"Nice is different than good"

If objectivism is the philosophy of reality, reason, integrity, and trade, and if this philosophy is in fact the best system through which to organize one's thoughts and actions, it may follow – and I'm ready to argue that it should follow – that the best of our existing texts should demonstrate a fundamental understanding of the truths in this system, even if the authors of those texts precede, are ignorant of, or disavow objectivism (yes, John Rogers, I am thinking of you).

First we must define which texts are "the best," and fortunately I've already come up with a metric on which to place them:

This brings us back to the idea of quality referring to the ability to provide new information – by which I really mean that a quality item or idea has the ability to provide new information continuously, and by which I really really mean that a quality item or idea has the ability to provide unforgettably new information continuously.

In other words:

Every time you interact with the item or idea, it 1) teaches you something new and 2) you do not forget what you learn.

This metric releases me from having to analyzing the objectivist values in Rogers' Leverage (even though Leverage is much closer to Atlas Shrugged than it is to The Lord of the Rings), because Leverage is simply not one of the best texts out there. I watched the entire series three times through, which indicates its strength, but at that point I knew that I didn't need to watch it again.

I also suspect that I won't need to read Atlas Shrugged again, after reading it this second time.

And I'm not even sure if objectivism is the best system through which to organize one's thoughts and actions.

It's just that so many of these ideas keep showing up in everything that I might consider the best of everything. Take The Sound of Music, for example – the 1965 film version, not the rough-draft stage musical – and notice how the love triangle between the Captain, the Baroness, and Maria resolves just as rationally as the love triangle between Dagny, Francisco, and John Galt. Notice how the Captain refuses to have his labor become collectivized. Notice how Maria runs back to the Abbey to avoid reality and lose herself in a group, and how the Mother Superior – the honest Catholic, the character that Rand twice attempted but was never able to write – tells her to return to the world and become an individual. To love a hero; to teach the next generation; to use her musical ability to trade value for value.

(Notice, by the way, how none of this has anything to do with the evils of income tax, which suggests that aspect of objectivism may justifiably be ignored.)

Continuing my discussion from the other day, because I didn't have enough time to finish it –

Why does It's a Wonderful Life get so many repeat viewings, vs. something like Last Christmas or Four Christmases or whatever's playing in the background on the Hallmark channel?

And why do people spend so much time hashing it out, asking themselves whether they agree with what George Bailey did and whether they could have made similar decisions?

And why does this film yield more, every time it's experienced, rather than less?

Because it is quality work – and because it accurately represents the truths of reality, reason, integrity, and trade.

One of the most interesting discoveries I made during this year's rewatch was that George Bailey's father is an example of the failure mode of humanism. The script specifically calls him "an idealist, stubborn only for other people's rights." This is made extremely obvious in the film – there's that sign in the office under Peter Bailey's picture, announcing "all you can take with you is that you have given away" – but what is made less obvious is that Peter Bailey's idealism and/or altruism is the direct cause of the Building and Loan's problems.

Our first glimpse of George's father shows him begging Mr. Potter for a loan, after all. He has chosen ideals over rationality, ignoring both reality and trade to the point at which he may have to foreclose on his clients' mortgages. Potter argues that this is the only correct decision to make, and Peter argues that these people have children – which is to say, they have need. This conflict disintegrates him, and nearly disintegrates his family, and the next time we see Peter Bailey he is a few hours from death.

Three months later, George has taken over the Building and Loan and turned it into a functioning business. He tells Mr. Potter that he evaluates his lending decisions based not on a person's need, but on their character. George understands that someone like Ernie is both financially and morally capable of paying off his mortgage over time, and is proud to advance him the money. This is the point at which Potter begins to view the Building and Loan as a serious threat.

Earlier in the film, George's father describes Potter as follows: "Oh, he's a sick man. Frustrated and sick. Sick in his mind, sick in his soul, if he has one. Hates everybody that has anything that he can't have. Hates us mostly, I guess."

This, of course, is why Potter seeks out unfair trades.

But Peter Bailey also seeks out unfair trades – making loans that are mathematically unlikely to be paid back, hiring his useless brother out of kindness – and although he may be equally frustrated and unwell, it isn't because he hates everybody that has anything he can't have.

It's because of the other reason people make unfair trades.

The original sin, as it were.

Which brings me –

finally –

to Into the Woods.

Stephen Sondheim is one of the best examples of the uncompromising artist. He worked in an extremely collaborative art form, but his contribution was always that of the individual. He was extremely receptive to anybody who was interested in learning more about what he did, giving countless hours of his time to students and musicologists and journalists, but would quickly dismiss those who were only using him to seek status and/or were unwilling to do the work required to create an integrated piece of art.

(If you don't believe me, consider reading Finale and Sondheim on Music back-to-back.)

It therefore follows – or should follow – that if objectivism is an accurate system independent of any individual mind or named constraint or tax plan, that Sondheim's best work should be grounded in a similar or identical system.

It should also follow that this best piece of work should be beloved even by people who don't fully understand it (the "ring of truth," as it were), and that people should want to rewatch and restage this piece as often as possible, and that it should yield something new every time it is revisited.

Well.

I mean, have you seen Into the Woods?

(If you haven't seen it before, don't watch any newer versions until after you've seen the original 1989 videorecording. Many of the restagings ignore the truth of the story in favor of applying some kind of disintegrated directorial concept, which is nearly always an attempt to gain unearned value. Look at me, these stagings say, when you really should be looking at Sondheim and Lapine.)

Into the Woods deals specifically with reality, reason, integrity, and trade. It also deals with the idea of the individual vs. the group vs. the community vs. the collective. It is a fundamentally integrated text, and it manages to pull all of this off without a single villain.

No Mr. Potter, no Ellsworth Toohey.

No larger-than-life evil.

Instead, every single character makes a series of subtle, devastating mistakes. They engage in unfair trades that inexorably compound, ruining everything for everybody.

Why do they make these trades?

Because they want to be nice.

To please someone else, even though they know that nice is different than good.

I'm not being facetious when I say that this is the original sin. Eve takes God's apple to please the serpent; the Baker's father takes the Witch's rampion to please his wife, and this tiny act of disintegration convinces him that he has the right to take the Witch's beans for himself, and two acts later nearly everyone in the world is dead.

But the Baker –

like George Bailey –

is able to learn from his father's mistakes, forgive his father for making them, work his way into a more integrated existence, and begin teaching the next generation to do the same.

And this is real.

This is both what exists and what can exist, independent of objectivism and what-it-is-ism and any other -ism.

Which is good –

and I do mean that literally, which is good –

because I need to get back to my own musical.

To think for myself, again, now that I have thought this through.

Happy new year. ❤️