Atlas Shrugged 2: Purpose (It’s Lit #14)
“To live, man must hold three things as the supreme and ruling values of his life: Reason—Purpose—Self-esteem. Reason, as his only tool of knowledge—Purpose, as his choice of the happiness which that tool must proceed to achieve—Self-esteem, as his inviolate certainty that his mind is competent to think and his person is worthy of happiness, which means: is worthy of living. These three values imply and require all of man’s virtues, and all his virtues pertain to the relation of existence and consciousness: rationality, independence, integrity, honesty, justice, productiveness, pride”
-John Galt in Atlas Shrugged, p. 932
This Essay is the second of a 4-part series on Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, covering these three values. Read the rest here.
Last week, I wrote about the importance of the Reason as a foundational value, as highlighted by Ayn Rand in Atlas Shrugged. One of the downfalls of living without reason is the danger of establishing your life and values on false premises. One of these false premises, in Rand’s philosophy, is the idea that life is suffering. Through living as though suffering is at the core of life, the characters in Atlas Shrugged are kept from finding the joy that their counterparts find through living a life with joy and purpose at the core.
The philosophy that life is suffering is espoused by many older characters in the novel. In some cases, it is even considered noble to suffer. Jim Taggart tells his girlfriend that “if a man is unhappy, really, truly unhappy, it means that he is a superior sort of person” (248). This philosophy allows Taggart to feel slightly better about his own unhappiness. If he can believe that those who are happy are either ignorant or malicious, he is able to take small comfort in the moral high ground that he has constructed for himself.
In another case, suffering is implied to be necessary in a journey taken to serve others. A critic of composer Richard Halley applauds his journey through years of being unnoticed, saying “it is noble that he should have endured suffering, injustice, abuse at the hands of his brothers—in order to enrich their lives and teach them to appreciate the beauty of great music” (71). This critic believes that you have to go through a certain amount of suffering to open people’s eyes. What allowed Halley to make such great music, however, was his joy in making the music—not opening anyone’s eyes.
Children are implied to be ignorant of this suffering early on in life. For instance, as one professor watches Francisco D’Anconia’s carefree childhood confidence, he sadly muses, “That boy is vulnerable. He has too great a capacity for joy. What will he do with it in a world where there is so little occasion for it?” (96). Rather than attempt to understand what it is that allows Francisco to live his life with such joy, the professor assumes that his joy is only experienced through ignorance of the realities of life. The Professor believes he is in for a rough fall when he realizes the “truth” that there is far more occasion for suffering in life than joy.
It is possible, however, that children recognize the truth of life—that there is an inherent joy in living, and that suffering is derived from false and destructive premises that are adopted as one ages. This joy, Rand argues, is available through working toward a purpose. In Francisco’s childhood, “two things were impossible to him: to stand still or to move aimlessly. ‘Let’s find out’ was the motive he gave…for anything he undertook, or ‘Let’s make it.’ These were his only forms of enjoyment” (93). D’Anconia’s joy, then, was not simply a blissful ignorance—it was derived from the fountain of purpose informed by his infinite imagination of the possible and the joy he took in working toward it.
The idea that life is suffering, according to Rand, is partially built on a false premise of what joy is. As Galt mentions in his speech, “your pleasure, you have been taught, is to be found in immorality…a liquor-soggy brain, a mindless slut…since pleasure cannot be moral” (925, 964-5). When these expedient pleasures are taught to be the epitome of fun, the work that it takes to follow your purpose are seen as its antithesis. Thus, work becomes suffering, an idea that is espoused by the very same who believe suffering to be at the core of life. Philip Larkin voices this directly to Rearden when he tells him that working is “a form of neurosis… When a man drowns himself in work, it’s because he’s trying to escape from something.” He then advises Rearden that he “ought to have a hobby” (39). What Philip fails to realize is that Rearden’s work is his hobby. Because he believes that work can only be a form of suffering or escapism, Philip keeps himself from finding the joy inherent in working hard. If he were able to let go of that premise, he may find joy at the center of life instead of suffering.
The protagonists of the novel do not buy into the premise that work cannot be joy, and find the most fulfilling joy in the work that they do. John Galt, for instance, voices the idea that true happiness comes through the quest to unlock your full potential, saying “every form of happiness is one, every desire is driven by the same motor—by our love for a single value, for the highest potentiality of our own existence—and every achievement is an expression of it” (704). Each of the protagonists are motivated by the idea that they can unlock their full potential, and they take joy in the work that leads them there. Galt likens this journey to finding the fountain of youth, and learns that once it is found, “it couldn’t be brought down” (169). Thus, the “fountain of youth,” the meaning of life, cannot be found through activities that broader society designates as appropriate diversions—rather, the fountain of youth is found through the hard work and discipline that it takes to become your fullest self.
After acknowledging that desire is motivated by the difficult yet rewarding quest toward becoming an optimized human being, the hard work that it takes to get there no longer feels like suffering. Dagny, well aware of her philosophy, states, “I started my life with a single absolute: that the world was mine to shape in the image of my highest values and never to be given up to a lesser standard, no matter how long or hard my struggle” (774). Dagny does not assume that her life will be void of struggle, and she would not desire it to be—not if it meant giving up a life and a world that could be shaped to fit her values. Instead, she sees that this struggle will lead to the greatest happiness, and so she is constantly motivated to keep moving against the current.
This motivation is also reflected in the protagonists’ views on fatigue. Both Dagny and Rearden find their work to be so engaging that they work through any sort of physical fatigue they may feel in their body. For instance, when Rearden is working on his metal, Rand states that he “had made up his mind that he would not be tired” (36). Similarly, when working on her plans for her railroad, “[Dagny] thought: You’re tired—and watched her own mood with severe contemptuous detachment, knowing that it would pass” (206). Rather than immediately giving in to their bodies’ impulses, Rearden and Dagny both let the feelings pass in order to pursue their passions.
Life, then, is only suffering if you wish it to be. To state that life is suffering is to condemn yourself to a life of suffering. That being said, life is difficult. Life is full of struggle. If you are true to your passion, however, and follow your heart with tenacity, though the struggle may become exacerbated, the journey and the reward may provide joy where others may only find suffering. By living in order to optimize yourself and realize your dreams, all struggles and difficulties take a second seat. All depression, exhaustion, and exasperation will pass. But first, you must admit that at the core of life is not suffering, but joy.