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A basic principle of morality that is honored more in its breach than in its observance is the idea that "the ends never justify the means." I would wager that Americans would overwhelmingly say they support this notion, just as a majority of citizens get all misty-eyed when they speak of their love of "freedom."
The reality of another truism, however -- that "actions speak louder than words" -- demonstrates that observance of the proper relationship between means and ends is as much hollow lip-service as is our country's supposed devotion to liberty. Carefully scrutinizing what people do reveals the full extent of the (self?) deceit of these clever scam artists.
Regardless of whether their stance results from innocent ignorance or willful evasion, most folks appear to practice a "pragmatic," cost vs. benefits approach to decision-making: if they really want or "need" money, then a nuisance lawsuit against a "big" corporation is fine because it can "afford" it. Or: it's okay to download copyrighted music because "big" record companies charge "too much" for CDs. Maybe: gasoline stations "gouge" their customers, so it's okay to "protect" consumers by making "gouging" a felony. Perhaps: that woman with all those kids is desperate, so "welfare" payments are fine so the kids "don't starve." Possibly: health care is a "right," so the government has to provide it for the uninsured. And: some drugs are just so "dangerous" that they have to be banned.
A list of similar rationalizations would be as long as the list of tax-funded programs strangling our society and as deep as the debt our government has racked up in "our" name to provide those "goodies."
Even if some of those people with their hands out agreed that the way they go about achieving their goals was suspect, they might well maintain that, hey, the "lives saved" or the "education" their children receive or "the security" they get are all still valuable results.
Tell these neighbors, however, that the employment of irrational/immoral means renders any ends they might get valueless, and they're apt either to stare at you in gaping, amazed confusion or laugh loudly at your naiveté or stupidity. After all, they would counter, money is still money, music is still music, medicine is still medicine regardless of how someone gets it.
But as Ayn Rand pointed out, it is impossible to divorce means from ends or ends from means. After all, what is an "end" in one context can (and probably will) be a "means" in another. Rationality is not a buffet line where one can pick and choose as whim dictates. Like poison in water, irrationality contaminates and destroys the value of anything it touches.
It can be very difficult to convince others of this fact when they are contemplating tangible objects. But perhaps consideration of an intangible -- but nevertheless very real -- existent might show them the truth of the matter.
Given my previously stated belief in the efficacy of fiction in helping to convey the importance of freedom, I am going to illustrate this situation with an excerpt from my science fiction novel, The Warrior. (For the first four chapters of this book, go here.)
To set up the scene: Christine Reeves (whose husband is the "warrior" of the book's title) is being held prisoner by Verne Smith and Dr. Facciola as a result of a political dispute:
Facciola flashed [the guard] a perfunctory smile and strode purposefully into the room. The tumblers clicked home behind him.
Verne Smith reclined upon a couch, apparently engrossed in a recent comedy hit playing on the wall screen. Facciola vaguely recognized the actors. He rarely had time for such plebeian nonsense himself.
Christine Reeves glanced up from the thick book resting on her lap. The desk lamp ensconced her in a golden pool of liquid illumination yet did little to ameliorate the dark circles under her eyes. Her neutral expression revealed only a hint of her inner state; though for a more astute observer, that very blankness might speak volumes.
Uncertain still exactly why he had come, Facciola slowly approached the woman who had threatened all he had worked so diligently to produce.
Impatient with the chitchat that provided the social lubrication for most first encounters, he plunged ahead.
"You'll be pleased to know we're approaching the end of our project. Once that's complete, we'll no longer need to detain you."
Carefully, Christine closed her book. She sat staring at its elegant leather cover and the gold embossed lettering of its title for a long moment. Her eyes lifted to study her visitor.
"Do you enjoy standing there gloating like some kind of pompous ass," she said, equally blunt, "or do you have some real reason for interrupting my reading yet again?"
The forcefulness of her reply caught the researcher off-guard. After hearing of the tears she had shed after her recapture, Facciola had been convinced Christine would now be docile, compliant, and subservient.
"If you would only open your mind to new possibilities," he snapped, "perhaps you would appreciate what Tatia and I are trying to achieve here."
Christine laid aside the novel and placed her hands on her lap. "I admit my mind is closed to anything you have to say on this subject."
"Then --"
"But a closed mind does not necessarily imply an inactive one. The very fact that you choose to violate our rights," she said, nodding towards Verne, "and to skulk in the shadows like some grave robber in the night in order to reach your goal tells me enough. You can attempt to divorce an end from the means you use to accomplish it. You can't succeed. You might just as well attempt walking on air."
"Your obtuseness still confounds me. A diamond remains a diamond no matter how you obtain it."
"Of course."
"And a diamond is valuable to people. If that is true, then how can you continue to deny that a diamond retains its value no matter how it comes into your possession?"
Christine sighed and shook her head. "No wonder you're so fucked up."
Facciola's nostrils flared at her dispassionate assessment.
"Ad hominem attacks will hardly prove your point," he said harshly.
Christine held up her palms. "Please. Spare me. For someone to wound your sensibilities, you would first have to possess them. Self-righteousness hardly becomes a person who fails to grasp even the most rudimentary lessons of social interaction. It fits you almost as poorly as that jacket."
Puzzled and angry at her cryptic accusations, Facciola held out his arms. "I had this suit tailor-made. It fits perfectly."
"Yes. I know it does." Christine frowned. "Look. Something -- anything -- is never a value considered in isolation. For some object or action to become a value -- or to be valuable -- there must first be a valuer. A diamond stays a diamond even if humans never existed. For it to also have value, you must ask to whom and for what."
"Ah! But if I obtain a stolen diamond, can I not still purchase just as much with it on the open market? I do not see how that property would miraculously disappear."
"It doesn't. Wouldn't." Christine filtered her fingers through her tangled hair. "You're failing to observe the whole context of what you know. We are not merely disembodied agents in some kind of independently existing economic structure. We do not act blindly at the behest of some mysterious hidden forces. We are living, breathing, loving, thinking, and -- here, most importantly -- choosing beings. To ignore our fundamental need for rationality, to evade the primary basis for production of any good or value, to close your eyes to the evidence all around you is to destroy the very process that creates values. If you obliterate or even blur those distinctions, then it's little wonder you can prattle on about diamonds and money and projects as though they dwell in some nether realm divorced from the only permissible requirements for ethical behavior. We are neither ghosts nor mere lumps of matter."
Facciola folded his arms. "You spout the same trash, the same confusing mumbo jumbo as my teachers did when I was a child. Yet I can hold a diamond in my hands. I can weigh it on a scale and test its hardness against a pane of glass. Show me this mystical property 'value' that somehow obviates all those traits and renders the gem useless to me and perhaps I'll consider your position more seriously."
Christine tossed up her hands. "But it's not mystical! That's the whole point. The very concept of value is rooted in life and -- in the moral context we're discussing -- in specifically human life. There's nothing mysterious about it."
"And yet you still maintain that the value I obtain from that stolen diamond does not exist even as I count the gold coins I slip into my pocket from its sale. You're incredible! My conclusion is nothing but common sense."
Christine stared into space a moment. "Have you ever been in love?"
"What?"
"It's not a trick question. Have you ever been in love?"
"I fail to see the relevance of --"
"Just answer the question."
"What if I have?"
"Okay," Christine said. "I'll pretend you have been. If you were in love with a woman, yet she saw you merely as a friend, that would hardly be a satisfactory situation. Correct?"
Facciola frowned. "No...," he said cautiously.
"What if... Hmm. I won't imagine an impossible situation like an angel magically changing her mind. That wouldn't prove anything. Um..." Suddenly Christine's expression brightened. "What if she abruptly started acting as though she loved you? Caressing you, holding hands, smiling, saying she loves you, making love...everything. All the actions you might expect from a romantic entanglement. Would that satisfy you? Would you be happy with that?"
"Well... I suppose so," he said reluctantly, sensing a trap. "Sure. Why not? Since telepathy doesn't exist, the only basis I would have to judge her love or lack thereof would be from her words and actions."
Christine leaned closer. Her fingers gripped her knees. "Then from the context you just specified, you would judge your relationship positively?"
"Yes."
Christine spread her arms to either side. "But how would you feel if you widened your context to other facts and relationships? What if you learned that her oh-so-sweet behavior resulted from a threat from a concerned friend of yours to harm her parents unless she complied with your desires?"
"Oh, come now. That's simply too far-fetched. It's an absurd situation to imagine."
"But possible. Still... I'll offer a more likely scenario, one I'd wager happens all too frequently. What if her tender gestures sprang from her desire to obtain your money, either for herself or for a loved one who needed it, say, for an operation. She can stay with you or leave you. You decide. How would you judge the situation then? You have that final 'value' you claim is all that matters; the equivalent of that diamond you can exchange in the marketplace. Yet it is a 'value' you did not earn; behavior given to you without regard for your worth as a man. Is her self-confessed love a value now since you still obtain the same behavior from her, just as you receive the same gold coins for that stolen diamond as for one you mined yourself?"
Dr. Facciola mentally stumbled along the convoluted paths of her analogy. With difficulty, he wrapped his thoughts around the core of the point Christine presented him. Disparate images of evenings with Tatia -- long fingers stroking his bare arm, smiles and laughter enveloping him in their airy brightness -- skated across the borders of his attention, distracting him. The more he sought to concentrate, the greater the intrusions of those unwanted snatches from the past.
Disgusted, Facciola turned half away. "I come here to convey good news, and you cloud the issue with irrelevancies. Diamonds and lovers and sick relatives! Meaningless drivel. Why can't you stick to the matter at hand?"
Christine stood. "It's all cut from the same cloth, Doctor. The principles remain the same. These examples all emanate from basic issues forming the foundation for everything we do, think, and feel."
"You claim too much. That which explains all, explains nothing."
Christine compressed her lips. "I never said... I just meant... Oh, what's the use?" Wearily, she dropped onto her chair. "How anyone can be so rational in work and yet so muzzy-headed in all else astounds me. Intellectually, I know it occurs frequently. Maybe I can even understand it on one level. Emotionally, though, you're as foreign to me as any Gusteenian [invader]. Maybe more so. If you ever manage to integrate your perspectives, I truly hope you'll explain it to me. I confess I'm baffled."
Dr. Facciola tugged at his jacket. "No more than I am, I assure you. In the future, save your illustrations for someone who would appreciate them. I do not."
Christine nodded. "Of course. I just thought... Never mind. Thank you for stopping by." She picked up her half-read novel. "Now if you'll excuse me...?"
Facciola glowered at the source of so much aggravation in his life. He knew he should not care what she thought. She was powerless to oppose him. Yet for some perverse reason, he did want her opinion to match his own.
Dr. Facciola has millions of allies in today's world. For all those parasites sucking the life's-blood of the world's producers for their own gain, the money or the favors or the prestige they receive at someone else's expense are all that matters. Theft is transformed into charity, robbery into compassion, dross into gold, evil into virtue.
But the strange alchemy they are attempting is a delusion. Nothing these individuals can say or do or think will convert what they clutch so desperately to their hearts into anything worthwhile. "Value" is the last concept any of these folks can understand, because "value" is precisely what they destroy with every word and action and thought. Only by abandoning their irrationality and embracing reason in all areas of their lives will these unfortunate souls obtain the values they claim they so desperately seek.
