Atlas Shrugged

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 Dr. Stadler's answer disturbed him: Dr. Stadler did not choose to answer or to glance down at the
manuscript.
"Lack of faith," a beefy speaker was snarling on the platform, in the tone of a street brawl, "lack of faith
is the only thing we got to fear! If we 4iave faith in the plans of our leaders, why, the plans will work and
we'll all have prosperity and ease and plenty. It's the fellows who go around doubting and destroying our
morale, it's they who're keeping us in shortages and misery. But we're not going to let them do it much
longer, we're here to protect the people—and if any of those doubting smarties come around, believe
you me, we'll take care of them!"
"It would be unfortunate," said Dr. Ferris in a soft voice, "to arouse popular resentment against the State
Science Institute at an explosive time like the present. There's a great deal of dissatisfaction and unrest in
the country—and if people should misunderstand the nature of the new invention, they're liable to vent
their rage on all scientists. Scientists have never been popular with the masses."
"Peace," a tall, willowy woman was signing into the microphone, "this invention is a great, new instrument
of peace. It will protect us from the aggressive designs of selfish enemies, it will allow us to breathe freely
and to learn to love our fellow men." She had a bony face with a mouth embittered at cocktail parties,
and wore a flowing pale blue gown, suggesting the concert garment of a harpist. "It may well be
considered as that miracle which was thought impossible in history—the dream of the ages—the final
synthesis of science and love!"
Dr. Stadler looked at the faces in the grandstands. They were sitting quietly now, they were listening, but
their eyes had an ebbing look of twilight, a look of fear in the process of being accepted as permanent,
the look of raw wounds being dimmed by the veil of infection. They knew, as he knew it, that they were
the targets of the shapeless funnels protruding from the mushroom building's dome—and he wondered in
what manner they were now extinguishing their minds and escaping that knowledge; he knew that the
words they were eager to absorb and believe were the chains slipping in to hold them, like the goats,
securely within the range of those funnels. They were eager to believe; he saw the tightening lines of their
lips, he saw the occasional glances of suspicion they threw at their neighbors—as if the horror that
threatened them was not the sound ray, but the men who would make them acknowledge it as horror.
Their eyes were veiling over, but the remnant look of a wound was a cry for help.
"Why do you think they think?" said Dr. Ferris softly. "Reason is the scientist's only weapon—and
reason has no power over men, has it? At a time like ours, with the country falling apart, with the mob
driven by blind desperation to the edge of open riots and violence—order must be maintained by any
means available. What can we do when we have to deal with people?"
Dr. Stadler did not answer.
A fat, jellied woman, with an inadequate brassiere under a dark, perspiration-stained dress, was saying
into the microphone—Dr. Stadler could not believe it at first—that the new invention was to be greeted
with particular gratitude by the mothers of the country.
Dr. Stadler turned away; watching him, Ferris could see nothing but the noble line of the high forehead
and the deep cut of bitterness at the corner of the mouth.
Suddenly, without context or warning, Robert Stadler whirled to face him. It was like a spurt of blood
from a sudden crack in a wound that had almost closed: Stadler's face was open, open in pain, in horror,
in sincerity, as if, for that moment, both he and Ferris were human beings, while he moaned with