Gail Wynand: The Sins of the Second-Hander

Perhaps one of the most influential writers of the 20th century, Ayn Rand’s novel, The Fountainhead is the first real introduction to Rand’s philosophy, Objectivism. An ideology that values self-interest and remaining true to one’s beliefs, Rand unequivocally disavows altruism or compelled sacrifice of any sort. In this, and her preeminent novel, Atlas Shrugged, Rand uses character depictions to embody components of objectivism. For example, Rand’s explication of the ‘the virtue of selfishness’ is made incarnate in protagonist, Howard Roark. Today, however, our character spotlight is on the titular Gail Wynand and Rand’s juxtaposition of him against the ignominious second-hander.

The flaws of the illustrious Gail Wynand do not seem clear until later on in the book. An ostensible “rags to riches” success story, Wynand had ascended the ladder of prosperity leaving behind abject poverty to become a media tycoon. As owner of the New York Banner, one would think that Mr. Wynand’s apotheosis left him atop the world. One would be wrong… In conversation with Wynand, Roark discusses the many defects of the second-hander. He begins by describing them as incompetent, effete and utterly Machiavellian. They seek not the aims of their own designs, but rather to bring about the will of the collective unconscious. His contempt is directed towards the second-hander’s feigned altruism. A desire for perceived self-effacement in spite of impulsions towards power, greed and stature. Perhaps greatest among their faults, as far as Roark is concerned, is the incessant desire to relinquish one’s very self in favor of the perceived wants of society. The hapless fate of the second-hander is a life indistinguishable from the collective; prodigious and entirely self-inflicted.

Now, one might question where Gail Wynand comes in. It is not until Wynand admits being guilty of the very things that Roark detests that this discourse comes to a head. Like Roark, Wynand recognizes man’s innate propensity to enact his own individualism. However, Wynand makes the grave mistake of compromising his values. His realization that the public is most receptive to impassioned stories whereby their opinions are shaped, encourages him to obsequiously deviate from his own values in favor of public opinion. Rand uses Roark to criticize Wynand. He accuses him of degrading himself to the stature of a second-hander; of being more concerned with public perception of virtue than he is with actually being virtuous. For Wynand’s part, dissonance is not the right word to describe such a condition. That is, dissonance is predicated of one who, out of obstinance or ignorance fails to see that his values conflict. The gravity of Wynand’s infraction is much more severe. He understands that, with every print he releases, he is resolutely acting against his ideals. He even goes on to say: “I've sold my life, but I got a good price”.

While I am not an advocate for Rand’s radical individualism, it is certainly clear that the life of the second-hander ought not be emulated. That is to say, their ostensible abstemiousness must be understood as a pernicious chimera. To compromise one’s own values such that you become unrecognizable is, in effect, to sell your life in hope of a good price. I am sure that in the lives of many, there are numerous instances where we are reticent so as to refrain from stoking the tempest of social discourse. This ought not be mistaken for an exhortation to be portentous or bombastic, but rather to remain steadfast in one’s own beliefs. Consider the following proposition: when we yield to our concupiscible proclivities against our better judgement, we inexorably claim the mantle of Mr. Gail Wynand. That is, to sin, a willing choice of something other than The Good, is to become a second-hander.

Aragorn: The King’s Plight - A Caution to Young Men

If you are familiar with J.R.R Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings trilogy then pardon the triteness in my remarking on the rather glaring discrepancies between the books and films. Of course, with any major production, various innovations are to be expected. Indeed it is an established fact that there are elements in books that do not translate well to the big screen. Unfortunately, however, there seems to be a tendency for plots to omit crucial parts of a story. I should like to continue with an affront on Jackson’s depiction of Aragorn which has long languished in the minds of those who have not bothered to read the original manuscript. Be consoled, however, in knowing that this post is NOT to voice my indignation against Jackson himself. Rather, it is chiefly a set of observations on how the cinematic liberties taken serve to detract from the moral grandeur of the beloved Strider.

In order to complete this task, I must touch briefly on the life of Aragorn. Effectively adopted by Elrond, lord of Imladris, Aragorn, known as Estel, (Sindarin for hope), spent his early years under the tutelage of the elven patriarch. Learning much of the history of Middle-Earth and refining his abilities as an astute healer, it was in Rivendell where Aragorn first beheld Arwen, Elrond’s daughter. If we refer to Tolkien’s appendices, we are privileged to witness the birth of their romantic relationship. Upon discovering their meeting, we learn that their story is not one of passionate infatuation - in fact, when it is discovered that Aragorn had fallen in love with Arwen, Elrond all but forbids Aragorn from pursuing her in attempt to preserve her immortality and states, ‘She shall not be the bride of any man less than the king of both Gondor and Arnor’. And so, like many epic works, the son’s burden was now trothed unto him by his father.

After but a cursory glance into Tolkien’s depiction of Aragorn, one can already see a prodigious contrast between Jackson’s portrayal. In the films, Strider fears sharing the fate of his ancestors and tolerates a great deal of impertinence towards his own kingship. What’s worse, he finds himself needing constant assurance of his right to his own throne. In the books, however, he recognizes the kingship as his birth right and notably, is given the sword Anduril in the Fellowship instead of The Return of the King. What’s more, Aragorn understands the necessity of lifting his burden and freeing Middle-earth from the menace of Sauron. He would not be gainsaid in his quest to restore the majesty of Gondor and thus earn the right to wed Arwen.

Perhaps now it is clearer how the cinematic depiction of Strider serves to confound his true glory. That is, one so strong and brave as Aragorn is yet reluctant to claim HIS crown! Alas that one greater than we should be given such an undignified fate. I say this instead, do not fall victim to this second-rate interpretation. In spite of the herculean task that awaited him - vanquishing Sauron and reclaiming his land, Aragorn was, above all else, motivated. He recognized that nothing short of victory would allow him to secure what his heart desired. He abstained from fleeting pleasures that would distract from his mission and faced his foe head on. As men, are we not called to do the same?

Consider that, in our own fashion, we are called to be kings - can we expect kingship without battle? To rule without suffering? To gain without first knowing loss? See this then as a sincere exhortation to dispel the lot of the modern man. The same lot that convinces us that the crown can be gained without suffering, that we, in our present states, are “good enough”. Let us look to Aragorn who, mighty as he was, understood Elrond’s criticisms to be true. Chiefly, that he can make no claim to a kingly life until he has suffered like a servant. In humility, we may acknowledge that greatness is our own birthright. We approach it not with a sense of impudence or entitlement, but rather with a heart that seeks to be made worthy.