Root of all evil
I finished reading “Atlas Shrugged” this past Friday. This was the second time I’ve read this book, the first time being over six years ago. The first time I read it, while I agreed with the larger premise of the book, I found much that I didn’t agree with. This time, I found myself in near total agreement with it all. I wonder what has changed in me to account for this difference, after a mere six years.
I know that I’m less empathetic toward people in so-called “need” now. Time was if I passed a bum with his hand out, I’d at least put some coins in it. Now, I scrutinize their faces, pass judgement, and usually give them nothing. After so much time on the road, you can’t help but become adept at determining who’s a professional beggar and who is not. There are extremely few who are not.
In the past, I gave money to everyone, thinking that it was better to give to the unworthy than to risk missing helping someone genuinely in need. Not anymore. And I don’t feel the least bit guilty for it, either. Strange.
A couple of years ago, I had gotten a little carried away with my new hard-ass stance toward beggars. We were in the parking lot of a truck stop, and a couple of scrawny, stray dogs were wandering around the parked trucks, looking for scraps of food. Hedon dug through our cooler and found some lunch meat and other stuff to throw down to them.
I shook my head in disgust. “You know,” I told Hedon, “you’re only encouraging them.”
Hedon burst out laughing, then asked, “Think I should tell them to go get a job?”
I had to laugh, and still do. Where the hell had that come from? Clearly, I had gone a bit overboard. I mean, I have always fed stray animals. What the hell had happened to me?
On this reading of “Atlas” I was particularly struck by Francisco’s argument against the statement, “Money is the root of all evil.” It’s a striking argument, beautifully logical and seems irrefutable to me now. I can’t remember, but I would imagine that the first time I read it, I probably didn’t agree.
You see, I had this aunt and uncle. My uncle owned a business which was very successful and one of the largest employers in our area. He worked 16-hour days for several decades, building his business. My strongest memory of him is at family holiday gatherings, and how he spent most of the day napping on a couch. It’s no wonder, I know now.
He died young, in his 40s. No real wonder on that, either. He had insured his life for millions, which along with his business and other accumulated wealth, left my aunt a very wealthy widow.
At first, my aunt was very generous with her new money. She helped a large number of family members. One of her beneficiaries was myself. She said that my uncle had always dreamed of being able to afford to send every kid in the family to college, and she wanted to help fulfill his dream. She then proceeded to create trusts, etc., for all of the children on both her and my uncle’s side of the family. Because I had already graduated college, she bought me a new car since my old one had recently been totaled in an accident. Pretty awesome. I know I was blown away by this generosity, and extremely grateful.
I was in graduate school at the time, living with my sister-cousin (the one we have called Ingrid, here), who was an undergraduate at the same university. We were always broke. We shared a derelict house in which the only thing holding it together were the dozens of layers of paint on the walls. The heating system was an old-fashioned radiator type with a boiler in the basement. A vine had grown though a hole in the wall in one of the bedrooms and had wrapped itself around one of the radiators. We thought of it as a houseplant we didn’t have to water.
In the first year after my uncle died, my aunt sent both Ingrid and I birthday presents (our birthdays were within a week of one another’s) checks for $1000 each. Living as we were, you can imagine our excitement. We did our happy dance then went shopping. It was great fun and we were, once again, extremely grateful for our aunt’s generosity.
Over the course of the next year, my aunt decided that she wished to turn my uncle’s business into one which was employee-owned. Quickly, the employees began to fight among one another in regards to how much should be owned by whom and became bitter and angry from thinking they were not getting enough. Eventually, my aunt rescinded her offer, in disgust.
The next time Ingrid’s and my birthdays rolled around, my aunt was in town with her daughter and another one of my cousins (Ingrid’s sister). She was looking for a place for them to live, since they had decided to attend our university. We spent most of the day driving them around town as they checked out rental properties.
That evening as we were driving to a place to eat supper, Ingrid and I were chatting our usual sort of stuff. Most of our conversations revolved around being poor. When you are poor, this is a major topic for you, and one that we typically approached with a fair level of good humor, what with being certain that this was just a phase which would disappear once we graduated (oh, foolish girls).
When we arrived at the restaurant, my aunt suddenly leaped out of the car, threw open the trunk, and dug through her luggage for two envelopes. She shoved them at Ingrid at I and said, “Here! That’s what you’ve been wanting all day! Take it!”
Ingrid and I were in shock. We stood there with our mouth’s hanging open, the envelopes held stupidly in our hands, and watched our aunt stalk off into the restaurant. We knew what we were holding — birthday cards. And we knew what was in them — $1000. And we knew, with a horror I can’t describe, that our aunt had thought we had been talking about being poor all day in order to get her to give us money.
We were not guilty. As I said, we were just talking about what we always talked about. We never expected to receive another $1000 from her, thinking the year before had been a one-time thing (as it should have been). And yet, I was appalled. As was Ingrid. We wanted to die with the shame of it. I have never, in the entirety of my life, felt as lowly dishonorable as I did that evening.
And yet, we were not guilty. It was my aunt who was guilty, though it took Ingrid and I awhile to understand that. And little did we know, her obsession with and paranoia about her money was just beginning.
My aunt died several years ago from cancer. All her money could not buy a cure. At the time of her death, she was alienated from most of her family, her suspicions and wild threats and bizarre accusations having long since run them off. I could not begin to tell all the evil things she had accused her family of.
My uncle’s business had died a slow, agonizing death years before from being run by a person who believed her inheritance made her a financial genius. She used to call her employees “the people,” said with the implication of the word “little” in front of it. She would say when she was cutting hours or screwing them in some other way, “I don’t want to hurt ‘the people.’”
Well, the only people who could stand to be around her were definitely little people, nothing but toadies who looked only for what she might give them in return for their groveling. These toadies she suffered were the very people she believed the rest of us to be, the ones who had left her because we were not.
I felt nothing when my aunt died.
Because of how I saw my aunt change, my opinion about money also changed. I would joke about how great it would be to win the lottery, but deep inside, I didn’t want to win because I feared it would change me into a wicked beast like my aunt. I thought that perhaps money was indeed the root of all evil. Look at what it had done to my aunt, and how it had torn my family apart.
I’ve held that belief ever since. Until this last reading of “Atlas Shrugged.” Francisco’s speech about money has made me refine it. It is not money that is the root of all evil. It is unearned money that is evil.
It’s not just the worthless bums I see every day that proves this to me. Nor is it the waste of my aunt’s life. It is myself. Because I know that hidden inside me, where I don’t like to acknowledge it, is a painful truth.
In the early years of my aunt’s new-found wealth, I had felt tremendous jealousy of my newly-rich cousins. Why should they have so much more than I? In fleeting moments of instant shame, I valued the free car she gave me against what it had actually cost me to go to college, and felt gyped. The greedy devil inside me whispered that I deserved more, and why shouldn’t my aunt give it to me since she had so very much.
These were the disgraceful secrets, the passing thoughts I tamped down and fought against, feeling dirty for imagining such things. That day of the humiliating $1000, I was not deliberately trying to get money out of my aunt, and yet, I had been and would be guilty of what was as bad, if only in my head.
I think of it now as the allure of the unearned. I fought its pull for a good five years, throughout my mid-twenties, until I eventually left it behind. But the shame that I had once allowed it to speak its evil to me, never goes away.
Nor should it.
What a great post. Here in Cleveland, they do this thing on the news called “Movie and a Mansion” where they preview a movie and in the segment show a home for sale worth a million or more. (stupid concept by the way)
My kids sit in awe. “Ohhhh look at that house!”
My response is always: Yeah, I wonder what it costs to HEAT that house. Or, we’d never see each other it’s so big!
When we decided to start a small business 12 yrs ago, we didn’t start it to become millionaires (and haven’t even come close LOL) but we did it to provide for our growing family on our own and hopefully have ‘something’ (the business) to hand down one day. The last few years we’ve seen it good and real bad. The last two real bad.
And honestly, I’m no sadder for that, then I was happy for the good times. Although I’d love to pay off some debt, I would never wish upon my self such great wealth that I would alienate my family/friends.
Just enough to catch up and keep up would be fine. I’ve got one entering college next year and I’m feeling that familiar pain of OMG, what the fuck am I going to do now?
But I know in the end it’s gonna work itself out.
i don’t know if it’s so much unearned or unappreciated. there are definitely people (albeit, not many) who have received inheritances or won the lottery and gone on to be productive, pleasant normal members of society. i think it boils down to whether you let the money define you. or i could be talking a lot of hoohaa.
Shame over thoughts? That should never go away? I’m wondering about that one. I get what you’re saying Stace. I’m also wondering about letting go of shame so we can fully enjoy the freedom of change…into someone we are grateful to be.
You’ve got me thinking this morning. Thanks!
Thanks. I just stumbled across your website today (from a blog, to a critic, to you), and I really enjoyed this post (will read more shortly). I needed something to stir up my brain, my thoughts, and my heart today…and I think this is exactly what the doctor ordered. I’ll be back for more! Thanks
I think I agree with MommyNamedApril. I think it can be the root of all evil if it defines who you are…your thoughts and actions.
I’ve never read Atlas Shrugs, but now I’m thinking I should.
It’s such a horrible feeling when you realize that innocent remarks have been totally misinterpreted–I cringed for you when I read about your aunt rummaging through her trunk for your gifts. Here in Franklin we’re surrounded by mcmansions that have probably lost about 30% of their value in the past few months. Makes me glad I never wanted too much “stuff.”
As one of AAYSR’s other favorite lesbians, I was glad to find you. This little tale resonated in a big way. Talented writers, thoughtful prose, compelling stories.
Can an “Atlas Shrugged” reading circle be far behind? Will have to see why this one was Alan Greenspan’s favorite novel of his formative years. Oh. Wait…
Interesting comments. Unearned money can indeed tear people apart; we have had a bit of that in our family. And not being able to earn a suitable amount of money, despite one’s best efforts, is even worse.
However, I see that none of us is discussing charred monkeys.
To rectify that, sharing a funny news item I found today in my local paper, the Washington Post.
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On why it’s a whole new world — and often amusing — when you let readers weigh in on newspaper stories.
WaPost story. ” 3 Charred Monkeys Found in Luggage at Dulles Airport”
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/12/08/AR2008120802660.html
“Customs officials searching the bags of an African man who flew into Dulles International Airport on Friday discovered three charred monkeys in his luggage, as well as pounds of deer meat and dried beef, U.S. Department of Homeland Security officials said today.
… Foreign visitors often attempt to carry unusual food products into the country that are part of their native cuisine, especially around the holidays, but this was an atypical discovery, [U.S. Customs and Border Protection spokesman Steve] Sapp said.
“It’s a rather unique thing,” Sapp said. “We’ve seen all types of food and plants coming in through the airports. . . . but this is a first for many of us.”
Sapp described the man as elderly but did not know his exact age and said he is visiting his son in the District. … ”
reader comments:
drjcarlucci wrote:
How was he supposed to know?
They mention about liquids but nobody ever says you can’t bring charred monkeys, shrunken heads, etc. on a plane.
If they offered better in flight meals this wouldn’t happen.
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smooshie wrote:
“They mention about liquids but nobody ever says you can’t bring charred monkeys, shrunken heads, etc. on a plane.”
It’s in the part about no carrion luggage
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Badda bing.
What’s the worst thing you’ve ever cooked (or suspected someone might have served you?)
Snort! No carrion luggage…best comment ever Belledog.
Thanks for all your thoughts, and welcome to the newcomers. I should clarify that I don’t actively berate myself for those old thoughts. It all happened so many years ago, that this would be impossible. When I do think of those times, which isn’t all that often, I still feel that old shame, and I don’t wish to forget it because I think it taught me something important about myself. Certain situations can bring out the ugly in people, and I know this was one of mine.
Makes me think of the time I called my mother an extremely foul name because she was kicking my ass at canasta (she was playing in the position in front of me, and snagged a huge discard pile, which prompted the name calling). It was terrible! I can’t even repeat the word I called her, it was so bad (it starts with a “C”, don’t make me say it). LOL. I had to give up canasta, because WOW did that game bring out the ugly in me. I could probably play it now that I’m older and sedate and put together, but why risk it?
Sheila, I wish you all the best with your business. That it has already lasted for 12 years says a lot about your commitment and abilities.
As for this “Atlas Shrugged” reading circle, not so sure about that, but as you’ve seen, I’ve got plenty to say about it.
To anyone who hasn’t but would like to read it, I give one warning — it’s a great book, with plenty to provoke thought, but it has the corniest ending ever (to those of you who have read it — remember Gault making the dollar sign in the air? Ohhhh myyyy — so very corny).
Finally … carrion luggage? LOL!
Since she brought it up, I’d just like to say on the canasta front, when we first met in college a million years ago, everybody on our floor in the dorm played canasta most every night. Stace didn’t know it until years later, but everyone in the entire group was afraid to be her partner, except me … I’ve always been brave that way. That’s why we ended up as partners every night, and probably helped in establishing the original friendship between us.
I can’t remember her ever calling me the “C” word, but much like her mom, I probably would have laughed if she had. Years later, when we were competing amongst ourselves to have the Tetris high score, the “C” word was the least of what we called each other, as seemingly unbeatable high scores fell to the other.
That’s just how we roll.
Everyone should read “Atlas Shrugged.” Seriously. Everyone.
Then we’ll all talk about it here. Yay!
Ahh, memories. I kinda miss the old bloodthirsty me.
This was another thought-provoking post. As much as we all like to think that having money or even the serious lack of it would not change who we are, alas, it would.
I’m not trying to be snide or anything, but I’m just wondering if the guy who wrote “Atlas Shrugged” actually misquoted the Bible in his book. It’s actually “the love of money is the root of all evil.”
Hi Mike,
Welcome! “Atlas Shrugged” was written by Ayn Rand, a woman.
She did explore the whole concept that money and the love of money is often considered evil. I don’t believe she actually used the quote in her book, but she certainly did use the theme.
Interestingly, the quote “God helps those who help themselves” which many people think is from the bible was actually written by Ayn Rand. She was not a big fan of religion.