The Fountainhead

I blame a lot of it on Ayn Rand. I think picking up The Fountainhead that day was the most fateful thing I did this year. Once I picked it up, I didn't stop. I didn't want to believe her. I fought desperately to just let it be a story. I summoned all my mental effort to stop it, but really I knew it was inevitable from the first page, and sure enough I was speechless, caught with my pants down, caught without the comfort of a counter argument.

It ruined everything, putting into action a endless chain of events that seemed so patiently to be waiting for me to read that first page. It's the scary inevitability of Faust, the feeling that you are moving towards something dark, yet you feel you cannot stop it because you're terrified of that one shred of truth that you really believe is truth, and it dominates you so much that you reach a point where you cannot turn your back on it, and you begin to consider whether or not it might actually be worth selling your soul for it. It seems so inevitable, the intellectual journey, so Calvinist, so outside of the control of the individual will that when it happens you realize it had already left its mark of deja vu. It's the same phenomenon I experience with the Christian God- a sense in which I will one day inevitably and unreservedly bow down before my recognized master. Yet the intervening time is war, a war to figure out whether or not he really is my true master, the true master. I think he's smiling at me.

The story of Howard Roark, the architect, is, in many ways, the story of my time in Santiago Atitlan. I see a people, at times desperately poor, living in a state of complete submission. I hear it in the pain of the reverberated moans of the women who come to the church every morning as I am working in the garden, and how they are pinned, hook, line, and sinker, to the passionate play-acting that comes from behind the pulpit. But what is even more terrifying is that they are willing to bow down to me. They do it every day. It requires a lot of self honesty to ask the question of whether or not I like this. The answer fills me with terror.

Is this submission good? Is this self-sacrifice good? Hay valores y hay anti-valores. ¿Come es que los sabemos? I'll never forget that.

I think in my life, there are only two forces that motivate me; the desire for happiness, and the desire for truth. I'm just gonna say it; they're mutually exclusive. I think the man who can tell me which is better should be seated at the right hand of God.

Reading The Fountainhead brought about a close to a period in which I was searching only for happiness and re-opened the painfully sore history I have of searching for truth. For that, I have once again become profoundly restless, significantly isolated, and at times even hysterically neurotic. It's the most painful book I've ever read. I haven't recovered. I'm heading home soon.

But was I really fighting it? Am I fighting it? Was Faust really fighting his own damnation? Could he have? Should he have? I can't answer that.

Quotes from The Fountainhead

"From the wheel to the skyscraper, everything we are and everything we have comes from a single attribute of man - the function of his reasoning mind."

"Throughout the centuries there were men who took first steps down new roads armed with nothing but their own vision. Their goals differed, but they all had this in common: that the step was first, the road new, the vision unborrowed, and the response they received--hatred. The great creators--the thinkers, the artists, the scientists, the inventors--stood alone against the men of their time. Every great new thought was opposed. Every great new invention was denounced. The first motor was considered foolish. The first airplane was considered impossible. The power loom was considered vicious. Anesthesia was considered sinful. But the men of unborrowed vision went ahead. They fought, they suffered and they paid. But they won."

"I have come here to say that I do not recognize anyone's right to one minute of my life.... It had to be said. The world is perishing from an orgy of self-sacrificing." - Howard Roark

"She could not have reached this white serenity except as the sum of all the colors, of all the violence she had known."

"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." -Roark

"What’s the most horrible experience you can imagine? To me- it’s being left, unarmed, in a sealed cell with a drooling beast of prey or a maniac who’s has some disease that’s eaten his brain out. You’d have nothing but your own voice- your voice and your thought. You’d scream to that creature why it should not touch you, you’d have the most eloquent words, the unanswerable words, you’d become the vessel of the absolute truth. And you’d see living eyes watching you and you’d know that the thing can’t hear you, that it can’t be reached, not reached, not in any way, yet it’s breathing and moving there before you with a purpose of its own. That’s horror. Well, that’s what’s hanging over the world, prowling somewhere through mankind, that same thing, something closed, mindless, utterly wanton, but something with an aim and cunning of it’s own."

"No creator was prompted by a desire to serve his brothers, for his brothers rejected the gift he offered and that gift destroyed the slothful routine of their lives. His truth was his only motive."

"The creators were not selfless. It is the whole secret of their power-that it was self-sufficient, self-motivated, self-generated. A first cause, a fount of energy, a life force, a Prime Mover. The creator served nothing and no one. He lived for himself."

"You know, there's a thing that stumps me. You're the coldest man I know. And I can't understand why--knowing that you're actually a fiend in your quiet sort of way--why I always feel, when I see you, that you're the most life-giving person I've ever met." -Mallory talking to Roark

"If you want my advice, Peter, you've made a mistake already. By asking me. By asking anyone. Never ask people. Not about your work. Don't you know what you want? How can you stand it, not to know?" -Roark to Keating

"Do you always have to have a purpose? Do you always have to be so damn serious? Can't you ever do things without reason, just like everybody else? You're so serious, so old. Everything's important with you, everything's great, significant in some way, every minute, even when you keep still. Can't you ever be comfortable--and unimportant?""No."

-Keating, then Roark

"We never need to say anything to each other when we're together. This is- for the time when we won't be together. I love you, Dominique. As selfishly as the fact that I exist. As selfishly as my lungs breath air. I breathe for my own necessity, for the fuel of my body, for my survival. I've given you not my sacrifice or my pity, but my ego and my naked need. This is the only way you can wish to be loved. This is the only way I can want you to love me." Roark to Dominique

"Surely you've seen through that particular stupidity. I mean the one that claims the pig is the symbol of love for humanity--the creature that accepts anything. As a matter of fact, the person who loves everybody and feels at home everywhere is the true hater of mankind. He expects nothing of men, so no form of depravity can outrage him."

• Gail Wynand

"One can't love man without hating most of the creatures who pretend to bear his name. It's one or the other. One doesn't love God and sacrilege impartially. Except when one doesn't know that sacrilege has been committed. Because one doesn't know God."

• Gail Wynand

"...love is reverence, and worship, and glory, and the upward glance. Not a bandage for dirty sores. But they don't know it. Those who speak of love most promiscuously are the ones who've never felt it. They make some sort of feeble stew out of sympathy, compassion, contempt and general indifference, and they call it love. Once you've felt what it means to love as you and I know it--the total passion for the total height--you're incapable of anything less."

• Gail Wynand, speaking to Dominique Keating

"You've never felt how small you were when looking at the ocean."
He laughed. "Never. Nor looking at the planets. Nor at mountain peaks. Nor at the Grand Canyon. Why should I? When I look at the ocean, I feel the greatness of man. I think of man's magnificent capacity that created this ship to conquer all that senseless space. When I look at mountain peaks, I think of tunnels and dynamite. When I look at the planets, I think of airplanes."

• Dominique Keating and Gail Wynand

"This is pity," he thought, and then he lifted his head in wonder. He thought that there must be something terribly wrong with a world in which this monstrous feeling is called a virtue.

• Howard Roark

"Altruism is the doctrine which demands that man live for others and place others above self."

• Howard Roark

"I'm not an altruist,Gail. I don't decide for others."

• Howard Roark to Gail Wynand

"I could die for you. But I couldn't, and wouldn't, live for you."

• Howard Roark

In Winter

I've seen the oppressing slant of light on a winter afternoon. It's like that old man in the Dickens story, hunched over beneath the bell tower, feeling every strike of The Chimes in his cold, crooked bones. This week I have to put on my coats. Is it pleasurable? I'm not sure. I'm driving cars. Thinking things. Drinking liquids and being warm. In a phrase, things I haven't done.

This is the contrast that I've drawn from being home, but it's really not a contrast, because it's the same earth and the same human beings. Besides, the world is small. Where do you live? I'll find you a friend. It's two two and a half hour flights. 12 hours total from house to house. I counted.

It's a strange thing, thinking about the concept of whether or not to write about multiculturalism. Should it just be an unstated fact? Yesterday I was in Guatemala. Today, I am in the United States. My mind switches as fast as my tongue.

Things here are at least superficially nice. There's certain motions I've really missed. The cold and it's sedentary amigo are not two of them. The caffeine-tapered melancholy mornings are, especially when it moves me to write. What things do you miss?

There's a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the weight
Of cathedral tunes.

Heavenly hurt it gives us;
We can find no scar,
But internal difference
Where the meanings are.

None may teach it anything,
'Tis the seal, despair,-
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air.

When it comes, the landscape listens,
Shadows hold their breath;
When it goes, 't is like the distance
On the look of death.

-Emily Dickinson

Competing Goods -Palo Viejo Dam

Church Leaders Join Fight Against Italian Energy Giant in Rural Guatemala Over Construction of Palo Viejo Dam

This story was written by a friend and fellow co-worker of MCC here in Guatemala. No other story could so poignantly demonstrate the disparity and disclarity of all that I have struggled with and talked about in this blog: the differing and relative claims to "reason" in the world, and their respective utilitarian claims to (and measurements of) the common good.

"Why do you consider our demands unreasonable?" It's a hell of a statement. To question the rationality of an action in such a poignant way reminds us of the deliberateness of flattery.

Who holds authority? Who shall give or withold the permission? Governments and magistrates, tribal leaders and priests: one person gives, the other withholds. A person is a person. a=a, therefore a is not greater than a, and a can never be greater than a, because a cannot be against itself. So when a is against a, and you need a judge, the universe groans, then is silent.

Who holds the authority? Really this is the fundamental problem. Do you or don't you believe in an ultimate authority? To me, it seems as though this case is exhibit A of the reality that no universal system of values exists within the scope of human cultures. What happened in the meetings? The two sides tried to reach an agreement, tried to reach a point at which their given values coincided in the Venn Diagram of "everybody wins," but what happened? They couldn't do it, and they walked out.

Why? The executives of ENEL believe in greed. It would have saved them a whole lot of fuss and ass-grabbing if they would have just said it. The conversation could have gone like this- "We believe in greed" The opposing side would respond- "we believe in community" "In this particular case, it is apparent that greed and community are in direct conflict with one another. Therefore we cannot come to a consensus."

On the part of ENEL, they wouldn't have been any worse off if they had simply stated greed as one of their fundamental principles. Why? Because even with bad publicity, even with governmental restrictions, money still wins. Money moves things forward, and no one can stop it. You might be able to say that greed is wrong or bad in certain contexts, but there's an easy answer to that. The executives at ENEL couldn't care less about right and wrong. They are out to get theirs, and when they're going to use it to get more. This is a value, but without the direct intervention of a judging authority, the deist God stays in the clouds, silent, absorbing humanity's differing claims to right and wrong, stroking his beard at them and saying "Hmph, maybe so."

Christianity may stand unequivocally on the side of the poor and dispossesed, but the executives at ENEL have an easy solution to that- they aren't Christians. If you ever want to completely dismiss a moral obligation, it's really not that hard if you've read your philosophy. Maybe the executives at ENEL will say that people everywhere should have a right to electricity. After all, you and I both use it. Where are we going to get it from? It's a question of ethics. There's no compromise because there's no ultimate authority. Thus Tomayto Tomato. It comes down to who can get things done. Money gets things done.

Ultimately and unfortunately, if God's not going to act (either because he's not there or he's not getting involved) the people have to. And really, what is the only thing the people can do? Fight. Only at the barrel of a gun can you truly force someone's hand, and even then it's arguable.

This is real. This story, in particular, has struck me blind. It has further confused the already fluttering notion of human values and how they are formed, and it has left me wondering whether any reasonable defense of justice, right or wrong, or anything of that sort could ever be constructed. As usual, I find that I tend to live assuming this reality, hoping desperately in my heart of hearts to one day be proved wrong.

Blog Neglect

I thought I'd write something about blog neglect. Everybody knows the feeling of blog neglect. You may have had the experience of a throng of ambition, artistically driven, losing gas like a Cessna, and crashing into the volcano. There comes a point when it becomes poignant to ask, "Why do so many blogs fail? Why don't people update them?" Specifically from the standpoint of someone attempting to document a particular experience or period of travel, what changes in the mind/body that inhibits the thing from moving forward? What is the reverse acting force on mental activities? Infinitely more complicated than laziness? Or if it's just that simple, where does laziness come from?

Maybe we can use my experience here in Guatemala as an example. It's been something like 2 months since I've written anything here. Yet it's not as if I haven't had any exciting experiennces to write about. On the contrary, I've had plenty. In fact, the environment in which I find myself is in fact so beautiful that I often find myself distracted.

So distraction is one legitimate reason for blog neglect. But distraction from what? Distraction to what? The presumption is that the work of blogging is in some way superior to the work of the "distraction." Or maybe it's not a matter of one being superior to the other, it's simply that one requires more intentional mental effort than the other. Maybe "x distraction," [maybe we could say the natural state of the mind- whatever you think about when you're not trying to think about something esle] is like the unshackled Leviathan- it's the enemy. We've gotta reign in in, control that mind, channel all the energy towards an enlightened self-interest, otherwise it's gonna turn this party off the chain. Or maybe it's the Epicurian notion of peace- don't distract me with problems, pain, things to think about. They make my mind hurt. Maybe it's like that. But where is the scale with which we can weigh these competing goods?

Blog neglect, good or bad? Do I have more of chance to live life? I think that's what the Romantics would say- one more hour looking at the trees. On the other hand, anybody who's ever done anything meaningful seems to acknowledge the inevitability of shutting the door, trashing the view.

What do you think about blog neglect? Are blogs even a reflection of real life?

What happens to thinking?

Here there is a place where nobody thinks, where stories are written when nobody has anything to say. Here is a place where the sick go to get healed, and the well try to get sick again so that they can see. Sometimes you have to ask for an ailment or a thorn and the worst times are when all you feel is its absence, invoking inside you some hidden frustration at your own stupid happiness, some desire to see more.

What happens when the world stops thinking? Maybe I've run out of things to say. I have this theory that the best stories are the simple ones, the ones you perpetually tell yourself are far too simple to breed any merit, but I suppose I just don't quite know how to write a simple story anymore. The beast still rages, reminding me of the supposed complexity of human emotion, but I don't know if I believe it. I still prefer to read about simple things, like what you did today. I just can't bring myself to write about it.

What happens when the world stops thinking? The ebb and flow of artistic expression eases, to my bitter discontent, leaving in its wake the need to fashion a more holistic evaluation of self-worth. Yet wait a little, because in a while you will return to the place where you came from. Looking back, a pillar of salt, and your punishment is to forever ponder foreverness.

Winter is Coming

After nine consecutive days of rain, it was about time for something beautiful. Maybe nature doesn't really owe it to us, but it's nice to think about it that way. It's nice to call them blessings. I like that. Today we were blessed with a sunset.

I took this photo from the roof of my house. Grandma didn't know. In the heat of the moment I decided that the best way to avoid a scene was to not create one. So there I was, clambering up the door, camera in one hand, tripod in the other. But then here she came, wandering back to the pila with my white white T-shirts, calling my name, looking everywhere but up. I was caught. "Why didn't you ask me?" she said, formally. I stuttered. Later she called me a cat. "We use brooms for the cats," she said.

There's a grandpa, engineer, retired, and a daughter, and granddaughter. He likes to talk the news. She tells stories a lot. Granddaughter's in Miami, Disneyland, trying to escape the rain I'm sure.

Which is still the main subject of late. Nine days of rain and the Earth dissolves. This happened the other day, terrible. A lot of people without homes, especially the poor that have no other option but to build their homes next to rivers and vulnerable ravines. All of our partners seem to be ok. Fortunately, the rain seems to be moving out, finally.

However, the infrastructure's a mess. There are dozens of blocked roads throughout the country, unlikely to open for weeks or even months due mostly to a lack of funding for public works. The government is currently soliciting for foreign aid.

In other news, I stayed over at my friend's family's house the other night. Grandma called. She said turn to channel 7 the presidential debate is on. So we watched all this go down. In the beginning, the moderator clearly explained all the rules. So when one of the candidates, Manuel Baldizon, whipped out a piece of paper that supposedly proved the presence of some contradictory view of his opponent, all hell broke loose. It ended in an obviously forced commercial break after which the sponsor of the debate appeared in order to clarify that no candidate was allowed to present any outside source at any time, and that they reserved the right to remove either of the candidates if they violated any of these rules.

What was so horrendous was the lawlessness with which it all went down- the empty threats of the sponsor which lost more and more credibility as the law-breaking continued throughout the night. It seems to me that there are two fundamental problems: A. a man who wants to be president has no problem breaking his own country's law on national television in order to get elected, and B. the present authorities don't seem to have the necessary gusto to carry out the forpromised consequences.

It's a broader reflection of this law-is-optional sentiment here. If a particular law doesn't fit my means, I'll bypass it in the name of pursuing a utilitarian public interest. And nothing happens to me. Guatemala is a country of impunity. There's not a lot of consequences for breaking the law. There's not even a high risk you'll get caught.

So nothing works, and nothing is binding. It all comes down to the same deep-rooted mistrust; for a government to function, there has to be trust. But the government can never betray the trust of the people, otherwise all is lost. The people will not respect the government, at which point ceases to function.

On a lighter note, I successfully jailbroke my iPhone today. Rather, the store down the street did it for Q300. I simultaneously discovered just how wide and deep is the community of jailbreaking iPhone-using geeks of all nationalities. App-hacking truly unites people of all creeds. Let me tell you, it's been totally worth it. I had no idea this would happen, but the GPS works, complete with it's appropriate set of surprisingly accurate Google Maps. I can type in the longitude/latitude coordinates of any coffee Finca in the country and get directions (by car or bus). Moroever, I'll never be lost. Yes, it's true, in this case, I'm comforted by the wonderfully innovative technology and design of my mother country. There's still nothing like it anywhere else in the world.

City Mouse, Country Mouse

It's a good time now for me to reflect on my time here in Guatemala City. Classes ended this week, and I find myself inside another microcosm of change.

Sometimes I like to think about it in terms of circumstances. This week, I found myself in a car with three other people driving to El Salvador in the pouring rain. We found ourselves 15 minutes from the border when a bridge caved in and we had to turn around. The next day I found myself back in the capital, sin further plans to go to Santiago, sitting in a cafe. I was reading about the torrential rains while watching the rain. I have found myself with wet shoes alot, and wet feet and wet socks. And wet laundry that doesn't dry.

My friend Maria found herself in a new home with a new family in El Salvador. She found herself in a new city with new brothers and sisters, and a new job too. But she found herself without her Guatemalan family, and I found myself suddenly somehow within it. I hope she's doing well.

So I found myself without an English-speaking companion, thinking about the ironies of mastering a language. I was thinking about that while I was talking in Spanish, so it was then that I realized that words were coming out of my mouth. It happened while I was walking down the street talking to a friend. I didn't know who I was, but only for a split second. I think our identities have to be able to encompass that. It's a kind of forced growth- being able to say that all these things happened to me, that I met and talked to all these people and saw all these places. When are you gonna do it? When are you gonna meet people you're not gonna meet? It's a travelogue. And in some sense I had to do it. I had to meet them, in that moment, and talk to them, and eat with them. But in an another life I didn't have to, so I didn't. But it's like another variety of religious experience, and, strangely, people covet it, most likely because they're never gonna meet people they're never gonna meet.

I went to a birthday party and talked with a lot of people. I went to the mall to try and liberate my iphone. For the first time, I wasn't scared to talk to them. But, for some reason, I have this horrible fear that I'm going to forget how to speak English.

Currently, the plan is to leave for Santiago Wednesday, at which point I will finally settle in to the place in which I will live for the next 10 months. I won't be forgetting these days here in the city, though, for a long time.

It's strange thinking about what happens when you meet a goal.