In many ways I'm still a novice, a recent convert to the art of living. Every morning I awake to a cliché, happier to be alive than I was the day before. (The cynic that lived in me even a year ago would have espoused, "Sure. You're happy now. But how long do you really expect it to last?" He's still there, certainly. I can hear the questioning as clearly as the triangle in a smooth bossa. It's there if I purposely focus on it. But why should I? Unlike the triangle, whose purpose is to subtly enrich the rhythm, this doubt falls behind the beat, dragging the pulse to a dead stop.) There were so many dichotomies presenting hopeless Either/Ors, asserting that my only two choices were a blindfold or a coma. A pig satisfied or Socrates dissatisfied? I choose Aristotle satisfied. A knight of infinate resignation or a knight of infinite faith? I choose a knight of infinite reason. Mysticism or brute force? I choose rationality. Mind or body? I choose soul--properly understood. Slave master or sacrificial animal? I choose rational self-interest. Rationalism or Empiricism? I choose Objectivism.
Scoff. Laugh. Dismiss. Do everything but think. Your denial is your own immolation, and with that attitude, you deserve it.
What do you accomplish with your half compliments and claims to the "truth" "behind" the author? Even if we take the most radical of your accusations as true--which they're not--what have you proven? It's a sad commentary on culturally accepted practices that we must make heroes "real"--i.e., deeply flawed--in order to have any appreciation for them. I literally want to scream, "What do you gain from focusing on the mundane and the trivial?" Any excuse. ANY "reason" not to acknowledge her accomplishments. ANY frivolity that allows you to dismiss an entire philosophic system. "Well, you see, her claims to morality can't be trusted because she smoked." "And, well, you can't expect me to take her seriously if she *gasp* had an affair." "And, frankly, she was mean." "And, you can probably tell by her photos, but she was just dreadful to get along with." "We heard she did drugs." "We heard she was a lesbian." "We heard she didn't tip at a restaurant once." "We heard she didn't applaud at a 20th century piano performance."
"Why why I want to listen to a woman like that?"
If you kill all the heroes, who's going to be left to save your life?
On my first day in the office, a coworker asked, "Are you ready to save the world?" I cheerfully replied, "Can we have it done by Friday?"
Rorschach, though, would have had a different answer.