My drive home from work is a time of reflection for me. Recently, I started pondering the question: "How would I respond, if someone asked me what Christianity is?" Almost immediately I dismissed phrases like, "a religion" or "a set of beliefs." Though it took a bit longer, I even decided the popular evangelical definition of the last 30 years that it's "a personal relationship with Jesus Christ" is insufficient. After all, it seems to me that everyone has a relationship with Jesus...it's just that for some of us that relationship is one of hate, of dismissal, etc.
Then it hit me.
Christianity is the original alternative lifestyle
Fletcher's Illustration of Christian martyrs burned at the stake by Ranavalona I in Madagascar
While reading an article at National Review Online yesterday, I ran came across mention of a poetic (literally) defense of capitalism penned in 1966 entitled Tom Smith and His Incredible Bread Machine. The author's name was R. W. Grant.
Though I've long lamented the poor poetic offerings I was required to read in high school--don't even get me started on Rotten Core--upon reading this poem, I was once again frustrated that I didn't discover it until now. I share it here in the hopes that others will learn from it. Perhaps there's a homeschooler somewhere who can be blessed by this poem in the ways I might have been, if only...
My very first comic book was acquired about March 1987. My sister-in-law bought it for me at Wal-Mart as I recall. It was Avengers #277
From the moment I saw it on the magazine rack, I was entranced. I guess it must have been the first time I had seen a real superhero comic book. Otherwise, I'm certain (given my rabid love for superhero cartoons and toys) that I would've pestered my mother in buying me one sooner.I was an amateur collector through the remainder of the 80s and the 90s.
Though I use the term "collector," I do so in the sense of a one who is a pure fan. I wasn't buying comics as "investments" (which--even as a kid--struck me as evidence of breathtaking economic illiteracy), but because I genuinely loved the medium. I loved the bright primary colors. I loved costumes and the fanciful, mind-bending powers. I loved the stories. On a more basic level, I loved the simple world in which there were good guys and bad guys, and I loved knowing that--no matter how bleak things might look--in the end, the bad guys would lose.
Then, something happened. In my sophisticated literary judgment, the entire medium went to crap. First the heroes got "grim and gritty." Wolverine became less Australian (as he sounded in these cartoon clips from the 1980s) and more feral:
Batman became less of the blue and gray costumed goody-goody familiar to those of us who grew up with the Superfriends,
and (apparently) returned to his roots as "the Dark Knight."
The Punisher (never exactly Superfriends material) became ever more violent and vigilante.
first appearance
In fairness, each of these characters had been introduced years before and their respective evolutions were already well underway when I became a comic reader; But I was around to see the introduction of new more violent "heroes" such as Cable, Lobo, etc.
At first, I was generally a fan of this transition. There's no denying that the Superfriends (and similar depictions) did a lot to flatten the characters out into essentially the same person. What I didn't like, was when everyone and everything seemed to be transitioning into the "antihero." Superman needed to be more like the Dark Knight...Captain America had to look more like Wolverine...if they had any hope to remain "cool," or "relevant," or whatever the popular adjectives were at the time.
Right around the time that the comics were changing all my heroes, they were changing their prices as well. A flood of idiots descended upon my beloved comic book shops and their willingness to purchase ephemera that had hitherto been printed on cheap paper (to facilitate purchase for kids), encouraged the publishers to produce their books on higher quality paper, with better inks, with glossier covers, and in multiple cover editions. At times, it seemed as though the comics were printed more for the investor than for the reader.
Of course, with higher production values came necessarily higher costs. I wound up being priced out of my regular monthly comic book purchases. I got busy with college, and then work...read a few here and there, but found it increasingly difficult to follow the multiple crossover story arcs and seemingly continual resets of the entire comic universe.
So...here I am. A guy pining away for the happy carefree comic books (not "graphic novels") of his youth and wanting to share them with his own kids for something under $5 an issue. Anyone have suggestions?
In Carson Clark's recent post "Debunking the Fourth: Top 10 Unsightly Facts about the American Revolution," I once again ran across a claim that seems to have grown progressively louder and more ubiquitous with the retelling since I first heard it in the early 1990s. This is the claim that the American Founders (or at least the ones that really mattered) were not Christians at all...but Deists.
Typically, the claim is made either to argue for one more extension of the seemingly unquestioned "separation of church and state" doctrine, or else to undercut patriotism born of the notion that "America was founded as a Christian nation." Now, there are legitimate reasons to encourage a vigorous debate on both the proper relation of Church and State, and to challenge the sort of unbridled patriotism exhibited in slogans like Stephen Decatur's famous: "My country, right or wrong..."
Nevertheless, I'm kind of a stickler for old fashioned things like "facts." I think the meanings of words, and whether we are using them accurately, matters. This is what has made me increasingly suspicious as it regards the Founders-as-Deists claim. There are a number of very specific questions (it seems to me) that need to be answered before we go off uncritically accepting this assertion, and (consequently) accepting whatever conclusion(s) its proponent(s) claim flow from it.
What is the specific documentary evidence for the claim that "the Founders" were deists?
What are the specific traits/experiences/activities, etc. necessary for us to describe an individual as being one of "the Founders"?
Precisely how many of the Founders have left us sufficient documentary evidence to make a reasonable supposition regarding their individual metaphysical beliefs? (Even irrefutable proof that Thomas Jefferson was a Deist is insufficient to ground the claim that "the Founders" were Deists. )
Exactly what definition of "Deist" are we presuming? Is "Deist" to be set over against "Christian" as though these describe to wholly separate and alien faiths; Or might "Deist" be a particular theological view within the broader field of Christian thought about the nature of God? An example might be the questions of: Open Theism, Patripassianism, Trinitarianism, Monarchianism, etc.)
I intend this post to be the first in a series in which I explore these four questions. As Mr. Clark's post was the originator of my reflections and responses, I expect to return to his specific verbiage and argumentation in my future posts. To his credit, Clark does anticipate and address some of concerns in his original post (which I would encourage any of my readers to consider in full) but I am not sure I "buy" his explanations...But, who knows? Perhaps he will have me convinced by the end of this process.
I welcome you to join me on this particular quest for understanding.
As a librarian, I deal a fair bit with books. One of my bittersweet tasks is determining when books should be weeded from the collection. There are no universal hard-and-fast rules for making such determinations, so each librarian (and each librarian) ultimately has their own idiosyncratic method. I find it interesting to hear others' rationales for their weeding decisions.
One criteria that lots of people (whether librarian or otherwise) seem to use when deciding to get rid of a book is whether or not there's writing on the pages. (The technical term is "marginalia") In libraries, this is often taken as reason to replace a heavily-used book with a new "clean" copy.
Perhaps it is the historian in me, but I've never really agreed with that judgment. I find the marginalia of books absolutely fascinating. I always wonder about who the prior owners/users of the title were. The best is when you find books that have rather extensive notes/challenges/questions written into the margins. As far as I'm concerned, it enhances the work; Because now rather than simply the author's point of view, you get a conversation between the author and your fellow reader. If there's room left, I enjoy writing in my own comments as well.
This is another aspect of ebooks that I find less than thrilling. While there are technologies that allow us to save notes on ebooks...they are almost always restricted to our particular copies. Where is the fun in that? Where is the sense of community? "But," you may say, "you could just experience community through a book discussion group." True...but only with the living. Have you ever had the experience of going back and reading the marginalia of a grandparent or great-grandparent? Very often, it represents the only way to have conversation with them. And what of the internal dialogues that can be fostered by going back and reading marginalia that you placed in a book during your childhood? as a angsty teenager? as a devil-may-care twentysomething?
I think you get my point. I like marginalia. So, while I don't advocate defacing library books, I would ask you to please feel free to write in your own books. Leave your intellectual epiphanies and your sarcastic comments...your questions and your asides. Even if the books are someday sold to people who never knew you, you will have given them a special treasure and ensured yourself a certain continued presence.
And, again, I say:
If we're going to radically transform a basic building block of society,
then that transformation ought to at least be the result of a community
wide conversation/debate. It ought to be the result of referenda or action by duly elected legislators...not edicts handed down from five unelected, lifetime appointees.
I am far less concerned about America redefining the word "marriage,"
than I am about America redefining phrases like: "...the consent of the
governed," "three coequal branches of government," "separate and
limited powers," etc.
