As a college student, it is interesting to stop and observe children every so often. To marvel at their wide-eyed naïveté, their blind optimism. To wonder at their reactions to “Real Life” (being the world as it is perceived by adults):
“Sorry Jimmy, no one has been to the moon in almost forty years. Even becoming an astronaut requires that you pass a grueling physical exam.”
“Well, Sarah, police officers aren’t liked too much, and statistically are more likely to experience severe stress.”
“To be a doctor, Philip, you need to do twelve years of grade school, four of college, and then at least another ten or so of med school. And you have to get excellent grades throughout.”
The ignorant, as they say, are blissful. But at times, I wonder about that bliss.
It’s safe to say that most children in the Western world have played with or seen construction toys such as LEGO bricks. Offered in a huge variety of colors and shapes, LEGOs are the ultimate toy for any child with even a sliver of imagination – that is to say, virtually every child. They provide a means to model a child’s understanding of the world – or to create a new reality altogether. And in constructing a naïve image of the world, children remain oblivious to the harshness of Real Life and are happy. As we grow older, however, we begin to incorporate elements of Real Life into our constructed image of the world. At some point, the constructive fun of LEGOs gives way to destructive fun – instead of creating a reality, we choose instead to trample it, to crush it. The activity of building something only to knock it down suggests something about us as humans: That we are never satisfied with our current reality; that we always yearn for improvement, change. A bit further down the line, LEGOs begin to lose their appeal altogether, as the perceived harshness of the Real World begins to override the naïveté of our previous understanding. For some, though, a certain level of innocence (which I will use somewhat interchangeably with ‘ignorance’) remains. Those are the individuals who continue to enjoy LEGOs past childhood, suggesting that childlike happiness need not be forced out by the realities of the world.
This continued innocence is exemplified by Howard Roark of Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead. Roark, an architect, loves his work with childlike passion, and for it is denounced by the architectural community, which glorifies only that which is approved of by the masses. A child with LEGOs does not build to satisfy others but to create a reality; Roark does not build for society, but for himself, to reshape the world into what it could and should be. His innocence allows him to do that which no one else dares to: He sees the contradictions of imitating the styles of the past, laying down his philosophy in an explosive criticism of the Parthenon: “What can be done with one substance must never be done with another… Nothing can be reasonable or beautiful unless it’s made by one central idea, and the idea sets every detail.”
Interestingly enough, The Fountainhead seems to describe two types of ignorance: the childlike innocence which allows Roark and those like him to truly love their work, and an ignorance which allows Ellsworth Toohey, a socialist and personification of evil, to misguide and control society. Randian philosophy argues that truth and human values are objective, with a heavy emphasis upon individualism. Hence it is a willing and intentional ignorance of objective Truth which allows Toohey to manipulate individuals into abandoning their individuality for the sense of security found in belonging to Society. Rand, then, identifies two types of ignorance leading to two types of bliss: a childlike ignorance of the dirty workings of Real Life, which permits us to truly express ourselves and love our work; and a premeditated ignorance of objective truth and individualism, which leads us to believe, as Toohey argues, that “there is no room for the love of others within the tight, crowded miser’s hole of a private ego.”
Though childish naïveté seemed to be glorified in The Fountainhead, it feels rather idealistic (and problematic) for everyone to retain this innocence. It is therefore necessary to examine ignorance and happiness in a somewhat grittier context – namely, the world of Alan Moore’s Watchmen. Watchmen follows a group of forcibly retired vigilantes in post-Vietnam America, as they attempt to save the world one final time.
Although all of the titular Watchmen have abandoned their innocence in their pursuit of justice, it is in the character of Rorschach that this is best personified. True to the shifting patterns of his mask, Rorschach views the world in terms of extremes: “there is good and there is evil, and evil must be punished.” His modus operandi is correspondingly extreme, with no compunction at seriously injuring or killing anyone who he deems to be evil or stands in his way. Like Roark, Rorschach refuses to compromise his ideals for anything - “Not even in the face of Armageddon.” Rorschach is so convinced of his ideals that he will not compromise them, even if they might lead to the destruction of humanity. And for it - like Roark - he is outcast by society, deemed mentally unstable and paranoid.
It is quite clear that Rorschach has abandoned his ignorance entirely and feels that what he does is the right thing. In this, it is possible that he retains some degree of naïveté: For any vigilante to exist, they must have an idealized vision of what humanity can and should be. Thus the actions of Rorschach and other vigilantes may be viewed as construction: replacement of the flawed reality that they see with the reality that they believe should exist. Just like a child knocking down his LEGO constructions, Rorschach chooses to destroy his imperfect reality and replace it with something better. In doing so, he abandons his bliss: he himself confesses to being depressed and difficult to get along with.
Yet Rorschach raises a question: Is bliss necessarily a good thing? In throwing aside ignorance, Rorschach recognizes the path that he must take to improve his reality, and perhaps derives from this a certain type of happiness. Although those mesmerized by Toohey in Rand’s The Fountainhead find bliss, they find it in a perverted sense of superiority, of intellect, of ‘humanitarianism’. How, then, can we reconcile these conflicting depictions of innocence and bliss?
I briefly considered taking the well-worn road of “happiness is subjective and different for everyone and so we need to respect their choices.” But the truth, I think, is more objective than that. Construction requires innocence. To engage in true creation, you must be ignorant of that which others define as ‘correct’ or ‘beautiful’ or ‘proper’. Creation requires a childlike innocence and willingness to try that which has never been attempted or even conceived of. The approval of others is inconsequential to - and must never be allowed to interfere with - this process, through which one can find true happiness and passion. However, when we find that reality does not live up to our expectations, it becomes necessary to abandon ignorance. Construction must yield to destruction for a time as we tear down the flaws of society and reality, only to replace them with something better.
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