| | During my college days, from 1969 to 1973, I was known as a fanatical Ayn Rand freak. She is a novelist and philosopher with whom most professors are familiar, but, in their opinions, her ideas are much too extreme and simplistic to be seriously taught in college. Still, I carried her books around with me like the Jesus freaks carried their Bibles. My personal philosophy was an atheistic, selfish individualism, while my idea of an ideal political-economic system was a libertarian, laissez-faire capitalism; the perfect extension of Ayn Rand's objectivistic, enlightened egoism. Everyone else was, in my eyes, altruistic through religion (Jesus freaks) or socialistic through altruism (Marxists). (I now admit that this was an over simplification of an already overly simplified theory.) In the social realm, however, I found nothing wrong with supporting the popular, counter-cultural attitudes toward war, marijuana, and free love. I debated my views every day and graduated with a major in philosophy and a minor in speech.
My self-indoctrination in Ayn Rand philosophy turned me intellectually against my earlier indoctrination from the Boy Scout Oath. The Boy Scout Oath states, "On my honor I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country..." This has both altruism and theism. I do not have a duty to my country. My country, rather, has a duty to me, to protect my natural rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I should feel free to do whatever I selfishly want to do as long as I do not hurt other people. I felt then, as I do now, that a person ought not subjugate himself or herself to a god, a collective, or even another person.
A degree in philosophy, however, did not help me find a good job. In December of 1973, I returned with my wife to Germany, where I had previously met her while stationed there as a G.I. I became a teacher for Big Bend Community College in its adult education program for service personnel who are stationed in Europe.
In 1977, I decided to pursue a Masters of Science degree in education from the University of Southern California's European program.
One course in this program happened to be the Philosophy of Education, and the professor was a knockout! She was a beautiful young lady named Mahroo Mostafavi. She was a 29 year old, blond haired Persian girl with a law degree and two doctorates, one of which was in philosophy. She was very much Americanized in the liberal vein, having done fellowship work at Berkeley during the late 60's. Her looks alone took the breath away from every male student in the class. She would have been more appropriately seen in a James Bond movie than in our little military community.
The subject of philosophy seems intimidating to many students but is fascinating to me, even when I hear repeated what I already know. It soon became obvious, as Mahroo was reviewing fundamentals of introductory philosophy, my contributions to the class discussion were far over the heads of everyone in the room other than the professor, Mahroo. Her suggestion, which she confided to me during the break, was that she and I get together after class to discuss things in more depth.
I took the lady up on her invitation but was hardly prepared for what happened next. I am accustomed to seeing professors look at their watches and act like gouging their eyes out would be preferable to talking with me. Such was not the case with Mahroo.
First, she invited me to her apartment so we could talk in more pleasent surroundings. When we arrived at her room, she offered me a beer and asked me to wait for her on the couch while she slipped into something more comfortable. Before disappearing into her bedroom, she switched on the FM and somehow dimmed the lights. Soon she emerged from her bedroom wearing soft, skin-tight blue jeans and a loose fitting blouse unbuttoned to mid-chest with obviously no bra on underneath.
Her mannerisms can only be described as seductive. She called me "lover", kept smilling at me and laughing at my dumb jokes, responding with great passion to my every comment. She would also reach into her blouse through undone buttons to rub her naked shoulder, as if straighting a bra strap that wasn't there.
With a very soothing voice, she pleaded with me to take off my shoes and get relaxed. However, I was nervous. The more she told me to get comfortable, the more uncomfortable I became.
I did not know what was expected of me. I am not an ugly person but neither do I consider myself to be a magnet for females. I have never had to fight them off my back. Was I suppose to behave like some macho superstar in movies and television? Was I suppose to act like people I read about in popular novels or in Playboy and Penthouse magazines?
I tried to keep her talking about philosophy, but this only added to my suspicions. Although she liked the individualism in Ayn Rand's philosophy, she thought that Rand was too strict and uncompromising. Existentialists, she explained, do not feel compelled to conform to absolute standards imposed upon them from outside.
Did this mean, I wondered, that Mahroo does not feel compelled to conform to societal conventions such as those which surround fornication?
Ayn Rand says that reality is objective, either we discover it properly or ignore it and suffer consequences. This is much like the religious concept of freedom where we can choose to believe or go to Hell. "The existententialist," Mahroo explained, "says that reality is subjective. There are no absolutes, and we are truely free to choose the path our lives will take or create our own paths. The choice is not without consequences, but we are responsible for our choices, not some pre-existing god or absolute standard which takes the choices away from us."
If she was above such legalistic limitations as the ten commandments and Kant's categorical imperative, then certainly she would have no hang-ups about "free-love." As long as the relationship is subject- subject and not subject-object, she did not seem like the prudish kind of person who would object.
"Moral decisions for existentialists are situational. Existentialists do not say 'never' or 'always', but they wait until the moment is upon them. Then they choose."
Was this a moment Mahroo would choose to ignore the traditional taboos about being intimate with a student?
I felt so inexperienced. Here I was only one year younger than she. I was a Vietnam veteran, a former bartender and prison teacher. I had been on my own in some of the most dangerous situations in some of the most intimidating cities in the world, yet I felt insecure. I kept trying to act like Burt Reynolds, but I felt like Don Knotts.
"Existentialists like to take chances," she kept explaining. "Playing it safe is like allowing life to pass you by. You only get the most out of life when you really get involved."
"Mahroo, what are you doing to me?" I finally confronted her.
"What do you mean?" she asked innocently.
"Well, ah, ah, ah..." I stammered.
I choose not to remember the rest of this embarassing and painful conversation, but I do remember it came out all right. She told me, in a very diplomatic way, it was my mind in which she was interested, and we laughed with great relief at the misunderstanding. After that it was easy for me to feel comfortable with Mahroo.
Mahroo and I enjoyed each other so much we had more clandestine dates. Nobody knew about them except Mahroo and me. I sat quietly in class listening to other male students speculating on what she was doing at night and who she was seeing. I knew the answers, but I didn't tell.
I learned a lot from Mahroo. She turned me on to various oriental philosophies as well as existentialism. We talked about the dichotomies and contradictions as well as the similarities. I was intrigued by the thought that one can "bend with the wind" and "go with the flow" as well as challenge fate and attempt to take charge of one's own life. One philosopher will say freedom is an illusion, that we are conditioned and controlled from birth in everything we do, and another philosopher will say that we are "forced into freedom," that we must define ourselves all the time and accept responsibility. It is true the both philosophers cannot logically be right, but it is also true that they are right. Logic is only a tool which is at times inadequate. Logical arguments are sophisticated pronouncements of faith. For Mahroo, "feeling" is primary, and I am glad we could help each other feel good for awhile.
After the course, Mahroo went back to California and traveled between California and Iran. I received one very friendly letter from her, but then she disappeared. In November of 1979, the "Iranian crises" with the Shah, the Ayatollah Khomeini, and the hostages came upon us. Mahroo Mostafavi was no longer listed in the University of California's catalogues. I hope she wasn't executed, as were so many other innocent Iranians, for being associated with Americans.
By now I'm getting past seeing a little of Mahroo in every exotic, slender blond at whom I glimpse, but nobody, possibly not even Mahroo herself, can measure up to the image of her that I carry in my mind. I do not agree with her entirely, but she had an impact upon me. I really liked her and wish she would write me again.
bis bald,
Nick
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