Ayn Rand - The Early Ayn Rand

Out of this new material, I have three personal favorites: "Vesta Dunning," for the quality of the writing; "Kira's Viking," for its fairy-tale romanticism; and "The Husband I Bought," because it is a rare window on Ayn Rand's soul at the beginning, before she knew much about philosophy, art, or English — a window that reveals eloquently her own intense dedication to values. Along with the material I already knew, these pieces are what convinced me, as her literary executor, to publish the total.

To those unfamiliar with Ayn Rand, however, I want to say that this book is not the place to begin. Read her novels first. If their ideas interest you, you might then turn to her nonfiction works, such as The Virtue of Selfishness (on ethics), or Capitalism: The Unknown Ideal (politics), or The Romantic Manifesto (aesthetics). Then, if you wish, pick up the present collection.

If any reader wants more information — about Miss Rand's other published essays; about courses, schools, and publications that carry on her philosophy; or about further material of hers yet to be brought out (journals, letters, lectures) — I suggest that he write to Objectivism EA, P.O. Box 177, Murray Hill Station, New York, NY 10157. I regret that owing to the volume of mail, personal replies to such letters are not possible; but in due course inquirers will receive literature from several sources indicating the direction to pursue if they want to investigate Ayn Rand's ideas further, or to support them.

Ayn Rand has long been beloved by a broad public. Here then for all to read is her early fiction: the first of her stories, and also the last — the last, that is, for us to discover and to experience. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did.

Leonard Peikoff

New York City

Ayn Rand arrived in the United States from Russia in February 1926, at the age of twenty-one, and spent several months with relatives in Chicago before leaving for Hollywood. Although she had studied some English in Russia, she did not know the language well, and she devoted herself at first to writing scenarios for the silent screen. "The Husband I Bought" seems to be the only writing other than scenarios from these early months. It is the first story she wrote in English.

Miss Rand was aware that this story (like all her work in the 1920s) was a beginner's exercise, written in effect in a foreign language, and she never dreamed of publishing it. She did not even sign her name to it privately (although she had chosen the name "Ayn Rand" before she left Russia). She signed it with a pseudonym invented for this one case and never used again: Allen Raynor.

Many years later, Ayn Rand was asked to give a lecture defining the goal of her work. "The motive and purpose of my writing," she said, "is the projection of an ideal man. The portrayal of a moral ideal, as my ultimate literary goal, as an end in itself..." (The Romantic Manifesto).

Prior to The Fountainhead, however, she did not consider herself ready for this task; she knew that she had too much still to learn, both as a philosopher and as a writer. What she did regard as possible to her in these early years was the depiction of a woman's feeling for the ideal man, a feeling which she later called "manworship." She herself had experienced this feeling as a driving passion since childhood, primarily in response to the projections of heroes she discovered in Romantic literature.

Concepts such as "worship," "reverence," "exaltation," and the like are usually taken as naming emotions oriented to the supernatural, transcending this world. In Ayn Rand's view, however, this concedes to religion or mysticism what are actually the highest moral concepts of our language... [S]uch concepts do name actual emotions, even though no supernatural dimension exists; and these emotions are experienced as uplifting or ennobling, without the self-abasement required by religious definitions. What, then, is their source or referent in reality? It is the entire emotional realm of man's dedication to a moral ideal... It is this highest level of man's emotions that has to be redeemed from the murk of mysticism and redirected at its proper object: man. [1] The Fountainhead, 25th Anniversary Edition, Introduction.

"Man-worship" means the enraptured dedication to values — and to man, man the individual, as their only achiever, beneficiary, and ultimate embodiment. This is basically a metaphysical-ethical feeling, open to either sex, a feeling uniting all those "who see man's highest potential and strive to actualize it" — those "dedicated to the exaltation of man's self-esteem and the sacredness of his happiness on earth." [2] Ibid.

When a woman with this kind of character sees her deepest values actualized and embodied in a specific man, man-worship becomes (other things being equal) romantic love. Thus the special quality of the Ayn Rand romantic love: it is the union of the abstract and the concrete, of ideal and reality, of mind and body, of uplifted spirituality and violent passion, of reverence and sexuality.

Throughout the early years, female protagonists predominate in Ayn Rand's fiction; and one of their essential traits is this kind of man-worship. The early heroes are merely suggested; they are not fully realized until Roark. But whatever the language and literary problems still unresolved, the motif of the woman's feeling for a hero is realized. Even in this first story, Ayn Rand can write eloquent scenes on this theme (especially the moving farewell scene). Even this early, she can make effective use of the dramatic, short-sentence style that became famous with The Fountainhead.

Henry, in the present story, is the earliest ancestor of Leo (in We the Living), of Roark, of Francisco or Rearden (in Atlas Shrugged). Those who know the later heroes can see the first faint glimmer of them here. The focus, however, lies in Irene's response to him, which may be symbolized by a single line: "When I am tired, I kneel before the table [on which Henry's picture stands] and I look at him."

On the surface, this story might appear to be quite conventional. I can imagine someone reading it as the tragic story of an unloved wife "selflessly" removing herself from her husband's path. But the actual meaning is the opposite. Irene is not a selfless wife, but a passionate valuer; her decision to leave Henry is not self-sacrifice, but self-preservation and the reaffirmation of her values. She cannot accept anyone less than Henry, or any relationship with him less than what she has had.

Nor does Irene draw a tragic conclusion from her suffering. The glory of her life, she feels, is that Henry exists, that she had him once, and that she will love him always. Even in the agony of unrequited love, her implicit focus is on values, not on pain. This is especially clear in her desire to protect her ideal from suffering, to protect him for her own sake, although she is leaving him, to keep her supreme value whole, radiant, godlike, not dimmed or diminished by loss and sorrow. "Henry, you must be happy, and strong, and glorious. Leave suffering to those that cannot help it. You must smile at life... And never think about those that cannot. They are not worthwhile."

The story's events are conventional — but their meaning and motivation are vintage Ayn Rand, and utterly unconventional. What makes this possible is the profound seriousness of Irene's passion. This is what transforms and transfigures an otherwise ordinary tale.