I sit down most days and watch the news panels the same way many people do. Fox News, the War Room, the usual circuit. Smart people, serious people, many of them I respect. Steve Bannon and his guests especially. And yet I keep hearing the same stunned tone when they talk about the sudden popularity of socialism, the rise of candidates who openly flirt with Marxist language, the young people who treat Bernie Sanders or Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez as prophets. They act as if this is some new weather system that just blew in.

I have been talking about the same weather for decades. The adverse effects of collectivism on a free human culture are not a mystery to me. They destroy the individual while pretending to help the group. I have committed a large portion of my working life to saying so, in writing, on the air, and in private conversation. So when the panels discover it late, I find myself less angry than simply tired. The diagnosis has been available the entire time. It sits on the shelf as a single novel that most of them will not touch.

That novel is The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand.

It is, without qualification, my favorite book. Not one of my favorites. The favorite. I have read it more times than I can cleanly count. I talked about it for years. I have carried its central argument into boardrooms, courtrooms, and conversations with my own grandchildren. When people ask me what single work of fiction best explains why so many Americans now treat the producer as the problem and the parasite as the moral authority, I do not hesitate. Read The Fountainhead. Then read it again.

Ayn Rand’s Escape from Communism and the American Novel That Resulted

Ayn Rand was a Russian refugee who escaped the Soviet system and came to America precisely because she wanted the opposite of what she had left. She watched the early years of the Bolshevik experiment up close. She understood, in her bones, what happens when the collective claims the right to own a man’s mind and the products of his mind. She wrote The Fountainhead as an artist, not as a political pamphlet, and the result is one of the clearest, most sustained examinations of the creator versus the second-hander that American literature has ever produced. 

Howard Roark is an architect who will not compromise the integrity of his buildings. When the establishment forces mediocrity onto a housing project he designed, he dynamites the result rather than allow his work to stand as a diluted lie. That act is not teenage rebellion. It is the logical end of a man who treats his own mind as the final court of appeal. The courtroom speech that closes the book is, in my view, as powerful as John Galt’s radio address in Atlas Shrugged. It is pure intellectual dynamite. Roark explains, without apology, the difference between the man who lives by the work of his own mind and the man who lives by borrowing, begging, or looting the work of others.

Most people do not want to see themselves as second-handers. That is exactly why the book still stings.

Why Some Conservatives Keep Their Distance from Ayn Rand

I remain mystified that so many people on the right, including voices I otherwise admire, treat Rand as radioactive. Bannon and others have expressed open dislike. The explanation usually circles her atheism. She was an atheist. She never pretended otherwise. That fact has allowed generations of religious conservatives to dismiss the entire body of work rather than engage the actual argument about production, integrity, and the moral status of the individual.

I am a Bible guy. I read it constantly. I take Joshua seriously—the man who marches around Jericho because God said to, who trusts the order larger than himself even when the math looks insane. I also take the Grail quest seriously. Percival finds the castle only when he stops forcing the journey and rides with looser reins. Those stories are not in conflict with the best of what Rand saw. They deepen it.

The Tower of Babel story is often read as a simple warning against human pride. Rand would have celebrated the ambition itself. The real sin in that story is the unified collective that tries to storm heaven by consensus rather than by individual excellence. When a man’s personal vision actually lines up with the larger order—when he becomes the vehicle rather than a cog—the result looks a lot like Joshua’s conquest and a lot like Roark’s refusal to bend. The difference is the source of the certainty. One man says “God told me.” The other says “I will not pretend.” Both refuse the noise of the crowd.

I live closer to Joshua’s path in daily practice. I want the commitment of marriage, the long obedience in the same direction, the willingness to enjoy the life God actually gave me rather than treat every compromise as spiritual death. But I understand what Roark was protecting. The forces that tried to break him are the same forces the Bible warns about under different names—the ones that pull a man away from the work he was made to do. Uncompromising clarity in the face of that noise is a form of spiritual discipline, whether the author acknowledged it or not.

Creators Versus Parasites and Why We Have So Few Edisons

The central question of The Fountainhead is simple and uncomfortable: are you creating, or are you feeding off someone else’s creation? Most people never ask it of themselves. Committees do not invent the light bulb. Consensus does not produce the theory of relativity. Those things come from individuals who refuse to bend.

My daughter recently took my grandson to Thomas Edison’s boyhood home in Milan, Ohio, for exactly that reason. I am not trying to manufacture another Edison. I want him to see that there are alternatives to the box the culture keeps trying to sell. Edison woke up every day trying to be a fountainhead. He made mistakes—plenty of them—but the posture was unmistakable. The same posture explains why an Elon Musk can exist in America and why a Jack Ma eventually runs into the wall in a more collective system. The culture that still has room for the uncompromising creator is the culture that keeps producing them. The culture that treats that spirit as a threat eventually smothers it. 

Hollywood’s Long War Against the Fountainhead Spirit

The resistance is not abstract. Zack Snyder, the director of 300 and a string of visually ambitious films, has spent years trying to adapt The Fountainhead. Studios treat the material as radioactive. He has said publicly that the book is considered “taboo” among the people who green-light projects. The same pattern appeared with the low-budget Atlas Shrugged trilogy made between 2011 and 2014. Funding was scraped together in pieces. Actors who appeared in it paid a quiet professional price. The collective does not need to ban the book. It only needs to make sure no one with real resources is allowed to put the story on a large screen without punishment. 

Clint Eastwood understood the same energy. He carried versions of it through Dirty Harry, the preacher in Pale Rider, Frank Morris in Escape from Alcatraz, and the driven director in White Hunter Black Heart. In the 1980s, when he was still fighting for the kind of films he wanted to make, those characters walked through the frame like men who would rather dynamite the building than let the second-handers own the final cut. White Hunter Black Heart feels, to me, like Eastwood’s private reckoning with the cost of that stance. He played the uncompromising artist for most of the running time and then, at the end, allowed the character a moment of regret. After that film, the pure Roark energy largely left his work. Age and the system both take their toll. 

Even Walt Disney once understood. In the American Adventure pavilion at Epcot, there is a quote set into the wall: “Throughout the centuries there were men who took first steps down new roads, armed with nothing but their own vision.” It is Ayn Rand’s line. I have stood in front of it with my grandchildren and told them it is one of the most important things in the entire park. Modern operators tend to cover it with seasonal decorations or other displays. The plaque is still there. The spirit that put it there is harder to find. 

Trump, the Ballroom, and the Same Old Courtroom Drama

I recently walked through the construction site of the new White House ballroom with my wife. We were invited. What is rising out of that hole in the ground is a clear, large-scale vision. The resistance to it has been immediate and predictable: you did not get our approval, the process was not followed, the collective must control the final shape. It is the same drama Roark faced, only now the building is the people’s house and the second-handers wear different titles. Trump has said publicly that The Fountainhead relates to business, beauty, life, and inner emotions—that it relates to everything. The comparison is not perfect, and pure Objectivists often bristle at it, but the pattern of an uncompromising builder meeting institutional resistance is hard to miss. 

Robert Kincaid, the Bridges of Madison County, and the Quiet Hunger for the Fountainhead Life

Robert James Waller’s The Bridges of Madison County sold in enormous numbers for a reason that had very little to do with the affair itself. Robert Kincaid is a roaming photographer who lives by his own vision in a landscape that offers almost nothing to support it. Francesca sees, for a few days, what it looks like to be the vehicle rather than another wheel on someone else’s ride. Most people settle for the comfortable, arranged path—the prom-king marriage, the nice house, the pool—and then spend the rest of their lives wondering why the castle never appears. The book worked because American readers still recognize the difference even if they no longer have the language for it.

What I Tell My Grandchildren and Why Independent Media Matters

When I take the grandchildren to Epcot or to Edison’s house or talk to them at the kitchen table, I am not trying to turn them into little Objectivists. I am trying to show them that they do not have to be cogs. They can be the vehicle. That requires a certain rebelliousness against the noise of the culture. It requires the willingness to trust a larger order while still showing up with full intensity, the way Joshua did and the way Percival finally learned to do. The plaque on the wall, the boyhood home of an inventor, the courtroom speech at the end of a long novel—these are seeds. They may not bloom for years. When the world starts testing them, I want the memory of their grandfather getting excited about a simple line of text to be one of the things that makes them stop and think there might be another way to live.

Independent media is the slow trickle that keeps these ideas alive when the big networks and the entertainment unions will not touch them. I do this work for that reason. The Tea Party years showed that people will reach for Rand when they are hungry for an explanation of what is happening to them. The hunger has not gone away. It has only been driven underground by the same second-hand mechanisms the books describe.

Read the Book. Then Read It Again.

The Fountainhead is not a new religion. Treating it that way is one of the fastest ways to miss the point. It is a work of art that dramatizes a permanent conflict: the man who creates versus the man who lives second-hand. It is a big book. It is demanding. It does not flatter. That is precisely why it remains useful, even as television panels are still trying to figure out why socialist language keeps gaining ground among the young.

I have the advantage of having watched the cultural impact of these ideas across decades—what worked, what failed, where the atheism limited Rand’s own reach, and where the moral clarity she captured still cuts through every fashionable excuse. The Bible, the Grail stories, Edison’s stubbornness, Eastwood’s best characters, the quiet rebellion of a man who refuses to hand his voice to a committee—all of it belongs in the same conversation. Rand never fully arrived at the larger synthesis. That does not make the novel less valuable. It makes the rest of us responsible for finishing the thought.

If you have never read it, get it. If you read it once and bounced off the characters or the length, try again. The courtroom speech alone is worth the price of admission. Then look around at the news, at the schools, at the institutions that keep trying to turn creators into employees of the collective, and ask yourself the question Roark never stopped asking: are you the fountainhead, or are you content to be another wheel?

I know which side I am on. I have known it for a long time. The work continues.

Footnotes

1.  Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead (New York: Bobbs-Merrill, 1943). The novel has sold more than ten million copies and remains in continuous print.

2.  For Rand’s early life and escape from Soviet Russia, see Anne C. Heller, Ayn Rand and the World She Made (New York: Nan A. Talese/Doubleday, 2009).

3.  The quote appears in the rotunda of the American Adventure pavilion at Epcot. Multiple visitor accounts and Disney historians confirm its presence; seasonal overlays have at times obscured individual plaques.

4.  Zack Snyder has discussed his unproduced Fountainhead adaptation in interviews, including on the Joe Rogan Experience (2024), describing industry resistance to the material as “taboo.”

5.  The Atlas Shrugged film trilogy (2011–2014) was produced independently on limited budgets after repeated failures to secure traditional Hollywood financing.

6.  Clint Eastwood’s interest in Rand’s work and the Roark-like qualities of several of his characters are documented in contemporary profiles and in the production history of White Hunter Black Heart (1990).

7.  Donald Trump’s public comments on The Fountainhead appear in a 2016 interview with Kirsten Powers for USA Today.

8.  Thomas Edison Birthplace Museum, Milan, Ohio; National Historic Landmark.

9.  Robert James Waller, The Bridges of Madison County (New York: Warner Books, 1992).

10.  On the broader cultural reception of Rand among conservatives and the persistent tension with her atheism, see Jennifer Burns, Goddess of the Market: Ayn Rand and the American Right (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009).

Selected Bibliography

Rand, Ayn. The Fountainhead. New York: Bobbs-Merrill, 1943.

Rand, Ayn. Atlas Shrugged. New York: Random House, 1957.

Rand, Ayn. Anthem. Caldwell, Idaho: Caxton Printers, 1966 (orig. 1938).

Heller, Anne C. Ayn Rand and the World She Made. New York: Nan A. Talese/Doubleday, 2009.

Burns, Jennifer. Goddess of the Market: Ayn Rand and the American Right. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009.

The Holy Bible, various translations (particularly the Book of Joshua and accounts of the Tower of Babel).

Chrétien de Troyes and later Grail romances (Percival tradition).

Waller, Robert James. The Bridges of Madison County. New York: Warner Books, 1992.

Viertel, Peter. White Hunter, Black Heart. New York: Doubleday, 1953 (basis for the 1990 film).

Eastwood, Clint, dir. White Hunter Black Heart. Warner Bros., 1990.

Eastwood, Clint, dir. Pale Rider. Warner Bros., 1985.

Eastwood, Clint, dir. Escape from Alcatraz. Paramount, 1979.

Snyder, Zack (unproduced adaptation notes and public statements on The Fountainhead).

Edison Birthplace Museum archival materials, Milan, Ohio.

Disney historical accounts of the American Adventure pavilion, Epcot.

Hoffman, Rich. The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business.

Hoffman, Rich. The Politics of Heaven (forthcoming).

Rich Hoffman

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About the Author: Rich Hoffman

Rich Hoffman is an author, political consultant, and strategic advisor based in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the creator of The Politics of Heaven—a unique framework that connects biblical theology, ancient history, and modern power structures to explain how moral alignment and spiritual forces shape global events. Blending real-world political experience with deep research into archaeology, UFO phenomena, and suppressed historical narratives, Hoffman offers compelling commentary on topics ranging from ancient civilizations and the Dead Sea Scrolls to modern populist movements, paranormal continuity, and leadership strategy in chaotic environments. As the author of The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and the forthcoming Politics of Heaven, he brings a grounded yet provocative voice to media discussions, supported by firsthand experiences and a cross-disciplinary approach that bridges science, history, and theology. For interviews, speaking engagements, or expert analysis, visit richhoffmanbooks.com or contact directly via phone at 513-307-5815 or email at rhoffman@richhoffmanbooks.com.  If you’ve seen the movie, Disclosure Day and want to talk about it and the implications of Presidnet Trump’s UAP disclosures, let me know and we can bring some color to your coverage. https://richhoffmanbooks.com/media-inquiries-broadcast-topics-and-contact-info/?frame-nonce=ad51e7ecba I do have a firsthand UFO encounter to discuss.