Testimony of Two Men

A novel of a heroic individualist

What if a portal to a parallel universe opened and a copy of their version of The Fountainhead, fell through? What would it be like?

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Let me tell you about an author you may be familiar with. Although born in a foreign country in the dawn of the twentieth century, she came to the U.S. at an early age and fell in love with the ideas of the Founding Fathers. She became a bestselling author of large novels, some of which were filmed. She frequently wrote about self-made men. She inserted her philosophical ideas into her novels and was occasionally accused of inappropriate editorializing. One of her recurring themes was how can a moral person live in a corrupt society. Although a woman, she was very male-centered. In later life she wrote about her ideas for non-fiction magazines. She had a large and devoted following even though some of her ideas were regarded as outrageous. She died in the 1980s. Her name was Taylor Caldwell.

In some ways, Taylor Caldwell, British-American novelist, was Ayn Rand from a bizarre parallel universe. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that Caldwell was an Objectivist or even a libertarian. She was a conservative, sometimes of the paranoid variety. She was a serious Christian too, and toward the end of her life when she had serious physical problems, she believed in past-life regression. But she was somebody who held up, at least sometimes, the productive individual, who was not bound by conventional morality, and she had a real eye for plot and psychology. Her characters were passionate, thoughtful and outsize.

Even qua Christian, she had a certain appeal (to me as an atheist, at least). She certainly was not doctrinaire. One of her books (Dialogues with the Devil) has the cleverest idea for Hell I’ve ever heard. In this Hell you are not tortured with fire and pitchforks—rather, you get everything you wish for without any effort. Heaven on the other hand consists of a series of struggles and adventures. You’ve got to respect a Christian who could think of that.

Doesn’t it strike you as funny that so many members of the Tea Party, a lot of them presumably Christians, like Atlas Shrugged? I think we fans of Ayn Rand should return the compliment by liking at least one book by Taylor Caldwell, and my recommendation would be Testimony of Two Men, from 1968.

This 600+ page novel is set in a small city in 1901 Pennsylvania and tells the story of Jonathan Ferrier, MD. Ferrier’s wife died of septicemia brought on by a botched abortion, and Ferrier was tried for murdering her and her unborn child.

Many of his neighbors and even some of his “friends” believed he did it because they resented Ferrier. Fortunately, Ferrier’s attorney came up with a change of venue and some ironclad alibi witnesses, and so, to the consternation of many, Ferrier was acquitted.

Why do his neighbors resent Ferrier? It’s not because he’s a bad doctor. He has actually saved many lives, and he is a tireless champion of modern medicine. That, in fact, is most of the problem.

In 1901 medicine was just in the process of becoming scientific. Asepsis (sterilization of equipment and handwashing) was not completely accepted by the older surgeons, but it was becoming the norm at hospitals. Laboratory medicine and the use of the microscope to examine tissue were just becoming widespread. Pain management was becoming more common, replacing the old idea that suffering is good for the soul.

Ferrier encounters enormous resistance to his attempts to combat the old ways. And he is not one to suffer fools gladly, to put it mildly. He is zestfully critical of his less-than-competent colleagues and nurses. He is high-handed and arrogant, although not pompous. And he has too much money for anyone to threaten his livelihood.

All this is before he’s accused of murder. Afterward, in the face of gossip and ingratitude, Ferrier becomes bitter and starts to say the scalding things we are all tempted to say to idiots and scoundrels. He starts to drink much too much. Some of his patients desert him. Many of the other doctors and nurses sneer at him. Even though legally exonerated, he is being slowly driven from town.

The plot of the story concerns the last few months before Ferrier’s planned decampment. He is lingering only to help his replacement, a competent if unimaginative young doctor named Robert Morgan, get settled and take over his practice.

Even though he is trying to withdraw from treating patients, he is repeatedly brought in by other doctors or his priest to see new cases, which allow him to prove once again that he is the town’s best doctor, but which earn him animosity from some of the patients’ families and/or other doctors when he doesn’t sugar-coat situations for them.

These medical episodes allow us to see Ferrier in action while also providing him with new enemies and driving the plot—plot, as in conspiracy, that is. Some of the locals work to get Ferrier tried again--not for murder since Ferrier is protected from this by double jeopardy—but for the abortion.

The plot is hatched by a local senator who resents how Ferrier helped his son become more independent. (You know the senator is a bad guy because he makes a Fourth of July speech where he shares his vision of One World Government. This anachronistic speech marks him as a power-luster for Caldwell.) The attempt of Ferrier’s friends to defuse the plot without provoking Ferrier into doing something rash, forms the climax of the novel.

There is also a romantic element, if we may call it that. Ferrier, Morgan, and Ferrier’s brother all desire the widowed brother’s stepdaughter, Jenny. She is a very sensitive young woman with serious self-esteem issues, which cause her to hide her beauty behind dowdy hairstyles and clothes. Jonathan has a love/hate relationship with her because he erroneously believes she’s sleeping with his brother.

Ferrier is like a bizarre science fiction hybridization of characters from The Fountainhead. Like Howard Roark, he is absolutely rational and independent when it comes to his work. Like Dominique Francon he is ironic and self-destructive. Like Henry Cameron he is brutal when people disagree with him and drinks too much. And like Gail Wynand he is a compelling mix of vitality and cynicism. He is an exquisite character and for all of his faults he makes you want to say “There is a man!” (For more about the “exquisite” character see my essay, The Bust of Caesar.)

Ferrier refuses to compromise with evil and bullies his way through situations where another man would use diplomacy. He does not hesitate to make people do the right thing. He thinks people are generally corrupt but has a soft heart for children, old people and anyone who suffers.

In this novel at least, Caldwell shares an interesting ambivalence with Ayn Rand. Both seem to think that many, perhaps most, people, especially those in positions of power or influence are corrupt frauds, resentful of their betters, or at best fools. At the same time both believe that there is an anonymous mass of good folks out there who can be counted on to do the right thing (e.g. sitting on a jury at Roark’s second trial.) It’s just that the heroes of their novels don’t have much contact with that mass and instead keep running afoul of the corrupt people.

Both authors try to deal with the problem of how to deal with being a good man in a bad world. Roark’s solution at first simply is to be above it all. Eventually he realizes he has to make a stand and explain it theoretically before the world. I think a case could be made that blowing up a building is not a viable solution to one’s problems; however, the combination of being naturally untouched by the madding crowd and becoming theoretical when it is called for, seems unbeatable.

Ferrier, more like Cameron and Wynand in this regard, is neither untouched by the world’s corruption nor theoretical. As his friends tell him, he is brave enough to face danger but not courageous enough to live with people’s bad opinion of him. Ferrier tries to combat evil head-on and nearly gets a broken skull for his trouble. One of the great differences between Testimony of Two Men and The Fountainhead, is that Roark comes to real self-awareness on his own, while Ferrier’s friends have to help him to it.

I suspect this reflects on Caldwell’s belief in man’s fallen nature. She was a Christian, after all. It doesn’t hurt the novel much, not if you take it on its own terms and realize that Ferrier is a tragic hero but one who, for once, gets saved. And what do tragic heroes have to be saved from? Themselves, always themselves. As one of Ferrier’s friends says, Ferrier suffers from the defects of his virtues. That is Rand’s favorite device for creating positive characters with flaws and leaving them room to grow, and it works well for Caldwell too.

This novel is chock-full of interesting personalities, such as Ferrier’s mother and his dead wife, and has many good episodes. The main attraction, though, is Ferrier himself, and he is drawn with an almost Dostoevskian hand. He could easily have been a Rand character and in my opinion he is more vibrant, more a real person than any of Rand’s characters except Roark, Toohey and Rearden.

I thought of starting this review by saying “I don’t know whether to characterize this novel as The Fountainhead, Part Two, or at The Anti-Fountainhead.” The reason for the second characterization is the religious component. This book believes in original sin and a need for humility.

Caldwell is ambivalent about these ideas, which we can see in her positive portrayal of Ferrier as a forceful and worldly man despite his pride, but the Christian ideas do play a role in the development of the story, as they do in some of Hugo’s and Dostoyevsky’s stories, and if that bothers you, then you should leave this book alone.

Interestingly, however, it is not Christian virtues that save the day in Testimony of Two Men, but Enlightenment virtues. Ferrier and his friends use reason to solve problems, not faith. They are after justice, not turning the other cheek. Constructive compassion is a big motivation for the positive characters, not accepting suffering as man’s lot in this world. Caldwell clearly loves Man, and that tempers her religiosity.

I keep comparing Caldwell to Rand, and that is an irresistible comparison. But it’s a bit unfair to Caldwell, who deserves respect on her own terms. I suppose this is another example of me “descending Mount Olympus.”

I’ve read three of Caldwell’s books: Dialogues with the Devil and Testimony of Two Men plus The Strong City, which is a more typical Caldwell story about an industrialist. I’m not interested in many of her others and am not trying to recommend her generally. But I think a fan of Rand could love this one. But make sure you read it with your asbestos mitts on, because it can be blistering.