My brother-in-law/sensei is a small giant who likes giving people backrubs. These aren’t deep tissue so much as they are bone crushing. He used to come up behind me and stick his thumb right there where all the tension of years sits, festers, and plots against me. Then he’d say, “Miko, you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
And it’s true. I take huge responsibilities onto myself and then, under their burden, am suddenly struck by self-doubt: unsure if I’m worthy of the responsibilities to begin with, if I can do anything but be crushed by them. Certain that, if I fail, the whole world (well, technically the sphere of the cosmos, but let’s go with the modern conception) will come crashing down around my ears, with no one to blame but myself.
It recently occurred to me that maybe this is an archetype of some value to me. So I picked up Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged and Jeanette Winterson’s Weight to meditate on endurance.
Atlas Shrugged is not about Atlas the Titan, more about the people upon whom society at large depends; the generic atlases who support the world. Rand’s philosophy of rational self-interest makes a lot of sense to me: it is in my interest to contribute to society as I am a member of society; it is not in my interest to destroy someone (economically, socially, or physically) because that person could very well be of use to me in the future. I find, however, the same flaw in her philosophy as I find in the philosophy of communism (and this would make her roll in her grave): it assumes people are perfect. In Atlas Shrugged the atlases of her fictional world each act in their own rational self interest and create utopia (they have to go off to a secluded valley to do this, because apparently rational self interest only works if you don’t have a socialist government near by). I look around, however, and see the Wal-Marts/atlases of today and see the proof of her philosophy’s downfall. Just as communism works great on paper but has yet to be successful in reality.
That said, I definitely felt a kinship with Dagny, the atlas-in-chief, whose name convinces me that Rand took a dart to a poster of the alphabet to come up with it. She’s intelligent, works quite successfully in the world of men, and is treated as their equal (if not their better, in some cases). Reading Atlas Shrugged did more than make me wish that I had built a transnational railroad, it made me believe that I could.
Weight is a reimagining of the story of Atlas, including his brief respite when Heracles takes his burden for a time. Heracles has problems taking up the weight of the cosmos because, while he has the strength to lift it, he does not have the strength (of muscle or of will) to keep it lifted. Atlas, it seems, can hear the buzzing of humans going about their business. He doesn’t do anything about it, but he listens. He eventually gets a dog, too, when she’s sent into space by Russians. And the two of them stand forever under the shadow of the cosmos.
After reading both, it is clear to me that I’ve much to strive for. I still can be Dagny. Also, that enduring strength (of character, of mind) is different from strength that is only used occassionally. And perhaps it is the more important kind.
