The Fountainhead of Bedford Falls
Dec 1, 2010
Joe Carter
Frank Capra and Ayn Rand are two names not often mentioned together. Yet the cheery director of Capra-corn and the dour novelist who created Objectivism have more in common than you might imagine. Both were immigrants who made their names in Hollywood. Both were screenwriters and employees of the film studio RKO Pictures. And during the last half of the 1940s, both created works of enduring cult appeal, Capra with his film It’s a Wonderful Life and Rand with her novel The Fountainhead.
The pair also created two of the most memorable characters in modern pop culture: Howard Roark and George Bailey. To anyone familiar with both works, it would seem the two characters could not be more different. Unexpected similarities emerge, however, when one considers that Roark and Bailey are variations on a common archetype that has captured the American imagination for decades.
Howard Roark, the protagonist of Rand’s book, is an idealistic young architect who chooses to struggle in obscurity rather than compromise his artistic and personal vision by conforming to the needs and demands of the community. In contrast, George Bailey, the hero of Capra’s film, is an idealistic young would-be architect who struggles in obscurity because he has chosen to conform to the needs and demands of the community rather than fulfill his artistic and personal vision. Howard Roark is essentially what George Bailey might have become had he left for college rather than stayed in his hometown of Bedford Falls.
Rand portrays Roark as a demigod-like hero who refuses to subordinate his self-centered ego to the demands of the community society. Capra, in stark contrast, portrays Bailey as an amiable but flawed man who becomes a hero precisely because he chooses to subordinate his self-centered ego for the greater good of the community.
Not surprisingly, Roark has become something of a cult figure, especially among young nerdy males entering post-adolescence. Although Roark is artistically gifted and technically brilliant, he prefers to take a job breaking rocks in a quarry than sell out to The Man. He provides a model for the underemployed, misunderstood, twenty-something misfit by choice. These see themselves in the uncompromising sulker, believing it better to vandalize and destroy than allow society to co-opt their dreams.
Rand herself would have certainly envisioned things differently. She would have sneered in disgust at the idea that Roark was anything like the slacker working at Starbucks the populists marching at Tea Parties. Her hero was a cross between the modernist architect Frank Lloyd Wright and the serial killer and child rapist William Hickman. Rand’s ideal was the nonconformist who exhibited sociopathic tendencies. She dreamed of the minority of brilliant, atheistic ubermensch who would “eventually trample society under its feet.” The vast majority of the people who read The Fountainhead might admire Roark, but they’d never emulate him.
Similarly, Capra’s audience flatters themselves by believing the message of Wonderful Life is that their own lives are just as worthy, just as noble, and just as wonderful’ as George Bailey’s. In a way, they are as delusional as the Randian Roark-worshippers. Despite the fact that they left their small-town communities for the city, put their parents in an assisted living facility and don’t know the names of their next door neighbors, they truly believe they are just likeCapra’s hero.
Such delusions are the reason these characters have remained two of the most dominant archetypes of American individualism in pop culture. The pendulum of popularity is swinging back toward Rand but it’s Capra’s creation that should be our model for inspiration.
Roark is nihilistic, narrow-minded, and something of a bore. Bailey is far darker, more complex, and infinitely more interesting.
What makes George Bailey one of the most inspiring, emotionally complex characters in modern popular culture is that he continually chooses the needs of his family and community over his own self-interested ambitions and desires—and suffers immensely and repeatedly for his sacrifices.
Although sentimental, Capra’s movie is not a simplistic morality play. It’s true that the movie ends on a happy note late on Christmas Eve, when George is saved from ruin. But on Christmas Day he’ll wake to find that his life is not so different than it was when he wanted to commit suicide.
He will remain a frustrated artist who is scraping by on a meager salary and living in a drafty old house in a one-stoplight town. All that has really changed is that he has gained a deeper appreciation of the value of faith, friends, and community—and that this is worth more than his worldly ambitions. Capra’s underlying message is thus radically subversive: It is by serving our fellow man, even to the point of subordinating our dreams and ambitions, that we achieve both true greatness and lasting happiness.
This theme makes Wonderful Life one of the most counter-cultural films in the history of cinema. Almost every movie about the individual in society—from Easy Rider to Happy Feet—is based on the premise that self-actualization is the primary purpose of existence. To a society that accepts radical individualism as the norm, a film about the individual subordinating his desires for the good of others sounds anti-American, if not downright communistic. Surely, the only reason the film has become a Christmas classic is because so few people grasp this core message.
Of course the fans of The Fountainhead—at least those who view Roark as a moral model—are not likely to comprehend, much less adequately appreciate the subtext of Wonderful Life. Indeed, only a schizophrenic personality could aspire to emulate both Bailey and Roark, characters whose grave differences have been obscured by pop culture’s sentimentalism.
Roark lives to create inspiring works of architecture but cannot do so without relying on others. When society fails to appreciate his genius, his egotistical purity leads him to engage a vandalistic and destructive temper-tantrum. By the end of The Fountainhead Roark is revealed to be an infantile, narcissistic, parasite.
Bailey, on the other hand, is the type of character Rand would consider a villain. He exhibits the qualities of a repressed, conformist, patsy. He lives for others rather than “following his bliss” or “going Galt.” Bailey compromises everything but his integrity, and in doing so discovers that he has all that makes life worth living.
Sentimental claptrap? Probably so. Capra and Rand authored utterly different narratives, but are guilty of the same sort of sentimentalism. As William Butler Yeats said, “The rhetorician would deceive others, the sentimentalist himself.” To fall for Rand’s foolish philosophy or Capra’s corny flicks is therefore to risk deceiving oneself. Perhaps I’m in such danger myself, but Capra makes me want to believe. While I know it may not always be a wonderful life, it would be better world if there were more George Baileys and fewer Howard Roarks.
Joe Carter is web editor of First Things. His previous articles for “On the Square” can be found here.
Comments:
12.1.2010 | 6:19am
Bangwell Putt says:
This post works its way toward a correct conclusion: "Bailey compromises everything but his integrity, and in doing so discovers that he has all the makes life worth living." Period, so to speak.
But, in a failure of confidence, a loss of nerve, it is all taken back: "Sentimental claptrap? Probably so."
If "sentimental" is used here in the sense of feeling without the accompanying action which gives substance to the feeling, it is misused with reference to George Bailey.
But, in a failure of confidence, a loss of nerve, it is all taken back: "Sentimental claptrap? Probably so."
If "sentimental" is used here in the sense of feeling without the accompanying action which gives substance to the feeling, it is misused with reference to George Bailey.
12.1.2010 | 7:01am
Stuart Koehl says:
"Surely, the only reason the film has become a Christmas classic is because so few people grasp this core message."
Surely the only reason the film has become a Christmas classic is because it was in public domain, and television stations could run it for free.
Surely the only reason the film has become a Christmas classic is because it was in public domain, and television stations could run it for free.
12.1.2010 | 7:36am
sanpietrini says:
"All you can take with you is that which you've given away." Peter Bailey (under his photo in the B&L, seen on George's wedding day). George obviously gave all his dreams away; though I hesitate to put words in Capra's mouth, perhaps he was thinking of St Lawrence?
12.1.2010 | 8:32am
Thomas R says:
I do think there's a tendency to focus on the part from when Clarence comes in and after. To kind of gloss over the darker parts of it. It's really a pretty dark movie on the whole, which is kind of why it's not my favorite Christmas movie. I actually want Christmas movies to be relatively happy, sappy, and corny. Before you get to "an angel made him appreciate his life and everyone suddenly rallied around him" the arc of the movie appears to be a story of failure and tragedy that ends in suicide or bankruptcy. Like "Death of a Salesman", except with a basically good guy as main character.
Although even the at end it is as much about singing New Year's songs as Christmas ones.
Although even the at end it is as much about singing New Year's songs as Christmas ones.
12.1.2010 | 8:36am
Steve says:
Why does the character of George Bailey make us desire that there were "more" George Baileys in this world and "fewer" Howard Roarks? I think the search for community drives us instinctively to the George Baileys of the world while the lack of community intuititively repulses us.
12.1.2010 | 9:56am
Dan Lord says:
This column does a terrible disservice to Frank Capra and George Bailey by making some oft-repeated false assumptions about the two. George Bailey is neither "idealistic" nor a man "who chooses to struggle in obscurity rather than compromise his artistic and personal vision by conforming to the needs and demands of the community." He is a selfish, ambitious man who does what he does more out of a sense of blind duty than any genuinely held principles. He is bitter and resentful. That's why the angel is sent to help him. And "Capra-corn"? This movie is not corny. It's an anguished exploration of a dark, desperate man who is beaten down by the same pressures as all of us--yet discovers redemption. What's corny about that? Mr. Carter seems to be unfamiliar with the actual film he's referencing, and as a result the premise of his otherwise well-written column falls apart.
12.1.2010 | 10:50am
patricksarsfield says:
Navel gazing about the Joy of Christmas is rarely productive. Christmas is the most wonderful time of the Year....period.
For whatever commercial accretions Christmas might also have been stuck with by the marketplace, its gospel truth is the only message that stands the test of time: Jesus, the Word Made Flesh and Savior of the World, Who came down to suffer and die for us because God so loved the World! And the Ever Virgin Mother of God, Mary Most Holy, said "be it done unto me according to Your Word. And her Spouse, Joseph, heeded the request of the Angel to take care of Mary. And the shepherds, Magi, and the Heavenly Host all welcomed that greatest Birth of all.
The Christmas Story is always fresh and always wonder-filled to those who have ears to hear. Capra caught some of that wonder in the hopeful days at the End of WWII and packaged it in a fashion that was acceptable to the multi-religious US public. Maybe Wonderful life gets replayed all the time because it is in the public domain, but I always stop when flipping the channels and I come across it. And sometimes I'll stay until the End.
Buon Natal. Feliz Navidad. Joyeux Noel. Merry Christmas!
For whatever commercial accretions Christmas might also have been stuck with by the marketplace, its gospel truth is the only message that stands the test of time: Jesus, the Word Made Flesh and Savior of the World, Who came down to suffer and die for us because God so loved the World! And the Ever Virgin Mother of God, Mary Most Holy, said "be it done unto me according to Your Word. And her Spouse, Joseph, heeded the request of the Angel to take care of Mary. And the shepherds, Magi, and the Heavenly Host all welcomed that greatest Birth of all.
The Christmas Story is always fresh and always wonder-filled to those who have ears to hear. Capra caught some of that wonder in the hopeful days at the End of WWII and packaged it in a fashion that was acceptable to the multi-religious US public. Maybe Wonderful life gets replayed all the time because it is in the public domain, but I always stop when flipping the channels and I come across it. And sometimes I'll stay until the End.
Buon Natal. Feliz Navidad. Joyeux Noel. Merry Christmas!
12.1.2010 | 11:14am
MPJR says:
Thank you for a thought-provoking essay. Here are some thoughts that come immediately to mind.
George is a self-centered man whose sacrifices arise from a sense of duty instead of freely given. We tend to denigrate duty today, but it has its value, if only to save George from the true degradation wrought by the 'authentic' but monstrous Howard. Unfortunately, for the self-centered, the product of doing one’s duty is resentment. When such resentment is combined with failure, then George falls into despair and seeks to end his life. A comical deus ex machina enters the scene and shows George the errors of his way.
And what are those errors? I think the answer lies in the seasonal nature of the movie. The Incarnation is and always will be a scandal to the worldly because it offers the contradiction of the deity deigning to become human and join in our suffering. There is the key. Rene Girard is masterful on the anthropological significance of the Revelation to Israel and its extension to Christians. But I want to focus on the psychology of conversion. The story is told that when Dostoevsky was writing The Brothers Karamazov his publisher sent him the galleys for review. The author’s manuscript had the following Scriptural passage as an epigraph, “Verily, verily I say unto thee, unless a grain of wheat fall to the ground and die, it abideth alone. But if it die, it brings forth much fruit.” The galleys failed to contain the epigraph. Dostoevsky, in a fit of rage, threw the manuscript to the ground and thundered, “It were better they had remembered that passage and forgot the rest.”
I don’t think George awakens the next day and returns to the mundane. That is the secret of the movie. He now realizes the gift of the mundane and his role in life. That is a conversion experience very difficult to portray in art, but very real nonetheless, as some of us can attest. Simone Weil was on to something when she wrote, “Literature and morality. Imaginary evil is romantic and varied; real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring. Imaginary good is boring; real good is always new, marvelous, intoxicating. Therefore, ‘imaginative literature' is either boring or immoral (or a mixture of both). It only escapes from this alternative if in some way it passes over to the side of reality through the power of art - and only genius can do that.”
So, maybe the movie is not a work of genius. It is nevertheless a worthy and entertaining story, a “raid on the inarticulate,” a parable that among our enemies are pride and “everydayness.” On the latter point, I end with another quote. This one is from Chaim Grade, a lovely writer who should be more popular. Here, he writes of the holiness embodied in the everyday in the context of the Orthodox Jewish prayer over the daily meal. It speaks to the sacramental nature of life and that the real illusion rests in taking the extraordinary for granted merely because it happens every day:
“Those who study in order to observe see new wonders daily in the same old precepts, like the one who rejoices each time he sees the face of his beloved. It is precisely the same with people with an eye and a heart to appreciate the wonders of creation, the manifestation of the Creator in nature. Every day he marvels anew at how the sun rises and how it sets, at the storm’s thunder and lightening, at the beautiful shape and sweet taste of the fruits he has eaten so many, many times before. And if he doesn’t feel this way, then the prayers and his blessings on these fruits are nothing more than habit.”
George is a self-centered man whose sacrifices arise from a sense of duty instead of freely given. We tend to denigrate duty today, but it has its value, if only to save George from the true degradation wrought by the 'authentic' but monstrous Howard. Unfortunately, for the self-centered, the product of doing one’s duty is resentment. When such resentment is combined with failure, then George falls into despair and seeks to end his life. A comical deus ex machina enters the scene and shows George the errors of his way.
And what are those errors? I think the answer lies in the seasonal nature of the movie. The Incarnation is and always will be a scandal to the worldly because it offers the contradiction of the deity deigning to become human and join in our suffering. There is the key. Rene Girard is masterful on the anthropological significance of the Revelation to Israel and its extension to Christians. But I want to focus on the psychology of conversion. The story is told that when Dostoevsky was writing The Brothers Karamazov his publisher sent him the galleys for review. The author’s manuscript had the following Scriptural passage as an epigraph, “Verily, verily I say unto thee, unless a grain of wheat fall to the ground and die, it abideth alone. But if it die, it brings forth much fruit.” The galleys failed to contain the epigraph. Dostoevsky, in a fit of rage, threw the manuscript to the ground and thundered, “It were better they had remembered that passage and forgot the rest.”
I don’t think George awakens the next day and returns to the mundane. That is the secret of the movie. He now realizes the gift of the mundane and his role in life. That is a conversion experience very difficult to portray in art, but very real nonetheless, as some of us can attest. Simone Weil was on to something when she wrote, “Literature and morality. Imaginary evil is romantic and varied; real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring. Imaginary good is boring; real good is always new, marvelous, intoxicating. Therefore, ‘imaginative literature' is either boring or immoral (or a mixture of both). It only escapes from this alternative if in some way it passes over to the side of reality through the power of art - and only genius can do that.”
So, maybe the movie is not a work of genius. It is nevertheless a worthy and entertaining story, a “raid on the inarticulate,” a parable that among our enemies are pride and “everydayness.” On the latter point, I end with another quote. This one is from Chaim Grade, a lovely writer who should be more popular. Here, he writes of the holiness embodied in the everyday in the context of the Orthodox Jewish prayer over the daily meal. It speaks to the sacramental nature of life and that the real illusion rests in taking the extraordinary for granted merely because it happens every day:
“Those who study in order to observe see new wonders daily in the same old precepts, like the one who rejoices each time he sees the face of his beloved. It is precisely the same with people with an eye and a heart to appreciate the wonders of creation, the manifestation of the Creator in nature. Every day he marvels anew at how the sun rises and how it sets, at the storm’s thunder and lightening, at the beautiful shape and sweet taste of the fruits he has eaten so many, many times before. And if he doesn’t feel this way, then the prayers and his blessings on these fruits are nothing more than habit.”
12.1.2010 | 11:24am
Joe Carter says:
@Joe Z ***Who watches this movie and fails to see that it is about happiness through self-sacrifice, about love and community over ambition and self-actualization?***
Quite a few people, I suspect. I think many people believe the message of the movie is "my life is important because I affect so many others." The idea that they might be required to make a significant sacrifice before their lives are meaningful is the subtext they miss.
@Bangwell Putt ***But, in a failure of confidence, a loss of nerve, it is all taken back: "Sentimental claptrap? Probably so."***
My ending was not added because of a lack of confidence but rather as a subtle acknowledgement that the movie doesn't necessarily fit without my Christian worldview.
***If "sentimental" is used here in the sense of feeling without the accompanying action which gives substance to the feeling, it is misused with reference to George Bailey.***
Sentimentalism in literature has two main components: a focus on emotion over reason and an optimistic overemphasis of the innate goodness of humanity.
While Wonderful Life is not a secular film, it is also not a particularly Christian one either—at least not in an Augustinian way. The film doesn't really show an appreciation for original sin, which is why I think it is dangerous to accept its worldview uncritically. Also, WL is a "Christmas" film without Christ.
***George Bailey is neither "idealistic" . . . ***
The idealism refers to the "young Bailey. George thinks he can change the world—and will—when he is given a chance. It takes him a long time before he gives that up.
***. . . nor a man "who chooses to struggle in obscurity rather than compromise his artistic and personal vision by conforming to the needs and demands of the community." He is a selfish, ambitious man who does what he does more out of a sense of blind duty than any genuinely held principles.***
I think it is your comment that does a disservice to Bailey. Duty comes out of such genuinely held principles as the idea that we should honor our father and mother, respect the needs of others, take care of our siblings, etc. Bailey is dutiful but it isn't a blind duty.
***What's corny about that?***
Corny means old-fashioned, trite, lacking in subtlety, and mawkishly sentimental. Wonderful Life is all those things, but, I think, in a good way.
Quite a few people, I suspect. I think many people believe the message of the movie is "my life is important because I affect so many others." The idea that they might be required to make a significant sacrifice before their lives are meaningful is the subtext they miss.
@Bangwell Putt ***But, in a failure of confidence, a loss of nerve, it is all taken back: "Sentimental claptrap? Probably so."***
My ending was not added because of a lack of confidence but rather as a subtle acknowledgement that the movie doesn't necessarily fit without my Christian worldview.
***If "sentimental" is used here in the sense of feeling without the accompanying action which gives substance to the feeling, it is misused with reference to George Bailey.***
Sentimentalism in literature has two main components: a focus on emotion over reason and an optimistic overemphasis of the innate goodness of humanity.
While Wonderful Life is not a secular film, it is also not a particularly Christian one either—at least not in an Augustinian way. The film doesn't really show an appreciation for original sin, which is why I think it is dangerous to accept its worldview uncritically. Also, WL is a "Christmas" film without Christ.
***George Bailey is neither "idealistic" . . . ***
The idealism refers to the "young Bailey. George thinks he can change the world—and will—when he is given a chance. It takes him a long time before he gives that up.
***. . . nor a man "who chooses to struggle in obscurity rather than compromise his artistic and personal vision by conforming to the needs and demands of the community." He is a selfish, ambitious man who does what he does more out of a sense of blind duty than any genuinely held principles.***
I think it is your comment that does a disservice to Bailey. Duty comes out of such genuinely held principles as the idea that we should honor our father and mother, respect the needs of others, take care of our siblings, etc. Bailey is dutiful but it isn't a blind duty.
***What's corny about that?***
Corny means old-fashioned, trite, lacking in subtlety, and mawkishly sentimental. Wonderful Life is all those things, but, I think, in a good way.
12.1.2010 | 11:45am
Bill Galvan says:
"Sentimental claptrap" indeed. EVery year I have to encounter the line at the end, "To my brother, George, the richest man in the world!" and the enormous lump that suddenly appears in my throat.
12.1.2010 | 1:10pm
Richard says:
My focus on the essay is on the critique of Ayn Rand. I think the author makes some great points and while I don't watch Wonderful World every year, everything he says about the movie rings true to me. As for Rand.......the first time I read her was Atlas Shrugged. I was horrified. She has to be the worst writer in the world. I was not so much repulsed by her philosophy as by her lack of artistic achievement. And this writer's comments about Fountainhead were precisely the response I had, generally, to Atlas which is supposedly Rand's masterpiece. Here is a commentary I saved from some time ago about the writing:
But in Atlas Shrugged, Rand’s final novel, the ideologue crushes the writer almost completely. While a few characters show occasional glimpses of humanity, most of the heroes are abstractions of greatness, while the villains are subhuman vermin. The story suffocates under endless speechifying and analysis in which each point is flogged to death and each un-Randian idea is reduced to a straw man the heroes can easily beat down and shred. In this effort, all life and beauty are drained from Rand’s prose style, and we are treated to passages like this one, when industrialist Hank Rearden’s wife tries to hurt him by telling him she has slept with a man he despises: “There, he thought, was the final abortion of the creed of collective interdependence, the creed of non-identity, non-property, non-fact: the belief that the moral stature of one is at the mercy of the action of another.”
But in Atlas Shrugged, Rand’s final novel, the ideologue crushes the writer almost completely. While a few characters show occasional glimpses of humanity, most of the heroes are abstractions of greatness, while the villains are subhuman vermin. The story suffocates under endless speechifying and analysis in which each point is flogged to death and each un-Randian idea is reduced to a straw man the heroes can easily beat down and shred. In this effort, all life and beauty are drained from Rand’s prose style, and we are treated to passages like this one, when industrialist Hank Rearden’s wife tries to hurt him by telling him she has slept with a man he despises: “There, he thought, was the final abortion of the creed of collective interdependence, the creed of non-identity, non-property, non-fact: the belief that the moral stature of one is at the mercy of the action of another.”
12.1.2010 | 1:42pm
Michael says:
Great article, Joe. “Wonderful Life” is both dark and comforting, and Capra should have a much better reputation than he does. “Fountainhead” is not only profoundly atheistic, self-centered, and atrociously written, but Rand doesn’t understand how capitalism or markets work at all. It’s odd that so many economic conservatives have embraced it. “Wonderful Life” at least has the virtue of understanding that business is often the enemy of business, as the Potters of the world profit from the misfortune of others.
12.1.2010 | 2:11pm
Robert Speirs says:
Howard Roark is far superior to George Bailey. The point of It's a Wonderful Life to me is that it's a MOVIE! It's a fantasy that doesn't turn out the way real people's lives do. That's why it's so emotionally affecting. We watch it and say, yes, that's the way things should turn out for the George Baileys of the world. But we know they never do. That's the "dark side". The Fountainhead conveys the real point that happiness will not come from the collective, not once, not ever. It comes from one's self. And by relying on ourselves and following the light in our individual souls we benefit others incidentally more than we could in any other way. That's the joyful message of the "dour" Ayn Rand.
12.1.2010 | 2:30pm
pentamom says:
"We watch it and say, yes, that's the way things should turn out for the George Baileys of the world. But we know they never do. "
Well, except for my father and millions of men like him throughout history who never got to be the culturally or socially great person they thought they'd become when they were young, but who leave behind an incredible legacy of faithfulness and love for family and community, and find that to be ample reward. Never any other time, though.
Well, except for my father and millions of men like him throughout history who never got to be the culturally or socially great person they thought they'd become when they were young, but who leave behind an incredible legacy of faithfulness and love for family and community, and find that to be ample reward. Never any other time, though.
12.1.2010 | 2:51pm
gdp says:
Well, it's been decades since I read any Rand, and I certainly wouldn't recommend it to anyone. If you want to get an up close and personal look at a bunch of obnoxious, self-absorbed, self-indulgent, petulant little whiners, you can watch the latest MTV reality show. At least there don't appear to be any people intent on adding insult to injury by trying to tell us that the episode where the midget bites the lady wrestler's backside is an important philosophical work.
I don't recall Rand making the case that Roark is a great artist. We only learn that he is convinced that he is. He lacks the humility to say, as true geniuses have, that if he has seen farther than others, it's because he stood on the shoulders of giants. Worse, he is too self-centered and stupid to recognize the value of identifying the giants and climbing on their shoulders. Even worse, he seems to be so self-centered and stupid that he thinks of himself as the first and only giant. There is no reason for us to believe that Roark has an objective standard for great art and architecture and he strives to meet those standards; it's more like he believes that the greatness of a work follows from the fact that he made it. Anyone who doubts that is, in his mind, just too stupid to appreciate him. No, thinking of yourself as a demi-god and collecting a small cadre of idiotic sycophantic worshipers does not mean you're actually great.
Randians should be happy though. Barack Obama is Howard Roark.
I don't recall Rand making the case that Roark is a great artist. We only learn that he is convinced that he is. He lacks the humility to say, as true geniuses have, that if he has seen farther than others, it's because he stood on the shoulders of giants. Worse, he is too self-centered and stupid to recognize the value of identifying the giants and climbing on their shoulders. Even worse, he seems to be so self-centered and stupid that he thinks of himself as the first and only giant. There is no reason for us to believe that Roark has an objective standard for great art and architecture and he strives to meet those standards; it's more like he believes that the greatness of a work follows from the fact that he made it. Anyone who doubts that is, in his mind, just too stupid to appreciate him. No, thinking of yourself as a demi-god and collecting a small cadre of idiotic sycophantic worshipers does not mean you're actually great.
Randians should be happy though. Barack Obama is Howard Roark.
12.1.2010 | 3:56pm
Louise says:
Sentimental? Corny?
In my late, (children-grown) career as a college textbook production editor, I was asked by a sociology text author (self-identified as a Marxists from a state university in the Rockies) to supply some "corny photos of a 1950s family on a picnic" for a new edition of his social-conflict text. When I sent him a selection from which to choose, I included a note saying that, when I (and all my friends) had young families in the '50s, we didn't consider a family picnic "corny", but that we were providing a loving, stable home for our family. He never responded to my remarks, probably because they didn't suit his bias. In addition, I am the least "sentimental" person I know.--Ask anyone. And, by the way, I have four grown children, all productive members of society, all in stable marriages, and, for those blessed to have children, stable families. I don't find this either sentimental OR corny.
In my late, (children-grown) career as a college textbook production editor, I was asked by a sociology text author (self-identified as a Marxists from a state university in the Rockies) to supply some "corny photos of a 1950s family on a picnic" for a new edition of his social-conflict text. When I sent him a selection from which to choose, I included a note saying that, when I (and all my friends) had young families in the '50s, we didn't consider a family picnic "corny", but that we were providing a loving, stable home for our family. He never responded to my remarks, probably because they didn't suit his bias. In addition, I am the least "sentimental" person I know.--Ask anyone. And, by the way, I have four grown children, all productive members of society, all in stable marriages, and, for those blessed to have children, stable families. I don't find this either sentimental OR corny.
12.1.2010 | 4:49pm
PeterG says:
To a society that accepts radical individualism as the norm, a film about the individual subordinating his desires for the good of others sounds anti-American, if not downright communistic. Surely, the only reason the film has become a Christmas classic is because so few people grasp this core message.
Mr. Carter, I think you are mistaken.
Do you think that the people who love this movie are dumb? That if they really understood it, they would find it un-American, or the like? Surely you underestimate your fellow countrymen. You claim that when people watch this movie they think it means “my life is important because I affect so many others." Could they not just think “my life is important – even though I may never fully understand why (in this life)”? You say that it is a Christmas movie without Christ. True enough, but why wouldn’t viewers see something very Christ like in the sacrifices of George Bailey? Could this be the reason why it has become a Christmas classic? Bedford falls without the heroic sacrifices of George and Peter Bailey becomes Pottersville. I think there is some recognition of original sin in this fact. It is not a perfect film, and there is sentimentalism, but I think “corny, but good corny” misses the mark.
Mr. Carter, I think you are mistaken.
Do you think that the people who love this movie are dumb? That if they really understood it, they would find it un-American, or the like? Surely you underestimate your fellow countrymen. You claim that when people watch this movie they think it means “my life is important because I affect so many others." Could they not just think “my life is important – even though I may never fully understand why (in this life)”? You say that it is a Christmas movie without Christ. True enough, but why wouldn’t viewers see something very Christ like in the sacrifices of George Bailey? Could this be the reason why it has become a Christmas classic? Bedford falls without the heroic sacrifices of George and Peter Bailey becomes Pottersville. I think there is some recognition of original sin in this fact. It is not a perfect film, and there is sentimentalism, but I think “corny, but good corny” misses the mark.
12.1.2010 | 4:58pm
Dan Lord says:
Hello Joe, you wrote in response to me: "I think it is your comment that does a disservice to Bailey. Duty comes out of such genuinely held principles as the idea that we should honor our father and mother, respect the needs of others, take care of our siblings, etc. Bailey is dutiful but it isn't a blind duty."
Also: "The idealism refers to the "young Bailey. George thinks he can change the world—and will—when he is given a chance. It takes him a long time before he gives that up."
But then he isn't idealistic, according to your definition. He isn't out to "change the world," in the sense of improving it or "leaving it a better place than he found it." What he is after is to accomplish big things for himself, revel in the glory, and make lots of money. Therein lies the challenge for his character: to sacrifice those things. He does--but not because he wants to but, like I wrote, out of a sense of blind duty. In the end he sees that it all has a real worth, but until then he sees that duty primarily as a burden that prevents him from doing what he wants to do. It doesn't do a disservice to him to say that; it is simply a recognition of what the character is. Clearly we are all rooting for him, though--we all watch the movie to the very end!
Also: "The idealism refers to the "young Bailey. George thinks he can change the world—and will—when he is given a chance. It takes him a long time before he gives that up."
But then he isn't idealistic, according to your definition. He isn't out to "change the world," in the sense of improving it or "leaving it a better place than he found it." What he is after is to accomplish big things for himself, revel in the glory, and make lots of money. Therein lies the challenge for his character: to sacrifice those things. He does--but not because he wants to but, like I wrote, out of a sense of blind duty. In the end he sees that it all has a real worth, but until then he sees that duty primarily as a burden that prevents him from doing what he wants to do. It doesn't do a disservice to him to say that; it is simply a recognition of what the character is. Clearly we are all rooting for him, though--we all watch the movie to the very end!
12.1.2010 | 5:17pm
Paul Shonk says:
"The film doesn't really show an appreciation for original sin, which is why I think it is dangerous to accept its worldview uncritically."
I'm not sure about this. If you mean the film is not ultimately tragic, that much is certain. But, as other commentors have noted, there is plenty of darkness there. Try re-watching the scene where George Bailey flies into a rage in front of his children or the last appearance of Potter, who remains unrepentant. I think you'll find about as much recongition of original sin as a comedy can contain.
I'm not sure about this. If you mean the film is not ultimately tragic, that much is certain. But, as other commentors have noted, there is plenty of darkness there. Try re-watching the scene where George Bailey flies into a rage in front of his children or the last appearance of Potter, who remains unrepentant. I think you'll find about as much recongition of original sin as a comedy can contain.
12.1.2010 | 5:59pm
Bangwell Putt says:
Thank you, Pentamom. Your words do indeed describe many good and noble men whose incredible legacy of faithfulness and love" lives on in the people they cared for and the communities they served - your father, my father, and many others known to God.
12.1.2010 | 7:16pm
Bob G says:
I think J. Carter's writeup greatly misrepresents the movie. I don't see George Bailey as bitter and frustrated. Sure, he sometimes thinks of his brother's success. But George is surrounded by, and generally helping, lots of decent people. Most viewers of the movie are much the same: locked into their situations yet finding in self-sacrifice real peace and fulfillment. The ending is not so much "sentimental" as symbolic--bringing out the meaning of George's life. George will wake up the next morning a happy man. Can this reviewer experience the same?
12.1.2010 | 8:50pm
Jimbo says:
I respectfully disagree. George Bailey had a lot to be grateful for; the cutie Donna Reed and those adorable children and the admiration of the community.
I was happy when Howard Roark blew up his building. Under the terms of the contract his design was not to be altered. Howard is the individual who refuses to compromise his integrity. Discount the normal Ayn Rand sexual licentiousness and it is a good story about the merits of individualism and self-reliance.
We need both Georges and Howards in the world.
I was happy when Howard Roark blew up his building. Under the terms of the contract his design was not to be altered. Howard is the individual who refuses to compromise his integrity. Discount the normal Ayn Rand sexual licentiousness and it is a good story about the merits of individualism and self-reliance.
We need both Georges and Howards in the world.
12.1.2010 | 9:06pm
Jimbo says:
Moreover, both George and Howard are men that I would like to know. Both are men of integrity. It seems that you don't like Howard because he doesn't buy into the socialist claptrap that Ayn Rand called "self-imolation." As Christians, we are called by God to share of our bounty. But the donations must never become a tax. A contribution is voluntary. A tax is not.
12.1.2010 | 10:14pm
Kbrown says:
I haven't read "The Fountainhead" but have read "Atlas Shrugged", and liked it very much. I also love "It's A Wonderful Life". I think that we each take our own meanings from each one, based on our own life experiences. They each make valid points, but the stories are pushed farther to the extreme because they are art and not life.
George Bailey finds happiness and meaning in a different way than what he expected, and he needed some help to find it. Very few lives turn out exactly as planned! We are social creatures even when also ambitious.
To me, "Atlas Shrugged" especially helps to show how some people manipulate other hard-working and dutiful people through guilt and need. It is just a novel, not real life!!! I don't subscribe to Ayn Rand's entire philosophy, but I think she makes some very valid points. Some people surely hate her with a passion that seems excessive. I also think that unbalanced self-sacrifice is very unhealthy. Happiness seems to require some balance.
George Bailey finds happiness and meaning in a different way than what he expected, and he needed some help to find it. Very few lives turn out exactly as planned! We are social creatures even when also ambitious.
To me, "Atlas Shrugged" especially helps to show how some people manipulate other hard-working and dutiful people through guilt and need. It is just a novel, not real life!!! I don't subscribe to Ayn Rand's entire philosophy, but I think she makes some very valid points. Some people surely hate her with a passion that seems excessive. I also think that unbalanced self-sacrifice is very unhealthy. Happiness seems to require some balance.
12.1.2010 | 11:42pm
Tony Esolen says:
I'm a great fan of this movie, and I agree that it presents the tremendously countercultural directive, that it is not necessarily good to "follow your dreams," those specters woven of narcissism and self-deception, but to do the good you are called to do, here in this place, among these people, where God has placed you. For a "corny" movie -- and I too bristle at that word -- it sure does present us with a lot of subtle insights. In no order, but just as I think of them:
The movie is not about individuals, because "individual" itself is something of an abstraction or even an unreality. We are social beings. The key to George Bailey's life is to be found in the simple homely name, "Bedford Falls." That's just anywhere, USA, just this little town here, with the name from the slope of the river flowing through it. But in a world wherein people follow their dreams -- that is, in a world of solipsists -- Bedford Falls becomes Pottersville. The people in Pottersville are flattened, two-dimensional, incapable of wonder, suspicious of one another, alienated -- while all around them is loud and glitzy and wealthy and quite insane.
It is Mr. Potter who calls George a "frustrated young man," and he speaks the truth, but only a part of the truth. Mr. Potter can only see what his hard heart allows him to see; because he does not love, he does not know. It is, I think, incorrect to say that George Bailey acts out of blind duty. Much more is involved than that -- he is always a character of many subtleties, one of the most interesting characters ever to appear on film. He takes over the Building and Loan because he is, in part, motivated by piety: his devotion not only to his father and to what his father stood for (which included a willingness to live rather poorly), but also to the simple people of Bedford Falls, the ones who he says do most of the living and dying there. It is true that his love is not perfect, and that he will be tried in a terrible crucible. But he does discover the meaning of the hymn that is the leitmotif of the movie -- the clumsy attempts by his little child to play that grand Christological hymn, Hark the Herald Angels Sing, lead up to the rousing rendition at the end, a celebration of forgiveness and the community that forgiveness alone makes possible.
George Bailey is, from boyhood, caught up in dreams not simply of what he can do, but of where he can go -- beautiful and exciting places far away. This wanderlust is an old feature of American youth; I am not saying that it is necessarily a good thing, but it is quite different from what motivates the Roarks of the world. In the same category goes his being refused entrance into the army -- because, in a kind of minor tragic irony, he once saved his kid brother from drowning in the icy pond. So Harry goes off and becomes the decorated hero, but not, note well, the "richest man in town."
There's almost no scene in American film more painful for me than the one in which the boy says to the druggist, "Don't hit my sore ear!" A stroke of genius, that. George must always bear about with him the mark of his youthful heroism, and the suffering that it entailed.
I recall a spiel that Danny Thomas used to do, praising Americans for being a "corny" people. Tonight I spent two hours talking about the poetry of Christmas carols, including those early English ones that are "silly" in the old sense of the word, innocent and foolish and blessed all at once. We sang the great Hark the Herald Angels Sing, and the merry Here We Come a-Wassailing, and the sweet cradle hymn, Away in a Manger, and the high Johannine hymn by Prudentius, Of the Father's Love Begotten. Yes, Tom Jefferson of Virginia, the creator of all this spangled world was made flesh, and was born a babe and laid in a manger in Bethlehem, "House of Bread." God was corny enough to pitch his tent with us, even in Bedford Falls.
The movie is not about individuals, because "individual" itself is something of an abstraction or even an unreality. We are social beings. The key to George Bailey's life is to be found in the simple homely name, "Bedford Falls." That's just anywhere, USA, just this little town here, with the name from the slope of the river flowing through it. But in a world wherein people follow their dreams -- that is, in a world of solipsists -- Bedford Falls becomes Pottersville. The people in Pottersville are flattened, two-dimensional, incapable of wonder, suspicious of one another, alienated -- while all around them is loud and glitzy and wealthy and quite insane.
It is Mr. Potter who calls George a "frustrated young man," and he speaks the truth, but only a part of the truth. Mr. Potter can only see what his hard heart allows him to see; because he does not love, he does not know. It is, I think, incorrect to say that George Bailey acts out of blind duty. Much more is involved than that -- he is always a character of many subtleties, one of the most interesting characters ever to appear on film. He takes over the Building and Loan because he is, in part, motivated by piety: his devotion not only to his father and to what his father stood for (which included a willingness to live rather poorly), but also to the simple people of Bedford Falls, the ones who he says do most of the living and dying there. It is true that his love is not perfect, and that he will be tried in a terrible crucible. But he does discover the meaning of the hymn that is the leitmotif of the movie -- the clumsy attempts by his little child to play that grand Christological hymn, Hark the Herald Angels Sing, lead up to the rousing rendition at the end, a celebration of forgiveness and the community that forgiveness alone makes possible.
George Bailey is, from boyhood, caught up in dreams not simply of what he can do, but of where he can go -- beautiful and exciting places far away. This wanderlust is an old feature of American youth; I am not saying that it is necessarily a good thing, but it is quite different from what motivates the Roarks of the world. In the same category goes his being refused entrance into the army -- because, in a kind of minor tragic irony, he once saved his kid brother from drowning in the icy pond. So Harry goes off and becomes the decorated hero, but not, note well, the "richest man in town."
There's almost no scene in American film more painful for me than the one in which the boy says to the druggist, "Don't hit my sore ear!" A stroke of genius, that. George must always bear about with him the mark of his youthful heroism, and the suffering that it entailed.
I recall a spiel that Danny Thomas used to do, praising Americans for being a "corny" people. Tonight I spent two hours talking about the poetry of Christmas carols, including those early English ones that are "silly" in the old sense of the word, innocent and foolish and blessed all at once. We sang the great Hark the Herald Angels Sing, and the merry Here We Come a-Wassailing, and the sweet cradle hymn, Away in a Manger, and the high Johannine hymn by Prudentius, Of the Father's Love Begotten. Yes, Tom Jefferson of Virginia, the creator of all this spangled world was made flesh, and was born a babe and laid in a manger in Bethlehem, "House of Bread." God was corny enough to pitch his tent with us, even in Bedford Falls.
12.2.2010 | 1:21am
Bill Reichert says:
I think "corny" rises to the level of praise for a movie these days. I much prefer it to nihilism or dripping irony. By "corny" we usually mean sentimental, which is an objection only if we are writing scholarly or literary works. All of the virtues have sentimental qualities: that is, they appeal to the emotions, and not just to the intellect, for their support. This is the particular appeal of a decent movie, namely, an emotional defense of what we know to be a virtuous life or act.
George Bailey is Everyman, who struggles with his desire for recognition and achievement. He is that mixture of sin and goodness that confounds each of us. He is tried and found worthy, and bewildered at what he ultimately finds to be true success. Unlike Howard Roark, who has barely two dimensions, George has at least three that perhaps only Jimmy Stewart could flesh out on screen. (I count myself fortunate to have seen Stewart at one of his last public appearances--our town's Fourth of July picnic--where he was appropriately "corny," remembering why we gather together to celebrate virtues we only occasionally demonstrate personally.)
Christ was not directly apparent in Tolkien either, but who doubts He was there? So too in WL. Who can doubt that George and his father contributed to the redemption of Bedford Falls, and prevented it from becoming Rourkeville?
George Bailey is Everyman, who struggles with his desire for recognition and achievement. He is that mixture of sin and goodness that confounds each of us. He is tried and found worthy, and bewildered at what he ultimately finds to be true success. Unlike Howard Roark, who has barely two dimensions, George has at least three that perhaps only Jimmy Stewart could flesh out on screen. (I count myself fortunate to have seen Stewart at one of his last public appearances--our town's Fourth of July picnic--where he was appropriately "corny," remembering why we gather together to celebrate virtues we only occasionally demonstrate personally.)
Christ was not directly apparent in Tolkien either, but who doubts He was there? So too in WL. Who can doubt that George and his father contributed to the redemption of Bedford Falls, and prevented it from becoming Rourkeville?
12.2.2010 | 6:29am
egoist says:
The men are polar opposites; Bailey the altruists, Roark the egoist.
12.2.2010 | 10:19am
Bibbit says:
Seems to me George has for himself two choices. He can do what makes him happy, or do what his conscience tells him is right. To my way of thinking he makes the correct choice. Mr. Roark see but one choice, to do what makes himself happy. For him and his conscience this simply is what is right. I know many people who agree with Mr. Roark, they sincerely believe the correct thing to do is what makes you happy. They may temper that by saying you'll be a better person to those around you if you are happy, and that may be true, but for how long?
12.2.2010 | 3:33pm
GlennB says:
@Bibbit:
I don't see a conflict between what will make George happy (ultimately) and what is right. What will make him ultimately happy and what is right is the same choice. The two choices are between two opposing claims to happiness, not between happiness and duty.
Pascal in the Pensees (echoing St. Augustine) wrote that "all men pursue their own happiness." Jesus and St. Paul appeal to our search for happiness. Jesus tells us not to settle for the fleeting pleasure of the "praise of men" but to look for the reward of our Father in Heaven.
The problem is not the pursuit of happiness but that we are deceived by what will make us ultiminately happy. For example, in Hebrews it speaks of Moses refusing the pleasures of Egypt because he was looking to the reward... and of Jesus it says he endured the Cross...for the joy set before him. This appeal to happiness and "reward" is throughout Scripture. Will we follow God's wisdom for happiness, or trust in false gods or our own understanding? The encouragement to endure suffering is made by appealing to the joy of ultimate vindication by God.
Christianity is not a Stoic religion in which one merely does their duty, or "does what is right." We are to "love the good" not merely do it. Yes, we ought to do our duty anyway when the feelings are not there. But let us cry out for God to change our hearts so that our inner desires matches our duty. "Restore to us the joy of our salvation" is a cry for our worship of God (our greatest duty) not to be merely outward but inward as well. As St. Paul put it in relation to charitable giving, "God loves a cheerful giver." The implication is that something is wrong when we give "grudgingly" out of mere duty.
As C.S. Lewis said (echoing Scripture, Pascal, Augustine and our Christian tradition) in the "Weight of Glory" Christianity is not Kantian. We settle for playing with mud pies in the slums because we cannot conceive of the joy of playing in the sand at the beach (my poor paraphrase of Lewis.) We settle for lesser, fleeting pleasures when God offers us infinite happiness. This is a great essay by Lewis that I encourage you to read, if you haven't.
I obviously don't share Ayn Rand's ultimate conclusions. But I do think she had some valid insights about human self-interest. If honest with ourselves, each of us will see that what is motivating our choices is what we believe will make us happy. As sinful creatures, we are often deceived and make the wrong choice. As one person has put it, "the power of sin is the pleasure that it promises." The promises of God give us the power to see the "fine print" of the fleeting happiness offered in opposition to the will of God. When Joshua says, "choose this day whom you will serve" he is asking who the people will trust to satisfy their needs....The God of Israel or some other god.
If hedonism is defined as "the pursuit of pleasure" then I'm a Christian Hedonist. I pursue my pleasure in God. God is not a means to pleasure, but the goal toward which all my pleasures point.
May Christmas joy be yours in full.
I don't see a conflict between what will make George happy (ultimately) and what is right. What will make him ultimately happy and what is right is the same choice. The two choices are between two opposing claims to happiness, not between happiness and duty.
Pascal in the Pensees (echoing St. Augustine) wrote that "all men pursue their own happiness." Jesus and St. Paul appeal to our search for happiness. Jesus tells us not to settle for the fleeting pleasure of the "praise of men" but to look for the reward of our Father in Heaven.
The problem is not the pursuit of happiness but that we are deceived by what will make us ultiminately happy. For example, in Hebrews it speaks of Moses refusing the pleasures of Egypt because he was looking to the reward... and of Jesus it says he endured the Cross...for the joy set before him. This appeal to happiness and "reward" is throughout Scripture. Will we follow God's wisdom for happiness, or trust in false gods or our own understanding? The encouragement to endure suffering is made by appealing to the joy of ultimate vindication by God.
Christianity is not a Stoic religion in which one merely does their duty, or "does what is right." We are to "love the good" not merely do it. Yes, we ought to do our duty anyway when the feelings are not there. But let us cry out for God to change our hearts so that our inner desires matches our duty. "Restore to us the joy of our salvation" is a cry for our worship of God (our greatest duty) not to be merely outward but inward as well. As St. Paul put it in relation to charitable giving, "God loves a cheerful giver." The implication is that something is wrong when we give "grudgingly" out of mere duty.
As C.S. Lewis said (echoing Scripture, Pascal, Augustine and our Christian tradition) in the "Weight of Glory" Christianity is not Kantian. We settle for playing with mud pies in the slums because we cannot conceive of the joy of playing in the sand at the beach (my poor paraphrase of Lewis.) We settle for lesser, fleeting pleasures when God offers us infinite happiness. This is a great essay by Lewis that I encourage you to read, if you haven't.
I obviously don't share Ayn Rand's ultimate conclusions. But I do think she had some valid insights about human self-interest. If honest with ourselves, each of us will see that what is motivating our choices is what we believe will make us happy. As sinful creatures, we are often deceived and make the wrong choice. As one person has put it, "the power of sin is the pleasure that it promises." The promises of God give us the power to see the "fine print" of the fleeting happiness offered in opposition to the will of God. When Joshua says, "choose this day whom you will serve" he is asking who the people will trust to satisfy their needs....The God of Israel or some other god.
If hedonism is defined as "the pursuit of pleasure" then I'm a Christian Hedonist. I pursue my pleasure in God. God is not a means to pleasure, but the goal toward which all my pleasures point.
May Christmas joy be yours in full.
12.3.2010 | 4:27pm
Steve Nicoloso says:
"Also, WL is a "Christmas" film without Christ. "
That reminds me of CS Lewis's assertion (somewhere) about the Russian Cosmonauts returning to earth from space and confirming that they didn't see God. If you can't see Christ in It's a Wonderful Life... well... maybe you're looking too hard. It is a film positively infused with Christ from start to finish.
That reminds me of CS Lewis's assertion (somewhere) about the Russian Cosmonauts returning to earth from space and confirming that they didn't see God. If you can't see Christ in It's a Wonderful Life... well... maybe you're looking too hard. It is a film positively infused with Christ from start to finish.
12.4.2010 | 1:06am
Daniel Love Glazer says:
In my opinion, the two key moments in IAWL, my favorite movie, are:
(1) During the run on the Building and Loan, when the crowd threatens to take the B & L down, just-wed Mary enters, with the bankroll intended for the honeymoon, and says "How much do you need?" Mary thus exemplifies the dedication George has shown all his life in putting service to others above satisfying personal desires.
(2) In Martini's bar, having reached rock bottom, George mumbles "Dear Father in Heaven. I'm not a praying man, but if you're up there and you can hear me, show me the way. I'm at the end of my rope. Show me the way, God."
Of course, this prayer precipitates the advent of Clarence, George's guardian angel, who, indeed, shows George the way.
In comparison to such devotion to selfless service and dependence on God, Howard Roark and Ayn Rand are petty and pathetic.
(1) During the run on the Building and Loan, when the crowd threatens to take the B & L down, just-wed Mary enters, with the bankroll intended for the honeymoon, and says "How much do you need?" Mary thus exemplifies the dedication George has shown all his life in putting service to others above satisfying personal desires.
(2) In Martini's bar, having reached rock bottom, George mumbles "Dear Father in Heaven. I'm not a praying man, but if you're up there and you can hear me, show me the way. I'm at the end of my rope. Show me the way, God."
Of course, this prayer precipitates the advent of Clarence, George's guardian angel, who, indeed, shows George the way.
In comparison to such devotion to selfless service and dependence on God, Howard Roark and Ayn Rand are petty and pathetic.
12.4.2010 | 2:49pm
Andrew Lisi says:
I really like the connection between Bailey and Roark, particularly because I am such a fan (critical) of Rand. I found this analysis of Roark's actions to be intriguing:
"Roark lives to create inspiring works of architecture but cannot do so without relying on others. When society fails to appreciate his genius, his egotistical purity leads him to engage a vandalistic and destructive temper-tantrum. By the end of The Fountainhead Roark is revealed to be an infantile, narcissistic, parasite." I don't think Rand was communicating that Roark was angry with society because they don't appreciate his genius, but more so that they don't understand the purpose of his genius. She would probably say that his temper-tantrum was really righteous indignation. Also, she would approve of the "narcissistic" tag, but probably not the other two.
That being said, I agree in the end. R. R. Reno's article on art mentions that we do not exist merely to survive, but to thrive and flourish. Rand's "selfishness" philosophy stems from survival of the fittest - Roark (and Galt especially) - while Capra seems to function on a different plane, that of sacrifice for the best possible outcome.
Thanks.
"Roark lives to create inspiring works of architecture but cannot do so without relying on others. When society fails to appreciate his genius, his egotistical purity leads him to engage a vandalistic and destructive temper-tantrum. By the end of The Fountainhead Roark is revealed to be an infantile, narcissistic, parasite." I don't think Rand was communicating that Roark was angry with society because they don't appreciate his genius, but more so that they don't understand the purpose of his genius. She would probably say that his temper-tantrum was really righteous indignation. Also, she would approve of the "narcissistic" tag, but probably not the other two.
That being said, I agree in the end. R. R. Reno's article on art mentions that we do not exist merely to survive, but to thrive and flourish. Rand's "selfishness" philosophy stems from survival of the fittest - Roark (and Galt especially) - while Capra seems to function on a different plane, that of sacrifice for the best possible outcome.
Thanks.
12.8.2010 | 9:37am
Joel Pinheiro says:
Let me be the Devil's Advocate here.
Joe Carter somehow equates working on a quarry with vandalism. What's the connection? Roark is no vandal, and he is no spoiled teen following his whims; he has an artistic and productive vision which he could not compromise. He had something to do in the world which he clearly saw and he could not betray; it is not because the world around him wanted imitation neo-classical buildings that he would bow to their whim. He preferred to give up on architecture and take on a lesser job than compromise on his artistic integrity. Is that immoral? Should we "sacrifice" what is higher on us to fulfill the baseless second-hand whims of others? Is that the true meaning of morality? Please.
There is much wrong with Roark and Rand. Yes, the characters are wooden (less here than in Atlas Shurgged, though), and yes she does downplay the importance of the help of others and social cooperation in general even to the life of the genius. One can't imagine having a beer and a nice talk with Roark.
But Roark is no parasite. On the contrary, he didn't live off anyone's favor and does not ask anyone to sacrifice their own values for him.
Look at the ethics Joe Carter has presented as superior: self-sacrifice for the good of others. You make yourself miserable so that others can feel good. Would anyone here truly like to live with someone like that? Someone who is constantly hurting themselves for us? Is that healthy? Would you like to know your spouse is miserable for you? No-one would. Usually this rhetoric of self-sacrifice is just the last excuse of the person who, failing to achieve his values, tries to justify that betrayal by making others feel guilty about it.
And what if the whole world acted like that? Everyone making himself miserable for the sake of others. The result is a universal misery and guilt, for we are the cause of other's self-sacrifice.
The true ethics, the one which understands the nature of sacrifice, doesn't ask us that. The good husband and father is not the guy who sacrifices his highest values for his family and thus leads a frustrating existence; even if he did that, he would be a terrible husband and father. The good family man is he for whom is family is, or is part of, his highest values. Yes, he will give up on other things to be with his family, but that won't be a self-sacrifice; he will not be condemning himself to a life of sadness and won't make others feel guilty about it. He will be happy because that is what he truly wants. By taking care of others, therefore, he is doing what is best for himself too.
Being good is not sacrificing one's highest values, but having the right highest values.
Joe Carter somehow equates working on a quarry with vandalism. What's the connection? Roark is no vandal, and he is no spoiled teen following his whims; he has an artistic and productive vision which he could not compromise. He had something to do in the world which he clearly saw and he could not betray; it is not because the world around him wanted imitation neo-classical buildings that he would bow to their whim. He preferred to give up on architecture and take on a lesser job than compromise on his artistic integrity. Is that immoral? Should we "sacrifice" what is higher on us to fulfill the baseless second-hand whims of others? Is that the true meaning of morality? Please.
There is much wrong with Roark and Rand. Yes, the characters are wooden (less here than in Atlas Shurgged, though), and yes she does downplay the importance of the help of others and social cooperation in general even to the life of the genius. One can't imagine having a beer and a nice talk with Roark.
But Roark is no parasite. On the contrary, he didn't live off anyone's favor and does not ask anyone to sacrifice their own values for him.
Look at the ethics Joe Carter has presented as superior: self-sacrifice for the good of others. You make yourself miserable so that others can feel good. Would anyone here truly like to live with someone like that? Someone who is constantly hurting themselves for us? Is that healthy? Would you like to know your spouse is miserable for you? No-one would. Usually this rhetoric of self-sacrifice is just the last excuse of the person who, failing to achieve his values, tries to justify that betrayal by making others feel guilty about it.
And what if the whole world acted like that? Everyone making himself miserable for the sake of others. The result is a universal misery and guilt, for we are the cause of other's self-sacrifice.
The true ethics, the one which understands the nature of sacrifice, doesn't ask us that. The good husband and father is not the guy who sacrifices his highest values for his family and thus leads a frustrating existence; even if he did that, he would be a terrible husband and father. The good family man is he for whom is family is, or is part of, his highest values. Yes, he will give up on other things to be with his family, but that won't be a self-sacrifice; he will not be condemning himself to a life of sadness and won't make others feel guilty about it. He will be happy because that is what he truly wants. By taking care of others, therefore, he is doing what is best for himself too.
Being good is not sacrificing one's highest values, but having the right highest values.
12.8.2010 | 11:19am
F.R. Duplantier says:
MERRY CHRISTMAS, BEDFORD FALLS!
He’s known plenty of struggle and strife,
But George Bailey is blessed with a wife
And family and friends
On whom he depends:
What he has is a wonderful life.
He’s known plenty of struggle and strife,
But George Bailey is blessed with a wife
And family and friends
On whom he depends:
What he has is a wonderful life.
6.13.2011 | 4:29am
Matt Filler says:
Bailey's realization and the presumed transformation of the rest of his life are what is called an epiphany, and I think the other meaning of that word tells us the reason that tale is so associated with Christmas - like the epiphany of Scrooge, it intentionally presents in story form the Christmas ethos of transformation from mundane and despair to faith and hope. This reflects Capra's (and his employers') desire to create a distinct variation on the Dickens classic in an American context.
Roark, in contrast, personifies and exemplifies Ayn Rand's rejection of Judeo-Christian values. He is a bore because Rand is a bore. He is a failure because even Rand could not come up with a good end to his story, since her ideals consist of creating wealth and power for their own sakes, void of a context or greater purpose. In her philosophy, Potter and the unrepentant Scrooge are the heros and ideals to be emulated, and Bailey's suicide and Tiny Tim's death would be the rightful if overly delayed ends of two useless parasites.
Roark, in contrast, personifies and exemplifies Ayn Rand's rejection of Judeo-Christian values. He is a bore because Rand is a bore. He is a failure because even Rand could not come up with a good end to his story, since her ideals consist of creating wealth and power for their own sakes, void of a context or greater purpose. In her philosophy, Potter and the unrepentant Scrooge are the heros and ideals to be emulated, and Bailey's suicide and Tiny Tim's death would be the rightful if overly delayed ends of two useless parasites.
That doesn't sound quite right to me. The message of the movie is not difficult to understand. Who watches this movie and fails to see that it is about happiness through self-sacrifice, about love and community over ambition and self-actualization? What's difficult is actually living one's life like that. One can go a long way down the road of moral lassitude and still feel some admiration for virtue that one doesn't possess.