Atlas Shrugged

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doomed to destruction. I could say to you that you will and can achieve nothing but universal
devastation—as any looter must, when he runs out of victims. I could say it, but I won't.
It is not your particular policy that I challenge, but your moral premise.
If it were true that men could achieve their good by means of turning some men into sacrificial animals,
and I were asked to immolate myself for the sake of creatures who wanted to survive at the price of my
blood, if I were asked to serve the interests of society apart from, above and against my own—I would
refuse, I would reject it as the most contemptible evil, I would fight it with every, power I possess, I
would fight the whole of mankind, if one minute were all I could last before I were murdered, I would
fight in the full confidence of the justice of my battle and of a living being's right to exist. Let there be no
misunderstanding about me. If it is now the belief of my fellow men, who call themselves the public, that
their good requires victims, then I say: The public good be damned, I will have no part of it!"
The crowd burst into applause.
Rearden whirled around, more startled than his judges. He saw faces that laughed in violent excitement,
and faces that pleaded for help; he saw their silent despair breaking out into the open; he saw the same
anger and indignation as his own, finding release in the wild defiance of their cheering; he saw the looks of
admiration and the looks of hope. There were also the faces of loose-mouthed young men and
maliciously unkempt females, the kind who led the booing in newsreel theaters at any appearance of a
businessman on the screen; they did not attempt a counter-demonstration; they were silent.
As he looked at the crowd, people saw in his face what the threats of the judges had not been able to
evoke: the first sign of emotion.
It was a few moments before they heard the furious beating of a gavel upon the table and one of the
judges yelling: "—or I shall have the courtroom cleared!"
_ As he turned back to the table, Rearden's eyes moved over the visitors' section. His glance paused on
Dagny, a pause perceptible only to her, as if he were saying: It works. She would have appeared calm
except that her eyes seemed to have become too large for her face.
Eddie Willers was smiling the kind of smile that is a man's substitute for breaking into tears. Mr. Mowen
looked stupefied. Paul Larkin was staring at the floor. There was no expression on Bertram Scudder's
face on Lillian's. She sat at the end of a row, her legs crossed, a mink stole slanting from her right
shoulder to her left hip; she looked at Rearden, not moving.
In the complex violence of all the things he felt, he had time to recognize a touch of regret and of longing:
there was a face he had hoped to see, had looked for from the start of the session, had wanted to be
present more than any other face around him. But Francisco d'Anconia had not come.
4LMr. Rearden," said the eldest judge, smiling affably, reproachfully and spreading his arms, "it is
regrettable that you should have misunderstood us so completely. That's the trouble—that businessmen
refuse to approach us in a spirit of trust and friendship. They seem to imagine that we are their enemies.
Why do you speak of human sacrifices? What made you go to such an extreme? We have no intention of
seizing your property or destroying your life. We do not seek to harm your interests. We are fully aware
of your distinguished achievements. Our purpose is only to balance social pressures and do justice to all.
This hearing is really intended, not as a trial, but as a friendly discussion aimed at mutual understanding
and co-operation."