Ruth Schisler, RIP

The true test of civilization is, not the census, nor the size of cities, nor the crops, no, but the kind of man the country turns out.

– Ralph Waldo Emerson (1870)

A life well-lived often includes a few individuals regarded not just as friends, but as very special persons. My wife and I have been blessed by a small number of such men and women, two of whom were Charles and Ruth Schisler. Ruth died peacefully a few days ago at their home in South Carolina.

The four of us met in 1961 while attending a public forum on some political topic in Lincoln, Nebraska. One of the Schislers made a public comment on the issue at hand, while I made a statement on the same matter. After expressing ourselves on what was clearly an unconventional approach to the topic, the four of us began looking back and forth at one another. “Who on earth are you, and how can there be this many people who think this way in this town?,” our eyes asked the others.

Shortly thereafter, I saw a small newspaper ad in one of the city’s newspapers. It asked those who might be interested in studying the philosophy of Ayn Rand to attend an informational meeting on a given date. When Jane and I arrived at the meeting, we found it was being conducted by the same couple we had met at the public gathering: Charles and Ruth Schisler. They were seeking enrollees for a series of taped lectures on Rand’s philosophy, for which we – and some 40-45 others – signed up. The Wizards of Ozymand... Butler Shaffer, Butler... Best Price: $8.38 Buy New $12.33 (as of 05:45 UTC - Details)

These lectures took place during a very provocative period in our lives. Speaking only for myself, I had undertaken an intense inquiry into my social and political thinking near the end of my undergraduate years, and into my studies at the University of Chicago Law School. The Rand taped lectures, combined with so many additional explorations I undertook during the ensuing eight to ten years, helped me work out responses to the question I had long asked myself following political philosophy courses in my undergraduate years: “why should I be bound by any ideas or systems that are inconsistent with my free will?” I had already discovered the human dimensions of free-market economics with the help of Prof. Aaron Director at the University of Chicago, and had read some of the works of Ludwig von Mises. It was time to keep moving into questions and subject-matters that the institutional establishment did not encourage.

For myself, Ruth and Charles were so much a part of this inquiry because of the environment in which they conducted the Rand taped lectures. The tapes, themselves were something we listened to, but informal discussions afterwards made the evenings even more fruitful for the participants. The Schislers were wonderful at making observations regarding liberty, and asking the kinds of questions that fostered understanding, not just ideas or ideological positions. They – and most of the participants – were more interested in the “why”ness of Ms. Rand’s philosophy rather than learning some doctrinally correct ordering of words. I can still recall the firm yet congenial response Ruth would make to someone who expressed an idea that she found bewildering: “why do you think that?,” she would ask. If the speaker’s explanation still made no sense to our hostess, we might find ourselves going ever-deeper into a line of questioning that would enhance our understanding. To observe and to question were the means by which we learned to perceive the meaning hidden behind the seductive façade of words.

The importance of observation in understanding our world was formally recognized in 1974 when astronomer Antony Hewish became the first recipient of the Nobel Prize in Physics for discoveries made by observation. He was credited with discovering what we now know as “pulsars.” What was unknown to members of the Nobel committee at the time was that this well-documented discovery had been made seven years earlier – in 1967 – by a member of the U.S. Air Force stationed in Alaska. This man’s assigned tasks included scanning the night skies for visible abnormalities. It was through such processes that pulsars were first discovered by him. Because of the “Cold War” secrecy in which the search for truth was ensnared, the detection of pulsars could not be made public at that time.

Years later, this Air Force observer was finally recognized at an international science conference as the first person known to have discovered pulsars. Jocelyn Bell Burnell – who had been a research assistant to Hewish – commented that this earlier discovery had been made by a man who “happened to be a very observant person.” She was only partially correct. This man didn’t just “happen” to have the sense of curiosity that led him to his important discovery.

I have known this man – and his equally questioning wife – since 1961, when we began spending so many wonderful hours observing and questioning the world in which we lived, and with whom we came to share Milton Mayer’s view that “the questions that can be answered aren’t worth asking.” I was pleased, but not surprised, that the scientific community now recognizes my dear friend, Charles Schisler, as the first to discover pulsars. I am equally sad – probably more so – to feel the sting of the death of his wife, Ruth. They accompanied Jane and me on our search for understanding – an inquiry that will continue for the rest of our days in this combined human circus and zoo – a journey made more pleasant by their inquisitive, humorous, and loving personalities.

Memories of Ruth’s probing questions, and the laughter with which she responded to the collective madness of those who deserved no more than derision, will continue to play out in my mind. She and Charlie continue to remind me of the creative, peaceful, and rational qualities that forever reside only within the free spirits of individuals.