For the Children (Just Not the Poor Ones)

 

The great enthusiasm among our betters for replacing coal and oil with wind and sun is not, perhaps, quite so disinterested as they would have us believe.

“We do it only for the children,” they assure us with the practiced sincerity of men reading from a script, “and for their children after them.” Very noble. Yet the poor, in their coarse way, show little gratitude for these lofty aims. They care nothing for solar arrays that cost a fortune and fail when the sky is overcast; they have small patience with sermons on diversity, inclusion, or the finer points of sexual metamorphosis. Their minds are occupied with more immediate trifles—rent that must be paid, children who must not starve, clothes that must somehow be found, streets that must not become places of casual murder, winters that must not kill.

In Defense of the Un-Cheerful

    

 I have met a certain number of people who regard any expression of negativity as verboten, as a kind of moral leprosy. One critical remark, one honest doubt, and the offender is scorned, even ridiculed-if not patronizingly "helped". They speak of it with the gravity of men defending a sacred principle. To admit difficulty, to name a fault, to utter a plain complaint—these things, in their view, are not merely unpleasant; they are crimes against right thinking itself.

Jordan Peterson and Ayn Rand Compared

        Jordan Peterson and Ayn Rand both speak directly to people who feel the world has gone soft on personal responsibility. They attract similar crowds—young men especially, but plenty of others too—who are tired of being told that success is mostly luck, privilege, or exploitation. Rand, through novels like Atlas Shrugged, painted a vivid picture of creators and doers standing up against a society that punishes achievement and rewards mediocrity. Her heroes walk away rather than carry the weight of the incompetent. Peterson, in his lectures and books, tells people to stand up straight, clean their room (get their lives in order before trying to change the world), and voluntarily shoulder the heaviest burden they can bear. Both deliver a message that cuts through the haze: life is hard, but you can make something noble of it by refusing to drift or make excuses. That core appeal—take charge of yourself, produce value, live with purpose—explains why fans of one often find something familiar in the other.

Yet the two part ways when you look closer at what they actually value. Rand was uncompromising in her celebration of rational self-interest and individual happiness; she saw joy, achievement, and personal pride as the proper aim of life, and she regarded sacrifice for others as immoral. Peterson speaks of meaning coming from bearing burdens (often for family, community, or something larger than yourself), and he warns against a shallow pursuit of mere happiness. Where Rand’s ideal is the heroic individual pursuing his own rational values without apology, Peterson’s is the responsible individual who finds order and purpose by confronting chaos and accepting limits. Objectivists often criticize Peterson for slipping toward collectivism or mysticism; Peterson has called Rand’s philosophy overly simplistic and her characters one-dimensional. Still, both have shaken people awake, given them a moral compass in confusing times, and left a mark that lingers long after the lectures and books are closed.