Авторы: 159 А Б В Г Д Е З И Й К Л М Н О П Р С Т У Ф Х Ц Ч Ш Щ Э Ю Я

Книги:  184 А Б В Г Д Е З И Й К Л М Н О П Р С Т У Ф Х Ц Ч Ш Щ Э Ю Я

THE SOUL OF A COLLECTIVIST

This excerpt is the confession of Roark’s antipode and archenemy, Ellsworth

M. Toohey, an architectural critic and sociologist, who spends his life

plotting the future establishment of a collectivist society. He is addressing

one of his own victims.

“I’ve always said just that. Clearly, precisely and openly. It’s not my fault

if you couldn’t hear. You could, of course. You didn’t want to. Which was

safer than deafness—for me. I said I intended to rule. Like all my spiritual

predecessors. But I’m luckier than they were. I inherited the fruit of their

efforts and I shall be the one who’ll see the great dream made real. I see it all

around me today. I recognize it. I don’t like it. I didn’t expect to like it

Enjoyment is not my destiny. I shall find such satisfaction as my capacity

permits. I shall rule. ...

“It’s only a matter of discovering the lever. If you learn how to rule one

single man’s soul, you can get the rest of mankind. It’s the soul, Peter, the

soul. Not whips or swords or fire or guns. That’s why the Caesars, the

Attilas, the Napoleons were fools and did not last. We will. The soul, Peter,

is that which can’t be ruled. It must be broken. Drive a wedge in, get your

fingers on it—and the man is yours. You won’t need a whip—he’ll bring it to you and ask to be whipped. Set him in reverse—and his own mechanism

will do your work for you. Use him against himself. Want to know how it’s

done? See if I ever lied to you. See if you haven’t heard all this for years, but

didn’t want to hear, and the fault is yours, not mine. There are many ways.

Here’s one. Make man feel small. Make him feel guilty. Kill his aspiration

and his integrity. That’s difficult. The worst among you gropes for an ideal

in his own twisted way. Kill integrity by internal corruption. Use it against

itself. Direct it toward a goal destructive of all integrity. Preach selflessness.

Tell man that he must live for others. Tell men that altruism is the ideal. Not

a single one of them has ever achieved it and not a single one ever will. His

every living instinct screams against it. But don’t you see what you

accomplish? Man realizes that he’s incapable of what he’s accepted as the

noblest virtue—and it gives him a sense of guilt, of sin, of his own basic

unworthiness. Since the supreme ideal is beyond his grasp he gives up

eventually all ideals, all aspiration, all sense of his personal value. He feels

himself obliged to preach what he can’t practice. But one can’t be good

halfway or honest approximately. To preserve one’s integrity is a hard battle.

Why preserve that which one knows to be corrupt already? His soul gives up

its self-respect. You’ve got him. He’ll obey. He’ll be glad to obey—because

he can’t trust himself, he feels uncertain, he feels unclean. That’s one way.

Here’s another. Kill man’s sense of values. Kill his capacity to recognize

greatness or to achieve it. Great men can’t be ruled. We don’t want any great

men. Don’t deny the conception of greatness. Destroy it from within. The

great is the rare, the difficult, the exceptional. Set up standards of

achievement open to all, to the least, to the most inept—and you stop the

impetus to effort in all men, great or small. You stop all incentive to

improvement, to excellence, to perfection. ... Don’t set out to raze all

shrines—you’ll frighten men. Enshrine mediocrity—and the shrines are

razed. Then there’s another way. Kill by laughter. Laughter is an instrument

of human joy. Learn to use it as a weapon of destruction. Turn it into a sneer.

It’s simple. Tell them to laugh at everything. Tell them that a sense of humor

is an unlimited virtue. Don’t let anything remain sacred in a man’s soul—

and his soul won’t be sacred to him. Kill reverence and you’ve killed the

hero in man. One doesn’t reverence with a giggle. He’ll obey and he’ll set

no limits to his obedience—anything goes—nothing is too serious. Here’s

another way. This is most important. Don’t allow men to be happy.

Happiness is self-contained and self-sufficient. Happy men have no time and

no use for you. Happy men are free men. So kill their joy in living. Take

away from them whatever is dear or important to them. Never let them have

what they want. Make them feel that the mere fact of a personal desire is evil. Bring them to a state where saying ‘I want’ is no longer a natural right,

but a shameful admission. Altruism is of great help in this. Unhappy men

will come to you. They’ll need you. They’ll come for consolation, for

support, for escape. Nature allows no vacuum. Empty man’s soul—and the

space is yours to fill. I don’t see why you should look so shocked, Peter.

This is the oldest one of all. Look back at history. Look at any great system

of ethics, from the Orient up. Didn’t they all preach the sacrifice of personal

joy? Under all the complications of verbiage, haven’t they all had a single

leitmotif: sacrifice, renunciation, self-denial? Haven’t you been able to catch

their theme song—‘Give up, give up, give up, give up’? Look at the moral

atmosphere of today. Everything enjoyable, from cigarettes to sex to

ambition to the profit motive, is considered depraved or sinful. Just prove

that a thing makes men happy—and you’ve damned it. That’s how far we’ve

come. We’ve tied happiness to guilt. And we’ve got mankind by the throat.

Throw your first-born into a sacrificial furnace—lie on a bed of nails—go

into the desert to mortify the flesh—don’t dance—don’t go to the movies on

Sunday—don’t try to get rich—don’t smoke—don’t drink. It’s all the same

line. The great line. Fools think that taboos of this nature are just nonsense.

Something left over, old-fashioned. But there’s always a purpose in

nonsense. Don’t bother to examine a folly—ask yourself only what it

accomplishes. Every system of ethics that preached sacrifice grew into a

world power and ruled millions of men. Of course, you must dress it up. You

must tell people that they’ll achieve a superior kind of happiness by giving

up everything that makes them happy. You don’t have to be too clear about

it. Use big vague words. ‘Universal Harmony’—‘Eternal Spirit’—‘Divine

Purpose’—‘Nirvana’—‘Paradise’—‘Racial Supremacy’—‘The Dictatorship

of the Proletariat.’ Internal corruption, Peter. That’s the oldest one of all.

The farce has been going on for centuries and men still fall for it. Yet the test

should be so simple: just listen to any prophet and if you hear him speak of

sacrifice—run. Run faster than from a plague. It stands to reason that where

there’s sacrifice, there’s someone collecting sacrificial offerings. Where

there’s service, there’s someone being served. The man who speaks to you

of sacrifice, speaks of slaves and masters. And intends to be the master. But

if ever you hear a man telling you that you must be happy, that it’s your

natural right, that your first duty is to yourself—that will be the man who’s

not after your soul. That will be the man who has nothing to gain from you.

But let him come and you’ll scream your empty heads off, howling that he’s

a selfish monster. So the racket is safe for many, many centuries. But here

you might have noticed something. I said, ‘It stands to reason.’ Do you see?

Men have a weapon against you. Reason. So you must be very sure to take it

away from them. Cut the props from under it. But be careful. Don’t deny

outright. Never deny anything outright, you give your hand away. Don’t say

reason is evil—though some have gone that far and with astonishing

success. Just say that reason is limited. That there’s something above it.

What? You don’t have to be too clear about it either. The field’s

inexhaustible. ‘Instinct’—‘Feeling’—‘Revelation’—‘Divine Intuition’—

‘Dialectical Materialism.’ If you get caught at some crucial point and

somebody tells you that your doctrine doesn’t make sense—you’re ready for

him. You tell him that there’s something above sense. That here he must not

try to think, he must feel. He must believe. Suspend reason and you play it

deuces wild. Anything goes in any manner you wish whenever you need it.

You’ve got him. Can you rule a thinking man? We don’t want any thinking

men. ...

“Peter, you’ve heard all this. You’ve seen me practicing it for ten years.

You see it being practiced all over the world. Why are you disgusted? You

have no right to sit there and stare at me with the virtuous superiority of

being shocked. You’re in on it. You’ve taken your share and you’ve got to

go along. You’re afraid to see where it’s leading. I’m not. I’ll tell you. The

world of the future. The world I want. A world of obedience and unity. A

world where the thought of each man will not be his own, but an attempt to

guess the thought in the brain of his neighbor who’ll have no thought of his

own but an attempt to guess the thought of the next neighbor who’ll have no

thought—and so on, Peter, around the globe. Since all must agree with all. A

world where no man will hold a desire for himself, but will direct all his

efforts to satisfy the desires of his neighbor who’ll have no desires except to

satisfy the desires of the next neighbor who’ll have no desires—around the

globe, Peter. Since all must serve all. A world in which man will not work

for so innocent an incentive as money, but for that headless monster—

prestige. The approval of his fellows—their good opinion—the opinion of

men who’ll be allowed to hold no opinion. An octopus, all tentacles and no

brain. Judgment, Peter? Not judgment, but public polls. An average drawn

upon zeros—since no individuality will be permitted. A world with its motor

cut off and a single heart, pumped by hand. My hand—and the hands of a

few, a very few other men like me. Those who know what makes you tick—

you great, wonderful average, you who have not risen in fury when we

called you the average, the little, the common, you who’ve liked and

accepted those names. You’ll sit enthroned and enshrined, you, the little

people, the absolute ruler to make all past rulers squirm with envy, the

absolute, the unlimited, God and Prophet and King combined. Vox populi.

The average, the common, the general. Do you know the proper antonym for Ego? Bromide, Peter. The rule of the bromide. But even the trite has to be

originated by someone at some time. We’ll do the originating. Vox dei.

We’ll enjoy unlimited submission—from men who’ve learned nothing

except to submit. We’ll call it ‘to serve.’ We’ll give out medals for service.

You’ll fall over one another in a scramble to see who can submit better and

more. There will be no other distinction to seek. No other form of personal

achievement. Can you see Howard Roark in the picture? No? Then don’t

waste time on foolish questions. Everything that can’t be ruled, must go.

And if freaks persist in being born occasionally, they will not survive

beyond their twelfth year. When their brain begins to function, it will feel

the pressure and it will explode. The pressure gauged to a vacuum. Do you

know the fate of deep-sea creatures brought out to sunlight? So much for

future Roarks. The rest of you will smile and obey. Have you noticed that

the imbecile always smiles? Man’s first frown is the first touch of God on

his forehead. The touch of thought. But we’ll have neither God nor thought.

Only voting by smiles. Automatic levers—all saying yes ... Now if you were

a little more intelligent—like your ex-wife, for instance—you’d ask: What

of us, the rulers? What of me, Ellsworth Monkton Toohey? And I’d say,

Yes, you’re right I’ll achieve no more than you will. I’ll have no purpose

save to keep you contented. To lie, to flatter you, to praise you, to inflate

your vanity. To make speeches about the people and the common good.

Peter, my poor old friend, I’m the most selfless man you’ve ever known. I

have less independence than you, whom I just forced to sell your soul.

You’ve used people at least for the sake of what you could get from them for

yourself. I want nothing for myself. I use people for the sake of what I can

do to them. It’s my only function and satisfaction. I have no private purpose.

I want power. I want my world of the future. Let all live for all. Let all

sacrifice and none profit. Let all suffer and none enjoy. Let progress stop.

Let all stagnate. There’s equality in stagnation. All subjugated to the will of

all. Universal slavery—without even the dignity of a master. Slavery to

slavery. A great circle—and a total equality. The world of the future. ...

“Look around you. Pick up any newspaper and read the headlines. Isn’t it

coming? Isn’t it here? Every single thing I told you? Isn’t Europe swallowed

already and we’re stumbling on to follow? Everything I said is contained in

a single word—collectivism. And isn’t that the god of our century? To act

together. To think—together. To feel—together. To unite, to agree, to obey.

To obey, to serve, to sacrifice. Divide and conquer—first. But then—unite

and rule. We’ve discovered that one at last. Remember the Roman Emperor

who said he wished humanity had a single neck so he could cut it? People

have laughed at him for centuries. But we’ll have the last laugh. We’ve accomplished what he couldn’t accomplish. We’ve taught men to unite. This

makes one neck ready for one leash. We’ve found the magic word.

Collectivism. Look at Europe, you fool. Can’t you see past the guff and

recognize the essence? One country is dedicated to the proposition that man

has no rights, that the collective is all. The individual held as evil, the

mass—as God. No motive and no virtue permitted—except that of service to

the proletariat. That’s one version. Here’s another. A country dedicated to

the proposition that man has no rights, that the State is all. The individual

held as evil, the race—as God. No motive and no virtue permitted—except

that of service to the race. Am I raving or is this the cold reality of two

continents already? Watch the pincer movement. If you’re sick of one

version, we push you into the other. We get you coming and going. We’ve

closed the doors. We’ve fixed the coin. Heads—collectivism, and tails—

collectivism. Fight the doctrine which slaughters the individual with a

doctrine which slaughters the individual. Give up your soul to a council—or

give it up to a leader. But give it up, give it up, give it up. My technique,

Peter. Offer poison as food and poison as antidote. Go fancy on the

trimmings, but hang on to the main objective. Give the fools a choice, let

them have their fun—but don’t forget the only purpose you have to

accomplish. Kill the individual. Kill man’s soul. The rest will follow

automatically.”