The proverbial "can of worms"
I was reading more about Ayn Rand just last week. (This is from memory, so sorry for lack of details). She had an inner circle of followers, and she picked one man to be her heir/successor, Nathaniel Branden. Branden was married, and Ayn Rand was married. The only problem was, they were not married to each other! At a certain point in time, Ayn Rand suddenly decided that her heir should also be her lover, and that her husband and the heir's wife should consent to this arrangement, which they did. After a while, her lover dumped Ayn Rand and Rand became extremely angry and vindictive, thus breaking one of her own rules that one should never make one's own happiness dependent upon someone or something else.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Ayn Rand's Oath
I swear by my life and my love of it that I shall never live for another's sake, nor ask anyone to live for mine.
Ayn was something of a romantic.
I am reminded of Sartre and Simone de Bouvier, who were lifelong lovers, but always had other lovers on the side. The two became best friends for a while with Albert Camus. One day Simone told Albert he could take her to bed if he liked. Albert declined the invitation and Jean-Paul was livid with rage at what he perceived as an insult. From then on, Camus became their arch enemy, and they would say uncharitable things about Camus' work.
I remember watching a very old movie on television in the 1960s, about a missionary priest who goes to visit an Eskimo and his wife, Mrs. Eskimo, in the igloo. This is going to sound like a joke but there really was such a movie. Mr. Eskimo decides to be a good host, and brings out a dish of his choicest wriggling worms. The priest makes something of a face and declines. Mr. Eskimo looks slightly puzzled (how could anyone say no to worms), but then, a light bulb goes on over his head and he thinks "perhaps the good Reverend is not hungry." So, next, he offers to let the padre have his wife. Apparently this was actually an ancient practice of hospitality among Eskimos, what with wives and igloos being as hard to find as restrooms in a big city. Well, the priest really looks horrified, and shows it. The Eskimo, being totally unaware of how heinous and revolting mortal sin can be, mistakes the reaction as a commentary on the desirability of Mrs. Eskimo, so Mr. Eskimo kills the missionary. I can’t remember anything more about the movie. It seems to me that Father would have been better off eating the worms and kanoodling the lady. But then, I am sure the church reckoned his a martyr’s death.
The moral to these stories is that the offering and decline of sexual favors is far more delicate a matter than meets the eye, and may be hazardous to your health, if you are above the arctic circle, and if you are not, then, at least it wont do your literary career one bit of good.
Ayn Rand had been of a mind to call her book "Atlas Philosophy" when her husband (her REAL husband) said, "Well, you might as well just call it Atlas Shrugged." And she did. Marriage is a noble institution.
Faulkner was going to call his latest novel "Dark Horse", but, one day, his wife commented to him that "the light has an unusual quality in August." Faulkner jumped up, knocked over his Underwood, and said, "That's it! My novel shall be called Light in August!" Now, don't you wish you were married too?
Just think! If only Sartre had married Simone, he might have had better titles than Nausea.