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In a television commercial, Jack Klugman, the actor, beamingly speaks of "the most important person in the world - me!" This sentiment I cotton to completely, it expressing succinctly the essential tenet of individuality. Of course, such egoism is commonly looked upon as a distressing example of selfishness, meriting a disdainful tsk, tsk, an accusatory fie, or even a contemptuous ugh. To me this deprecatory response is regrettable, for it blurs the clear distinction between subjective self-interest and objective self-esteem. However the born-again altruist may discredit the former, the latter is in no way an ignoble characteristic. Not to value oneself is the surest route to being worthless to others.

Now, having gratuitously uttered these profound cogitations, I realize one may wonder why I have done so, and just how my remarks relate to Albert Jay Nock. Assuming the question, my reply is twofold. First, I believe the thought I have set forth reflects a basic Nockian concept which warrants restatement. Also, frankly, my object herein is not to discuss Nock's writing, his principles, or his philosophy, such as they may be, but rather to outline my reaction to the man and his works. I am sincerely interested in what Nock hath wrought, but I am far more intrigued by its effect upon me, and by what I have learned because of him.

Perhaps what especially impressed me whilst perusing Nock's stimulating commentaries was his conclusion that it is a person's performance or accomplishment that is meaningful, not that person's appearance, his table manners, or the spicy peccadillos he may privately engage in. The point AJN posits is that, whereas impartial detachment should be exercised in determining the degree of excellence of a particular achievement, there is a tendency in our society to be more concerned with the extraneous personality and activities of the achiever than with the achievement itself. We exhibit too much interest in the doer and too little in the deed, notwithstanding that wisdom and logic demand the opposite approach. For example, if we are judging Ernest Hemingway the novelist, qua novelist, the important consideration is the quality of his writing, not the romantic excitement involved in his flamboyant lifestyle.

Similarly, the question of how melodiously Pavarotti warbles, how musically Stern fiddles, how artistically Moore sculpts, or how skillfully any doctor, lawyer, or Indian chief handles his particular metier, is wholly unrelated to their respective attributes, ambitions, adventures, appetites, or apprehensions. There are certain actresses whose credos appall me, yet no matter how repugnant I may find them, it would not occur to me to deny that Vanessa, Jane, and Shirley are first-rate in their professional field. Conversely, I could (but shall not) name performers of one kind or another whom I affectionately admire, but whose output I critically deplore. In short, it is the character of the product that counts, not the character of the producer.

Frank Chodorov imparted my earliest inkling of the "educable elite" theory, an idea he in turn had gleaned from conversations with Nock. When I expressed dismay at my inability to communicate Henry George's magnificent economic philosophy to my students. Frank sympathetically assuaged my intellectual pain by explaining that education is like mumps or measles: not everyone is susceptible to its contagion. The best I could do, he said, was to expose my class to the message, and hope that a few (or even one) would "catch" it. Nock would have applauded these observations, since he took a dim view of mass education, albeit he carefully differentiated between education and what he termed "training." He opined that education "leads a person on to ask a great deal more from life than life, as at present organized, is willing to give him, and it begets dissatisfaction . . . Training tends to satisfy him with very moderate and simple returns."

No one would dispute (least of all AJN) that such thinking derives from extreme intellectual snobbery. However, ere a loud voice is heard, decrying the cruel injustice of such supercilious discrimination, let it be noted in defense that, far from disparaging training, Nock in fact considers it socially preferable. "A good income," he writes, "a home and family, the usual run of comforts and conveniences, . . training not only makes directly for getting these, but also for an inert and comfortable contentment with them." In a different context, but in like mood, he comments: "I learned early with Thoreau that a man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can afford to let alone; and in view of this I have always considered myself extremely well-to-do."

Anyone yearning to become an accomplished writer can readily improve his competence at that elusive craft by studiously reading the work of Nock, who possessed a rare talent, the ability to say something and to say it well. We often encounter either excellent writing without appreciable substance, or inept writing that nevertheless conveys a significant message. (Consider Alexander Woolcott, who consistently expressed the lightest of froth in beautiful language, and, on the other hand, James Michener, whose majestic subjects are unfortunately described in the most turgid of prose.) In the case of Nock, mirabile dictum, the twain do meet, and in his pen we find a remarkable combination of literary skill and edifying material. I may not have much to say, but I am grateful to Nock for demonstrating a better way to put one word after another. Thank you, AJN.

If my constant reader will allow me the cliche of "last but not least," with that phrase I turn to a look at Nock the individualist and opponent of the State, in which guise he will probably be best and longest remembered. "The interests of society and of the State do not coincide . . . Society gets on best when people are most happy and contented, which they are when freest to do as they please, ... hence society's interest in having as little government as possible. It is hard to imagine two sets of interest more directly opposed than these." Thus spake Nock the iconoclast, and in these quietly impassioned words can be seen the quintessence of his philosophy. All a believing individualist can say in response is Amen.

So, again we salute this very private person whom, in accordance with his own insistent requirements, we know chiefly by his attainments. Who he actually was as a person, within his heart and mind and soul, we cannot be certain. But at this point, say I, no matter! Let us continue to read, absorb, enjoy, and add to our intellectual capacities, the many thoughtful essays and cogent observations that Albert Jay Nock has bequeathed to the world (and to you and me).