George H. Smith - So long, dear friend

 

I was deeply saddened to hear of the recent death of libertarian author and lecturer George H. Smith.  The world is definitely worse off for his absence.  From a personal standpoint, his passing has left a painful stain on some of my fondest memories from my early years in California, because he was an important part of those years. The best way I can think of to deal with my sadness is to recount some of my memories of George—positive and negative--in writing.

I first met George at a taping for one of Nathaniel Branden’s monthly “Seminar” recordings around 1970. The informal question-and-answer session was held at Branden’s hilltop home in Bel Air near Los Angeles.  I had only recently moved to California after graduating from The University of Tennessee in Knoxville.  I had been a devoted follower of both Ayn Rand and Branden for many years, and decided to move to L.A. in large part to derive what guidance I could from Branden, who had opened a psychotherapy practice in Beverly Hills following their celebrated parting of the ways.

At the time I had no friends—Objectivist or otherwise—in California, and George impressed me as not only highly intelligent but also a kindred spirit.   Nash Publishing had recently published an anthology of essays titled The University Under Seige, offering the perspective of myself and several other students who had been witness to the campus unrest of the late 1960s.  George had only recently signed a contract with Nash to write Atheism—The Case Against God, his now classic and brilliant defense of the atheist position, and he asked me a few questions about my experience as a published author.

We became friends, and I often visited him and his wife at the time—the lovely
Diane Hunter—over the next few years.  I also attended several events at The Forum for Philosophical Studies, a lecture organization he founded in Hollywood.   At that point, George impressed me as having an excellent grasp of the Objectivist philosophy, and I had the sense that I could learn from our discussions.  I remember seeing him present his essay on “Objectivism as a Religion” to a group of avid listeners in a home near Santa Monica, and I became convinced that his insight into the break between Rand and Branden was on the mark.   I went on to attend a series of lectures--“The Fundamentals of Reasoning”—which he gave at his Hollywood apartment, and to this day I strongly feel that I derived enormous benefit from what he had to say.  

One seemingly minor example of a lesson I learned from George was the importance of a single principle—persistence.  Even today, I often invoke that concept when working through some challenging problem.  And it was George who planted the idea if my head that few things were as important to long-term success.  When I think of the vital importance of persistence, I think of George.

Once the lectures were over, George often invited me (and others) to stay and spend some time socializing and watching TV.  As I recall, by this time he had separated from Diane Hunter and was living with Wendy McElroy.  We often watched a couple of highly irreverent television comedies—“Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman” and “Fernwood Tonight.”  In the years that followed I occasionally attended parties at George’s home. 

To repeat, George was very much an important part of my experience of California in the 1970s, and those memories mean a great deal to me.  Through him I eventually met such well-known libertarian icons as the late Roy Childs and Jeff Riggenbach.   I never agreed with George’s staunch position in favor of anarcho-capitalism, and I think this may have prevented our relationship from developing into a closer friendship.   He did not seem to enjoy extended discussions with people who did not see the world as he did. But we were friends, nonetheless.

The last time I remember seeing George in Los Angeles was in 1989, at a gathering to celebrate the release of Branden’s autobiography, Judgment Day.  At that same occasion, I informed George that I had, along with a colleague, started my own educational organization, The Forum for the New Intellectual.  He seemed mildly curious, but never attended during the several years it was in existence.

George and I fell out of touch for roughly two decades, until we happened to cross paths again on an Objectivist website.  In the meantime, I had pursued a career in psychology, and George had won considerable prominence as a libertarian writer, teacher and scholar.  Following our rendezvous in the cyber world, we began comparing notes and had several cordial exchanges, often of a very friendly nature.  Although I was delighted to have renewed our acquaintance, I was also shocked and disappointed by a number of things George said.   It was clear that he no longer considered himself an Objectivist, even to the point of being disdainful of those such as myself who strongly advocated for Ayn Rand’s ideas.  Incredibly, he even went so far as to distance himself from many of his own pro-Objectivist arguments in his book, Atheism: The Case Against God.   He no longer considered it important that libertarians have a rational philosophical foundation for their beliefs.

Then inevitably the topic of anarcho-capitalism raised its obstinate head.  I made my opposition to that (IMO) destructive, rationalistic viewpoint very clear, and he was decidedly unhappy that I would undermine a position that had been the centerpiece of his intellectual career.  At some point, a rancorous online debate ensued.  It went on for days and it did not end well.  George decided to engage in what I considered to be a personal attack on my integrity, and that was the end of it. George displayed a bitterness toward me that cut very deeply.  My background in psychology helped me to see where his anger was coming from, but that did little to attenuate my pain and disillusion. That was 2012.  We never had any sort of verbal interaction again.

And now—ten years later--I have learned of George’s tragic passing, and all the wonderful memories from the 1970s have come back in an avalanche—all the warmth, all the laughter, all the joy, all the hopes for the future, all the dreams of a better world.  No matter our differences, George and I shared many of those hopes and dreams, and he helped me learn how to live and work for that world and that future.

Farewell, old friend.  No matter how virulent and outraged and vicious the waves—the loud, turbulent water that has long since passed under the bridge separating us--I will miss you.