A Chicago Graduate’s Library: Written Communication
We used to have a Great Books program for undergraduates at the University of Chicago. It was nothing more than a name with a fancy ring for a required reading list for graduation. I’m glad they got rid of the requirement, but that spirit of reading great literature is still alive. It varies from university to university and from program to program, but I was assigned about 700 pages to read per week. Of very dense, esoteric books.
Although I have surely forgotten some of the books that I have read over the years, here are a few inspired works that I will still thumb through from time to time. Not all works are suitable for high school students, but if you believe that being pushed off the deep end is the best way to learn swimming, by all means. At a minimum, a quick Google search should reveal a wealth of ideas that may inspire you to purchase a copy of your own (video summaries or lectures should be available for most of these works as well).
The Written Communication Library is Now Open
Discipline and Punish, by Michel Foucault
My introduction to Michel Foucault, taught by a professor so French that he needed a cigarette break every 15 minutes or so. Nonetheless, he was an amazing instructor who had written his thesis on Foucault. Without going into too much technicality, Discipline and Punishment is a book that seeks to trace the history and development of the modern penal system. Ever wonder why people used to be executed or burned at the stake, but now we lock criminals up in prisons instead? Yeah, exactly, Foucault wondered why that happened as well. He concludes that locking up people in prison is not humane, as many would have us believe; instead, he argues for the precise opposite, that it is an incredibly sinister method of punishment because it tricks you into believing it is doing you favors.
There are many great ideas in this book, which he further develops in his later work, but the most famous is perhaps the Pantopticon. This is a concept that he borrows from Jeremy Bentham. Foucault argues that the modern penal system is sinister because it robs the individual chance for resistance; in fact, the power we might rebel against is rendered invisible, turned into self-discipline. You know how students go quiet when a teacher walks into the classroom? Or how most people pick up the trash even if no one is looking? This is somewhat analogous to what Foucault describes as self-discipline. The penal system trains us to train ourselves, unbeknownst to us. It was a great read because of its (relative) simplicity and because the more I studied Foucault, the more I found that his lens may indeed be correct.
Das Kapital, by Karl Marx
The book that every revolutionary loves, but perhaps does not read. It is not the great communist manifesto that many imagine (he has other works for that). Furthermore, it is approximately 2000 pages or more of economic theory and obscure economic philosophy. I’ve also only read volume one. The often agreed-upon highlight of the first volume is Marx’s analysis of surplus value, which is created off the backs of poor laborers and their exploitation. Capitalism fundamentally means exploitation, because the laborer is paid a wage for their work but is not paid for the excess value that they create. You are paid $10 for 10 hours of making crayons, but your employer, the greedy capitalist, sells that box of crayons for $20. Marx saw this as one of the many sins of capitalism.
However, I really liked the relatively short passages on commodity fetishism. In short, he says that in a capitalist structure, the commodity takes on a life of its own; we fetishize it as if it came out of nowhere, ignoring the actual people and exploitation that it took to create a good. I believe that the subtext (or perhaps it was stated explicitly) is that we are also forced to see others as a commodity as well—how much value can this person create for me? Perhaps none of this seems like some insight that would inspire communist uprisings and revolutions and wars. But, how many people do we have in our lives that we love, regardless of the monetary value that they provide us? And, living in capitalism, how can we be so sure? Reading Marx was certainly a project, but it is probably one of the most important texts ever written, up there with the Bible or On the Origin of Species. Partaking in that kind of history is amazing.
The Leviathan, by Thomas Hobbes
I remember this book fondly for its cover art. It depicts a countless number of tiny people making up the body of one big person that looks like a king. Ever wonder if prehistoric people, say during the Stone Age, would just kill each other and steal food since there were no real laws that we know of? Hobbes, as well as several other people, did. Hobbes essentially goes from the State of Nature (think Stone Age, no laws, no rules) to the formation of modern society with rules. Society sucks with school and homework, and jobs, right? No. Why? His rationale is pretty simple: you’d die without it. Hobbes describes a very austere and abstract zombie apocalypse-type scenario, in which it would be every man for himself without rules. He concludes that we need a Leviathan, basically a monarch, to force us to obey the rules.
I like this book because it made me question my moral framework, the whole nature versus nurture dilemma, with more dire consequences. How much of me is truly me? How much of me is socialized me? I don’t think this is the main takeaway of this book, or its intended takeaway. But personally, it was that and understanding why there’s always that group in zombie apocalypse films that tries to rebuild society.
A Theory of Justice, by John Rawls
How boring does the title sound? Now, how boring does a 600-page book in small font that literally talks about a theory of justice sound? Turns out, it’s not that bad. This is a book that was written in the 20th century, so it is quite modern for a classic. The most surprising thing, personally, was that Rawls really was trying to provide a framework for a just society. He even talks about health care and taxes, among many other topics. I didn’t really enjoy those portions.
The most famous (and in my opinion, the most enjoyable parts of the book) concept put forth by Rawls is the Veil of Ignorance. It is a hypothetical state in which people make choices having this metaphoric blindfold. How would we as a society decide to allocate resources if none of us knew how rich or poor we would be? What educational standing? Who would our parents be, and when would we even be born? It is Rawls’ opinion that any form of justice must start from this position.
It really calls into question how many of the decisions that we make are truly our own. It tests the limits of our empathy and sympathy. I remember our professor commenting that if we had been born strong and athletic 2000 years ago, there’s a good chance we would be an expensive slave, since slaves were as common, if not more common, than warriors or farmers (physical jobs) in most older societies. Today, he continued, you might be paid millions as a professional athlete. He, like Rawls, believed that the period of history you are born into had so much influence on life, and that we should count our blessings.
Black Skin, White Masks, by Frantz Fanon
A gripping book on the impacts and effects of colonialism, and the mechanisms of colonial destruction at the individual level. Fanon’s thought has been influential to anti-colonial movements in the 20th century, and he would have been proud since he himself was born into part of the French empire. Ever wonder why some people sell out their country, their family, their closest friends? Fanon investigates the systemic and individual forces that might fuel such a sinister agenda. Like the title suggests, Fanon was greatly interested in people with black skin, but took the side of white colonists. He goes into great lengths to psychoanalyze how such actions dehumanize the individual. His analysis is pertinent to so many regions of the world, and even outside the context of colonial history. Why do you act the way you do? What forces compel you to do so?
It particularly resonated with me as a Korean American, because Fanon distinguishes between various versions of French (think Canadian French, Creole French, and “French French”). Sometimes, Korean American is banal, sometimes it is invisible, and sometimes it is derogatory. You can hear Fanon frothing at the mouth in passion and the subdued anger in his prose.
Patrick Kim serves as our Writing Specialist and Associate Consultant, holding a degree in Written Communication from the University of Chicago.
