Thinking Through “The Fountainhead,” Part One

Ayn Rand was born in 1905. Her thought and works are still profoundly influential one hundred six years later. Movies are made from her novels, philosophical movements spring from the seed of her ideas. Rand’s integrated view of life and humanity, marked primarily by a coolly rationalistic and unabashed individualism, stands in opposition to the biblical witness, but she is nevertheless an image-bearer capable of creative expression and critical thought and valid observation about the world in which we find ourselves.

A significant part of the beauty of The Fountainhead lies in Rand’s ability to reveal the radical, self-serving  bent of the human heart in even the most benign of character relationships. Among the actors in the opening of her drama are:

• The mother who feigns willing compliance with her son’s career decisions while unleashing a  manipulative barrage of sentimental arm-twisting
• The high-achieving student whose lust for competition and success is the external manifestation of a violent insecurity that can only be consoled with the comfort of others’ failures
• The executive with the authority to professionally hijack the work of his inferiors and reap the glory due their diligence
• The journalist whose perspective on any given issue is determined by the outrage and animosity she hopes to incite in her unwitting audience
• The aspiring architect whose solitary ideal is that he shall always and only consider his needs, his desires, and never bend in the slightest form of submission to another

Some may object to Rand’s brand of representation, arguing that not every human being is as callously self-concerned as all of her characters. But The Fountainhead demands that we reconsider. Here we must remember that the duty and purpose of art is not merely to show us what we wish would be, but also what very simply is (whether we like it or not) and what could be if the potentialities embedded within us were released and permitted to rage to their inevitable extremes. Perhaps the objection is raised because Rand’s portrayal of the human condition is far too honest, far too clear, far too indicting for us to remain comfortable with rosy, all-too-optimistic conceptions of the intentions that often lie hidden in commonplace interactions and the relationships we hold dear, because we know that the veiled hideousness in her characters is well within our reach.

The Fountainhead brilliantly captures the sinfully egotistic thirst for self-preservation, self-advancement, and self-glorification that the Bible says dwells at the very core of rebellious and fallen human beings and permeates the individual decisions and social dynamics within which we inescapably operate.  Rand presents an understanding of humanity that is remarkably faithful to God’s own testimony about who we truly are. She is no more pessimistic about human nature than he.

And yet a question remains, begging to be answered: If this is our miserable lot, if this is our pitiable state of affairs, what on earth can be done for us?

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