By Richard E. Helmer

I find my recent ministry haunted by none other than Ayn Rand -- a name I barely knew until a few years ago when she came up in a pastoral conversation. Since then, I've learned she was an inspiration at some point in a number of our parishioners' life journeys. Something about her words captured youthful aspirations towards self-actualization and independence. When I at last started reading more about her, I realized in a profound sense that I did know her, or at least her ideas, from my own youthful ambitions as a concert pianist. Rand's perspectives captured in many ways my hyper self-absorbed, rugged, rationalizing pursuit for success in a competitive world where my own mettle and skill -- even in generating something as moving to the soul as beautiful music -- mattered more to me than anything or anyone else.

While our nation's body politic currently is filled with the stench of half-truths, shocking indifference, bureaucratic paralysis, and bitter hyper-partisanship, Rand, though long deceased, has suddenly appeared very close to the forefront of our discourse. I confess a pit forms in my stomach at the thought of paying to see the recently released movie of her wildly popular book, Atlas Shrugged. I can dine on most theatrical fare, but the idea of wallowing in hours’ worth of Rand's philosophy -- if it can rightly be called that -- gives me enormous pause. Objectivism, the heart of Rand's meandering corpus, eyes the world with a mirthless, cold stare. One of our parishioners, before she became a Christian as an adult, explored, amongst various philosophies and belief systems, Ayn Rand's works. Recently, she reflected to me that she once met a thorough-going objectivist who said there was no such thing as a truly happy objectivist. When material reality and our perception of it is all there is, when reason is without divinity and intuition and inspiration are marginalized, when other human beings and the wider world are means to whatever selfish (and Rand used the word in a technical sense) means we devise for ourselves, when life is a race against time to achieve for me and mine alone, what room is there for old fashioned happiness?

In a recent excoriating commentary in Newsweek , Jonathan Chait notes how the new, smart-as-a-whip congressional budget leader, Wisconsin Representative Paul Ryan, openly brings to bear Rand's economic philosophy on his political ideals and budget proposal. It's easy at first to understand why Rand is the resurrected goddess of portions of the neo-conservative, libertarian, and tea party movements. Her strident support for laissez faire capitalism is matched only by the creeping social Darwinism of her attitudes. And her best-known protégé, Alan Greenspan, arguably is the most influential individual on the economic system we have inherited, more so even than any President or congressional leader.

But Donald Luskin in another recent editorial, this one in The Wall Street Journal, reflects how in other respects, Ayn Rand could be considered a liberal's liberal. She was a fiercely independent woman who, by refusing to live in the shadow of any man and by paving her own career path, could be considered among the first wave of mid-century feminists (though she apparently publicly criticized feminism, and her relationship with the movement is conflicted at best). She deplored racism, supported integration of public schools, and staunchly opposed the war in Vietnam. Luskin notes how Atlas Shrugged casts almost as many aspersions on Big Business as it does on the bogey-man of Big Government. Rand, he writes, ultimately offers us a celebration -- though that might not be the right word -- of the innate dignity of the individual.

But for many conservatives and liberals alike, Rand poses considerable moral problems. Her infamously open marriage and her hyper-sexualized characters betray something deeper than simply a political philosophy that fits whatever contemporary agenda we'd like to inflict on her memory, whether governmental spending cuts or individual rights. Ayn Rand was an atheist of a sort that meant that the fiercely individualistic "I" was ultimately self-referential. The element of her conflicted popular philosophy that is mysteriously endearing to the American grassroots psyche is the rugged, no-holds-barred lack of accountability, an amoral construct that is truly all about the individual me. It captures our cultural navel-gazing and our simultaneous fascination with singular supermen and superwomen: our tragic obsession with pseudo-heroic egoism that, if unchecked, risks landing us with a Donald Trump as Commander in Chief, CEO of America, Inc.

The well-heeled intellectual elites of our society have too long dismissively pooh-poohed Rand, much to all our peril. The egoism she promoted, our rampant egoism she reflected in her work, makes for a slavery to self that wreaks havoc on the fabric of our relationships. Integrity, Rand seems to assert, is only internal and individual. But of course it isn't, unless we are prepared to arrogantly chuck out the very heart of thousands of years of moral tradition that has weathered the storms of humanity in multiple cultures and spiritual traditions around the world. The current madness around Rand's legacy is our collective madness, a reflection of our shared humanity wrecked on the rocky shoals of our hyper-protected egos now laid waste by crises too many to number.

The poor, the invalid, the destitute, the homeless: they all threaten our egos by reflecting our interdependence and vulnerability. No wonder we want to shrug them off. But we are not supermen or superwomen, we are frail, yearning creatures capable at times together and individually of awesome works and horrific acts. And sometimes we are plain down and out. We could conceal this messy, fleshy reality from ourselves when times were good. Now they're not, and now we can't anymore.

I am struck, along with many, that ostensibly Christian politicians openly embrace the sometimes ankle-deep and oft-tangled philosophical constructs of someone who once remarked that the Church is little more than "the best kindergarten of communism possible." But I suppose Ayn Rand can be forgiven for this slight. The idea of living to serve others and something far greater than ourselves probably felt far too much like the autocratic threats to essential human dignity of the Soviet regime in her native Russia. And I suppose objectivist eyes cannot see anything but silliness in what I spend a lot of time these days doing: devotion to what a Rand fan I once met somewhat derisively called my "invisible best friend."

The real irony for me is wondering whether or not Rand would welcome the mercy of Christian forgiveness. John Piper, a Baptist pastor in Minneapolis offers a succinct and compelling simultaneous appreciation and critique of Ayn Rand's ideas, concluding that her Godless world view was most critically devoid of mercy: that foundational Christian virtue that understands an imminent and transcendent God loving us and all Creation into being and ultimately -- not because we deserve it but because we need it -- salvation. God shatters Rand's ideal of relationships built on objective transaction, the philosophy of life structured around the quid pro quo. The God of faith, beyond all human logic, needs nothing from us, and yet offers us everything, from our first breath to our last, and beyond.

Our world right now seems littered with odd new juxtapositions. I am caught in this season of Resurrection reflecting on Ayn Rand outside the tomb of Lazarus -- a strange juxtaposition indeed!

Martha notes that our body politic, like the body of her brother, stinks.

In reply, Ayn Rand's Atlas shrugs.

For his part, our Jesus weeps, and then calls forth the dead into life.

The Rev. Richard E. Helmer is rector of Church of Our Saviour, Mill Valley, Calif., and a postulant in the Brotherhood of Saint Gregory. His sermons and reflections have been published widely online, and he blogs at Caught by the Light.

By George Clifford

As a person with dual loyalties to God and country, loyalties that sometimes but not always conflict, the two Florida pastors burning of the Koran and the violent rioting by Afghan Muslims in response left me both upset and concerned about the future of a civilized global community. These events are but the most recent in a string of incidents that include some radical Muslim leaders issuing a religious ruling authorizing Salman Rushdie’s killing after he published The Satanic Verses and the furor that erupted after a Danish newspaper published cartoons that many Muslims believed disrespectful of the prophet Mohammed.

I willingly served in the U.S. Navy for twenty-four years, retiring as a Captain. Like all military personnel, I swore an oath to defend the Constitution against all enemies foreign and domestic. I took that oath in good conscience because I believe the rights and freedoms that the Constitution establishes as the basic law of the land provide the foundation for a healthy, progressive society.

Free speech is one important right, enshrined in the Constitution’s First Amendment. This right includes actual words and “speech acts,” gestures and deeds intended to communicate a message. In broad terms, U.S. law only prohibits speech that directly jeopardizes the safety of others (e.g., yelling “Fire!” in a crowded theater) or harms property that belongs to another person (e.g., malicious libel that ruins a reputation or burning a cross on someone else’s lawn). Free speech was instrumental in the U.S. abolishing slavery, extending the vote to women and non-property owning males, and the continuing campaign to eliminate discrimination based on gender, gender orientation, religion, and ethnicity.

The U.S. flag symbolizes our rights and freedoms, a symbol military personnel daily accord special respect. People who display a flag that wind has whipped to shreds or who use flags as decorative items offend my sense of respect for the flag and what it symbolizes. However, I willingly defend their right to misuse the flag in those ways, even to burn the flag as an act of protest if they so choose.

Those “speech acts” may offend me but do not harm me, an important lesson that I learned as a child. I vividly remember my parents’ unflagging efforts to establish and to maintain civility in the household they inhabited with their five sons. Not surprisingly, teasing, taunting, name-calling, insults, and other verbal attacks were almost daily occurrences. Complaints of verbal harassment invariably prompted parental reminders that “sticks and stones may break your bones, but words can never hurt you.” In doing so, my parents nurtured their sons’ self-esteem, fostered our moral courage, and emphasized that a person can and should control his or her emotions. Furthermore, if the miscreant was one of their sons, my parents, who knew the importance of mutual respect, disciplined the culprit swiftly and appropriately.

These are basic lessons in civility, the type of wisdom that Robert Fulghum distilled in his popular bestseller, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. These are lessons that many in our global community need to learn or take to heart, as current events have emphasized. Two people who need to learn these lessons are the Florida pastors who burned a Koran that they owned. They had the legal right to burn it. Nevertheless, they should have voluntarily restrained themselves from doing so. What is legal is not always moral.

My loyalty to God in Christ defines my moral compass. Jesus taught that his followers should love their neighbor as themselves. I find it impossible to interpret burning the Koran as an act of love for Muslims. The Christian pastors who burned the Koran disrespected Muslims and transgressed Jesus’ command to love their neighbor. Indeed, I value the rights and freedoms established in the U.S. Constitution precisely because I believe that those rights and freedoms are essential expressions of respect for others.

Similarly, a person or group that insists other people’s words and actions always respect certain ideas or practices displays unwarranted hubris that disrespects and dehumanizes those who disagree. Mutual respect without actual tolerance for diverse beliefs and practices is meaningless. Pointing a finger at Muslims who riot in the aftermath of a Koran burning and shouting “Guilty!” is easy. Building bridges to the alienated is more difficult. Having the moral courage to defend free speech in the face of threats and intimidation is still more difficult. Remembering that intolerance is not unique to Muslims can be even more difficult, e.g., an expectation, and often pressure, for people to be “politically correct” is a form of intolerance and disrespect for diversity.

I once had an agnostic sailor stationed aboard a ship for which I was the chaplain come see me. Another of the sailors living in the same berthing compartment was an evangelical Christian. This Christian left a tract (a brochure with the gospel message of God's saving grace in Jesus) on the agnostic’s bunk every day. The agnostic had asked the evangelical to stop doing that. When the evangelical persisted, the agnostic sought to enlist my aid. I asked the evangelical to stop, explaining that being an irritant was inconsistent with Jesus’ command to love our neighbor and that the evangelistic effort, no matter how well intended, was actually self-defeating. The evangelical listened politely but ignored my advice. So, one night the agnostic left a satanic tract on the evangelical’s bunk. Things immediately deteriorated; only when the ship’s executive officer threatened to punish both sailors did the two sailors declare a hostile truce.

Civilian society has no command structure to enforce mutual respect and to establish genuine tolerance for diversity. Consequently, people of good will – and I hope, in spite of the two Florida pastors, that this includes most clergy and Christians – must stand firmly and assertively in defense of mutual respect, tolerance for diversity, and human freedom as non-negotiable basic tenets of civilization and healthy, pluralistic communities.

George Clifford, a priest in the Diocese of North Carolina, served as a Navy chaplain for twenty-four years and now blogs at Ethical Musings.