The exploration continues with a dark prediction, a tribute to Ayn Rand's most subtle rendering, and reader comments.
[Entry 1 in this discussion is here.]
Subject: Part I, Chapters 1 through 5
Oh exalted ones!
I confess that I am a first-time reader of Atlas Shrugged. The only work I have ever read by Ayn Rand is Anthem, which I was assigned in the seventh or eighth grade, deep in the Reagan years, and haven't looked at since. At the time I much enjoyed that book; in fact, it's one of the few from those junior high school English classes of which I have any real memory. I think I read that slim volume in one sitting, compelled by the sheer weirdness of the story and the tautness of Rand's prose, and to this day can recall its final, climatic moment -- the annunciation of "EGO." I don't think I was at all taken in by Rand's vision, however, and have never been tempted to pick up one of her other novels or her later philosophical works.
I come to Atlas Shrugged, then, not as a teenager but as an adult. I also come as a student of social and political thought and literature, as someone who has spent many hours reading and thinking and writing about the tradition of political theory in the West, and as someone suspicious of -- indeed, hostile to -- what I know of Rand's ideas about politics, economics, and society.
Over the past few years, as Atlas Shrugged has become more and more widely discussed in the media, I have wondered about the novel, its long popularity, and how it serves as a vehicle for and enactment of Rand's peculiar teaching, Objectivism. This is why I am so excited about the opportunity to read and discuss the book in this forum, to attempt take it seriously as a work of fiction and of theory. And I am open to Conor's suggestion that we don't have to accept or reject Rand's work completely. In reading, I will try to follow his advice. But I am discovering that this will be difficult. In fact, though we come from quite different political (and religious) positions, I find myself concurring with Michael's unfavorable first impressions. Many of my comments here will reflect his thoughts.
There is, as Conor says, a lot to discuss in these first five chapters, much of which I admit to finding somewhat slow going. I was expecting a pot-boiler, or at the very least a page turner. I am astonished that Conor has read it three or four times as a grade schooler. (I will not even pretend to think that I would have made it through the novel as a kid!) What I have gleaned so far is that Atlas Shrugged is less of a work of literature than a project masquerading as a novel. But I don't think that this is much of a revelation.
Rand's core theme, one that is hammered home on almost every page of the book, is that we are faced with a struggle between the creative, independent individual, who is "the exalted," "the heroic," against what one character calls "the human element," the interests of society, "the looters." This is a book in which "the public" is a parasite, "non-material considerations" are an illusion, and "humanitarianism" a dirty word, perhaps the most filthy of all.
Rand is not at all interested in nuance here; the theme is underscored not only in the speeches but also, as Michael has discussed, etched on the faces and bodies of her characters. It will not be too difficult to tell the heroes and the villains apart in Rand's world. Clearly, Rand does not trust the moral imagination of her readers. And it is clear, too, even in these early pages, that Rand is setting up a Manichean world of light versus darkness, good versus evil, the exalted (and those who recognize them) versus the looters. This is not a book that is interested in exploring the ambiguities of the soul or the vagaries of human behavior. (Hank Rearden may be the most complex, and conflicted, character in these pages, but in Rand's world that's not to his credit.) I'm not going to expect much character development or epiphanies in later chapters.
It is well-known that Rand claimed her only philosophical influence was Aristotle, but given her glorification of the strong and her hatred of the weak and their resentment Rand appears to be an apostle of a crude Nietzscheanism. Though she doesn't use the phrase, what Rand is enacting with her enlightened, progressive, public spirited businessmen like Jim and even Dan Conway is the triumph of a "slave morality" over that of the master, the strong and virtuous. (To see what I mean, take a look at the first essay of Nietzsche's On the Genealogy of Morals.) I suspect I'll have more to say about this in future posts.
As Michael has eloquently mentioned, this theme of the position of the individual against a group comes across most powerfully in Rand's suspicion of solidarity, in particular of familial relations and commitments. Consider chapter two, titled "The Chain," which narrates the inventor and entrepreneur Rearden's relations with his wife, Lillian, mother, and brother, Philip. Nearly the entire chapter is devoted to showing how Rearden is abused and exploited by his family members who fail to appreciate his virtues while living, parasitically, off his successes. Poor Rearden, Rand seems to suggest, doesn't have the wherewithal to deal with this lowly band of moochers they way they ought to be.
Compare Rearden's family troubles with Dagny's attitude towards her grandfather a few pages later, a passage worth citing in full:
Dagney regretted at times that Nat Taggart was her ancestor. What she felt for him did not belong in the category of unchosen family affections. She did not want her feeling to be the thing one was supposed to owe an uncle or a grandfather. She was incapable of love for any object not of her own choice and she resented anyone's demand for it. But had it been possible to choose an ancestor, she would have chosen Nat Taggart, in voluntary homage and with all of her gratitude.
Well, okay. But it would do Dagny right to remember that Nat was indeed her ancestor and that she is in fact an heiress. As that other great Randian creation, the seemingly rakish Francisco D'Anconia, is an heir to a copper-mine fortune. Granted, some of Rand's heroes are indeed "self-made" men, so far as it goes (I kept wanting to shout, "You didn't build that!"), but it is indeed curious that her two protagonists just so happen to be born into the families they would chose if they could. How fortunate for them indeed!
And then there is the idealistic young Eddie Willers, Dagny's loyal assistant, with whom the novel opens. So far in the novel, Eddie seems less a character than a type; his role, I suspect, is to display the kind of deference that the masses should show to the great. (I also suspect that he may be madly and impossibly in love with his "childhood friend," Dagny. We'll see if that suspicion is borne out. I kind of hope so, though it would be too bad for him for he is clearly not her type.) Eddie, of course, is not a brilliant individualist, but he knows one when he sees one, and is respectful of such power. He is the good company man, competent, knowing his place, and committed to his master. Consider what Eddie ponders as he walks into Jim's office: "Taggart Transcontinental, thought Eddie Willers, From Ocean to Ocean -- the proud slogan of his childhood, so much more shining and holy than any commandment of the Bible." Really, Eddie? Comparing the slogan of the railroad to the Bible? Regarding it as shining and holy? Here is a man who spends his nights sitting in the employee cafeteria baring his lonely thoughts to an anonymous railway worker. I suspect that many young readers like this novel because they fancy themselves like one of its heroes. The fact, however, is that their true role model is Eddie Willers.