No, I’m not lost on that point. It doesn’t matter what a work is “supposed” to be. If you’re taking the position that it should be considered a “serious work of philosophic fiction” then you can’t handwave serious flaws in its explication of its philosophy. We’re not talking about minutia here; we’re talking about fundamental flaws. If I’m claiming Harry Potter is to be taken as a serious work of philosophic fiction, then I bear the burden of explaining magic.
Show me where I said that.
If that were really what was at issue, there would be no controversy at all.
The standards for judging art are not the same as the standards for judging whether a work, in my words, is an expression of some serious idea on how we should structure our government and economy or as evidence of the truth of some philosophical idea espoused by the author.
If you claim that a work is both, then it is subject to two different standards. You have to independently apply each of the two.
For one thing, you’re expecting Rand to write in the “Naturalism” school of literature, which she was vehemently opposed to. She wrote in the “Romantic Realism” school, which she spent an entire book on, *The Romantic Manifesto. *In it, she defines art as “a selective re-creation of reality according to an artist’s metaphysical value-judgments.” This applies to all arts, not just literature, and the key word here is *selective. *She focused on the characters and events that were most important, in the context of the story, and eliminated details that were relatively irrelevant. She never showed Dagny catching a cold or Galt being constipated . . . not that these things didn’t happen . . . we assume that they did . . . but they were irrelevant to the story. By the same token, we know that people starved, that there were looting gangs and catastrophes, and a Naturalistic writer would have covered these events with excruciating detail. A writer in the Romantic tradition focuses more on what is essential, by her value-judgments. The essential fact is that society was collapsing; the infinite minutiae of that collapse are non-essential. She assumed (I guess incorrectly) that the reader was smart enough to fill in the blanks.
I can’t speak for others, but I don’t see the serious flaw you’re describing. What the ordinary people do is covered in various passages in the text, including Jeff Allen’s story. He’s the tramp who stows away on Dagny’s train and explains the fate of the 20th Century Motor Company, which was the flashpoint of the strike. As soon as the owners got an employee vote to socialize the company, a young John Galt bailed, to be quickly followed by other members of the engineering staff. Allen describes how coming up with new ideas was effectively punished, because it showed one hadn’t worked to the best of his ability, with the result being the brightest of the remaining employees sank into willful mediocrity because why stick your neck out when the result is not a reward, but being ordered to just work harder? The company eventually collapses because nobody has any incentive to work hard. This attitude eventually spreads, it is implied, to the entire country, encouraging others to either go on strike (as Galt did) or just give up trying, like Dan Conway. I figure Jeff Allen is the typical “ordinary worker” and he gets a detailed chapter. He hasn’t quite given up hope, yet, but he speaks of people who have.
That’s the impression I get from this:
I brought up Animal Farm as example of a book that can do both. You’re comfortable with the extreme license it takes, saying that we can look elsewhere to gauge it’s merit as far as serious ideas we should take to heart. Fair enough.
Soon after AS, Rand became a full-time serious philosopher. So wouldn’t the fair thing to do be to accept AS as a work of fiction and then judge the philosophy it espouses by consulting her other non-fiction books? The books that explained her philosophy in detail? I think you’re just intent on pissing on AS an Rand. You’re not alone in that.
But she is an artist. A work of fiction is art. And I don’t just mean the pretty picture on the cover. Just because it may convey serious ideas at the same time doesn’t mean it isn’t. Surely you realize this.
If you claim that a work is both, then it is subject to two different standards. You have to independently apply each of the two.
Like I mentioned, for Animal Farm you’re happy to say we take the book as is as a work of fiction, but then we look elsewhere to gauge its merit as delivery vehicle for ideas we should take seriously. But you don’t extend that same courtesy to AS. Wonder why?
As far as the serious “flaws” you mention: Look, the book is like a thousand pages as it is. And she covers an unusually high number of characters with rather great detail. There are no “serious flaws”, and there’s no “magic” involved. Sure she took some license, like with the unfindable Colorado mountain escape, but the things you are referring to reflect conscious choices she made. Could she have? Of course. But then she either had to decide to write an even longer tome or leave out other elements. And how would it have helped to, what—show where each of the characters who bowed out of their jobs wound up. Does it really matter if someone like Roark, from TF, left to become a quarry worker as opposed to a logger?
The point is that if society makes it difficult to allow the most able among them to do what they do so well, society is hurting itself. If they make it too difficult, the most able might say “fuck it” and leave. And you worry about: oh, but where did they go? Where did they get enough food. How about toilets? Or some other such trivialities. It’s been quite a while, but I don’t recall Orwell explaining how the animals acquired the power of speech. Rand did not take as much license as Orwell, but neither was she shooting for slavish realism. As an artist, she chose to paint with broader strokes. She used words to do it. You seem to miss the forest for the veins on the leaves.
You don’t like her philosophy? Fine. You don’t like the book? Fine. But the criticisms you raise here are arguing for a different book. You need to judge this on its own merits. The information you claim is so lacking is immaterial. Maybe you should read stuff that is more in line with your philosophy. Or textbooks. Better yet, Rand’s philosophy books. 
I said nothing of the kind. I said exactly what I said for the Rand book. Judge its representation of its ideology for its own merit. The only difference is that it’s easier to judge Animal Farm on this scale because it’s allegory. Compare the book to the actual events it is representing and there you will find the degree of its philosophical integrity. With the Rand book, it’s not an allegory of an actual, historical event, so you don’t have the convenience of an actual, historical event to compare it to. That doesn’t mean you don’t do it; it just means it’s not as easy.
I don’t have any stake in viewing the book as either art or as serious philosophy. I’m just saying that if you’re going to hold it up as serious philosophy, then it must be subject to the standards of serious philosophy.
Your criticism seems to be that AS leaves gaping holes in her philosophy. While I disagree with that, let’s say it does. But why isn’t your attitude to look elsewhere to gauge its merit as a serious world of philosophy. You seem fine doing that with animal Farm. You said, “We can look at the historical events that it’s based on and see if there are any glaring inconsistencies.”
It’s not as if she hasn’t written books that explain her philosophy in detail. So is your problem with wholes in her philosophy, or in her story line, as a work of fiction?
One of the most common criticisms of Atlas is that there’s too much philosophy . . . too many long speeches. And here you are, criticizing it because it’s not a complete treatise on Objectivism, that she left things out. If you want that, you should read Piekoff’s book, *Objectivism. *How can you expect a complete, comprehensive philosophy within a novel that many think is already too long? She covered the main branches of philosophy: Metaphysics, epistemology, ethics and politics . . . plus economics, psychology, esthetics, and lord knows how many other topics. But you call it incomplete.
But the truth is: the philosophy is not the purpose of the book, and neither is the plot. The purpose of the book is John Galt. And Dagny. And Rearden. And Francisco. Rand’s purpose is to portray the “ideal man.” And all the philosophy and all the other characters, and all the plots and subplots exist to serve that end. The purpose of every syllable of Atlas is to support the character of John Galt. Rand could actually prove this; you could quote any brief passage of the book*, and she could explain how that passage serves the purpose of portraying the ideal man. Even the villains serve that purpose, by contrast.
*Any by the way . . . she could quote, from memory, every word of everything she had ever written.
Is the work (a) merely a work of fiction to be judged as art only or (b) is it an expression of some serious idea on how we should structure our government and economy or as evidence of the truth of some philosophical idea espoused by the author or (c) both?
If (b) or (c), then the depiction of events in the book must hold up to a serious examination of their plausibility. It doesn’t have to be a complete dissertation on the philosophy, but it must somehow hold up to comparison with reality. That’s the same standard I hold Animal Farm to. If it’s supposed to constitute a serious message about the history of the communist revolution in Russia, then the events in the book should hold up to comparison with reality. And it has nothing to do with talking pigs. If the pigs represent Bolsheviks, then we compare the actions of the pigs to the actions of the Bolsheviks. The difference with respect to Rand is that it’s not purportedly based on an actual event, so we compare it with rational projections about human and societal behavior. If they don’t jibe, then you have to give up on (b) and (c).
So it’s not (b) or (c)?
“Ideal” in what sense? In the sense that actual men should strive to emulate him? If so, then the book is not simply (a). It is either (b) or (c). Or is it “ideal” in the sense of “pure fantasy”?
To “support” the character? Every syllable? I don’t even understand what that means in the context of a novel. I can’t think of a genuine piece of literary art whose purpose can be described as “supporting” the protagonist.
Then read *The Romantic Manifesto. *I can’t explain her entire theory of literature here; it took her an entire book to do it, and I don’t agree with all of it.
Yes comment withdrawn I need to read the book again, I had it confused with something else I think. I have dug out my copy (last box in the loft as ever! Why oh why, my dear sweet wife, did you not label and categorise the books you thought I needed to put into the loft?) now I have to get up the courage to tackle that prose again…
Neither. Or both maybe. It is certainly a work of fiction and it doesn’t really get into any sort of real details on organizing government, the economy or corporate operations.
Basically, the book is a fictional tale exploring her Objectivist philosophy. John Galt is the ideal man (apparently, I haven’t got that far yet). He is the embodiment of Objectivist philosophy. All the protagonists emulate the same traits as Galt - competant, logical, motivated, industrious, self-centered. All the antagonists emulate the opposite traits - incompetant, weak-minded, lazy, protectionist, communal. Some characters act maliciously, passing legislation allowing them to essentially steal the works of other more successful individuals. Others are simply misguided and act out a desire to help the less fortunate through what amounts to wealth redistribution. And still others are just lazy, stupid, incomepetant, or just plane don’t have a grasp on reality.
So since it is a fictional tale, I’m not sure how it can be held up as evidence of anything other than Ayn Rand’s opinion. But reading it, you can certainly see parallels in the current economic climate.
The problem, msmith, which I am sure you have noticed, is that the protagonists are at least somewhat grounded in a philosophy, while the antagonists are sad caricatures. Don’t get me wrong, I think that some philosophies are sad and empty and were I deriding them I would probably do something similar to Rand, but then, I am not presenting a philosophical treatise. The problems with collectivism have nothing to do with the law of identity.
I think utilitarianism is a load of hooey, but that doesn’t mean I would paint utilitarians as granny-killers or people who took A Modest Proposal seriously.
I think moral realism is a load of hooey, but that doesn’t mean any errors I see in their reasoning must therefore permeate everything they do.
I think the Chinese Room argument is a deceitful conjuring trick, but that has little to do with just about anything other than the Chinese Room argument (which Searle seems have have abandoned anyway.)
Rand, with her protagonists as proxies, is simply sloppy.
It’s hard not to notice that as she hit’s you over the head with it like a rail made out of Reardon metal (I may have used that joke already…it’s a pretty long thread). But I think she does make some good points though. And it’s easy to emphesis with Reardon or Dagny if you’ve ever been in a management position in a large company and had to navigate countless bullshit decisions that seem to be based on favoritism, cronyism, politics or are just plain nonsensical and incomprehensible.
I also noticed that her protagonists are all loners. They have few, if any friends. Are all unmarried or in dreadful loveless marriages. The message seems to be that there is no greater purpose in life than business success.
There are exceptions. The trio of Galt, D’Anconia and Danneskjöld are great friends and had been since college. Danneskjöld is married to Kay Ludlow and they have two children in the Valley. Danneskjöld himself isn’t motived primarily by business success. His life goal is to become a purely theoretical philosopher/teacher like the trio’s mentor; Hugh Akston.
Galt also doesn’t seem interested in business, per se…he is more interested in pure science and in doing research. Not that he would turn down the money his inventions would make, but my impression of Galt from the books was more that his primary interest lay elsewhere than business.
Also, Galt has a pretty steamy love affair with Dagny and…well, don’t want to spoil it for the OP.
-XT
Keep reading. Her protagonists seem like loners . . . until they meet each other. Then they become the kind of friends who would literally risk their lives for each other. I saw the same kind of bond among Rand’s earliest associates, “The Collective,” who were the first-generation Objectivists. They energized and defended each other in the same way that Rand’s heroes did . . . and I remember the total devastation the “second-generation” Objectivists felt when the cohesion of our real-life heroes dissolved.
And regarding Rearden’s “dreadful loveless marriage,” it’s a crucial part of his character development . . . but like I said, keep reading. Things change.
If anything, it’s somewhat implausible that the Strikers got along so well, including them all liking Richard Halley’s music and such. And it was convenient that they (rarely) were ever in direct competition with each other. It wasn’t made clear what Ellis Wyatt, an oilman, would do when John Galt’s infinite-energy gizmo became common, but he was pretty calm about it, expecting he’d find something to keep him busy.
But, heck, it’s a novel.
I don’t find any of this implausible. There was an understandable amount of good will among them, and they even joked about competing with each other. And after all they’d been through, dealing with all the bureaucrats and incompetents, they would have been happy to hire each other . . . or work for each other.
And it’s perfectly logical that they’d all love Richard Halley’s music. That music was the embodiment of everything they stood for.
Rand felt that there could be no conflict between rational individuals.