Structure and Meaning in Ayn Rand's Novels

At our May 14 conference, "Objectivism Today," Kirsti Minsaas, a scholar from Norway, spoke on "Structure and Meaning in Ayn Rand's Novels." Following are excerpts from that address.

In her esthetic writings, Ayn Rand frequently emphasized the importance of structural organization in art. As a theorist, she obviously adhered to the principle of organic unity, holding that an art work must be integrated into a tightly unified whole. My purpose today is to draw your attention to how this principle informs not only Ayn Rand's theory, but also her own literary practice, by focusing on the structural composition of her two major novels, The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged. In particular, I want to discuss how an increased awareness of structural patterns in these two novels may affect not just our appraisal of their esthetic quality, but also our interpretation of their meaning....

In The Fountainhead, there is a scene where Howard Roark explains to Austin Heller that the reason why Heller takes such pleasure in watching the house Roark has built for him is that it possesses integrity, and that this integrity affects his appraisal. As he puts it: "Your own eyes go through a structural process when you look at the house. You can follow each step; you see it rise; you know what made it and why it stands."

It is my contention that, when we read one of Ayn Rand's novels, we have to go through a similar structural process. Like Roark's buildings, Rands novels are feats of complex structural integration-a fact frequently overlooked by commentators. In most discussions of her novels, whether friendly or hostile, we find a tendency to interpret incidents of character, of speeches, of descriptions, in isolation, divorced from the larger whole in which they occur. This, I think, is dangerous and will easily lead to maimed and distorted readings, since the proper understanding of a particular event or a particular character depends on its context, on its logical relation to other parts of the novel. As readers, as sophisticated readers of Ayn Rand's works, therefore, it is important that we make ourselves sensitive to the structural organization. That is to say, we must try to integrate the diverse elements of a novel, to observe the way its component parts are fitted together to form an integrated whole. Only in this way shall we be able to enjoy it esthetically and to fully comprehend its meaning....

Structure in Atlas Shrugged
Now, let's proceed to Atlas Shrugged. It has frequently been argued that the almost unbelievable structural complexity of Atlas destroys its unity, makes it a less integrated and therefore artistically less successful work than The Fountainhead. I don't agree. During my last reading of this novel, I was amazed to discover how masterfully Ayn Rand is able to integrate its complex and manifold material. It is precisely as a structural feat that we may appreciate its brilliance.

To see how, it is useful to take as our point of departure Rand's thematic intent with the novel. In Rand's formulation, the theme of Atlas is: "the role of the mind in man's existence." The plot-theme, the central conflict that links the theme to the action, is-also in her formulation-"the men of the mind going on strike against an altruist-collectivist society."

But the plot-theme, as Ayn Rand has pointed out, is only the first step in translating the theme of a novel into a plot, so the interesting question is: what are her next steps? How does she flesh out the plot-theme so as to turn it into what one critic calls a "fully living plot," one that serves her theme in a fully integrated way, incorporating every element of the story down to its tiniest detail? It is this fleshing out that will be my chief concern.

One of Rand's major strategies here is her use of what we may call a "cover plot," one that enables her to keep hidden the events of the major plot, the story of the strike, and to reveal them only gradually and in a retrospective way. This cover plot turns on Dagny's and Rearden's struggle to save their industries in a collapsing world. In addition, however, it turns on what we may see as Dagny's two quests: one being to find the inventor of the motor, the man she believes can save the world, the other to stop the destroyer of the world, the man she believes is draining the world of its brain power. Ironically, of course, the two quests involve a search for the same man, the question whether he is a savior or destroyer posing a puzzling paradox that must be solved before he can be found.

It is mainly through Dagny's pursuit of these quests, and her need to solve the puzzle they represent, that the secrets of the plot proper is revealed to us-much as in a detective story, where the plot centering on the detective struggling to solve a mystery uncovers a deeper hidden plot of crime. Rand's stroke of genius in Atlas is that the mystery to be solved is not simply a crime but the philosophical meaning of the many curious events that take place. She is in fact using the simple formula of a detective story to create a highly complex philosophical novel, a novel where the ideas are presented as answers to mysterious events.

Unified Parts, Unified Chapters, A Unified Whole
The manner in which this is accomplished can only be understood if we take a look at the novel's division into parts. As most of you will have noted, Atlas is divided into three major parts, each of which is again subdivided into ten chapters. What few may have noted is the thematic significance of this. For not only is the whole novel informed by a unifying theme, but so is each of the three major parts, and so again is each chapter, almost as in a system of Chinese boxes.

Let's consider the three-part division first. Once again, we must take our cue from the title headings: "Non-Contradiction," "Either-Or," and "A is A." These titles, of course, are meant as a tribute to Aristotle and refer to basic philosophical axioms. But this is not all. In addition, they serve a thematic purpose, suggesting something about the meaning of the unfolding events in the respective parts. In the "Non-Contradiction" section, we are presented with a string of strange and apparently contradictory events in a society beginning to fall apart: an inventor leaves the remnants of a revolutionary motor to rust in an abandoned factory, a brilliant copper producer turns into a worthless playboy, a prominent philosopher chooses to work as a cook in a diner, etc. How are we to understand these events? Is the world merely a meaningless and perplexing place? Or is there some rational explanation? This is the basic question posed by the first part, and we are given no answer, only hints-mainly through the title "Non-Contradiction."

What the title signifies is made explicit on the two occasions when Dagny is directly confronted with the principle of non-contradiction. The first time, when Francisco refers to it to suggest to her that he may not be the playboy he appears to be, the second time when Hugh Akston refers to it to answer her questions regarding the inventor of the motor. Flatly, both men tell her that contradictions cannot exist and that if she seems to be facing one, she must check her premises, thus hinting that there is some logical explanation that she is barred from seeing through an error in her thinking. What this error is, however, is a problem that she is left to solve for herself. Thus, from being involved in a mere detective search for the inventor of the motor, Dagny is embarked on a philosophical quest to discover her error, which in turn means that she has to resolve the many paradoxes that confront her. This wider quest, which blends with Rearden's tortured quest to solve the contradiction of his situation, serves to move the plot forward, but it also serves as a device to gradually uncover the primary plot, the plot of the strike and with it the deeper meaning of the mysterious events.

In this way, we are kept in suspense both on the plot level, in regard to what is going to happen, and on philosophical level, in regard to what is the significance of the things that happen. When the "Non-Contradiction" part draws toward its end, Dagny as well as the readers are confronted with a major paradox of the whole section: the fact that the triumph of the John Galt line is reversed to the destruction of Colorado. The symbolic image of this ironic reversal is Wyatt's torch, which faces Dagny and the reader with a huge question mark as section one concludes.

If we turn to the two other sections, we will discover that they too serve thematic issues suggested by the headings. In the "Either-Or" part, Dagny faces a fundamental choice, namely a choice between working for her railroad or giving it up. Significantly, this choice involves another paradox which Dagny has to resolve, a paradox Francisco holds up to her in the scene in the cabin, where he hints that the ideal man she claims she is working for, the man she sees at the end of the railroad, is perhaps best served by abandoning her railroad rather than by continuing to work for it. Ultimately, of course, this paradox is philosophical, involving a choice between two incompatible codes, the code of the strikers and the code of the looters. Dagny's problem is that she is striving to serve both, both God and Caesar, as Francisco puts it. The lesson she has to learn, as does also Rearden, the lesson learned by all the strikers, is that one cannot serve both, that it has to be one or the other.

It is only in part three, the "A is A" part, the section where we learn the true nature of the events-including the identity of "Who is John Galt?"- that Dagny and Rearden are able to resolve their contradictions, reach the full insight necessary to make the choice of joining the strike: Dagny, when she discovers the death premise motivating the looters, and Rearden, when he discovers the principle of the sanction of the victim. I hope this broadens your perspective on what an enormous feat of integration Atlas Shrugged really is, particularly the task of integrating plot and theme. As in The Fountainhead, meaning must be inferred from the unfolding events, not only as they occur in isolation, as non-integrated incidents, but as they occur as part of a whole in their symbolic and structural relationships.

"The Top and the Bottom"
This becomes even clearer, although more complex, when we look at the chapter division. Just as the novel as a whole, as well as the three parts, are organized to convey a theme, so is each chapter. Time permits me to suggest only a few examples. Consider, for example, the chapter called, "The Top and the Bottom." What's this chapter about? Again, the title gives us a clue. What it refers to is the recurrent idea in Rand's novels that in an irrational society the best are frequently demoted to the bottom while the worst are to be found at the top. It is not easy, however, to infer this theme merely from the events. A better way is once again to consider certain symbolic and structural elements. If we do, we will discover that Ayn Rand has not forgotten the art of using the architectural setting [as she did in The Fountainhead] to suggest an idea.

The chapter opens with the following description: "The ceiling was that of a cellar, so heavy and low that people stooped when crossing the room, as if the weight of the vaulting rested on their shoulders. The circular booths of dark red leather were built into walls of stone that looked eaten by age and dampness. There were no windows, only patches of blue light shooting from dents in the masonry, the dead blue light proper for use in blackouts. The place was entered by way of narrow steps that led down, as if descending deep under the ground. This was the most expensive barroom in New York and it was built on the roof of a skyscraper."

The visual image is that of a cellar, built on the roof of a skyscraper. And who is occupying this place? Some exemplars of the bottom at the top: Wesley Mouch, James Taggart, Orren Boyle, and Paul Larkin. And what are they doing? Plotting against Rearden.

The last time I read this novel, with the special assignment of noticing things like this, I thought that surely there must be a corresponding passage conveying the opposite idea, that of the top at the bottom. Leafing through the pages, I discovered, at the very end of the chapter, a description of the Taggart underground cafeteria. "The cafeteria lay underground. It was a large room with walls of white tile that glittered in the reflections of electric lights and looked like silver brocade. It had a high ceiling, sparkling counters of glass and chromium, a sense of space and light."

And who is occupying this room? Very aptly, Eddie Willers and John Galt, in his mean position of railroad worker. Of course, the full significance of this description will not be detected on the first reading since the reader at this point doesn't know who John Galt is. This is one example, therefore, which demonstrates that to perceive such structural patterns it is necessary to read the novel several times. But it also is a good example of why the novel rewards such rereadings, contributing both to our esthetic delight and to our comprehension of meaning.

"Their Brothers' Keepers"
Let's consider another chapter, the one titled, "Their Brothers' Keepers." Rand's chief purpose with this chapter is to highlight what is a major theme of the whole novel, the evil of the idea that man is his brother's keeper. Her method is to show us the practical consequences of this idea in the form of the accelerating collapse of the whole country in connection with Francisco's act of blowing up his own copper mines.

The thematic significance of this chapter, therefore, can easily be inferred from the logic of the events, a logic ironically suggested by the message Francisco leaves on the calendar after the explosion: "Brother, you asked for it!"

But again, an alert eye on structural and symbolic elements will be helpful. The whole chapter, for example, is subdivided into four parts, each of which begins with the sentence that a copper wire has broken down somewhere in the country, in a course significantly going from California in the West to New York in the East, thus gradually paralyzing a whole continent.

To make clear to us the philosophical meaning of this industrial collapse, how it is the logical result of the idea that man is his brother's keeper, Rand makes rather ingenious use of Dagny as a reflector being able to reach this insight in the silent contemplation of her mind. This happens when she sits in Taggart's office looking rather absent-mindedly at the Taggart map. The many red lines on this map, which Eddie Willers earlier had thought of as a system of blood vessels, bringing growth and wealth to the whole country, now become in Dagny's mind a one-way traffic system, a one-way stream of blood running from a wound and draining the country of its last sustenance of life. Thus, the theme of the devastating consequences of accepting the idea that man is his brother's keeper is conveyed to us by having Dagny interpret the Taggart map symbolically in light of what she sees happening to the country. I can think of no passage in Ayn Rand's novels that more masterfully explicates the abstract significance of the action. ...[H]ere the thematic ideas are presented ... so poignantly clear through an inside view of Dagny's mind. The reason, I think, for its striking effect is that the idea presses itself on Dagny's mind with an inevitable power and clarity in response to the logic of the events....

A complete version of this talk is available as a The Objectivism Store Audio Tape