| A brief reflection on Ayn Rand's 'Atlas Shrugged'
I am beginning to understand that Atlas Shrugged is not merely a deceptive mask for the right, an act of cunning intent on treading shallow water rather than taking the big plunge. After reading over half of the book, and to my surprise, Ayn Rand has committed most of her time to the topics of love, morality, and the human condition.
Rather unconventionally, Ayn Rand has disregarded the idea that love is about sacrifice. We have all read those gushy novels, or seen those melodramatic movies, where say, a man risks his life in the name of his family, or, a girl defies her father to run away with the boy she loves. But are these really the selfless acts of love we are made to believe? Is love about giving, and giving unconditionally?
No. It is like any contract, however intangible the stakes may be. The man risks his life because he owes it to the single woman who alone is capable of allowing him to feel life in the first place.One's lover represents an idea, a feeling, a feeling that is inside oneself and recreated before one's eyes in material form. When a woman gives you her body you are not giving in to a primitive desire, but experiencing that feeling of rapture in it's tangible form. It is the process of making an idea real, a virtue that the likes of Dagny Taggart, Francis D'Anconia and Hank Rearden understand better than any other.
It is here that this book has affected me greatest - the sheer reality of binding thought with action. For so long I have sneered at the greedy capitalist, a subhuman materialist governed by things rather than the other way around. How can a human calculator, having never shown any interest in the arts and whose sole purpose seems to be aimed at profit, possibly know anything about morality, profundity, or life? Having veiled myself behind ideas, having indulged in the emotions ideas are meant to provoke, it has betrayed me to think that anything as dry as business could possibly offer those ineffable, profound feelings I get from the arts - or better yet something even greater.
There is something compelling about bringing thought and action together into a united whole. And the more I look around at those who profess to be learned, or cultured, the more it strikes me that these are the people who are missing half of the equation. If it feels so good to sit here and read my books, to empathize with the author's ideas, how must it feel to take those ideas and assert them to the world around me? Am I to give the world meaning, or am I to merely reflect on what the world means to me?
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