Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand (Review 1)
If you’re like me, you don’t know anything about Atlas Shrugged.
Oh sure, you’ve heard it mentioned in passing, maybe seen a quick reference on the telly. Perhaps you’ve run across the occasional penniless hobo, who whispers the word Objectivism before dissipating into smoke. But beyond that, you don’t have any real idea of what the book is, or what it’s about.
I’m here to remedy that.
I’m also here to pontificate on why you and I don’t know all that much about a seminal work of philosophical fiction. And throw in my own personal bouts of philosophizing, because I’m the one talking now and you can’t stop me. In fact, I’m here to do a lot of things, so let’s get this train out of the station, yeah? Here’s my book review for Ayn Rand’s 1957 novel, Atlas Shrugged.
“Who is John Galt?”
The light was ebbing, and Eddie Willers could not distinguish the bum’s face. The bum had said it simply, without expression. But from the sunset far at the end of the street, yellow glints caught his eyes, and the eyes looked straight at Eddie Willers, mocking and still—as if the question had been addressed to the causeless uneasiness within him.
This is the opening paragraph of the book, and it does an excellent job of showing you exactly what Rand’s priorities are. There are many philosophers which explain themselves and their ideologies in neatly clipped terminology. Carefully crafted and defined so that everyone is agreed on exactly what they are saying, and what they mean. Yet for every ounce of clarity they manage to gain, they lose a pound of glamour.
Rand is very interested in conveying her ideology to you, the reader. Of course she is, the book is over a thousand pages long. But her goal doesn’t stop there. She also wants the glamour. She wants the sweeping themes, and stories of great men, doing great things. She wants a crippled society, glimpses of beauty and joy; enigma, and revelation. She wants to place her philosophy in a world that makes it golden. This is what sets Atlas apart from other great philosophical works. It is the cornerstone of the story, not the structure. The base upon which a compelling narrative can be built. A mystery which is up to the reader to solve. “Who is John Galt?” Is not merely a question. It is a promise. A promise uttered by a filthy bum on the side of the street. But perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself.
Setting the Stage
You’d be forgiven for thinking that Eddie Willers is the main character of this story. He isn’t. Willers is the loyal, hardworking assistant to Miss Dagny Taggart, Vice President in Charge of Operations at the railroad company Taggart Transcontinental.
The Two Taggarts
Dagny is heiress to the Taggart fortune, not its founder, with the company first brought into being by the much reviled and admired Nat Taggart, generations ago. That said, she is perhaps the only character in the book that truly, intimately loves Taggart Transcontinental. To run and grow the company is her goal, and her continued efficacy in doing so makes that goal her birthright.
Somewhere on the edge of her mind, under the music, she heard the sound of train wheels. They knocked in an even rhythm, every fourth knock accented, as if stressing a conscious purpose. She could relax, because she heard the wheels. She listened to the symphony, thinking: This is why the wheels have to be kept going, and this is where they’re going.
But the company is unconcerned with an earned birthright. The board recognizes her talent for running the trains on time, but her brother, James Taggart, holds their esteem. More traditional to keep the eldest son as president of the company, after all. Plus, I hear he’s got great connections with the boys in Washington.
James Taggart is many things, but he is not a businessman. Under his guidance, Taggart Transcontinental begins its descent into a death spiral. It would have been more of a death plummet if it weren’t for Dagny, as most anyone working at the company will gladly tell you.
The book opens a few years into this dynamic, with Dagny trying to repair and revitalize the failing company, while James sits at his desk and complains about things. To pull a few quotes from the balding fellow:
“Railroad accidents happen every day. Did you have to bother me about that?”
…
“But the board hasn’t authorized it. I haven’t authorized it. You haven’t consulted me.”
She reached over, picked up the receiver of a telephone on his desk and handed it to him.
“Call Rearden and cancel it,” she said.
James Taggart moved back in his chair. “I haven’t said that,” he answered angrily. “I haven’t said that at all.”
“Then it stands?”
“I haven’t said that either.”
…
“Other people are human. They’re sensitive. They can’t devote their whole life to metals and engines. You’re lucky—you’ve never had any feelings. You’ve never felt anything at all.”
James exists in a state of constant, nigh-unwavering petulance. Particularly when speaking with his sister. Despite the fact that he could easily overturn any decision she chooses to make, he would much prefer to whinge about it, on and on, lecturing her, not so much on the fact that she’s wrong, but rather the implication that other people believe that she is in the wrong. Dagny, on the other hand, is very direct. She knows what she wants to do, the reasons why she wants to do it, explains both concisely, and acts accordingly.
You get the sense that the two are talking past each other, whenever they interact. As though the world that each lives in is so fundamentally different that communication becomes practically impossible. So, James orders steel for a new railway from his friend Orren Boyle (who coincidentally also has connections in Washington), who then proceeds to never deliver any steel on time, ever. Dagny cuts the cord, and orders from their reliable long time supplier Hank Rearden instead. All she cares about is getting their metal on time, but James can’t seem to get past the insult to his friend, the undermining of his own power, and his startling inability to force her to do what he wants without ever saying it.
Dagny and James set the template for many to come. With a few sparse exceptions, Atlas is not terribly interested in creating morally ambiguous characters, at least not within the lens of its story. Dagny is a moral good, as are her words, as are her actions; while James is a moral evil, as are his words, as are his actions. Once it is sure you understand this, the narrative starts to reveal Rand’s philosophy, one lingering question at a time. Why is Dagny serving as James’s lesser? Why doesn’t James actually assert his authority? Is this an isolated event, or a broader trend throughout society? Throughout history? How do these two people define the world that we live in?
The Man of Copper
Francisco d’Anconia is probably the best example I can give to support this moral certainty. His life runs parallel to Dagny’s, in many ways. He is heir to d’Anconia Copper, founded generations ago in Argentina by the much reviled and admired Sebastián d’Anconia. Unlike Nat Taggart, the d’Anconias were exceptionally skilled at raising their kids, in addition to running their business.
“Francisco, you’re some kind of very high nobility, aren’t you?”…
“Not yet. The reason my family has lasted for such a long time is that none of us has ever been permitted to think he is born a d’Anconia. We are expected to become one.”
Successive generations of business prodigies have created a fortune so vast and sustainable that Francisco could freeload off of it his entire life, and three lifetimes to come, without the slightest worry of running out of cash.
He and Dagny spent their summers together as children, and at the time, he seemed poised to capture the world within his hand:
The d’Anconia heirs had been men of unusual ability, but none of them could match what Francisco d’Anconia promised to become. It was as if the centuries had sifted the family’s qualities through a fine mesh, had discarded the irrelevant, the inconsequential, the weak, and had let nothing through except pure talent; as if chance, for once, had achieved an entity devoid of the accidental.
…
Francisco could do anything he undertook, he could do it better than anyone else, and he did it without effort. There was no boasting in his manner and consciousness, no thought of comparison. His attitude was not “I can do it better than you,” but simply: “I can do it.” What he meant by doing was doing superlatively.
Unlike Dagny, he did not struggle to claim his inheritance. When his father died, he became the owner of d’Anconia copper. And something strange happened. The wonder child, the one who could succeed in anything he pursued; the only one that truly, intimately loves d’Anconia Copper, becomes a playboy. He hosts opulent parties, he squanders his fortune, and he loses every ounce of respect that he had gained from Dagny during their childhood.
Yet, the book never treats him the way that it treats James Taggart. Whenever he enters the room, he is not a sleaze, he is not a wanderer. He is a man of purposeful, direct action, who consistently shows insight into the people around him. Atlas is keen to reassure its reader that Francisco d’Anconia is a moral good. He is a man worth emulating. It then proceeds to let you sit with the question of “Why?” for several hundred pages, dropping bread crumbs all along the way.
The Man of Steel
There is one more man who needs to be introduced, before I can truly dig in to the plot and philosophy of Atlas Shrugged. He begins his journey suitably separate from the rest of the cast, yet standing as a monolith nonetheless.
Hank Rearden is an extremely successful industrialist. Hank Rearden is the most despised man in America. Rand’s book clings tightly to the ideal of the American dream, and Rearden is custom crafted to understand that dream in the present tense. He is a modern day Nat Taggart, a new born Sebastián d’Anconia. He has not inherited wealth, he has created it. Starting out as a lowly mine worker, and through tireless effort, ascending to become the biggest name in the metal industry. Upon his entry into Atlas, he has just created what may very well be the crowning achievement of his lifetime. Rearden Metal. The result of ten years of dedicated, expensive research, it is set to completely recontextualize industry. A green-blue alloy far more powerful than steel.
Everyone hates it.
The papers hate Rearden, the “kind of man who sticks his name on everything he touches”, and by extension they hate everything he creates. Orren Boyle and his pals hate the new metal because they secretly know it will drive them out of business. Oh, and because they already hate Rearden, who is currently driving them out of business. Even the scientific community (which currently has close ties to Washington, wouldn’t you know) is unanimous in proclaiming how probably brittle Rearden Metal might be when put under stress, even though none of our experiments have shown that to be the case. Some say that government scientists are just sour because Rearden accomplished more than they could, more quickly, and on a smaller budget, but that’s obviously ridiculous. All that to say, that everyone is agreed that Rearden Metal is no good, and no one should ever buy it.
Dagny Taggart disagrees. In fact, she sees exactly one way of turning Taggart Transcontinental around. Colorado is booming, thanks to up and comer Ellis Wyatt, who has found a new way to process oil shale. With this newfound wealth of untapped oil, demand is skyrocketing. Wyatt has the refineries needed to capitalize on this demand, but needs reliable transportation. A competing railway, the Phoenix-Durango, has grown quickly alongside Mr. Wyatt by fulfilling this need, but they’re still small. A railroad made of Rearden Metal could transport more cargo, faster, than any competitor could manage. Given the sheer amount of money that Colorado is set to move in the coming decades, this single railroad could put Taggart Transcontinental back in the black, ready to experience a boom as big as when Nat Taggart first founded the company. When all is said and done, only one thing stands in the way.
Who is John Galt?
This question, as frequently as it is expressed in the book, may as well be a character in its own right. Its use is deceptive, when put on a page. Ultimately, this isn’t a genuine question, but an assertion. “Don’t ask questions nobody can answer.” No one knows who John Galt is, and no one ever will. That’s the whole point. “Who is John Galt” is uttered as a sigh of resignation. It is the question that you ask when questioning is futile. When you stare the world in the face, and all you see is aimless wandering. Meaningless squabbles. An existence that cannot be grasped, goals that cannot be achieved, a life that cannot be lived.
That is who John Galt is.
That is what Dagny is fighting. A malaise which seems to be enveloping the nation, driving men to forgo any sense of purpose. Ambition and competency are disappearing, to be replaced with a peculiar sense of hopelessness and defeat. Men act in inscrutable ways, as the world begins to turn more slowly.
I suppose I should stop for a moment here and encourage you to read the book yourself, if this is holding your interest. It’s a long read, but if you’re interested in slow-burn philosophical fiction, a nation-spanning, apocalyptic mystery, and fascinating, powerful characters, then you should definitely give it a try. Rand is also one of a surprisingly small number of people who boast a uniquely American philosophy, so lovers of the American yesteryear might want to give this one a look as well. Pretty much everything I’ve talked about thus far is setup, leading to suitably dramatic payoffs, which I’ll be talking about going forward.
A Brief Interlude
I did say that I would be waxing philosophical during this essay, right? Well, since I’ll inevitably drown Rand out with my own point of view, I should probably establish what exactly that is, so that you can give me a properly hard time.
I picked up this book, pretty much on a whim. I knew basically nothing about it, other than the fact that it is one of the classics. I haven’t read her other books, and I knew very little about objectivism beyond the name, and some vague ties to capitalism. Add to this, my preferred method for engaging with other people’s ideas is to give them as much credit as is humanly possible. I like to seek out grounds where someone else’s argument is strongest, because I find it to be the most intellectually stimulating to engage with. All of this to say, don’t be surprised if I give Rand too much credit, and/or totally misrepresent her. I know little enough about her philosophy that I can fill in the gaps with what I think is most appropriate, regardless of her actual stance.
That said, I did read Atlas, and I did think about it. On my own. My reading was wholly uninfluenced by what other people might say about the book, including Ayn Rand herself. I hope that this results in a more honest reading overall, but it inevitably means that any bias in interpretation will be mine.
A Climax of Fire
Atlas Shrugged is split into three parts, each of which could function as a book in its own right. They work best together, though, as the lessons learned in each redefine the events that preceded them. At its face, part one is a classic tale of triumph turned tragedy. Dagny manages to construct the Colorado railway despite constant setbacks from James and his ilk, rebelliously dubbing it the John Galt Line. Rearden Metal takes its rightful place as a technological marvel. Ellis Wyatt narrowly avoids an early destruction, and is set to take the American economy by storm.
As hope becomes truth by the effort of our protagonists, something odd begins to happen with John Galt. People start to answer the question. Who is John Galt? He is a legend. The man who found Atlantis, and sank his own ship to live there. Discoverer of the Fountain of Youth, though he could not carry its waters to mankind. He is the titan Atlas, tortured holder of the sky.
Through all of this, the government has been acting… Weird. The Equalization of Opportunity bill passes in Congress, splitting up big companies like Rearden’s in order to give the little guy a chance. Unsurprisingly, ‘the little guy’ tends to be government suck-ups. This bill also marks the ascension of a man named Wesley Mouch to the head of the “Bureau of Economic Planning and National Resources”, after he jumps ship from Rearden’s employ.
The massive success of the John Galt Line and Rearden Metal are a bit too much for Mouch (and co.) to handle. Declaring a national emergency, he issues a directive in order to even the playing field. Steel production must be limited, Rearden Metal must be provided equally to anyone who wants it, and vitally, trains must be slowed down and shortened. Trains which are desperately needed for transporting oil.
As readers, we’ve only met Ellis Wyatt a few times in the book, and never from inside his own head. He’s clearly an industrialist, clearly brilliant, and clearly on edge. A man of ambition, who has no tolerance whatsoever for incompetence. It’s a shame he is constantly surrounded by it. The successful construction of the John Galt Line was his first glimpse of happiness in a long time, and the directive completely nullifying it is too much to take. He strikes a match, and as act one ends, quite literally burns Wyatt Oil to the ground.
The Philosophical Spark
With all of Colorado aflame, the time has come to talk philosophy. I know, we’re a ways in, but you can’t understand the value of Atlas Shrugged by reading through a bland listing of the tenets of objectivism. You lose too much. When Rand speaks, she speaks through the ever-burning oil fields of Ellis Wyatt. The shredded railways of Taggart Transcontinental. Every act within Atlas is world-shaking. Every piece of knowledge is precious. Anything less does the book a disservice.
As I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, the core of Rand’s philosophy revolves around a fervent support for the extremely wealthy industrialist, and a sincere distaste for government. The distaste for government isn’t particularly transgressive, but support for business fat cats certainly is. It’s an odd line to ride, but Rand has good reasons for it, so let’s get into the why.
A scene in act two lays out the case most effectively. James Taggart is celebrating his wedding (and subtly gauging the stability of his social alliances), when Francisco d’Anconia crashes in, completely unexpected. He eventually sets off on a suitably dramatic monologue, talking, of all things, about money:
“Money is made—before it can be looted or mooched—made by the effort of every honest man, each to the extent of his ability. An honest man is one who knows that he can’t consume more than he has produced.”
“To trade by means of money is the code of the men of good will. Money rests on the axiom that every man is the owner of his mind and his effort. … Money permits you to obtain for your goods and your labor that which they are worth to the men who buy them, but no more.”
…
“To the glory of mankind, there was, for the first and only time in history, a country of money—and I have no higher, more reverent tribute to pay to America, for this means: a country of reason, justice, freedom, production, achievement. For the first time, man’s mind and money were set free, and there were no fortunes-by conquest, but only fortunes-by-work, and instead of swordsmen and slaves, there appeared the real maker of wealth, the greatest worker, the highest type of human being—the self-made man—the American industrialist.”
The industrialist is a moral good because they have gained their money in a morally upright manner. They have brought into the world, something which people are willing to voluntarily pay for. They did not take it by force, nor was it given to them as pittance. The industrialist has made money.
We don’t tend to think of it this way, but money makes a surprisingly good proxy for human value. I’m not hungry, so I don’t spend much on food. I love watching TV, so I pay for cable. I have an overwhelming urge to bury my canned goods, so I buy a shovel and a few sessions with a psychiatrist. Whatever humans value, reasonable or strange, that is where the money goes. So, that said, it’s kind of weird that we hate rich people, right? That we claim money as the root of all evil? As long as the system is working correctly, and money directly relates to human value, then the wealthiest people will inevitably be the ones that have generated the most value. They will be the ones who have produced the most for society. The ones that are most deserving of wealth. Why then, do we pay them in scorn?
Francisco’s speech sets out a method for gauging which rich people are worthy of praise, and which we should despise. He speaks much more eloquently than I will, but for brevity’s sake let’s say that there is a vital difference between someone who makes money, and someone who gains money. If someone makes a lot of money, they are worthy of their riches. Society is unjust if it treats them cruelly, for such productivity is worthy of admiration. On the other hand, Rand really doesn’t like people who gain a lot of money, without ever making any. These are the people who are deserving of scorn. This extends to a pretty broad range of parties, some more sympathetic than others.
Seizing wealth by violence or threat of violence definitely falls under this category, which condemns crooks, but also a surprisingly broad range of government actions. After all, you and I don’t pay our taxes voluntarily, the way we choose to buy a product. We pay them in order to avoid fines and jail time. Sure, we also pay taxes in order to get roads built and schools funded, but if the government fails to do that, we still have to pay taxes. Or go to jail. In this sense, governing bodies are better at gaining money than pretty much anything else out there, which is a big reason why government is so despised by Rand. But it isn’t the only reason.
Charity is also a big point of contention for Rand. You can probably see why. When the rich give to the poor without any exchange of goods, the poor have gained money. They should be acting productively in order to make money, but they aren’t. They blow their cash on drugs or booze, don’t show up to work, and don’t create any wealth for themselves or broader society to enjoy. With charity, they are free to consume more than they produce. Free to be a leech. Governing bodies aren’t just the best at threats of violence, they are also prolific in their charity work. The rich are taxed more than the poor, and worse still, plenty of that money is directly funneled towards people in need, regardless of their productivity. The richer the government, and the more generous, the more it encourages leeching. The more it rewards people for acting unproductively.
The Flaws in our Society
Throughout the narrative, Rand makes it clear that she despises the use of violence in order to seize someone’s wealth. But she doesn’t belabor the point too much. After all, most readers already agree with her on that point. There are greater injustices to right, in her mind.
For, if it is a sin to take from the worthy through violence, then it is surely a greater sin to pretend you are a morally upright individual in doing so. To pretend that you are not holding a gun, nor are you threatening a man’s welfare unjustly. You are not stealing a man’s rightly earned riches by the means of a thug. You are a generous soul, merely working for the good of all.
Consider, for a moment, how often you hear from government officials that they are working for the common good. That they work for the people, and obey the people’s will. They start up programs, they give speeches, and they revile the wealthy, who do not care for the poor dregs of society. This is the height of hypocrisy, in Rand’s opinion. Money is made and exchanged in voluntary trade by members of our society, then it is stolen, by force, in the form of taxation, and the thief has the gall to claim that they are the good guy. They are feeding the poor, helping the homeless. Eradicating need.
Or are they?
Years before the events of Atlas Shrugged, the Twentieth Century Motor Company had a change in management. Jed Starnes died off and left the company to his three kids, who had a radical new plan for how to run the company. “From each according to his ability, to each according to his need.” Six thousand workers would be given whatever money they needed, paid for by their collective profit as a business. The plan was put to a vote among the workers, and passed unanimously.
Sounds nice, doesn’t it? We’re all in this together. Every need would be satisfied, and we’d all be equals. But wouldn’t you know it, the darndest thing happened. Suddenly, people started getting really needy, and pretty much stopped working altogether. Sure, there were some rubes who were working eighty hour weeks while getting paid jack squat, but they broke from the stress eventually. Everyone started distrusting one another, hating one another. Suddenly, other people were all lazy, and obviously lying through their teeth about their daughter’s broken leg. Every meal that someone else eats is coming out of my paycheck. Every movie they attend, every bobblehead they want to collect, every wedding, every kid, every investment, every thing that they could possibly do, is to my personal detriment.
The best way to succeed in the company was to have ten kinds of debilitating illness and no dependents, all while working the absolute minimum amount you could get away with. Oh, or you could be friends with one of the Starnes siblings. After all, when six thousand people are all talking about how much need they have, it’s pretty arbitrary who actually gets paid, right? One person’s hungry kid is the same as another’s sick grandma on the need-o-meter, after all. Among this cacophony of needs, someone had to make the decisions, and wouldn’t you know it, the most needy people always seemed to be the ones who brown-nosed the Starnes.
The company goes under a few years after new management takes over. Thinking back on the event, a former employee gives this assessment (with ‘the guff’ referring to talk about the social good):
“The guff gave us a chance to pass off as virtue something that we’d be ashamed to admit otherwise. There wasn’t a man voting for it who didn’t think that under a setup of this kind he’d muscle in on the profits of the men abler than himself. There wasn’t a man rich and smart enough but that he didn’t think that somebody was richer and smarter, and this plan would give him a share of his better’s wealth and brain.”
Which nicely rounds out the lessons we’re meant to learn from this tale, I think. When you give to the needy, you encourage neediness. When you take from the productive, you discourage productivity. Any system which does not produce above its need is doomed for destruction. socialism (and co.) is a cause that is founded upon maximizing need and minimizing production, and it thrives upon the back of a cruel, unjust sort of greed. The desire for that which you have not earned.
The Result
Act two thematically revolves around the Twentieth Century Motor Company, but it focuses on one particular type of individual, amidst the thousands of workers. The one individual who is the most derided, guilt ridden speck you could ever hope to see.
The rube.
Why would you work eighty hour weeks at a company that doesn’t pay you any money? Why would you build motors when you are surrounded by people who laze around all day, doing nothing? Why would you seek to minimize how much you need in life, when that need is your paycheck? In order for socialism to work, it has to have rubes. Productive people who will work tirelessly to make money, even as it is taken away from them. The full arc of act two is committed to showing you one thing. Hank Rearden and Dagny Taggart? These hard working, barrier breaking protagonists that you have come to admire? They are rubes.
Rearden loves his industry, his achievements, so he keeps pouring metal, even as the government takes it away from him, gives it to layabouts, and threatens to throw him in jail. Dagny is trapped in a dying company, but she genuinely loves Taggart Transcontinental too much to ever leave. As harsher and harsher directives are issued by the government, attempting to freeze the economy in place, Dagny and Rearden keep working. Every hour of every day, just so that they can see their work crumble. They, and others like them, are the only reason that the economy is still standing. Their tireless effort allows a greater evil to persist.
There is a reason why no one knows the man named John Galt. He started his life as Hank Rearden did. From nothing. A runaway who started working young. Paid his way through college, and just as he was about to revolutionize the world, inventing a motor that could run off of static electricity, the Starnes siblings took over.
The day the vote passed, Galt walked out on the world, leaving his invention on the workbench, collecting dust. It was that day that he understood. The only way he could ever pursue his love of making money was to single-handedly support a system whose only intent was to steal from him. Guilt him. Ridicule him. Without his work, that system would crumble, so Galt did the rational thing. He stopped working. The next decade or so of his life would be dedicated to a low-paying job which would never meaningfully impact anything, and a slow paced, deliberate spread of his rationale to every single rube in the country. Who is John Galt? He is the man without pain, or fear, or guilt, who cannot be coerced into supporting something which seeks to destroy him. He is the hope of the world, driven away by the world. He is the apocalypse. He is our salvation from it. He is Atlas. Let the sky fall down.
Tangents and Elaborations
With the reveal of John Galt, the core philosophy of Atlas Shrugged has been established. But that isn’t its whole, not by a long shot. Rand illustrates her views on a wide variety of topics throughout the book. There’s too many to comprehensively list here, but I’ll go through some of the recurrent ones, in order to give you a broader view of objectivism and how it works.
The Role of Government
It’s worth noting that Rand is opposed to more than just centralized, national levels of governance. The first piece of ‘legislation’ that is passed in the novel is the “Anti-dog-eat-dog Rule”, which is cooked up by a coalition of railroad companies in order to prevent small, up-and-coming railroads from outcompeting the bigger, previously established companies of a region. It isn’t just the title ‘U.S. Government’ which she opposes, it is the restriction of voluntary trade which governing bodies impose. If Taggart Transcontinental is unable to provide adequate service in an area, they need to either improve their service, or go belly up. Governing bodies only serve to drag out the rot.
That said, Rand is no anarchist. She simply wants to restrict the functions which governing bodies can perform. John Galt has a massive act three speech, which gives her stance some explicit detail:
“The only proper purpose of a government is to protect man’s rights, which means: to protect him from physical violence. A proper government is only a policeman, acting as an agent of man’s self-defense, and, as such, may resort to force only against those who start the use of force. The only proper functions of a government are: the police, to protect you from criminals; the army, to protect you from foreign invaders; and the courts, to protect your property and contracts from breach or fraud by others, to settle disputes by rational rules, according to objective law.”
Beyond a few snippets like this, Rand doesn’t go into too much detail on her vision of a perfect government. Atlas is a book about the decay and downfall of a flawed society, not the formation of a new one. It’s a shame. I’d particularly like to know how she expects to fund the army, police, and judiciary without implementing a system of taxation, which she clearly regards as unjust. Perhaps that was a topic for another book.
The Other Side
Rand does dip into the mind of James Taggart and his ilk on occasion, usually to elaborate on how they view the world, or to set their opinions up for dismissal later on. That’s one of the big benefits of having slimy characters, after all. As we get more examples of this, a trend emerges. The ongoing flaw of the tainted mind is very rarely what it believes, but rather what it ignores in order to persist in a particular belief.
What does giving to the poor require? Don’t think about it. Are the poor deserving of such riches in the first place? Don’t think about it. How will I get the money to provide for the poor? Don’t think about it. Everything is relative (once my beliefs are challenged). Greed is evil (for the people that I wish to steal from). It is for the social good (which always places me above others).
All of this results in a game of secret truths for the Orren Boyles of the world. Where they see things which are demonstrably true, and have to work overtime in order to blank that thought from their mind, or suffer a mental breakdown. James Taggart becomes increasingly unhinged as the world continues to collapse, despite possessing huge hordes of wealth and status. After all, he sees society breaking down, he sees it getting worse with every policy he and his government buddies pass, but he can’t ever allow himself to acknowledge the increasingly obvious fact that his ideology is fatally flawed.
This isn’t even totally his fault. After all, for years he’s been making horrible decisions. Dagny has fixed them. He’s made unconscionably bad investments. Dagny has turned a profit elsewhere. A big reason why he clings to his beliefs so fervently is because, for years now, Taggart Transcontinental has been fine. He has been fine. Dagny fixed any mistakes, so James could continue living within his void. It was by her ability that he was allowed to persist as a fool.
This is another recurring theme within Atlas. “The Sanction of the Victim.” As Hank Rearden produces Rearden Metal at the behest of government officials, as he is blackmailed into ‘willingly’ handing over the patent to it, he gives them credibility, in their own eyes and the eyes of society. It is fine to steal from someone, as long as they submit willingly, after all. Why, I might even be the good guy! It is a righteous world, where a man must give me a portion of his effort, for nothing in return. I am an arbiter of justice, when I collect my due. I deserve your good. I am good. Tell me that I am good.
When Rearden loses his life’s work, the government goes on to rename it “Miracle Metal”. With that, its narrative purpose is completed. What was once the work of a man, willing to change the world for mutual profit with society, is now a miracle. Who knows where it came from? It just appeared within our midst one day, with no effort, and as such all of humanity is entitled to its benefits. That which was shunned by society is now found to benefit society, and therefore cannot be owned by any one person. It belongs to everyone, and it will belong to everyone, by any means we deem necessary.
In his own warped way, James Taggart understands the game just as well as John Galt does. As the bureaucracy of the government reaches a fever pitch, while society is crumbling, the only way to avoid an untimely end is to keep your actions vague. Never voice your opinion, never claim responsibility for an action, at least not in advance. Keep your input fuzzy, so that you can take responsibility for every good outcome, and distance yourself from any bad ones. That way no one can blame you. Which means you stay in power. This is why James never gives Dagny direct orders. The moment he does so, the moment he contradicts her publicly, is the moment that he is held accountable for his own actions. Above all things, that is a moment he can never allow to pass. It would spell the end of everything that he secretly chooses to live for.
Purpose and Rationality
Rationality as a moral good is another core tenet of objectivism. To quote John Galt’s big speech again:
“But you are not free to escape from your nature, from the fact that reason is your means of survival—so that for you, who are a human being, the question ‘to be or not to be’ is the question ‘to think or not to think.’
…
“Man must obtain his knowledge and choose his actions by a process of thinking, which nature will not force him to perform. Man has the power to act as his own destroyer—and that is the way he has acted through most of history.”
Other creatures benefit from claws, or muscle. They cannot ignore their most valuable asset, they must use it to act in their own interest, or die. The same is true for mankind. The only difference being that we must choose to act in our own interest. Teeth do not decide whether they are used for chewing. A mind must decide whether it is worth using for thinking.
It is. Which is really obvious, once you start to think about it (though that might be the problem, right there). Air conditioning, pulleys, planes, cars, guns, legal codes, buildings, art, music, math, physics, movies, phones, computers, games, fashion, language, ideology, morality, kindness, beauty, romance. Joy. All of these are reliant upon, contingent upon, the working human mind.
“Mother, do they think it’s exactly in reverse?” she asked.
“What?” asked Mrs. Taggart, bewildered.
“The things you were talking about. The lights and the flowers. Do they expect those things to make them romantic, not the other way around?”
Without your mind, perhaps you are a pathetic, insignificant speck within the roiling gut of the universe. But you have a mind. By the simple act of thinking, you create value not only within yourself, but within innumerable activities which you perform. You make the flowers romantic. You make the food delicious. You make the engine run. You make the universe known. Thought is not merely a key to your survival. It is not a simple instinct. It is a choice that you make, which enriches everything you touch. Your thought is your purpose in life, and its scope is wide and fulfilling.
Atlas warns against those who wish to take this away from you. Those who wish to replace thought with obedience. Rationality is your defense against such people, as they inevitably must ask you to believe the preposterous. This cree is your defense.
“A is A”. You exist. The world exists.
But suppose, for a moment, that the world doesn’t exist. You and I actually live in a different world, a hidden one which is completely concealed from the senses. Ah, but another person can see it. They know all about this world which exists, and it is much more important than the illusion that you and I inhabit. The illusion which grants you a large body of unbiased evidence, readily available to you, proving its existence. Why, their ability to perceive the invisible, true realm must place them as the highest, most valued of humans. We must worship and adore them, and follow their every command, for they are that much more enlightened. We should unquestioningly believe them, when they claim that all-knowing entities speak through their lips. When they say that we will suffer by our disobedience, and attain utopia through an unmoving, docile mind. A is A. Cast them aside.
But suppose, for a moment, that you don’t exist. You are simply a bag of instincts and hormones. Logic is just another flawed human institution, filled with rot and decay, and not worthy of consideration. We humans are meant to live a small, meaningless existence, then die in the mud. But, how do we arrive at this conclusion? Scientists thought, and tested, and eventually revealed the existence of chemicals. Instincts were similarly studied and revealed through careful thought and inquiry. The conclusion that logic is worthless requires a logical mind to articulate. Our lives are small and meaningless only by the judgement of our own minds. A dog does not consider itself worthless. The grass does not question its existence. Only a thinker does. In order to accept that you live a meaningless, vapid existence, you must live a meaningful one. In order to deny the validity of rationality, you must use rationality. In order to condemn your mind, you must cherish it. A is A. Cast them aside.
It’s not as if Rand views the rational mind as infallible. I may say that rainfall works one way, you may say another, and eventually reality will adjudicate. One of us will be wrong, even though we both had perfectly rational reasons for our beliefs. The illness comes when we fail to adjust our thinking, in light of evidence. When we ignore reality and its dictums, instead settling for what we might prefer.
“Learn to distinguish the difference between errors of knowledge and breaches of morality. An error of knowledge is not a moral flaw, provided you are willing to correct it; … But a breach of morality is the conscious choice of an action you know to be evil, or a willful evasion of knowledge”
This is why a rational mind is morally good, in Rand’s opinion. It is rational to produce good things, and pursue joy in your life. To make more than you take. Further than this, a rational mind understands the worthlessness of unearned wealth. If I kill a man and take his possessions; if I receive pittance for the mere fact of being poor, I have not earned it. My wealth is a testament to my inability to create wealth. The rational mind will do all it can to avoid such an evil. The irrational mind will embrace it, or pretend it doesn’t exist.
The Virtues
Alright, I’m gonna try a different format for this next section, to liven things up a bit (and keep myself from yammering on too much). What are the other core values of objectivism, and why are they good?
What is truth?
Truth is the unflinching love of reality and my place within it. It is ownership of my actions and their results, whether they fail or succeed. It is an ownership of what I can accomplish within this world, and what I cannot. What I treasure, and what I do not. What is good, and what is evil.
Truth is not dictated by the whims of those around me. When someone asks for flattery I am unwilling to give, I do not give it. When someone asks for alms they have not earned, I do not provide. As I pursue truth, I must also prevent others from using my lips to deny it. For every white lie is exactly this. It is a concession. It values another person’s whims and delusions above what is genuinely true. It invites them to live a life they should not live, under a code they cannot sustain. It invites me to do the same.
What is greed?
Greed is the desire for money. The desire to create something, with the power of my own mind and body, that humanity values. It is an unwillingness to sell my effort for less than it is worth. It is an unwillingness to pay more than is due. Greed is my desire to be the most valuable, productive human that I can be.
It is tempered by rationality, for no man can desire money that is unjustly given. Involuntarily taken. Greed is the desire for wealth that is true. It is an assurance. That, as I have lived my life upon this Earth, I have created something which is worthwhile. And I have been paid in kind.
What is selfishness?
Selfishness is the love of what I am. It is the understanding that I, my beliefs, my desires and my thoughts are the most important thing that I have. Above the concerns, beliefs and desires of other people. When I feed my child, it is not because I am selfless. The child has no hold over the actions that I take, and their concerns are not above mine. It is because I value my child’s well-being above my wealth.
Selfishness is a refusal to despise what I value, or to destroy what I love. It is a refusal to love what I hate, or create what I loathe. It is tempered by rationality, it is tempered by truth. For my mind must act in order to see what is virtuous and what is cruel. It must understand what is, and what is not. From this bedrock, I build all of my values. My self, and what is good for it.
Love
Alright, are you starting to get a handle on things? Starting to understand, at least a little bit, where Rand is coming from? Great! Because love is one of the tougher virtues to get a grip on. Hence why it gets its own section.
As you’ve probably noticed, objectivism is a surprisingly passionate ideology. It speaks great deeds, and breathes purpose and joy. Among its virtues, love is among the highest. And I’m not talking about a love of life, or your fellow man. I mean pulse pounding, intimate, romantic, sexual love. That said, much like Rand’s take on greed or selfishness, her views on love are a bit odd, by conventional standards. Let’s get into the why.
One of Rand’s real strengths as a writer is her ability to write tension. It’s part of what makes her take on the apocalypse so riveting. Society is dead the moment Wyatt burns his oil fields. After that, a full two thirds of her book is devoted to watching, waiting for the inevitable tolling of the bell. So it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Rand is also a pro at writing sexual tension. This is a skill which she uses quite liberally throughout the book. Dagny has numerous love affairs; with her childhood love Francisco d’Anconia, with industry giant (and married man) Hank Rearden, and with her one true love, John Galt.
Each of these is well telegraphed in advance, with Dagny suddenly, ah, feeling things, around them. She has a hard won, surprisingly sensual tennis match against Francisco. She becomes quite aware of her body while near Rearden during the inaugural train ride down the John Galt Line. As for John Galt himself, she essentially lives as his housewife for a month, a life of constant, pained celibacy for them both.
Once the dam inevitably breaks, Rand keeps it classy, though she definitely doesn’t skimp on passion. Here are a few examples, one with Francisco, one with Rearden, and one with Galt:
She knew that fear was useless, that he would do what he wished, that the decision was his, that he left nothing possible to her except the thing she wanted most—to submit. … Don’t ask me for it—oh, don’t ask me—do it!
…
She looked at the glowing bands on the skin of her arm, spaced like bracelets from her wrist to her shoulder. They were strips of sunlight from the Venetian blinds on the window of an unfamiliar room. She saw a bruise above her elbow, with dark beads that had been blood.
…
It was not the pressure of a hand that made her tremble, but the instantaneous sum of its meaning, the knowledge that it was his hand that it moved as if her flesh was his possession, that its movement was his signature of acceptance under the whole of that achievement which was herself—it was only a sensation of physical pleasure, but it contained her worship of him, of everything that was his person and his life … that it should be her body which was now giving him the sum of his existence, as his body was giving her the sum of hers.
So yeah, dreadfully uncomfortable stuff to be reading on the bus. But hardly without a purpose. Sex is not a quick or casual act, by the standards of Atlas. It is a conscious choice, an exchange of the highest good that one has to offer. Each of Dagny’s relationships is written with this in mind. She endures almost unbearable amounts of sexual tension, fighting back her burning desires until the moment of intense, violent release finally arrives.
As a point of comparison, James also has a couple of sex scenes in the book, but they are quick, spur of the moment affairs, utterly devoid of passion. He gets drunk, gropes someone haphazardly, has sex, and looks at his partner in disgust once the deed is done. It is a dirty, necessary, animal desire to him. So he only gives it to those that he regards as dirty animals. Just as he does not recognize the value of money, he does not recognize the value of love. Any harlot which crosses his path is worthy of his affection, and in giving it he deprives himself of value. Or perhaps, he expresses where his values truly lie. In the gutter.
Dagny regards sex as the highest of values that can be given, and treats it as such. Her mother worries about Dagny’s romantic prospects when she is growing up, since she expresses no interest in boys. But this is a misconception. Dagny ignores the vast majority of men, because the vast majority of men are unworthy of her love. Only Francisco d’Anconia, the man who can do anything, embodies the epitome of her values, and as such he is the only one worth her affections. But he has to earn it. He has to recognize her as the most valuable woman he could pursue, and value himself enough to take her. Once he does, the romance is passionate and all consuming.
In Rand’s eyes, true love is among the most selfish things you can do. Which is a good thing, remember. When you love someone, you seek out the epitome of what you value in the world, and you reform yourself until you are worthy of that good. Then you claim what is yours by right. Passionately. Violently. For it is the most important thing which exists within your life. The greatest good you could ever possess. When Dagny falls head over heels for John Galt, replacing her relationship with Hank Rearden, he takes it in stride. Rearden recognizes that Galt is a greater man than he is, and knows that Dagny is a great enough woman to claim his love.
In this sense, love is fiercely monogamous. Despite having three lovers over the course of the book, Dagny is never portrayed as a cheat. Her love belongs to, and can only belong to, the one man who most fully exemplifies her moral code, made into flesh. And vice-versa.
In the many months of his absence, she never wondered whether he was true or not; she knew he was. She knew, even though she was too young to know the reason, that indiscriminate desire and unselective indulgence were possible only to those who regarded sex and themselves as evil.
But even once you understand all of that, the way that Rand writes her lovers is still odd, at times. For a while, I struggled to grasp why Dagny would often express a thinly veiled contempt towards her man. A little re-reading gave a sizable clue, thankfully.
Francisco smiled; it was a smile of radiant mockery. Watching them, Dagny thought suddenly of the difference between Francisco and her brother Jim. Both of them smiled derisively. But Francisco seemed to laugh at things because he saw something much greater. Jim laughed as if he wanted nothing to remain great.
Once love becomes selfish, in the way Rand advocates, the goals that you have in pursuing it shift. Love is no longer an act of appeasement, trying to win over another person. It is an act of self-growth, making yourself worthy of being pursued by another person. When Dagny expresses contempt, it is because she sees the potential for much greater, within her partner. She sees his flaws, and subtly encourages him to overcome them, because she knows that he will. It is a contempt expressed in anticipation of something greater. Someone that is more worthy of her love.
And that really is the sum of it. When Rand writes about how attractive her characters are, it rarely has anything to do with their appearance. What is attractive are ‘the planes of his face’, ‘the lines of his form’. The space that they occupy, and how they occupy it. Their mind and body, their ideals and their actions, all contained within the space of one man. Attractiveness is who you are. And love? Love is the sun in your orbit. The brightest star in the night sky, brought to Earth by the brightness of your being. Love is the clash of two great souls, erupting in a greater fire than either one could ever hope to produce. Creating beauty, pleasure, and joy without equal.
Another Brief Interlude
So, hopefully by this point you’ve gotten a decent idea as to which ideologies Ayn Rand is in support of, and which ones she loathes. With all of this progress made, it’s worth taking a hard look at exactly where Rand falls, in the philosophical battlegrounds.
She’s clearly in favor of capitalism, and very, very against socialism. She repeatedly pushes the importance of, and happiness gained from, a purposeful and productive existence, so nihilism is definitely off the table. She understands man as an inherently rational being, not governed by whims or emotion. She’s also supports the idea of a concrete reality, independent of what people want it to be. In fact, she’s pushing the reader towards living their life under exactly that creed. To strive towards a “face without pain or fear or guilt”, unburdened by the world that others try to make you believe. Appropriate for a philosophy dubbed objectivism, and it accordingly places her at a distance from relativism. Though, Rand exceeds even this, placing humanity exclusively, solely on this Earth. No afterlife, no higher plane. No Christianity, no Buddhism, not even Plato’s less explicitly religious theory of forms. Are you seeing a trend here?
Because I personally am well versed in the basic tenets of socialism, and nihilism, and relativism, and Christianity, and Plato. Without ever seeking them out. These are all ideologies that I have become well versed in, because time, and time, and time again, people keep bringing them up. This is what I meant, when I mentioned in the intro that you and I don’t know anything about Atlas Shrugged. Every positive tenet of Rand’s ideology enjoys surprisingly little discussion, while everything she goes against has a strange habit of getting talked to death. When reading through Atlas with an open mind, it has a strange tendency to suck you in. Nihilism is a sad, useless philosophy, so why is it beloved? The removal of objective truth completely flouts all human progress, why is it so popular? Socialism, taken to its extreme, really does stifle the best that mankind can produce, while encouraging our most despicable traits, so why do people preach it so fervently? Why must we find goodness in a world that is unreachable, when our world is right here?
When other writers tell of the apocalypse, it happens. The apocalypse is an event, placed in time, that drastically changes all of human society. Ayn Rand does not simplify her apocalypse. She understands that every human event has a cause, and creates instead, a tragedy of ideology. The events and actions that broke the world are exactly what we should expect. Their originator is among us today, fat with power and prestige. Basking in the light. Until the sun can be seen no more.
The Diagnosis
Congratulations! You made it through! I’m so proud of you. That was a whole lot of words, but you ain’t no slouch. You read ‘em all. What a cool person you are. Well, I’m here to let you know that the book review is officially finished. You now know a little bit more about Atlas Shrugged. Everything else is gonna be my opinions on the book, which are pretty worthless, if I’m being honest. Well, worthless to you at least. I obviously think they’re the most important thing in the world.
So, let’s lead off with the obvious. I think that Atlas Shrugged is an amazing book. It’s so rare to find philosophy which is this engaging. The book almost reads like a crime novel at times, as you slowly learn how to think like the detective, and start picking up on all of the clues that he saw from the beginning. Rand understands that philosophy in and of itself isn’t always enough to grab the reader, and strives to present that philosophy in the most compelling way possible. With resounding success, I’d say.
Commendations and Criticisms…
Now that that’s out of the way, let’s start to dig in to that philosophy. Ayn Rand has a fascinating ability to drastically overturn the norms of society, but in a way that is somehow super reasonable.
Take greed for example. Everyone hates greed. It’s the worst, it’s a sin, those businessmen are ruining America for everyone else. Then Rand comes along and says greed is good. Because, if I want your money, and you want a toaster, and I make a toaster in order to get your money, then my greed has made society a better place. You have a toaster, I have money. Why are you morally upright for wanting a toaster, while I’m a delinquent for wanting money? In fact, if I didn’t want your money, then you wouldn’t have a toaster. That would suck!
Of course, it’s easy to point to bad things that companies or businessmen do in the name of greed, but I think Rand would point out the very relevant fact that those bad things are only possible with the voluntary financial support of humanity. No business can exist without employees. If a business is cruel to its workers, and continues to exist, it is because the workers are willing to accept the cruelty. No business can exist without customers. If a business is cruel to its customers, and continues to exist, it is because the customers are willing to accept the cruelty. If we truly despise the industrialist, all we have to do is stop buying their product. No one is forcing us to buy it in the first place.
If there is a legitimate criticism of greed, it probably comes from a much more fundamental location. Greed is evil if the wants and desires of humanity are evil. Greed strives to fulfill those desires, so an excess of greed encourages the worst of humanity. Even this criticism has some issues though. Human desire is an incredibly vast and varied thing. Declaring all of it, or even most of it to be fundamentally evil is a pretty big reach. And if most of human desires aren’t inherently evil, then we should probably be condemning our failings on an individual level, not under the blanket context of greed.
I’m sure there are some counterarguments that I’m missing here, but Rand’s assessment on greed holds up surprisingly well, in my opinion. That said, she loses me a bit once we get to selfishness. She brings up the point that my own wants and desires are the most important thing to me, which I’d say holds up. After all, I am the only one who can change my wants and desires. I am the one who most closely understands my wants and desires. I am the only one who will reliably work to bring them to fruition, and that makes sense, because my wants and desires are (typically) to my benefit.
But then she takes it in a weird direction, pointing out that when a parent cares for their child, that is a selfish act. Because the parent’s selfish values place the well being of their child over their wealth. Which, I don’t know about you, but that sounds exactly like how I would define selflessness. Placing the well being of others above other things which I value. Seems like you’re just twisting terms around in order to pretend that people are being selfish, Rand.
… and Observations…
One of my broader observations of objectivism is that it is very much a young man’s ideology. And it excels in that regard. I mean, just look at John Galt’s oath: “I swear by my life and my love of it that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine.” A creed like that is something to learn and live by. It speaks of independence, of rigorous self improvement. It encourages you to take control and ownership over everything you do, and to strive to always do better. No excuses. No handouts. Only you. Failure is to be overcome, success to be earned, and therefore owned. In the character of Dagny Taggart, I think that Ayn Rand is hoping to expand this ideology to women as well. To urge them to take control of their life, and live it on their terms, by their own two hands.
But this also reveals some weaknesses. Once children start entering the picture, once the elderly and the handicapped are present, Rand’s worldview breaks down a little bit. A three year old is not a productive member of society. Should they starve? Grandma breaks her hip whenever she walks down the block. Should she be abandoned? Rand’s ideology works very well when it is addressing capable adults. A beggar should not rely on alms if they can make a decent, honest wage working at McDonalds. Their distaste for a job in the fast food industry doesn’t entitle them to another person’s wallet. But Paw-paw is too weak for McDonalds, and his mind is too slow for anything else. He is not opting in to an unproductive lifestyle, he simply has one. Is it unreasonable for society to provide him some of our excess wealth? Even if it is unearned?
Since the vast majority of people within society are perfectly capable of some level of productivity, this isn’t the worst problem to have, but it shows the fleshy underbelly of objectivism. Selflessness serves an important role in our society, and significantly alters what we consider to be morally good. Rand is right to point out the importance of selfishness, but fails to adequately account for the advantages of controlled, selective selflessness within a society. Or, then again, maybe that’s just the terminology talking. She does seem to be in favor of voluntary selfishness that favors other people, after all. i.e. Voluntary selflessness.
… and the Rest
In regards to truth and rationality, well, Rand is preaching to the choir, so long as I’m the one reading. I can personally attest to how freeing it is to live without indulging in convenient little lies. People can trust you when you say something, and better still, forcing yourself to tell the truth also forces you to acknowledge genuine flaws in your character, while recognizing the parts of yourself that are worthwhile, in spite of what others believe. It helps you identify the parts of you that need fixing, and parts that are worth being proud of.
Rand also does a great job of supporting rationality, pointing out how pervasive the thing is. No one would decry how useless an arm is in their everyday life, but logic and rationality get bashed pretty hard on the world stage, for something which every single human uses on a frequent basis. Take away the highly rational construct of language, and poets suddenly struggle to express their deeply felt emotions, wouldn’t you know. Perhaps it isn’t the cure-all which Rand makes it out to be, but it’s pretty close, and I can hardly fault her for exaggerating a bit in a work that’s this stylish.
Hmm, what else is there? Oh yeah, love. I should probably talk about love. Thanks to how she views selfishness, the expression and importance of love undergoes a pretty drastic change. I value her more as an outsider opinion on this point. She reveals aspects of love which we don’t typically think about. As an extension and expression of what you value in the world. As something which you earn by improving your self, not by changing or conceding to someone else. Love as an identity, not an action. These are all important aspects of love, but they are often overshadowed by a focus on selflessness, kindness and compromise. Selfish and selfless, each of these is needed for a lasting, fulfilling relationship. A good relationship involves compromise, but it also involves finding the person that you will have to compromise the least with. And yes, it does involve a willingness to commit, rather than desperately hoping that your lover doesn’t find a better fit for their values, year after year. Marriage is good, Dagny should give it a try.
Unfortunately, Rand is no revolutionary in the world of sex. Or, maybe she was, and that’s the problem? I mentioned how objectivism starts to fall apart when you introduce children to the equation, and sex is no exception to this. Reading through Atlas Shrugged, you’d be forgiven if you came away convinced that sex has absolutely nothing to do with baby making whatsoever. It is an immense pleasure, it is a gift of highest value to a partner of highest value, it is the culmination of everything which is good and valuable in this world, expressed in the movement of two bodies. What is this ‘small human’ you speak of. I do not believe they exist. They do not belong in any discussion of sex, take them away. So, no breakthroughs on that front, oh well. Perhaps one of these days I’ll find a writer that is willing to acknowledge that sex is both a procreative act and an intimate, pleasurable experience.
As the Lights Fade
But all of this is ultimately a sideshow to the core of Rand’s message, which seems like an excellent thing to wrap this beast of an essay up with.
America is a nation that is founded upon ideals. Freedom, and equality. Not one, or the other. Rand’s greatest fear, above all others, is that we should become a nation of equality, and nothing else. Because there is only one way that you can make a nation of equals. You must take away from the high, and give to the low. You must take from our strongest, smartest, most driven individuals, and give to the weakest, stupidest, and laziest. Providing for those which are unwilling to produce.
I think there’s this general conception that removing poverty is a fixed value. Americans are X billions of dollars below the poverty line, so all we have to do as a society is raise and distribute X billion dollars, and it will be solved! But poverty isn’t as simple as that, because it involves humans. Lottery winners go broke, and that same basic principle applies to poverty. Living a good life means you have to earn more money than you spend, and handouts don’t fix that core, underlying problem. If anything, they encourage an increase in spending. To a higher, even more unsustainable level. Give a man a fish, and he’ll be back tomorrow asking for more fish.
If we really want to deal with poverty, as a society, it isn’t as simple as throwing money around. It involves ensuring that the rungs to escape poverty are present, and acknowledging that not everyone will elect to grab hold. And where do those rungs come from? They come from free trade. Employment. Because employers don’t keep bad employees around. But if someone is willing to work, and work well, then someone is willing to pay.
Humans are unique, in our inequality. If a toad is stronger than other toads, then what happens? It bullies the others, gets more mates, and then dies. On that model, yeah, it probably would be better for all humans to be equal. Screw you Todd, we’re all gonna split up the women equally! But if a human is particularly smart, or driven, then their success can fundamentally change the way that all humans live, for the better. Better food, comfortable furniture, entertaining toys, you name it! Even people below the poverty line today are far better off than the tribe leaders of ten thousand years ago. That would not be the case if we systematically crippled every intelligent, driven human that was born. When we take up issues like inequality in our discourse, this needs to be at the forefront of our minds. When toads are unequal, we get buff toads. When humans are unequal, we get skyscrapers, and lifesaving medication, and astonishing works of art.
When one man creates these things, and keeps them to himself, asking for extortionate sums of money in exchange, it is easy to start thinking that it would be better to steal it away from him. Who is he to hoard such a valuable object? Can’t he see how much society needs that invention? Can’t he see the children dying, unable to afford their treatment? I know it’s hard, but try to keep an eye on the long game. Take too much, and the next lifesaving medication never gets made. The next scientific breakthrough never gets researched. Regardless of what price is charged today, society always wins in the long run. And let’s be honest, here. If you create something amazing? If you redefine the bounds of human knowledge, or fulfill humanity’s greatest need, or create something which makes everyone’s life on this planet just a little bit more enjoyable?
You deserve to be filthy stinking rich.