Anthem by Ayn Rand

Ayn Rand's oeuvre consists mainly of allegorical fiction that illustrates her philosophy of Objectivism, and Anthem serves as a brief introduction to her canon. The book describes some point in the indeterminate future in which society has progressed to the ultimate extrapolation of universal brotherhood: the word "I" has been abolished from the language. One man escapes, and he discovers that the life he had been forced to live - solely for the common good, not belonging to himself - was a subversion of his true nature, a disgracefully unnatural state.

"[I]t must not matter to us whether we live or die, which is to be as our brothers will it. But we, Equality 7-2521, are glad to be living. If this is a vice, then we wish no virtue." After being punished for trying to introduce a rudimentary form of electricity to his brethren, Equality steals off into the Undiscovered Forest, liberating himself from the despotic dominion of collectivism. He stumbles upon an abandoned house filled with strange books that contain the Forbidden Word that has haunted and eluded him all his life.

The book is simple and concise, containing just enough to adequately address Rand’s thesis: the purpose of existence is the exaltation of the individual. That is the underlying theme of Objectivism, which Rand bases on reason and places in direct opposition to Communism and any less extreme variants thereof. She posits that “[m]an – every man – is an end in himself, not a means to the ends of others; he must live for his own sake, neither sacrificing himself to others nor sacrificing others to himself; he must work for his rational self-interest, with the achievement of his own happiness as the highest moral purpose of his life.”

Leonard Peikoff, in his introduction to Anthem, recognizes that the ego as supreme is antithetical to most religions, to which, as an atheist, he found no objection. Unfortunately, without an authority unhampered by the limitations of nature, Objectivism is philosophically incomplete. Whence comes the right of the individual to his pursuit of happiness? Rand was a devoted admirer of the capitalist American political system, considering it the political embodiment of her philosophy. When justifying the existence of the United States, Jefferson attributed this right of the individual to a Creator, as indeed he must have done, for from no other source can such a right originate, least of all from the moral vacuum of atheism.

Moreover, Objectivism champions reason; but how can reason exist outside ourselves without an overarching authority to legitimize and standardize it? We may be able to form a consensus of what is reasonable, but we may all be wrong. Even in Anthem’s dystopia, the World Council, who subdued the masses with their dogmatic decrees, surely believed they were acting reasonably. One man rebelled according to what he thought was right, but who has the authority among us to say whether he was or not? Reason cannot be self-determined.

If one allows for God, however, the worldview becomes much easier to substantiate. Indeed, traces of thought sympathetic to Christianity continually emerge in the book. “It is not good to be different from our brothers,” recites Equality, “but it is evil to be superior to them.” C.S. Lewis echoes these sentiments in “Screwtape Proposes a Toast”: “Their consciousness hardly exists apart from the social atmosphere that surrounds them,” making humans that much easier to subvert and destroy.

But Christianity triumphs the individual only insofar as his worth as a child of God, his distinctions only insofar as they reflect the gifts God has bestowed on him, and his rights only insofar as those God has granted him. Without God, Objectivism is impotent. If a secularist, however, could bring himself to accept the premises of the philosophy, it is there that perhaps its greatest merit could be found – as an atheistic defense of laissez-faire capitalism.

While Objectivism’s “man-worship” in the context of Christianity is fairly nauseating, atheism can have no objection here. Anthem graphically illustrates the nakedness of working for the common good with no moral impetus to do so. Wishful thinking though it may be, secularists would do well to adopt such an outlook and throw their lot in with the capitalist Christian Right.

Agnes Grey by Anne Brontë

"I began this book with the intention of concealing nothing; that those who liked might have the benefit of perusing a fellow-creature's heart," says Agnes Grey. As the pages of her book unfold, the delightful nuances of Agnes,’ and by association Brontë’s, personality do too. Agnes, daughter of an impoverished clergyman, insists, upon turning eighteen, that she find herself a position as governess to aid the family. She endures nightmarish pupils, haughty employers, and the loneliness of making her way on her own, but she manages to maintain a cheerful demeanor, a cool head, and a firm resolve in God.

Agnes is an excellent, introspective first-person narrator; Brontë 's tone is gratifyingly confidential and, subsequently, strangely modern. Of her sisters, Anne must have been the witty one. When Agnes is summoned by the servant of her capricious charges with "'You're to go to the school-room directly, mum- the young ladies is WAITING!!,'" she comments, "Climax of horror! Actually waiting for their governess!!!"

Agnes is shy and bookish, but her retiring tendencies lend her the steadfastness and circumspection that she relies on. When she inevitably develops a preference for a certain sober-minded curate, she remains beautifully logical even in the midst of her infatuation, refusing to read into any ostensible signals and diligently tempering her ardor with common sense. Watching the flirtations of her pretty student, she wonders "why so much beauty should be given to those who made so bad a use of it, and denied to some who would make it a benefit both to themselves and others," identifying that incessant Brontëan conundrum that Charlotte first identified in Jane Eyre.

Edward Weston, however, cares not for such worldly considerations. The curate pursues Agnes, and the conclusion finds them satisfactorily situated and determined to face any future travails together. They both possess sound religious beliefs. Weston declares his sole purpose in life is to be useful to others. Agnes criticizes a clergyman for his heavy reliance on the writings of the church fathers and his dissuading laypeople from reading the Bible unaided. In an amusing piece of scriptural justification, she uses Philippians 4:8 ("Whatsoever things are good...") to excuse her thinking about Weston as he gives the Sunday morning message.

This book reminded me of why I read. There is nothing quite like opening a book and discovering a complete stranger who is more familiar than many real-life acquaintances. Agnes is reasonable, intelligent, forthright, funny, insightful - I could understand how she thought and why she acted as she did. I could sympathize with her and root for her, and I could be eminently satisfied when she ended happily. Agnes Grey is a straightforward, unadorned, sincere portrait of a sensible, thoughtful girl, and I loved it.

Mindless Eating by Brian Wansink

I loved this book so much that when I was going through it to compile my notes I found myself reading it all over again. Like Freakonomics, it's a case of an expert applying science to real life, conducting dry, straightforward experiments and interpreting them, uncovering fascinating truths about how we eat and why we do so. Wansink is an eminent scientist who sets out to answer questions such as, "Why do we overeat food that doesn't even taste good?" He compiles data from dozens of studies to support his conclusions, writing all the time with a delightful authority and a familiar confidence.

Many of Wansink's hypotheses are intuitive concepts verified by objective investigation. He renames the snacks at a Vacation Bible School and runs out of the "Rainforest Smoothie" - really just vegetable juice. He finds that thinking a food is special or will taste good predisposes one to like it, and makes one more satisified with the overall dining experience.

"[W]e're pretty much clueless about when we've had enough," Wansink says, demonstrating that our stomachs don't keep count. We were designed to crave sweet, salty, fat-filled foods, and to eat as much of them as possible. Even one hundred years ago this penchant would have been a boon to our survival, but our food supply has changed faster than our tastes have, and now rather than perishing from hunger, our lives are cut short by obesity. Clearly our habits need to change.

Wansink identifies many such habits, like the "eating scripts" we automatically follow - when we go to the movies we eat popcorn; when we come home from work we have a snack - that can be altered or circumvented with a little mindfulness. For instance, "people don't eat calories, they eat volume," so using smaller plates and filling them with healthier choices can radically improve one's perception of satiety and overall nutritional intake.

Wansink does not demonize the food industry as others - Morgan Spurlock, most notably - have done. He instead insists that major corporations are out to make money, not fat people, and that they'd be just as happy if we bought their products and then threw them away. Moreover, he says, "We cannot legislate or tax people into eating" healthily. If they want to, they will; if they don't, well, they should have that choice.

Wansink has either an excellent command of the English language or a superb editor. The book has few, if any, typos, a rare achievement for a first edition. His voice is strong and controlled, bolstered by the authority of scientific evidence and tempered by his affability and genuine desire to help people with the discoveries he has made.

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

Okonkwo is a prominent African tribesman whose world falls apart when Europeans begin to colonize it. Despite his inauspicious childhood, Okonkwo rises to a place of respected authority in his clan through diligent, persistent hard work. He establishes a farm large enough to support three wives and their children. But his eldest son Nwoye does not share his father's devotion to the tribe nor his ambitions to reign in it, and so when Christian missionaries come, Nwoye converts. His father, disgusted, disowns him, and he begins a campaign to drive out the new religion. But Okonkwo is alone in his ardent persecution, and after his murder of an official fails to incite a revolt, he hangs himself.

Okonkwo burns with a fervent loyalty to tradition and position. He accepts unquestioningly the dictates of the elders and disdains any who fall out of line with his ideal of strong, masculine adherence to society and unceasing industry. "He had no patience with unsuccessful men," Achebe says of him. This is his tragic flaw: his inability to cope with progress and unyielding demand for perfection. Achebe writes concisely and decisively. He uses a stripped-down English smattered with African phrases that emphasizes the earthy authenticity of the story. He includes folklore and fables and songs, creating a cultural context. The overall effect is beautiful and mesmerizing.

The arrival of the Christians is the vehicle for Okonkwo's downfall. Achebe details the mistreatment the Africans suffer at the hands of the white soldiers who eventually arrive and he illustrates the deterioration of the natives' culture when they assimilate. But Achebe himself converted to Christianity while living in Africa. His sympathies are evident through Nwoye, when he hears the newcomers preach: "The words of the hymn were like the drops of frozen rain melting on the dry palate of the panting earth." He shows how the Christians abolish the tribal superstitions, accepting the outcasts and rescuing the infant twins clanspeople are under compulsion to abandon in the bush. Achebe's aim seems to be a balanced objectivity.

The book is unavoidably profound. One cannot help but admire the steadfastness of this noble savage and mourn the tragedy of his demise. But his irrationality and unwavering trust in brute strength render him unable to entertain further revelations of truth. Okonkwo was sincere but sincerely wrong, as it were. Achebe maintains respect for the culture while gently denouncing the superstitions of his native Africa.

The American by Henry James

Christopher Newman, lately possessed of a sizeable fortune amassed through years of conscious endeavor in trade in America, decides to throw it all off and go abroad. He has only a vague idea of what he seeks, but what he finds is an enchanting woman who answers his feminine ideal. Madame de Cintré returns his affections, but their engagement is broken by her aristocratic family, who scorn the idea of a common businessman attaining her hand. Newman strives valiantly to win her, but is eventually forced to abandon the matter forever.

Newman is just that - arisen out of obscurity to a self-generated place of prosperity. Easy-going, forthright, warm, congenial, and open, he is a credit to his country. "You take things too coolly," says a European acquaintance. "It exasperates me. And then you are too happy. You have what must be the most agreeable thing in the world, the consciousness of having bought your pleasure beforehand and paid for it." Indeed, he feels, as Americans are wont to do, that most anything can be bought, and in America this is at least true of position. One's origins have little bearing on one's place in society; hard work is virtuous, something to be commended.

But Newman's would-be in-laws take quite the opposite view, living on little else but the glory of their ancient lineage. They shun Newman for his industry while inhabiting a moldering house emblematic of their waning finances. They find Newman's proposal audaciously incomprehensible; Newman is just as incapable of understanding their indignation. "[H]is sense of human equality was not an aggressive taste or an aesthetic theory, but something as natural and organic as a physical appetite which had never been put on a scanty allowance." That his antecedents have any importance to them baffles him.

As Newman later finds, high birth is certainly no indication of high morals. He behaves honorably throughout the degrading ordeal to which his fiancée’s relatives subject him, and he emerges blameless and unscathed. Unfortunately, he also comes out without a wife. Madame de Cintré commits herself to a nunnery to escape the contrivances of her family.

It is too bad that Newman is treated so terribly, for he is a decent protagonist, pleasantly sociable, confident and uninhibited. "He himself was almost never bored, and there was no man with whom it would have been a greater mistake to suppose that silence meant displeasure." He views the Continent with "a placid, fathomless sense of diversion." That world, however, does not look as kindly on him.

The American by Henry James

Christopher Newman, lately possessed of a sizeable fortune amassed through years of conscious endeavor in trade in America, decides to throw it all off and go abroad. He has only a vague idea of what he seeks, but what he finds is an enchanting woman who answers his feminine ideal. Madame de Cintre returns his affections, but their engagement is broken by her aristocratic family, who scorn the idea of a common businessman attaining her hand. Newman strives valiantly to win her, but is eventually forced to abandon the matter forever.

Newman is just that - arisen out of obscurity to a self-generated place of prosperity. Easy-going, forthright, warm, congenial, and open, he is a credit to his country. "You take things too coolly," says a European acquaintance. "It exasperates me. And then you are too happy. You have what must be the most agreeable thing in the world, the consciousness of having bought your pleasure beforehand and paid for it." Indeed, he feels, as Americans are wont to do, that most anything can be bought, and in America this is at least true of position. One's origins have little bearing on one's place in society; hard work is virtuous, something to be commended.

But Newman's would-be in-laws take quite the opposite view, living on little else but the glory of their ancient lineage. They shun Newman for his industry while inhabiting a moldering house emblematic of their waning finances. They find Newman's proposal audaciously incomprehensible; Newman is just as incapable of understanding their indignation. "[H]is sense of human equality was not an aggressive taste or an aesthetic theory, but something as natural and organic as a physical appetite which had never been put on a scanty allowance." That his antecedents have any importance to them baffles him.

As Newman later finds, high birth is certainly no indication of high morals. He behaves honorably throughout the degrading ordeal to which his fiancée’s relatives subject him, and he emerges blameless and unscathed. Unfortunately, he also comes out without a wife. Madame de Cintre commits herself to a nunnery to escape the contrivances of her family.

It is too bad that Newman is treated so terribly, for he is a decent protagonist, pleasantly sociable, confident and uninhibited. "He himself was almost never bored, and there was no man with whom it would have been a greater mistake to suppose that silence meant displeasure." He views the Continent with "a placid, fathomless sense of diversion." That world, however, does not look as kindly on him.