Letter 096, pg. 1

To DeWitt Emery

139 East 35th Street
New York City

October 16, 1943

Mr. DeWitt M. Emery
National Small Business Men's Association
1635 Pittsfield Building
Chicago, Illinois

Dear DeWitt:

Thank you for your letter. I was glad to get such a long one from you, particularly with political discussions. You know how I love discussions. So I’m going to match it. 

First—for God’s sake, you don’t have to give me an accounting of everything you read, by way of apology for not having read “The Fountainhead.” Skip it, as you always say, skip it. It’s all right, and I won’t hint about it again. The loss is yours, not mine. I’ve read it. 

Second—what on earth are you talking about when you wonder whether I believe in “absolute individualism, disregarding the interdependence which is a necessary part of any capitalistic or industrial society”? (?!?) Of course I believe in absolute individualism. Yes, I mean laissez-faire. Yes, absolute laissez-faire. I don’t know what is meant by any sort of blasted “interdependence.” I do know that the word began to be used a couple of years ago—by the pinks, for a very specific purpose. I hope to God our side hasn’t adopted it—along with “democracy.” 

I don’t see any kind of “interdependence” in a capitalist society. Everything a man gets is paid for by his own labor. He trades his products for the products of others—to the extent he has earned, and no more. A man who feeds himself by his own labor is not a dependent. Traders are not dependents. Only poor relatives, slaves and imbeciles are. 

If the word means that I, for instance, depend on the farmer for my bread while he depends on me for his books—that is nonsense. He does not give me the bread free—and I do not give him my book free. I do not help him to grow wheat—and he does not help me to write a book. He depends on nothing but his own work and ability—and so do I. Then we exchange our products—through voluntary action, to mutual advantage—if we both want the exchange. If we don’t—I buy a box of soda crackers—and he buys a novel by William Saroyan. We don’t have to