“In dynamiting Cortlandt homes, Howard Roark breaks the Law. What is the moral and Philosophical argument for the rectitude of his action?”
To fully understand the question laid before us, we must first understand the difference between an egotist and an altruist.
Throughout the history of mankind, the creator, the egotist, has been persecuted. Look back through time: the great thinkers, the great creators, were all scorned, persecuted, even murdered in their time. Socrates? Sentenced to death by his fellow Athenians. Today history looks on his death as the end of a golden time in Ancient Greek culture. Galileo? he was confined to his house and declared a heretic. Today, he is hailed for his Heliocentric Theory. Charles Darwin? People laughed at his Theory of Evolution. Today, his Theory is widely disputed, but still upheld within a good majority of society. Vincent Van Gogh? People didn’t understand him. No one would buy his art. Today, his paintings sell at record prices. The point is, all of the great thinkers, creators, were persecuted or shunned in their time. They were “weirdos,” “untouchables,” “those not to be dealt with.” Not until after they were long gone did society realize what they had done. They had wanted nothing more to create, or think, and live for those thoughts or creations, and we crushed it with an impunity unrivaled. We fear it. We do not understand how someone could not live for anyone but themselves, and we crush them, like a harmless spider, before we have time to realize they are no harm to us.
But what about Altruists? Is their cause not noble? Is theirs not the virtuous path, making their life about those around them? Think of this: can you breath for others? think for others? blink for others? man was not created to do for anyone but himself. He was made to do for himself, and be unconcerned with the needs of others. Altruists reverse basic human nature: to look out for good ‘ol number one. Where a person created as a complete altruist, all that would be left is a void: he would care for naught but those around him. He would give no heed to his own thoughts, only to those of others. He would be the opposite of what man should be, the opposite of true human nature.
So where does this come into the argument regarding howard Roark and the dynamiting of Cortlandt? He is but an egotist being persecuted, as is throughout history. He is being punished for creating, and destroying that creation when it’s form was perverted by others. That building, Cortlandt, was his alone. He had every right to destroy it, even more so when it was defiled by others. He had not even desired monetary, or any other form of payment, other than seeing it built, for his creation: “I agreed to design Cortland for the purpose of seeing it erected as I designed it and for no other reason. That was the price I set for my work. It was not paid.” Simply put, he did not care for the money or notoriety that were to be given to the architect of Cortlandt. All he wanted was the satisfaction of seeing his building erected, it did not matter if it was erected under the name of another.
As in all other cases, he was persecuted. Although not through law, he had overcome that obstacle. He had been persecuted by being forced, in his mind, to destroy that which he created.
“Hero and Leander is a Greek myth, relating the story of Hero, a priestess of Aphrodite who dwelt in a tower in Sestos, at the edge of the Hellespont, and Leander (Leandros, or Λέανδρος), a young man from Abydos on the other side of the strait. Leander fell in love with Hero and would swim every night across the Hellespont to be with her. Hero would light a lamp at the top of her tower to guide his way.
Succumbing to Leander’s soft words, and to his argument that Aphrodite, as goddess of love, would scorn the worship of a virgin, Hero allowed him to make love to her. This routine lasted through the warm summer. But one stormy winter night, the waves tossed Leander in the sea and the breezes blew out Hero’s light, and Leander lost his way, and was drowned. Hero threw herself from the tower in grief and died as well.”
thats my leander, all right.
“It all boils down to one quotable phrase: ‘if you love something, give it away’”
When I listened to the song Land Locked Blues by Bright Eyes the first few times, I scoffed at that line. I am the kind of person who really loathes letting go of anything, especially something I love.
I have decided to finally give up on something I love. My love will go nowhere in this situation, so I have decided to let it drift off into the sea. I will always remember it, and everything that had happened will never go away. I just have to let it go, and allow only the memories to remain. I want to remain in contact with that which I loved. I hopefully will. I am going to take a break from it until I can get rid of the last remnants of that love. It is not a goodbye forever, more like a see you later. I have told the love this, attempted an explanation. I hope an understanding can be achieved. From what I know, I’m sure it will. I can keep that hope to get myself through this. *sigh* why must it hurt terribly to get rid of a slightly greater pain? why must pain always accompany that which is wonderful? I’m sure it’s not always that way, and I will hope, for my sake and others’, that it is not always like that. it just seems like it is. pax~et~amour, cait.
a response i did in regards to an essay in english. AP Language forces such things as these upon us -___-” i think i did rather good with this one though. We had to talk about whether or not what the essay in question (I’m sorry but I cannot remember the name of it), which was a speech given in the 60’s, said was still relevant today and we had to place examples from our own experience into our response. I must say that I am not racist in any way, and I hope you are not offended by anything I say in this essay. thanks.
Although not all of the problems discussed by James Baldwin are prevalent today, there are still remnants of that racism, that prejudice, in today’s world. Although, looking about me, I see great strides achieved by those of African descent since the time in which this speech was delivered, Barack Obama running for president one example among many, I still see a lot of racism in today’s world. Hundreds of years of hating a group of people just does not disappear as fast as that. There will probably always be remnants, if not violence shown, the memories of the violence. My family, as an example, is not what you would call racist. We are a middle-class, generally conservative (except for a few of us in the younger generations), white family. Gay rights are fine with us, they have the right to do or practice what they want; we are educated and believe what science tells us; and most of all, we believe that everyone has a right to the opportunities presented to them, and to have the same opportunities presented to them as to everyone else, despite skin color or heritage. And yet I know it would be frowned upon for me, for example, to date someone of a different skin color. Some in my family would accept it, it is after all my right to love who I want to. Despite that, it just isn’t done in my family. It’s one of those unspoken rules upheld in my family, like not talking about money or extremely personal matters unless invited to. As I said, hundreds of years of hate and discrimination doesn’t disappear like that.
Confessions of a failed dog catcher
I sat down and heaved a breath as my family tried to get the story out of me. “So what happened? we heard that diabolical dog of yours got out, but not the whole story,” said my aunt diane. “Yeah, I wanna know what happened!” whined my cousin Angelina. They were assiduous with their pleas to hear the story. They badgered me constantly, and I knew they’d continue until I told them what had happened. So I began my narration of the maelstrom of recent events:
It was afternoon, just after school, when Keira (my dog) executed her first attempt at freedom. I was in the living room, relaxing after a long hard day of school, and waiting for Crysten, my youngest sister, to arrive home. I had let both Killean, my old Welsh Corgi, and Keira, my young Yellow Lab, outside when I had arrived home. I heard Killean bawling to be allowed inside, and I got up and went to the back door to retrieve him. As I opened the door, he quietly trotted in. I didn’t see Keira, but she could be farther in the back or behind the shed or something. So I ambled to the middle of the yard, calling her. Behind the garage? no. Behind the shed? no. I was starting to get worried. Then I saw her, in the way back, on the other side of the fence. That’s not good.I called her and articulated my desire for her to come back into the yard (in a rather forceful manner). She stared at me, and her eyes shone with delight. She knew she was doing something she wasn’t supposed to. I could tell she wouldn’t listen to me as she usually did. Just as it looked like she was going to be a good girl and come back in the yard, she bolted for my neighbor’s, my Aunt Eleanor and Uncle Greg’s, yard and I ran through the gate and sprinted after her. She played around, allowing me to lure her close to me but prancing off just before I was close enough to grab her collar. This was all a game to her, and she had apparently caught the sent of somethign and was on the prowl. We weaved up and down the back yard, her willowy frame moving gracefully back and forth, me panting, frantically trying to keep up with her. Her legs carrried her fast and gracefully, her genteel purebred lineage apparrent. She finally got bored of all this running back and forth, and to my dismay decided to jump over the somewhat frail bulwark erected by my Uncle. I moved as fast as my un-athletic legs could carry me. On the other side of that fence was our quiet little road, but we were near the end. Near the Main Road. I barreled through that back yard and leapt over the fence, continuing and searching for my behemoth of a dog. I cursed my indolent lifestyle.
I finally spotted her in the parking lot of the small bank across the street, which was right on the corner of my road and the main road. Thankfully there weren’t that many cars there, for the moment. I sped towards her with all my might and she darted to the opposite side of the bank. As I rounded the side of the bank, I saw her walking about, basking in her new-found freedom. I saw her consider the main road, which was miraculously empty. She had never come across it before, and she seemed to want to test her mettle. As I looked on awe stricken, she pressed her paw against the pavement, as if testing water. She then looked at me languidly and turned around and ran into the street. As if re-gaining animation, I ran into the road after her without thinking, imperiling myself. She ran to the other side and back in a wide arc, and by the time that she was running back onto the asylum of the grass, the cars started to come around the bend in the road. If I didn’t run soon, I would be martyred for the sake of my dog. I ran for my life back onto the safety of the grass and lumbered after her, my impotent nature evident. She ran right past me, a look of sheer pleasure upon her face, and to the road. She balked at the edge, not sure what to do about the cars. She looked back at me, seeming to laugh at the embarrassment she was putting me through.
Not only was I making a fool of myself running around after her, looking like a buffoon, but I looked the part, too: I wasn’t wearing a jacket, despite the cold, rainy weather, and my hair was in such a disheveled state I was having difficulty seeing through it. I saw the people slowing down their cars, which although I knew it was because they saw Keira right near the road, it felt like they were also peering at me, laughing at me and this bizarre state of affairs. Growing angry at this perceived humiliation, I was determined to get that dog back home at all costs, not only because she was in danger but I really hated to show such indignity in public.
As she started to make her way into the road, the cars thankfully slowed down, the one that she walked right in front of to a stop. It beeped vehemently, and Keira, startled, stared at it, frozen. I took my chance and ran forward, grasping for her collar. She unfortunately regained her ability to move and ran to the back of the bank, and I ran after her, trying to impede her progress. I saw her golden tail disappear around the corner, and then I saw a car backing up and then stop. I tried not to think the worst and impelled myself forward. Thankfully she hadn’t been hit, and the man who had been driving the car had jumped out of his SUV and was attempting to help catch Keira. “Is that your dog?” he questioned me. “Yeah, and thanks for helping!” I replied. He nodded. I could tell he had been in some sort of similar situation himself at some point and he was just doing the amicable thing in helping. I saw her on the other side of the Bank, panting and looking at me. “Come on, Keira,” I enticed her with a calm, low voice “lets go home and get some treats.” I was, alas, unable to enthrall her with my words. The man tried to bait her with allowing her to get into his car. “Come on, girl, lets go for a ride! wanna come for a ride in my car?” she continued to stare at us and I walked calmly towards her. A car which had just pulled into my road stopped when the woman driving saw Keira gamboling about. Keira’s enjoyment of her freedom was as pellucid as a well-manicured pool.
After seeing my difficulty attempting to capture my limber canine, she hopped out of her car, a small yellow lab puppy in her arms. The proceeded to walk to the sidewalk, not far from where Keira was looking on, and kneel down on the sidewalk. I understood at once where she was going with this: all dogs are curious about other dogs, especially puppies. As expected, Keira’s curiosity was piqued and she cautiously approached the woman and began to sniff at the small puppy, with the woman smiling on. “That’s a good girl,” she cooed as I stealthily tip-toed up behind my dog. I inched slowly towards her collar, but she darted away. I backed up a bit, and she came back to the puppy and sniffed at it. I repeated myself, only this time allowed her to watch me come towards her. She skipped away once more, but not as far, and came back to the puppy again, she was apparently very curious about it. And so I repeated my endeavors until I finally got her collar, and everyone around me clapped; a lot of people, mainly from the bank, had been looking on for the last few minutes at least. I smiled, “Finally got you, you incorrigible dog!” Keira just smiled at me (if you don’t know, dogs, especially mine, have a look that is characteristic of a smile; it really does look like they have a wide, maddened grin spread across their face) and panted. She had had the time of her young life, meddling about town. The woman got up and offered me her leash. “She’ll slip out of her collar if you don’t have a leash, and it will be ten times harder to corral her that way!” she laughed. I agreed, attempting to laugh along with her but was having difficulty, I was winded from my sprint. I don’t know if I would have been able to catch Keira had she not intervened.
She brought me the leash and watched on as I latched it on Keira’s collar with a sigh. “I own Dellaquila, you know, the hair salon over by the deli? just bring it over to me when you’re done.” I nodded, smiling and thanking her, and then walked Keira home. I held on to her tight on that seemingly long walk, the few hundred feet to my yard, then to my door, and then into the kitchen where I promptly secured her in her kennel. “Ha! won’t get out now, will you?” I said, smiling at her. I knew she hadn’t meant any harm, she was innocuous, still infantile in her ways; she had just wanted to discover new things and have some fun. It just happened to be the most dangerous way she could do such a thing. I went and got my jacket, I realized I was freezing, and left the house once more to go bring the leash back to my savior. I walked through the path past the gate and around to the front of the small strip mall in my town, past the pizza place and the attorney’s office, the post office and the deli, until I reached Dellaquila and entered to find the woman surrounded by a group of customers and employees alike, hearing her tell what had happened. “Ah, here she is!” she announced. I handed the leash over to her and scratched between the puppies’ ears while I explained what had happened before she had arrived. I then tiredly walked to the door, saying “I think I’ll go home and take a nap now,” to which they all laughed. I smiled exhaustedly and then waved, thanking her again, and disappeared from their vision, dragging my feet the rest of the way home. When I arrived home and collapsed on the couch, breathing laboriously, until my parents got home and I explained what happened to them.
Little did I know that two days later, she would get out again. Only the next time her escapade would take her to the street over, where she would attempt to commit a larceny by trying to eat someone’s chicken (which are apparently quite palatable). My dog has become an addict of her new hedonistic ways, without much consideration of anyone’s feelings, especially those of farmers. As I reflect on the events of the last few days, I pray to the almighty this won’t be a recurring habit of hers.
This is an assignment I did for my AP Language and Composition Class, for the fairytale project:
Little [F]red Riding Hood
Once Upon a Time, there was a Little Girl. No one remembers her given name, for everyone simply called her “Little Red Riding
Hood,” after the carmine cloak she was so famous for wearing. She was beautiful and sweet and kind, and all the boys were after her.
But this story isn’t about her.
This Story is about her slightly younger brother, Fred. He was not as popular as his sister, nor was he that good-looking:
he actually looked rather effeminate. It was near impossible to tell Fred and Little Red apart from a distance.
Our Story begins in the same house, not so long after that of Little Red. She was still rather flustered from her previous trip
into the woods, and said naught more than “the wolf… the wolf….” when asked about it. The stories got a little out of hand, gossip spreads
like wildfire in small villages such as theirs. And so, when it was time to pay granny another of their annual visits, Fred was elected. His
mother’s excuse was that Little Red was “still too traumatized by her experience” to go.
So our young lad, a basket of goodies on his arm, set out on his journey. It was okay at first, walking through the village was fine
and then the start of the forest; but once he got farther into the forest the birds stopped singing and it was dark and foreboding. He could
see his breath materializing in front of him in small white puffs. It was cold, still early spring. He shrugged his sister’s cloak, which he had
borrowed for the journey, closer about him and continued on his way, pulling the hood up as he went. Still spooked by the silence and
foreboding nature of the forest, his pace quickened until he was at a near trot.
He continued at his fast pace until he reached a clearing: it was bright and sunny, the birds were singing, and there was a quiet
little creek gurgling through it. He decided to stop here and regain his composure, and to pick some flowers for Granny. So he sat amongst
the flowers and picked every type within his grasp. As he reached out to grab a particularly beautiful crocus, he looked up and saw a pair
of eyes staring out from the woods. He froze instinctively. What it if was one of those wolves?
To his relief, a boy of about his sister’s age appeared from the shadows. Fred smiled, relieved. It wasn’t a wolf, after all. But then
Fred noticed that the boy hadn’t even greeted him. That was rather rude of him. Fred stared quizzically at the boy. This was odd: he was just
standing there, staring. Just as Fred was about to say something, the boy stepped even further into the light and Fred got a good look at him.
It was Rupert, that creepy boy from the village who liked Little Red. The boy continued moving closer and closer, an obscene grin spread
across his face. Fred’s feet finally realizing what they should do, he got up and ran as fast as he could from Rupert, all the way to granny’s
house. As he banged frantically on the door, he looked behind him and saw Rupert not so far behind him. “GRANNY! GRANNY!
OPEN THE DOOR, I NEED HELP!” granny, hearing his cries for help, opened the door and Fred practically fell in and then closed the
door behind him. Then granny, worried by the events that had just happened, asked Fred what had been going on: “Why, grandson, how
fast fast you ran in here!” to which he replied: “All the better to get away!” and she questioned him again: “Why, grandson, how hard
you’re breathing!” and he replied: “All the better to catch my breath!” and she inquired further: “Why, grandson, what is that banging on
the door?!” for now Rupert had presumably reached the house and was trying to force himself in. “Because, grandmother, Rupert is
at the door thinking I’m my sister and wants to do who knows what to me!”
Granny looked at Fred for a second, registering what was going on. She then whipped her cell phone out of her pocketbook
and calmly dialed a number. “Yes, sorry for bothering you. Could you possibly come over? we have a bit of a problem. Maybe you could
come and help us? Yes… m-hmm…. thanks, we’ll be seeing you shortly.” She swiftly replaced her phone and then calmly sat down and
started knitting. Fred looks at her quizzically, opening his mouth to ask her what was going on, but she hushes him, “You’ll see in good
time, grandson.”
The banging on the door continues for a few more heart wrenching minutes but suddenly stops. They hear a blood-curdling scream
and thrashing about; the sound of flesh tearing and some more screams resonate through the forest. Finally all is quiet, until a light nock is
heard upon the door. Granny calmly gets up from her chair, passes by the frightened Fred, and calmly unlatches the door and swings it open,
it’s old hinges creaking and groaning. Beyond the door is a creature neither man nor wolf: standing up like a man but with dominantly lupine
features. “Ah, Lupius. Thank you kindly for the help with our trouble, you were a great help.” the creature looks towards the fear-stricken boy,
blood dripping copiously from his jaws, and smiles. “There is nothing to fear now, boy.” Fred stares, horrified, then crumpled to the floor
in a dead faint.
i got into smfa. you know, The School of The Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. FUCKING AMAZING SCHOOL.I am so psyched. It’s so hard to get in. LOL heres the story of how i found out that I was accepted (this happened yesterday):
- I arrive home after a long day of school.
- after a few minutes, the phone rings. I look at the caller ID. mom.
- I pick up, and she tells me she got an e-mail from lindsey (from SMFA admissions) and to call her to find out if i got accepted or not. apparently the admissions letters where going out late (today, as it is) and mom had been conversing with lindsey like ALL THE TIME and lindsey said i could call her to find out.
- mom gives me the number. 671 area code.
- so i go to call, and accidentally use the area code “631″ because that’s OUR area code and a british man picks up and is like, “I don’t know who lindsey is, wrong number.”
- so i call mom again. not realizing i used the wrong area code. and i realize it after about 2 seconds on the phone with mom.
- so i hang up with mom.
- and try again, this time with the 671 are code.
- only it says “you call cannot be completed as dialed”
- about five tries later, to the same mishap, i call mom again.
- ARGH what is up with this?! all i want to do is find out if i got accepted to my top school yet!
- so mom looks up the phone number. apparently lindsey mis-typed. the area code was 617. lovely.
- so i call with the new 617 number.
- Lindsey picks up. and puts me on hold.
- about 2 minutes go by with me listening to “welcome to the museum of fine arts boston! blah blah blah british prints from the war to… blah blah blah blah” over and over again.
- Lindsey picks up again. apologizes for taking so long. congratulates. I’ve been accepted.
So that’s how it went. now I have to wait for the actual admissions letter to get here (so I can memorize every single word of it). and then for the financial aid packet to come out. if i dont get a high enough grant or scholarship or whatever… I won’t be able to go. I hope i do. This school is… incredibly important to me.
I wrote a email saying goodbye to him. because i thought that was what he wanted… from the e-mail he sent back, it seems thats not what he wants. It was really vague, but I get the feeling “goodbye” is not what he wants. Which, even though I stayed really calm and reasoned in my response… It makes me so happy.
the guy hasn’t written back. I’ll take that as him not wanting to be friends, which hurts because he meant… so much to me… But I suppose that’s just how things are going to have to be now. I’m going to have to pick up the pieces and move on, as I am forced to do in situations such as these. I regret that he couldn’t see past quite a few things and understand some things I had wanted him to… and I regret that he does not seem to want to be friends anymore… But oh well. Things are what they are, I just have to accept this. I’m already on the path to acceptance, and I’m starting to see some things I had either not seen before or I had not wanted to see before. As they say, you learn something new everyday. Other than that, I’m not doing much more than working on scholarships, talking to some people online as well. ~__~ my life is a bore. “dont bore us, get to the chorus.” ~Pax-et-Amour, Cait
I’m sick of people ruining things for me. The last few days have been good, I had been recovering from a fight I had with a friend (which is still going on). I’m not going to go into the full details, but this friend who I had been in a fight with hasn’t talked to me in well over a week. she started talking to me again though today. to rip my head off, pretty much. the guy who had been kind of part of the fight is a friend of mine, and a very important person to me, and I had started talking to him again. and the friend…. she ripped my head off over it. she isn’t cool with me talking to him for quite a few reasons (none of which i really agree with, even though some do have good reason behind them). I tried reasoning with her. alas, it has not worked. and now I’m waiting for the guy, who I’m not sure if he knows about any of this, to email me back. its going to be a long wait.
