung up photographs of Monadnock, the Enright House, the Cord Building and the Aquitania, under beautiful glass--next to the room where they've got Gordon L. Prescott. And still--I'm glad."

Ronald E. Merrill is author of *The Ideas of Ayn Rand* (Open Court, 1991), and co-author of *The New Venture Handbook* (AMACOM, 1993) and *Raising Money* (AMACOM, 1990). His recent publications on Objectivism include "Axioms: the Eightfold Way," *Objectivity* 2(2), 1

(1995). Dr. Merrill can be reached by email as

ronmerrill@bix.com.

BOOK REVIEW:

*Letters of Ayn Rand*, edited by Michael S. Berliner (Dutton, 1995)

The publication of new material by Ayn Rand is always occasion for excitement. This collection contains, Berliner estimates, 35-40% of her correspondence. He presents his selection of Rand's letters chronologically, except for separate chapters collecting her correspondence with Frank Lloyd Wright, Isabel Paterson, and John Hospers. Except for a short but useful preface and an occasional explanatory note, Berliner lets Rand speak for herself. Sometimes the reader could use more information about her correspondents, however. And the complete absense of any letters *to* Rand sometimes makes it hard to follow what she is writing about, especially in her epistolary discussions with Paterson and Hospers.

Readers looking for titillation will be disappointed. The book contains nothing referring to Rand's relationship to the Brandens or to the great schism that split Objectivists when NBI was closed. Only a few of the very first letters to Nathaniel Branden (then Blumenthal) are included. It is questionable how much correspondence on this subject ever existed. But in any case, Berliner's discreet reticence on the schism is appropriate. To re-open this unpleasant controversy in a collection of correspondence would be out of place; it could not do justice to either of the parties in the dispute. Presumably this issue will be dealt with in the proper place, viz, the authorized biography promised by Leonard Peikoff in his introduction.

Much of the material, of course, especially the chapter of correspondence with John Hospers, deals with philosophy. But there is little, if any, really new thinking presented in these letters; essentially Rand is restating and arguing the ideas already explained in her books. Even so, readers may find some interesting material here. But in this chapter, especially, the absence of the letters to which Rand was responding is frustrating to the reader.

This collection is more valuable in giving us a better acquaintance with Ayn Rand as a person. The bulk of the included correspondence dates from the mid-Thirties to the early Fifties. We are told that Rand destroyed all her early writing and correspondence before leaving Russia. (That a writer--especially such a writer as Rand--would destroy her manuscripts says a great deal about how seriously she took the danger of Communist reprisals against her family.) Even after her arrival in America Rand did not keep copies of her letters until she bought a typewriter in 1934.

The letters from the Thirties, when Rand was a novice writer, illustrate the tension between her bourgeois and radical sensibilities--a factor quite neglected by biographers and commentators. Ayn Rand, especially in her later years, depicted herself as a social nonconformist, contemptuous of traditional strictures. As a trivial but telling example: Throughout her adult life Rand wore her hair in the same short style, though it was hardly becoming to her facial type; for, when she was a young woman in the Twenties, having one's hair "bobbed" was a statement of female independence from stuffy convention. More significantly, Rand took pride in defying conventional morality in her premarital affair with Frank O'Connor, and her fictional characters behaved even more boldly.

But Rand, for all her professed radicalism, never really escaped from the bourgeois social code in which she was brought up. Reputation and respectability were very important to her. And she had a well-developed sense of social status, as NBI students who attempted to talk to her as if they were equals sometimes found out the hard way. We see the other side of this coin in the younger Rand's letters to established figures such as H. L. Mencken, Frank Lloyd Wright, and Alexander Kerensky. Respectful, humble, indeed almost fawning, these missives show Rand in an unfamiliar light. The conflict between defiance and submission to convention was an unresolved contradiction in her psychology--a provocative issue for future biographers to ponder.

Another surprise appears in the many letters to Rand's relatives (direct and by marriage). From her novels, in which most major characters are estranged from their families, one could easily get the impression that Rand was indifferent or even hostile to family relationships. But here we see numerous letters testifying to Rand's concern and affection for her relatives. Again, a whole sector of her character is newly lit up.

With the publication of *The Fountainhead*, Rand was finally relieved of her constant financial worries--only to acquire new problems. It seems that, like any sudden success, she was soon pestered by relatives and friends who hoped to make her a fountainhead of monetary gifts and unsecured loans. She also had to deal with fan mail, much of which seems to have been ignorant or even insulting. The temperate and generous tone with which she responded to these provocations should give us second thoughts about the standard caricature of Rand as a thin-skinned virago who readily gave vent to rage over trivial causes.

During the Forties and early Fifties Ayn Rand was heavily involved in politics. Unfortunately, there are no letters in this book detailing Rand's stint as a full-time political agitator for Wendell Willkie. But we do see her writing essays and pamphlets, trying to organize conservative opposition to the New Deal and Fair Deal, contributing money to buy arms for Finland during the Winter War. Here again we discover a very different Rand from the one who decisively renounced political activism after the Goldwater debacle.

There is a another gap in Rand's correspondence during the mid-Fifties. At this time, Berliner explains, she was so deep into writing *Atlas Shrugged* that she had no time for letters. Be that as it may, we find few letters even from the Sixties and Seventies.

The real value of *Letters of Ayn Rand* lies in the new light it sheds on her background, particularly in the middle part of her career. It helps to make her more real to us as a person. So often the public image of Ayn Rand has made her a cartoon villain; and those who would portray her as a cartoon hero do her no more honor. She was much more than that.

John R. Searle, *The Rediscovery of the Mind*. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1992.

[8/6/96]

Philosopher John Searle became a prominent figure with his challenge to the conceptual foundations of "artificial intelligence." His defence of the reality of subjective consciousness was brilliantly exemplified in his famous "Chinese room" argument. In *The Rediscovery of the Mind* he provides an ingeniously argued and quite readable account of his approach.

In the first part of the book, Searle sets out the problem as he sees it and takes on the various opposing ideas. He repeatedly expresses surprise at encountering philosophers and scientists who deny the reality of consciousness, a position he cannot take seriously. However, he valiantly tries to develop an interpretation under which his opponents would at least make some kind of sense. In doing so, he ends up wrestling with, as I see it, two antinomies.

The first is this. There is a basic rule of modern science that might be expressed as follows: "If some aspect of reality is postulated--call it A--there must be some way, at least in principle, in which by experiment or observation it could be determined whether A exists or is true. If no such way exists, it is meaningless to talk about A; there is no such thing as A." Now, modern science and philosophy, and particularly the field of artificial intelligence ("AI"), has tended to apply this principle to show that consciousness does not exist.

The AI argument is that what we can observe of an entity is, broadly defined, its behavior. The only way to determine whether something has consciousness, is to see how it behaves. But conscious-seeming behavior can be demonstrated in relatively simple input-output systems. To take just one example: Way back in the 1960s, a computer program called ELIZA simulated a psychotherapist quite successfully. Some people who tried it refused to believe it was not a human being at the other end of the teletype; they insisted on meeting this person, who was so much more perceptive than their real-life therapists, so they could sign up with her! ELIZA was, though, a very simple program, far less complex than a modern word-processing program, running on a primitive computer. We cannot devise any experiment, AI claims, that will, even in principle, distinguish between the behavior of a conscious "person" and that of a sufficiently powerful computer simulating that person's behavior. Therefore, it is not meaningful to speak of "consciousness."

The antinomy arises because, of course, we *know* that consciousness exists; we experience it. Searle's counterargument to AI is not quite on all fours, but he is basically on the right track and he makes a number of perceptive observations. The error of AI, in essence, is that in reality we judge the existence of consciousness not just by behavior but by structure. I believe my cat is conscious not just because she acts that way, but because she is an entity with a form that is congruent to consciousness. What AI has done is arbitrarily limit the kinds of observations that will be considered legitimate, then complain that, with these limitations, consciousness cannot be observed.

The second antinomy is misconceived by Searle. He wishes to escape the accusation of Cartesian dualism--that mind and matter are two different and separate kinds of substance. The antinomy arises, of course, because we experience both mind and matter and find that their properties are quite different; and yet, if they are separate, how do they coexist and cooperate in such an integrated manner as they do?

Searle's response is that consciousness must be considered a property--an "emergent" property--of matter. "Consciousness is not a 'stuff,' it is a *feature or property* of the brain in the sense, for example, that liquidity is a feature of water." (p. 105; Searle's emphasis)

This seems plausible enough until we perceive that Searle is missing the *real* antinomy: If consciousness is real, and is what we directly experience, as he asserts, then we must recognize that we do *not* experience it as a "feature or property." Searle's position is that being conscious is a property of my brain, just as being blue is a property of my eyes. But I do not experience my consciousness as being a property of me; I experience it as *being* me. My awareness is not that of a body that has the attribute of consciousness, as an apple has the attribute of redness. If anything, it is the reverse; my awareness is of myself as a consciousness, and my body seems almost like an attribute or property of that consciousness. Moreover, other people regard me, as an existent, in the same way; to them, "Ron Merrill" refers to my consciousness. They do not think that my body is the real person Ron Merrill, and that my personality is just a sort of coating on it. So on Searle's own account of consciousness, it is *not* a property or attribute; it really is "stuff," or more precisely a thing, an entity. This is the real problem he needs to confront: He must either abandon the idea that our direct experience constitutes reliable observation of consciousness; or accept something that looks uncomfortably like Cartesian dualism.

Searle then turns to the development of a positive theory of consciousness. In succeeding chapters he discusses a number of issues. Is his theory of consciousness reductionist? He asserts that the idea does not really apply here. What is the structure of consciousness? An interesting argument is made here that there is no such thing as introspection. What is the "unconscious" and how is it related to consciousness? Searle concludes that every unconscious mental state is accessible to consciousness. Finally, Searle discusses the issue of "background" in consciousness, with insights that have implications for concept-formation, particularly on the issue of primary concepts.

Searle concludes by returning to his critique of AI and demanding a clearer understanding of what we mean by such things as "rules of behavior" of a system and distinguishing them from conscious experience.

Why do I think this book ought to be of interest to Objectivists? Because, I fear, we have too commonly forgotten Ayn Rand's warning that the theory of concepts is only a part (though an important part) of epistemology. We also have far too readily accepted Peikoff's silly idea that metaphysics consists of little more than working out a few implications of "existence exists." There is a great deal more to be understood in these areas of philosophy, and Searle, whatever his errors, has useful and provocative ideas to present to us.

Ernest Bramah, *The Secret of the League* (original title: *What Might Have Been*). Atlanta: Specular Press, 1995 (originally published 1907).

Ernest Bramah is known these days, if at all, only for his Kai Lung stories, marvelously convoluted satirical tales set in an imaginary China. His talent lay in a certain kind of dry humor, which influenced writers as diverse as Dorothy Sayers and Thorne Smith. Bramah's writing skills outside this specialty were limited, and his political novel *What Might Have Been*, though reprinted a few times in Britain, soon fell into a deserved obscurity. The book has now been revived by Specular Press. Its modern interest lies in the author's predictions of the perils of socialism. The plot of the book has been alleged to anticipate Ayn Rand's *Atlas Shrugged*.

This book fits into a context of early science-fiction, the "social" novels of the future that became popular from the pioneering work of H. G. Wells. They were the predecessors of the dystopias like *We*, *1984*, and *Brave New World*, which appeared in later decades. Most were potboilers.

Bramah seems to have written his novel in reponse to the British election of 1906. This was *not* won by the Labour Party, as Daniel Jencka's Introduction states, but by the Liberal Party. However, it was the first Parliament in which Labour had significant representation (53 seats) and it is true that this election marked a sea change in British politics, comparable to 1932 in the U.S. Modern historians agree that, as Bramah predicted, this election was a crucial step in the development of British socialism.

Bramah, who seems to have been a very traditional conservative, was alarmed and disgusted. He predicts a social and economic decline, as the "workers" vote themselves subsidies to be financed by taxes on the "rich." The upper classes, in his novel, fight back with a "social war," led openly by the aristocrat Sir John Hampden and underground by his ally, the mysterious George Salt.

Well, then, what of the parallels to *Atlas Shrugged*? They are tenuous at best. Ayn Rand centered her story on the oppression of the productive, from entrepreneurs to ordinary workers. Bramah is the defender of "property" as such; he describes movingly the plight of persons living off capital under confiscatory taxation. Businessmen play no major role in the conflict; they are, apparently, bought off by Salt and persuaded to remain neutral.

Rand's plot hinges on a strike of the thinking and productive. Bramah has a quite different idea: the "propertied" class should overthrow socialism by refusing to consume! A boycott of coal, the foundation of Labour's economic power, is their tool.

The heroes of *Atlas Shrugged* are business executives and other productive people. John Galt is a physicist. Bramah's revolt is run by and for the landed gentry. And "Who is Salt?" (a question that appears in only one passage of the novel). It turns out he is a heroic naval officer.

*The Secret of the League* is not strong on literary merit. The plot is disorganized despite its simplicity; characters suddenly appear out of nowhere to make some incident happen, then just as suddenly disappear without trace. The heroes are cardboard cutouts, the villains are cartoon caricatures. There are a few passages of amusing satire--enough to show that Bramah would have written a much better book, and probably one with far more political effectiveness, if he'd stuck to his own style.

Most striking is how very English--and very naive--Bramah was. His Socialist Cabinet members, when their government finds itself in a disastrous fiscal crisis, do not even consider running a deficit or devaluing the currency. Far less do they resort to any sort of violent or even coercive measures toward their enemies. Their respect for rule of law is exemplary; even when they resort to arresting Salt on trumped up murder charges, they have a warrant based on probable cause that would pass muster with even a conscientious judge. In this respect, at least, Bramah did not prove a perceptive prophet.

In the end, *The Secret of the League* gives a chilling demonstration of the impotence of conservatism. Tirrel, the most radical of the Socialists, the only one ready to resort to extreme measures, gets Bramah's grudging admiration. At the end of the novel, when the Left is defeated and the working classes are stripped of the franchise, Hampden makes a conciliatory offer to Tirrel. The Socialist declines, with an eloquent avowal of his intention to carry on the struggle. Bramah, archetypical conservative, cannot quite escape the conviction that his enemies are, ultimately, in the right.

*Moral Rights and Political Freedom*

Tara Smith; Rowman & Littlefield, Lanham, MD; 1995.

Reviewed by Ronald E. Merrill

In this brief monograph Tara Smith gives an account of rights theory from an Objectivist perspective. The book is aimed at an audience of academic philosophers, but the exposition is readable and mostly jargon-free.

Rights, Smith says, are "individuals' moral claims to freedom of action." Following Locke and Rand, she justifies this in terms of the need for free, reasoned action to support life. Her argument proceeds by rejecting the false dichotomy of deontological and consequentialist models of rights, and invoking (one sees the influence of Binswanger here) a "teleological" justification.

There is some temporary confusion about the moral foundations of rights in Chapter Two, where Smith concedes too much ground to the "fact vs. value" crowd. She states that her argument is conditional, valid only *if* life is (apparently arbitrarily) considered a fundamental value. However, this is cleared up by p. 94, where she returns to the Randian argument that values exist only in the context of life as the ultimate value.

A number of important points are brought out very clearly. In particular, Smith gives an excellent account of eudaimonia and the relationship between flourishing and survival. Her critique of such ideas as "welfare rights" is cogent.

On the other hand, Smith's discussion is perhaps too narrowly focussed on concepts traded among a small set of philosophers. For instance, she attacks "rule consequentialism" as fundamentally inconsistent and unworkable. A familiarity with Axelrod's work, which argues strongly to the contrary, might have led her to reconsider this conclusion.

Smith founders seriously, though, only in the latter part of the book, when she takes up the issue of defining "force" and "freedom." This problem is the real obstacle to completing the tasks of rights theory. Smith emphasizes the difference between initiation of force, and merely doing something that reduces the scope of action of another person. One can easily agree with her examples, yet feel that a problem remains. She still has no real definition of what constitutes initiating force, or what constitutes freedom. Ultimately her position reduces to, "we know it when we see it." This is not a satisfactory state of affairs.

Despite its narrow scope, this book merits a place on the shelf next to Tibor Machan's more thorough treatments, *Human Rights and Human Liberties* and *Individuals and Their Rights*. (Surprisingly, Smith does not cite or mention Machan's work.) It is certainly worth acquiring for people seriously interested in rights theory.

On Reisman's *Capitalism*

I won't attempt to formally review this long-awaited book. For one thing, this is such a huge tome that to deal with it properly would be a major project in itself. Nor do I really have the competence in economics to critique much of Reisman's arguments. Nonetheless, I think it's worth examining informally.

To begin with, I am compelled to challenge the subtitle: "A Treatise on Economics" it is not. People looking for a thorough treatment of the field starting from first principles should still turn to either von Mises' *Human Action* or Rothbard's *Man, Economy, and State*. *Capitalism* is, rather, an extensive and partially organized compilation of essays, which may be divided into two parts.

The first half of the book is devoted to critiques of various fallacious ideas; one might regard it as an update on Bastiat's *Economic Sophisms*. Topics range from "economic planning" to price controls to environmentalism. In general the level of these discussions is very elementary, about that of an article in *The Freeman*. The prose is quite readable though perhaps a little prolix.

Unfortunately, most of this material is obsolescent at best. One is reminded of the French generals of the Thirties who were thoroughly prepared to do a very professional job of fighting a replay of World War I. In much the same way, Reisman delivers crushing blows to the key arguments of Marxism and the New Deal. Had this material been written sixty years ago it might have changed the course of history; today, alas, much of it is likely to be greeted with yawns. Though Reisman does take up the topic of environmentalism, his discussion primarily focusses on its predecessor ideology, conservationism. The author's discomfort with scientific or mathematical issues is evident here.

One would have liked to see Reisman tackle the modern challenges to capitalism, such as: neomercantilism; the issue of increasing marginal returns in high-tech markets; cooperation models and cartel theory.

As Reisman attacks various fallacies, he covers in the process much basic economic theory. Unfortunately, this method results in very superficial discussion of some key points. A couple of examples: In discussing how profit levels tend to be uniform throughout an economy, Reisman fails to point out that industry differences in risk and desirability will modify profit rates--a factor Rothbard brings out carefully. In discussing the gold standard, Reisman advocates use of both gold and silver for circulating money, with a complete absence of mention of the serious problems of bimetallism--another area where Rothbard's treatment is far superior.

The second half of *Capitalism*, like the first, is essentially a series of critiques, but it is written at a much higher level. Here Reisman analyzes various technical economic issues, mainly by contrasting his own views with those of other economists including Keynes, Fisher, Samuelson, and Bohm-Bawerk. Without going into detail, it may be said that Reisman attempts to restore, though generally in modified form, certain principles of "classical" economists, such as Ricardo, as a corrective to major problems he perceives in Austrian economics.

To this layman, many of the technical issues Reisman discusses were a bit difficult to follow. That is no criticism, of course. But it would certainly have been helpful if Reisman had given an account of the practical consequences of his theoretical advances. For instance, he challenges the calculation of GNP and proposes an entirely different way of measuring aggregate production. Very well--but what difference would it make if we adopted his method? Again, one might ask: If we accept Reisman's net-consumption/net-investment theory instead of the time-preference theory, what conclusions follow for profit and interest rates?

Where Reisman is clearly superior to the Austrian school (except Schumpeter) is in his serious treatment of technology. To von Mises and Rothbard, technology is pretty much an excrescence on the economy. Their analyses are almost invariably based on the assumption that technology per se has no economic implications. It is simply a given. And on a related issue Reisman is not only superior, he is vastly superior: economic growth. Austrian economists (again, Schumpeter excepted) have little interest in the subject. Rothbard, for instance, says almost nothing about it; his analysis constantly returns to the "evenly rotating economy." Reisman perceives the importance of economic growth, and makes a credible effort to understand its sources.

*Capitalism*, in sum, contains a vast quantity of interesting and useful material on economics and political economy. Unfortunately, because of its unconventional organization and mixture of text at very different levels--from high-school instruction to special topics in graduate economics--it's hard to see where the real market for this book is. Its astronomical price, of course, won't help either. It's a shame because, as near as I can judge, Reisman has made significant contributions of new and interesting ideas to free-market economics.

Ron Merrill

ronmerrill@bix.com