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Crafting a 500-word statement of personal belief is hard for the same reason that it’s hard to write a personal ad: the desire to be authentic competes with the need to make a good impression, and to do it quickly. Quite often, the end result reveals a little more than the writer intended, offering the small, perverse thrill of a peek at the uncovered ego. That guilty glimpse is the chief pleasure of This I Believe, a collection of 80 pithy manifestos from notables and unknowns, all originally broadcast on the popular radio series of the same name. Just as most people who browse the personals will never find true love there, most readers of This I Believe won’t discover any world-shaking insights. They will, however, be treated to some fascinating examples of how blinkered, quirky, big-hearted or just plain vapid human beings—including famous ones—can be.

The contemporary “This I Believe” radio series is a revival of a 1950s program of the same name hosted by legendary broadcaster Edward R. Murrow. It was conceived as a response to the materialism and repressive conformity of the early Cold War years. The high-minded goal was to give individuals an opportunity to speak past the political and social dogmas of the day. Like the current program, Murrow’s “This I Believe” included housewives and high school students along with luminaries such as Albert Einstein and Eleanor Roosevelt. In 2003, radio producer Dan Gediman stumbled upon a volume of essays from the original series, and was struck by the similar ills of its era and post-9/11 America: the paranoia, the squelching of dissent, the sense of lost community in a time of crisis. He thought the old idea would find a new audience. He was right. The resurrected “This I Believe” debuted on National Public Radio in 2005 and was an instant hit.

This collection combines essays from both the old series and the new. That’s a smart bit of marketing to regular NPR listeners, who have already heard the current pieces, but it also makes for a more interesting read overall. The comparisons between McCarthy’s heyday and the Bush era seem obvious, but it’s surprising to discover that our own time is in some ways more conservative. Scanning the 1950s contributions, it’s no shock to hear decidedly liberal Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas criticize America for “acting abroad as an arrogant, selfish, greedy nation, interested only in guns and dollars”—but it is a little stunning to find that Einstein’s essay has a decidedly socialist ring. After lamenting the twin afflictions of materialism and alienation, he says, “It is my belief that there is only one way to eliminate these evils, namely, the establishment of a planned economy coupled with an education geared toward social goals.”

By contrast, the 21^st century statements rarely contain anything so overtly political, and certainly nothing with such a brave lefty bent. For the most part, the new essays focus on the “I” of This I Believe. Even when they reach for some notion of brotherhood and equality, they can’t seem to fight their way out of solipsism. Sarah Adams, a college professor, starts off the collection with a supposed paean to “the pizza delivery dude,” but it’s actually an homage to her own virtue. After enumerating her many acts of generosity to pizza deliverers, she says, “I am the equal of the world not because of the car I drive, the size of the TV I own, the weight I can bench press, or the calculus equations I can solve. I am the equal to all I meet because of the kindness in my heart.” How nice for her, but as a vision for a more just society, it comes up short.

The more prominent contributors often manage to be even less thoughtful. Bill Gates confirms suspicions that he is no visionary, but just a really successful computer geek: “But for all the cool things that a person can do with a PC, there are lots of other ways we can put our creativity and intelligence to work to improve our world,” he writes. Colin Powell offers a weirdly muted exhortation to keep America an open society, saying to immigrants and visitors, “We are glad you are here. We must be careful, but we must not be afraid.” Hardly words to make a guest feel welcome.

Most of the essays, in fairness, aren’t nearly so lame, and a few are brilliant. Actress Helen Hayes’ statement from the Murrow series is a literary jewel that begins with a dogfight and then flows seamlessly to her agony over her daughter’s death. It concludes with a spiritual epiphany inspired by the rugged folk around her in church: “It seemed as they prayed their faces lighted up and they became the very vessels of God. Here was my revelation. Suddenly I realized I was one of them.” Ironically, the liveliest, most exuberant of the new batch of credos is magician Penn Jillette’s declaration that there is no God: “Just the love of the family that raised me and the family I’m raising now is enough that I don’t need heaven. I won the huge genetic lottery, and I get joy every day.”

The trouble with any statement of belief, no matter how eloquent, is that it’s ultimately passive. Belief is the place where thinking ends, and action has yet to commence. Gediman and Allison offer detailed instructions to readers on how to create and submit their own “This I Believe” essays, but maybe it would be better to put the pen aside and follow the exhortation of Studs Terkel, in the book’s introduction, to “become an activist in this pursuit of a world in which it would be easier for people to behave decently.”