James Taggart

  He tries to make his able employees feel that they are dependent upon him, that he does them a favor by giving them a job. He loses all his good employees that way (among other reasons). He doesn’t do that with the incompetent ones, whom he prefers and encourages; in fact, he is “a friend of the workers,” he likes to stress his dependence upon them and yelps a lot about “team work.” He tries to crush the individual—and fawns over the collective. He tries “to keep in his place” any man on whom he knows himself to be dependent.

  Dagny Taggart

  Her error—and the cause of her refusal to join the strike—is over-optimism and over-confidence (particularly this last).

  Her over-optimism is in thinking that men are better than they are; she doesn’t really understand them and is generous about it.

  Her over-confidence is in thinking that she can do more than an individual actually can; she thinks she can run a railroad (or the world) single-handed, she can make people do what she wants or needs, what is right, by the sheer force of her own talent, not by forcing them, not by enslaving them and giving orders—but by the sheer over-abundance of her own energy; she will show them how, she can teach them and persuade them, she is so able that they’ll catch it from her. (This is still faith in their rationality, in the omnipotence of reason. The mistake? Reason is not automatic. Those who deny it cannot be conquered by it. Do not count on them. Leave them alone.)

  On these two points, Dagny is committing an important (but excusable and understandable) error in thinking, the kind of error individualists and creators often make. It is an error proceeding from the best in their nature and from a proper principle, but this principle is misapplied (through lack of understanding of others and of their own relations with others). This is excusable, since it is their nature not to be too concerned with others, therefore not to understand them, particularly when the creators are unsocial by nature, and also could not possibly understand the psychology of a parasite, nor wish to bother wondering about it.

  The error is this: it is proper for a creator to be optimistic, in the deepest, most basic sense, since the creator believes in a benevolent universe and functions on that premise. But it is an error to extend that optimism to other specific men. First, it’s not necessary, the creator’s life and the nature of the universe do not require it, his life does not depend on others. Second, man is a being with free will; therefore, each man is potentially good or evil, and it’s up to him to decide by his own reasoning mind which he wants to be; the decision will affect only him; it is not (and should not be) the primary concern of any other human being. Therefore, while a creator does and must worship Man (which is reverence for his own highest potentiality), he must not make the mistake of thinking that this means the necessity to worship Mankind (as a collective); these are two entirely different conceptions with diametrically opposed consequences. Man, at his highest potentiality, is realized and fulfilled with each creator himself, and within such other men as he finds around him who live up to that idea. This is all that’s necessary.

  Whether the creator is alone, or finds only a handful of others like him, or is among the majority of mankind, is of no importance or consequence whatever; numbers have nothing to do with it; he alone or he and a few others like him are mankind, in the proper sense of being the proof of what man actually is, man at his best, the essential man, man at his highest possibility. (The rational being who acts according to his nature.)

  It should not matter to a creator whether anyone or a million or all the men around him fall short of the ideal of Man; let him live up to that ideal himself; this is all the “optimism” about Man that he needs. But this is a hard and subtle thing to realize—and it would be natural for Dagny always to make the mistake of believing others are better than they really are (or will become better, or she will teach them to become better) and to be tied to the world by that hope.

  It is proper for a creator to have an unlimited confidence in himself and his ability, to feel certain that he can get anything he wishes out of life, that he can accomplish anything he decides to accomplish, and that it’s up to him to do it. (He feels it because he knows that his reason is a [powerful] tool—so long as he remains in the realm of reason, i.e., reality, and thus does not desire or attempt the impossible, the irrational, the unreal.) But he must be careful to define his proper sphere of desires or accomplishments, and not to undertake that which is contrary to the premise of independence and individualism on which he functions. This means not venturing into second-handedness (which will end in certain failure).

  Here is what he must keep clearly in mind: it is true that a creator can accomplish anything he wishes—if he functions according to the nature of man, the universe, and his own proper morality, i.e., if he does not place his wish primarily within others and does not attempt or desire anything that is of a collective nature, anything that concerns others primarily or requires primarily the exercise of the will of others. (This would be an immoral desire or attempt, contrary to his nature as a creator.) If he attempts that, he is out of a creator’s province and in that of the collectivist and the second-hander. Therefore, he must never feel confident that he can do anything whatever to, by or through others. He must not think that he can simply carry others or somehow transfer his energy and his intelligence to them and make them fit for his purposes in that way.

  He must face other men as they are (recognizing them as essentially independent entities, by nature, and beyond his primary influence), deal with them only on his own, independent terms, and deal only with such others as he judges can fit his purpose or live up to his standards (by themselves and of their own will, independently of him). He must not deal with the others-and if he does, he must not fool himself about them, nor about his own power to change them.

  Now, in Dagny’s case, her desperate desire is to run TT. She sees that there are no men suited to her purpose around her, no men of ability, independence, and competence. She thinks she can run it with incompetents and parasites, either by training them or merely by treating them as robots who will take her orders and function without personal initiative or responsibility, while she, in effect, is the spark of initiative, the bearer of responsibility for a whole collective. This can’t be done. This is her crucial error. This is where she fails.

  But both these errors—of over-optimism and over-confidence—are excusable and understandable, because they proceed from a creator’s nature and virtues, because they proceed from strength and courage, not from weakness and fear.

  Note (for Dagny or any executive): cooperation is possible only on terms of equality, i.e., between ability and ability (though one man’s ability may be greater than another’s), not between ability and incompetence, nor between intelligence and stupidity. Cooperation must be between equals in kind, who might differ in degree—but it can’t be between opposite kinds. Cooperation is possible only among independent men, by free, voluntary, rational agreement to mutual advantage, each being concerned primarily with his own personal benefit, and being concerned with the benefit of the other only to the extent of not making himself a parasite, not getting something from the other for which he gives nothing in return.

  But you wish to do something involving a great number of men, like running a railroad? It can’t be done, except on the above terms of cooperation between rational, independent individuals. If you can’t find them—don’t wish to do it; hold your work to the “non-social” scale (that’s all your work actually is, anyway); you can’t force the ability of others; let the scale of your work develop naturally, without your participation or concern; if it doesn‘t, it means that you’re living in a world where it can’t—a collectivized world.

  April 19, 1946

  Dagny is an example of the material exploitation of the creator, in the sense that her life in the world, with others, is made miserable—but she is not touched inside. They use her only in the sense of expropriating the material benefits which are the result of her ability, and robbing her of credit for it. She has to give up (in effect, not quite knowing it) all hope of a real world of her own kind, and live alone in her own world, seeing its expression only in her work.

  The industrialist is an example of the spiritual exploitation of the creator—exploitation within his soul, by his acceptance of the altruist-collectivist philosophy, therefore his feeling of guilt, therefore his spiritual unhappiness. (This, probably, is also the case of the composer, or some other of the martyred artists.)

  The main, concrete dramatization of the methods and forms of how the world exploits the creators must be in the lives of Dagny and the industrialist.

  Dagny, who is considered so hard, cold, heartless and domineering, is actually the most emotional, passionate, tender and gay-hearted person of all—but only Galt can bring it out. Her other side is what the world forces on her or deserves from her.

  The plot line—the collapse of TT (and of the world).

  The emotional line—Dagny’s quest for John Galt.

  The philosophical line—Dagny vs. James Taggart (or John Galt vs. James Taggart).

  April 20, 1946

  The line for Dagny:

  A disappointing attempt at a romance at the age of eighteen.

  The railroad worker. (?)

  Stan Winslow. (?)

  [Added later:] Hank Rearden.

  John Galt.

  She goes on strike as soon as she finds [Galt] in the subway. She quits TT and moves to live with Galt in his garret. (The greatest scientist and the ablest woman in the world are a subway guard and a housewife in a garret.)

  James Taggart finds her there. She breaks down once—by coming back to give advice in an emergency, to run the railroad, almost in spite of herself.

  James Taggart gets Galt through Dagny (using Galt’s love for her in some way—[perhaps] through threat).

  Dagny saves Galt (probably with Francisco d‘Anconia and Ragnar Danneskjöld).

  Dagny cries in the subway because she remembers Galt’s lines: “We hold, in the world, the jobs which the world wishes us to hold.” (The world of the parasites doesn’t know or admit that its place for a genius is the job of a subway guard—but that is what the parasite’s philosophy implies—so the strikers are living up to it, by way of a demonstration and a lesson.)

  The gradual desertions:

  John Galt, Francisco d‘Anconia, and Ragnar Danneskjöld are the charter members of the strike.

  Show them in action, withdrawing the creators from society, “stopping the motor of the world”—particularly Galt doing it.

  The strikers who have stopped by the time the story opens are (in addition to the three leaders): the philosopher, the missing millionaire, the ship owner.

  The strikers who will stop as the story progresses: the composer, the young engineer, the girl writer, the secretary, the industrialist, Dagny Taggart, and last—the priest.

  (Also show the incidents when the help of the missing strikers would have saved the situation—but they’re not there; only the James Taggarts are.)

  April 23, 1946

  Outline: The Strike Part I: The End

  [A restatement of the first scene, already given in her January 1945 notes, then:]

  Introduction of the issue which is threatening TT. (“Who is John Galt?” said again—the connotations made clearer.)

  Introduction of Dagny Taggart. The gush of fresh wind in the offices. (?) Or: The girl in a tan coat on the train.

  Gerald Hastings (under an undistinguished British name) working as a bookkeeper in the offices of TT. (Somewhere, here or probably later—the story of Hastings’ scuttled fleet.)

  Introduction of Hank Rearden and Rearden Steel. His wife, his mistress, his son, his secretary. He is Dagny’s only real friend—their mutual understanding.

  The issue threatening TT ends with a huge loss and discovery that it was brought about deliberately by Francisco d‘Anconia. (D’Anconia Copper of Argentina.)

  Dagny’s meeting with d‘Anconia—and whatever revenge or retaliation she attempts. Their “reluctant friendship.” (“Oh well, who is John Galt?” “Stop using that cheap figure of gutter legend!”)

  The composer who quits—this in connection with Dagny’s love for his music. (Here we give Dagny’s past—the disappointing romance at eighteen.)

  Plant the stories of the philosopher who quit, the missing millionaire who vanished, and Ragnar Danneskjöld, the smuggler. Also the “replacers” of the composer and of the philosopher. Here—the influence of philosophy on people like Mrs. Rearden, her son, etc.—and on “the man of pity.”

  Father Amadeus.

  Dagny and the girl-writer.

  Dagny and the talented engineer who quits.

  Dagny’s decision (as a consequence of the d‘Anconia disaster) to get supplies from Ragnar Danneskjöld. James Taggart’s horrified protests. D’Anconia arranges Dagny’s meeting with Danneskjöld—at night, on the coast of Maine. (The friendship of the two men. Danneskjöld’s antagonism to Dagny. “It’s a rotten joke, Francisco.” “We each have our fun in our own way.” Then: “I wanted Miss Taggart to learn a lesson.” “She won’t learn it.” “No—not yet.”)

  Dagny and the disappointing attempt of a weakling at a romance with her. The railroad wreck—her night of work—her first affair, with the railroad worker. The bitter morning after.

  Dagny and the discovery that her bookkeeper is Gerald Hastings. His refusal of a better job. She saves him from the police.

  Dagny and Stan Winslow. Their romance. Their struggle against James Taggart [and the other parasites].

  (Throughout—the John Galt legends.)

  The girl-writer and the stranger at the window. She quits.

  Dagny sees the talented engineer at an employment agency board. But he refuses her job.

  Stan Winslow’s romance with a blond dumbbell. Dagny’s break with him.

  In connection with trouble on TT, Dagny has to appeal again either to d‘Anconia or Danneskjöld. The man refuses. She flies after him in an airplane. His plane vanishes in the mountains—with no landing field anywhere in sight. When she attempts to follow—the inexplicable crash.

  John Galt. (“We never had to take any of it seriously, did we?” “No, we never had to.”) The valley. The new symphony by the composer. The strikers. They refuse her job [offers]. Then she has to leave the valley, promising to keep the secret.

  Dagny’s search for John Galt—meeting with d‘Anconia—return to valley, finding it empty—the anger of the millionaire.

  Dagny’s resignation—her decision: “I shall live for you—I always have—even if you’re to remain only a vision never to be reached.”

  Part II: The Beginning

  Another step in the disintegration of TT and the world.

  In connection with it, the final tragedy of Hank Rearden and of his secretary. Their scene together when they realize the similarity of their tragedies—and the cause. Then—the man who wishes to see Rearden, the name in the sealed envelope—“It must be a gag.... What does he look like?” “Like something out of a kind of aluminum-copper alloy.”

  Hank Rearden quits. The collapse of Rearden Steel. (His secretary quits, too.)

  As a consequence, the emergency that threatens TT and the world.

  Dagny escapes, in horror, from a banquet where James Taggart and the other parasites discuss the course of action they will take to solve the emergency. She runs into the subway. She sees the subway-guard: John Galt. He looks at her, and walks on without a word. She sits there, sobbing. A bum tries to console her. (The sight of a lady in evening clothes, sobbing in the subway, seems quite natural to him. “Oh well, who is John Galt?”) Towards morning, Galt comes back—“All right, come on.” Their walk in silence, through the streets in early morning, to his home. At the door, he turns and looks at her for the first time. The same smile as on their first meeting: “We never had to take any of it seriously, did we?” “No, we never had to.” They climb the many flights of stairs to his room; she doesn’t remember how she climbed the stairs, she knew only that she was rising; she doesn’t remember whether it was a long climb—it had taken her thirty years to reach this room. Their night together. He tells her about the strike. Dagny quits—and moves in to live with him. The greatest scientist and the ablest woman in the world are a subway guard and a housewife in a garret.

  As a result of (or precipitated by) Dagny’s withdrawal—the final emergency which causes the President to announce his world broadcast.

  The reason that makes Galt come out in the open.

  The chapter called: “This is John Galt Speaking.” The broadcast: Galt’s statement on the cause and purpose of the strike; his demand of complete freedom—the removal of all chains, including the moral ones.

  The panic following the broadcast. The government’s attempts to say it was a hoax—but nobody believes this. The proclamation of the strikers, signed: “John Galt, Francisco d‘Anconia, Ragnar Danneskjöld.”

  The government attempts to “negotiate” with Galt by secret short-wave broadcasts. His answer—“We do not recognize your right to bargain with us.”

  The scene of Galt and the priest meeting in a dinky restaurant at night—with the world collapsing around them.

  James Taggart (through some connection with Dagny—possibly her one breakdown of giving him advice to save TT) finds John Galt and betrays him to the government.