by Barbara Branden

I have often thanked Michael Kelly privately for everything he’s done for me, but it’s time I thanked him publicly, and time I told those of you who are not familiar with his activities something about this remarkable man.

I did not know Michael until he appeared one day on Solo, long before the present hysteria, and wrote a very beautiful post thanking me for “The Passion of Ayn Rand,” and explaining that it had been of great value to him at a crucial time in his life. I was very pleased that this was so, as I told him, and I assumed that that was the end of it. It was not the end of it. I have learned that if Michael feels someone has helped him, he will return the help many times over. And that is what he has done for me.

There was a period of some months when Solo rang with praises for my biography of Rand– yes, much of it from people who are now denouncing it and me — but later, when I criticized Perigo for his rudeness and endless hysterical damnations of innocent people, when I defended an old friend against Perigo’s malice, when I sanctioned James Kilbourne’s article “The Drooling Beast” because I believed Perigo would not have published if he did not agree with it, the tide quickly turned. I was not startled by Perigo’s about-face; I had seen it many times before with other people whom he first praised and then damned, and I had had no doubt that his basic hostility would one day be directed against me should I ever cross him, but I was startled by the sycophancy that caused many people on Solo to become his clones. I had expected better of those who called themselves Objectivists.

When I left Solo, unwilling to sanction by my presence a debate on my integrity, and feeling that so long as I remained I would be swimming in a sewer of malice, Michael had taken up the battle that I was too disgusted any longer to fight. Many of you know what the results have been for him. He has become an equal victim of the brutish behavior on Solo and Noodlefood, the butt of Perigo’s ugliest spite and hatred; but he continued to stand firm as a rock in defense of those who were not there to defend themselves. He has fought not only for me, but for everyone and everything he values and who are being vilified: for Nathaniel, for The Objectivist Center, for David Kelley, among many others, and now for Chris Sciabarra, the latest victim of the campaign of lies and distortions. And with Kat’s invaluable help, he has created Objectivist Living, where people of good will can meet and exchange ideas in an atmosphere free of acrimony.

I have often told him that it’s enough, that he has his own important work to do, that he should return to it and leave the haters to stew in their own bile, but it became clear to me that he would not do so as long as there still were things he wanted to say and people he wanted to defend.

Many years ago, I wrote a novel called “Price No Object.” It’s theme was loyalty to values, a trait exemplified by the heroine of the novel who continued to fight for her values no matter what price she had to pay, no matter what the odds against her. For her, price was no object. The novel could have been dedicated to Michael Kelly.

Thank you, my friend. It is now I who am in your debt.

First published on Objectivist Living on April 29, 2006.

(A Sketch)

There was once a young man full of courage and dreams who took off to find his fortunes in a foreign land. He went in search of Atlantis, but knew he would face the wilderness. He went on a ship armed with moral certainties and the conviction that he would change wherever he landed by conquering the ideological wilderness with the steadfast principles in his munitions.

He found the wilderness, but not Atlantis. He did not conquer it, either. The wilderness of reality cannot be tamed by those who do not learn its ways. Instead of becoming a master, he became the vanquished. His ship floundered and he was beaten and starved. He lost his bearing and had to learn the ways of the wild or die.

So he observed. He struggled. He learned harsh lessons about the beauty and the ugliness of people. He felt their scourge on his hide and he felt their soothing hands stroke his fevered brow. He learned about himself—that he was that way. He learned, even as he closed his eyes to it, that he was cruel and he was kind and he could not always control it. He saw his certainties fall before greater and ever greater truths about his nature.

He learned how to belong in the wilderness. He saw the beauty and the ugliness of the human spirit stand naked before him, without the veil of his morals. He saw this spirit growing wild in others and he saw its deep roots in his own heart. He had hurt himself badly by taking long—too long—to stand naked in the sunlight—to see and know who he was and what he needed. His self-imposed blindness almost killed him and he took years to recover.

But he still held onto the vision that Atlantis existed, that maybe it was not here in the wild. That maybe he had left it behind without realizing it. That all he had to do was go back to whence he came and he would find it.

So after many years, he went back, scarred and wiser, and entered the fold were the shield of his morality was the glorious garment of life. His took great delight in the immediate acceptance with which he was greeted. The acclaim was wide and far and pleased him. Indeed Atlantis did exist. As time went on, however, he began to perceive the beauty and the ugliness of the human spirit stand naked before him once again—even there in Atlantis. He saw the garment of life tossed aside at whim. He saw the shield of morality become a rack of torture. He saw that often—too often. Then he understood.

He wept bitterly. Atlantis did not really exist. The wilderness did.

People are good or bad because they choose to be that way. They choose and then they must keep choosing to stay that way. There is no fountain of the good where a drink will last a lifetime. This has been the way of mankind throughout history—ever since he evolved. This will be his way forever.

The ship armed with certainties that the young man had traveled on to the strange land was called Objectivism. He learned that his munitions of steadfast principles did not conquer the wilderness, that the wilderness changed him instead. On returning, he learned that Objectivism does not make people choose the beauty even as it covers the nakedness of their souls with a glorious garment of life. He learned that the shield of morality will not keep people from choosing the ugliness even as it holds the wilderness at bay.

But he realized that Objectivism can help people think wisely. And that is a very good thing.

“So be it,” he thought.

And yet, maybe Atlantis could exist after all if he could find people to help him build it. At the very least, he could throw in his lot with those who choose the beauty, not the ugliness. Moral certainties could come after that choice was made. Then steadfast principles could be anchors for the beauty and the good. They would not be lynchpins for ugliness.

And he finally realized that we cannot use a ship of Objectivism to find Atlantis. It is a compass, not a vessel. It is a tool, not a weapon. But we can build with it. We can build beauty with it. We can build and build and build and hold up before all men what we build until we make a place of such great beauty that Atlantis shall come into being.

“Well,” he thought, “That is a very, very good thing.”

First published on Objectivist Living on September 6, 2006 here.