A New Names Series

I propose a new series for VPI:

Scraping the Bottom of the Biblical Names Barrell:

an Alphabet

In this series, I will highlight obscure Biblical names given to New Englanders. I may not be able to find examples for all 26 letters, but I will try.

See today's name of the day for the first installment and check back for updates in the future.

A: Abihail

B: Bezer

C: Cozbi
D: Dumah
E: Eliashib
F
G
H
I
J
K
L
M
N
O
P
Q
R
S
T
U
V
W
X
Y
Z

Hot Baby Names for 1710

Over the past few weeks, the onomasts on the internet have been publishing their lists of the top baby names of the past decade and their predictions for 2010's hot trends.

Reading these lists got me wondering about the top names of 1710. I'm usually on the lookout for unusual names (Orange Wedge, Belcher Noyes, Fanny Forward, etc.) and pass over the Johns and Marys without comment. But what better way to engage the  modern interest in classic (and faux-classic) European baby names than to run the numbers for the 18th century?

Without further ado, the top baby names of 1710 Boston*:

1. Mary
2. Elizabeth
3. Sarah
4. Abigail
5. Susanna
6. Hannah
7. Ann/Anna
8. Rebecca
    Lydia

10. Jane

      Martha

12. Johanna

      Katherine

      Lucy

      Margaret

      Mercy

      Ruth

1. John

2. William

3. Thomas

4. James

5. Samuel

    Joseph

7. Nathaniel

8. Jonathan

9. Richard

    Henry

    Daniel

10. Abraham

      Benjamin

      Ebenezer

      Edward

      Francis

      Josiah

      Robert

Cheery Reading of the Day

I am currently doing some background research for an undergraduate course on the history of life and death issues. This project brings a whole host of light reading across my desk:

Biblical Names That Are Ready for a Comeback

Part of the fun of wandering around in old graveyards is enjoying the 17th- and 18th-century names. I have several favorites that are, alas, out of the question for my hypothetical future children (Hepzibah, Dorcas, Temperance, Thankful). Perhaps we will use them on cats.

Colonial New Englanders used pretty much every name in the Bible — even the naughty ones (Jezebel, Antipas, Herod). Some of these names are definitively out (Mephibosheth, Onesiphorus, Mehuman), but others seemed poised to make a comeback.

Cow and Tubas

Today, Prof. Harvey Cox celebrated his retirement with a Jersey cow and an all-tuba brass ensemble. The story is getting some press coverage.

The cow was very calm, even with a hundred people crowded around.

"How Easy It Would Be to Hurt Your Poor Little Body!"

If you thought the Pepperell vital records were alarming, you might want to skip these excerpts from Favell Lee Mortimer's immensely popular Peep of Day series (1836).

The Peep of Day (or A Series of the Earliest Religious Instruction the Infant Mind is Capable of Receiving) was a bestseller many times over in both Britain and America. Although Mortimer's grand-niece famously called it "one of the most outspokenly sadistic children's books ever written," millions of 19th-century children learned their first lessons about God from Mrs. Mortimer's stories.

The whole thing is worth a read, especially if you are interested in education in the 19th century, but my favorite part is right up front in the first chapter:

God does every thing. God gave you this little body, and he makes it live, and move, and breathe . . . God has covered your bones with flesh. Your flesh is soft and warm. In your flesh there is blood. God has put skin outside, and it covers your flesh and blood like a coat.

Now all these things, the bones, and flesh, and blood, and skin, are called your body. How kind of God it was to give you a body! I hope that your body will not get hurt. Will your bones break? Yes, they would if you were to fall down from a high place, or if a cart were to go over them. If you were to be very sick, your flesh would waste away, and you would have scarcely any thing left but skin and bones.

Did you ever see a child who had been sick a very long while? I have seen a sick baby. It had not round cheeks like yours, and a fat arm like this. The baby's flesh was almost gone, and its little bones were only covered with skin. God has kept you strong and well.

How easy it would be to hurt your poor little body! If it were to fall into the fire it would be burned up. If hot water were thrown upon it, it would be scalded. If it were to fall into deep water, and not be taken out very soon, it would be drowned. If a great knife were run through your body, the blood would come out. If a great box were to fall on your head, your head would be crushed. If you were to fall out of the window, your neck would be broken. If you were not to eat some food for a few days, your little body would be very sick, your breath would stop, and you would grow cold, and you would soon be dead. You see that you have a very weak little body.

Mrs. Mortimer also instructs children on being grateful for their bourgeois upbringings:

Your mother has sent you to this nice school, and she gives you supper when you go home. I know she will be kind to you as long as she lives. But remember who gave you this mother. God sent you a dear mother, instead of putting you in the fields, where no one would have seen you or taken care of you.

The following chapter contains a long list of ways in which the reader's father might die suddenly, including falling off a ladder and getting kicked by a horse. I won't go through chapter by chapter — the rest of the book is mostly a life of Jesus with a few other Bible stories and a hair-raising account of the Apocalypse.

If you're interested in more from Mrs. Mortimer, I highly recommend Todd Pruzan's The Clumsiest People in Europe: Mrs. Mortimer's Bad-Tempered Guide to the Victorian World (2005), which reprints some of her geography lessons with commentary. Hilarious excerpts here.

Now, With More Athy!

This stuff cracks me up. The Christian Broadcasting Network is very upset about those new "anti-God" ads on buses in DC.

I like to read articles about atheism written from a Christian perspective (it hones my understanding of where Christians are coming from), but I'm having a little trouble getting past the chronic misspelling of atheist as athiest.*

It's a-theist, as in not-theist,
not athiest, the superlative of athy: athy, athier, athiest.

Using my vocabulary skills, I can deduce from this context that athy must mean something along the lines of hopeful or optimistic:

But the athiest group hopes the ads will bring together residents who follow a humanist way of thinking.

*I wish to reiterate my mocking policy: Misspellings, minor grammatical errors, and punctuation faux pas are to be forgiven when they appear on a blog, in a personal email, or in handwritten correspondence. For my part, I am notoriously overgenerous with commas and am a poor typist. I reserve the right to mock these same errors when they appear in headlines, on printed signs, or in any other text that has been through an editorial process.

Morality and Atheism

Paul Bloom's essay on morality and atheism in today's issue of Slate should be of interest to all those (myself included) who identify as both atheists and as "moral" people. Though some of his conclusions seem sound and useful (atheists are less happy and less generous than religious people because they are excluded from communities), I had a lot of problems with his logic.

Most troublingly, Bloom treats "morality" as if it were a transparent and self-evident category. He summarizes several studies that code certain behaviors (giving change to homeless people on the street, giving blood) as "moral" and accepts these definititions uncritically. What makes giving change to the homeless an intrinsically moral act? I have a personal policy of not giving change to the homeless or cans to canned food drives — instead, I donate a sum of money to the Greater Boston Food Bank (donate here). It is tremendously more efficient to give cash to an organization that buys food in bulk and distributes resources to the areas of greatest need than it is to pass out quarters or donate food you bought at retail price. Am I then acting immorally when I fail to give change to the homeless? I would argue that I have made a good moral choice that actually involved some effort and reflection rather than relying on impulse.

Similarly, the studies Bloom cites do not distinguish between a "moral" action and the system of ethics behind that action. In one study, participants were given $10 that they could either keep or choose to share with a stranger. Half of the subjects were primed with a religiously-themed word search and ended up giving away more money than the control group. Bloom, in agreement with the researchers, interprets this study as evidence that "religious people are nicer because they believe that they are never alone." Other research cited by Bloom suggest that "people are more generous and less likely to cheat when others are around." I don't know what definition of "generous" he is using, but I would refer him to my favorite Bible story: Mark 12:38-44.

Since Bloom is a professor of psychologywho specializes in child development, he is no doubt familiar Kohlberg's stages of moral development. Last time I checked, doing the right thing because you know someone is watching (and, implicitly, threatening punishment for bad behavior) doesn't rank very high on that scale. Even if a religious person follows the instructions outlined in Matthew 6:1-6 and hides his/her good works from the world, he/she still believes that God is watching and will punish or reward accordingly. Is that really altruism? Within an atheistic system of morality, no one is watching you and any charity must spring from another source, such as self-interest (if I am kind to others, they will be kind to me) or a commitment to social justice.*

So what is morality? Are there particular actions that are moral and others that are not? If you perform the "moral" actions, do your intentions matter? Isn't it possible that more than one decision can be morally correct in any given situation?

I don't mean to argue that atheists are necessarily more moral than theists. But I am supremely annoyed whenever I see these questions posed in ways that specifically privilege a theistic definition of morality without bothering to interrogate the terms involved.

*P.S. I think a commitment to social justice is demanded by the type of atheism I embrace. I believe that there is no afterlife and thus, no justice in the afterlife, so we better demand justice on this earth. While many theistic worldviews (particularly Christianity) put a lot of value on the afterlife, I think that everyone just has this one, short, fragile existence, and that makes life so much more precious.

Update: Darn. P.Z. Myers responds to this essay as well and, as usual, much more eloquently than I. Also, like a good, morally upright person, he focuses on points of agreement with Bloom and moves the discussion in productive directions (How can atheists build community?) rather than bellyaching.

Yet Another Reason I'm Not Catholic Anymore

Check out this thread, in which a bunch of Catholics argue over whether there is any moral way to end an ectopic pregnancy. They are very concerned about avoiding directly killing the embryo and the consensus seems to be that a drug-induced abortion is not morally defensible, but a salpingectomy is ok because the embryo's death is incidental to the procedure. In any case, the termination of an ectopic pregnancy is deemed morally problematic and women who undergo any treatment for this life-threatening condition are advised to go to confession.

Fifty points to anyone who can spot a commenter on this 100-comment thread who acknowledges that saving a woman's life may have some moral merit. There may be one — I didn't get all the way to the end before I had to go increase my monthly donations to Planned Parenthood.

Keep these whackos off my body.

John Boyle's God

Cross-posted at American Creation. I hashed some of this out in earlier posts here.

Much of the discussion on this blog concerns the personal faith of the political leaders who shaped the American government in the 18th century. Today, I’d like to offer a short peek into the mind of an ordinary citizen and how he understood God’s role in the political process.

The man: John Boyle (1746-1819), printer of newspapers and books in Boston.* Boyle was highly literate, but not a college-educated man. He worked as a printer’s apprentice for John Green, publisher of the Boston Post-Boy, later going into partnership with Richard Draper at the Massachusetts Gazette. From 1759 until 1778, he kept a diary that reported on the news around Boston, running 1500 entries and chronicling events such as the Boston Massacre, Lexington and Concord, and the occupation and siege of Boston. Boyle, a staunch supporter of the Whig/patriot/revolutionary cause, may have been a participant in some of these incidents. (Note: I am currently transcribing and annotating this diary.)

Boyle does not often discuss his religious beliefs in the diary, though his admiration of Rev. George Whitefield may provide some clues. He rarely mentions God or "Providence” explicitly, even at moments of great significance, such as the death of his wife. Although he occasionally mentions church news (appointment of a new minister, building of a new church, etc.), he does not invoke a personal deity or record any of his personal musings on religion in this journal. The only prayers he mentions are the opening prayers at town meetings. Judging by his strict attention to recording their proceedings, Boyle found town meetings more meaningful (or at least more journal-worthy) than church.

Yet, Boyle’s diary does indicate a belief in an active and intervening God. This God is firmly aligned with John Boyle’s politics and can be relied upon to punish Boyle’s political opponents. In fact, practically the only times when Boyle mentions or implies a belief in an active God are times when that God is either protecting Americans from British soldiers or exacting revenge on Loyalists/Tories.

On February 22, 1766, Boyle wrote about the Massachusetts House of Representatives’ decision to censure Brigadier General Timothy Ruggles (president of the Stamp Act Congress) for failing to sign an Anti-Stamp Act petition. Boyle had never mentioned Ruggles before, but a mere six entries later, the General shows up again:

Brigadier General Ruggles of Hardwick, being with some Men who were falling some Trees, one of the Trees falling sooner than expected, struck the Brigadier before he could get out of the Way, whereby he was greatly bruised, and had several of his Ribs broke, also one of his Arms in two places.

A comparable fate befell Andrew Oliver, the Stamp Commissioner. In 1765, a mob of Bostonians ransacked Oliver’s house, but did not destroy it. According to Boyle’s diary, the work was completed by a higher power:

This Evening (Saturday) between 11 and 12 o'Clock, a terrible Tempest arose, attended with the severest Thunder and Lightning that has been known for many years. It lasted very violent for about two hours but thro' the Goodness of Divine Providence, no Damage was done in this Town, except to the Dwelling-House of Lieut. Govr. Oliver, which was struck with Lightning and considerably shattered.

Of course, if the “Goodness of Divine Providence” shielded the rest of Boston from the storm, the implication is that Oliver did not enjoy that protection.

In addition to these precision strikes, Providence looked after Whig-leaning Bostonians with more impressive gestures. During the occupation of Boston, Boyle commented on a storm off of Newfoundland, exaggerating the number of dead and identifying them as potential occupiers:

. . . 4000 Persons were lost in the several Harbours of Newfoundland, who had nearly compleated their fishing Voyages. Most of them belonged to Great Britain, and intended to inlist in the Regular Service when their Fares were finished.

On August 9, 1775, “the Almighty” performed his greatest act of protection, shielding the people of Massachusetts from British attacks:

[Captain Lindzey] immediately fired a Broadside upon the thickest Settlements [in Gloucester], and stood himself with diabolical pleasure to See what havoc his Cannon might make, “Now, (said he) my Boys, we will aim at the damn’d Presbyterian Church — Well, my brave Fellows, one Shot more and the house of God will fall before you.” While he was thus venting his hellish Rage, and setting himself as it were against heaven, the Almighty was on our side, not a Ball struck or wounded a single Person, although they went right thro’ the houses in almost every direction when filled with Women and Children; under God, our little Party at the Water-side performed Wonders, for they soon made themselves masters of [the attacking force].

What is most striking about Boyle’s “Gott mit uns” attitude is how quickly he adopted a definition of “us” that included only his political allies. Only a few years earlier, Boyle was writing rapturous entries about “our most gracious Sovereign King George the second” and “our” military victories in Canada. By 1775, not only were Tory Bostonians “enemies,” but the ordinary fishermen of Newfoundland “belonged to Great Britain” and were smite-worthy. In the Gloucester passage above, there’s a lot of “our little party” and “our side” where “we” are Massachusetts residents who supported the revolution, even if they were Presbyterians rather than Congregationalists.

John Boyle is not generally considered to be one of our “Founding Fathers,” unless we take that term to mean all members of the revolutionary generation. He was not a politician or a jurist or a philosopher. He was just a regular guy who had some minor influence because he helped run a newspaper in an important urban center at a time of crisis.

Still, I think that Boyle’s view of Providential interference in politics is pertinent to the discussion on this blog. His diary does not indicate a preoccupation with religious questions — Boyle is no Cotton Mather practicing “daily dying” or devout parishioner reflecting on the weekly sermons in his journal — but an active God is clearly present in his worldview. I have not gotten the impression that Boyle spent much time investigating the theology of political liberty or the relationship between natural and Biblical law. He believed in a God who was on his side, but that is about it, as far as I can tell.

I find John Boyle’s religious outlook so interesting because he clearly believed in God, but did not lead a God-centered life. In that way, he seems like a lot of semi-apathetic Christians today — he went to church and saw God at work in his life from time to time but did not attribute his everyday experiences to the influence of a higher power nor probe the philosophical underpinnings of his beliefs. In dozens of entries, he recounts the early struggles against British political and military interference as a matter of practical, immediate necessity, not as a great struggle to enact abstract principles. In Boyle’s in-the-trenches view, the founding of America was not necessarily a Christian mission, but the project did have a supernatural ally.

*Note: The accompanying image is of a broadside containing Philis Wheatley's elegaic poem to George Whitefield, which was sold (and possibly printed) by John Boyle.

Is Freedom of Religion a Shield?

Cross-posted @ American Creation.

In recent weeks, there has been an uproar over blogger P.Z. Myers' desecration of a consecrated eucharistic wafer. A little background: A college student in Florida received death threats from angry Catholics after he smuggled a consecrated wafer out of a Catholic church. P.Z. Myers, an outspoken atheist, was outraged by the vitriol cast at the student and pledged to desecrate a post-transubstantiation host in order to affirm his belief that "nothing must be held sacred." Bill Donohue and the Catholic League got in on the action and Myers has received several death threats of his own, along with thousands of angry emails from offended Catholics.

In response to this incident, the Confraternity of Catholic Clergy issued a press release that caught my eye because of its pronouncements on the meaning of religious freedom and the intentions of the founding fathers. The statement reads, in part,

We find the actions of University of Minnesota (Morris) Professor Paul Myers reprehensible, inexcusable, and unconstitutional. His flagrant display of irreverence by profaning a consecrated Host from a Catholic church goes beyond the limit of academic freedom and free speech.
The same Bill of Rights which protect freedom of speech also protect freedom of religion. The Founding Fathers did not envision a freedom FROM religion, rather a freedom OF religion. In other words, our nation's constitution protects the rights of ALL religions, not one and not just a few. Attacking the most sacred elements of a religion is not free speech anymore than would be perjury in a court or libel in a newspaper . . . The freedom of religion means that no one has the right to attack, malign or grossly offend a faith tradition they personally do not have membership or ascribe allegiance.

I haven't been able to find much information on this organization. According to their website, the CCC is an "Association of 600 Roman Catholic Priests and Deacons pledged to the pursuit of personal holiness, loyalty to the Roman Pontiff, commitment to theological study and strict adherence to the authentic teachings of the Magisterium." Since they lack either the resources or the web-savvy to hire a web designer, I have to assume that it's not a very powerful organization. Still, I think that their understanding of religious freedom is worthy of comment.

First, I think that it’s important to dispel the idea that the actions of any private citizen can be unconstitutional (unless that citizen is acting as an agent of the government). Private citizens can violate laws, but the Constitution only applies to governmental actions. As Professor Laurence Tribe once pointed out, there are only two ways a private citizen can violate the Constitution: by enslaving someone or by transporting alcohol across state lines in violation of section 2 of the 21st Amendment. Even though Myers works at a public university, the desecration took place at his private residence and he discussed it on his personal blog (not hosted by the university), so it’s difficult to argue that he has the standing to act unconstitutionally.

I’m not writing to defend Myers’ actions, but to examine the CCC’s take on freedom of religion. Their position includes three main elements, one of which is probably true, while the others are, I think, way off the mark.

The first (true) part of their argument is that the Founding Fathers did not envision a society that functioned without religion. As various contributors to this blog have shown, the leading political figures of the late 18th century believed that religion was the backbone of private and public morality (though by “religion,” they did not necessarily mean orthodox Christianity). I disagree with the Founders on this issue, but I don’t deny that they thought that way.

The second part (“Attacking the most sacred elements of a religion is not free speech”) is worth fleshing out. I don’t think there’s anything in our founding documents that prevents me from going out and buying a Bible and starting a bonfire with it. It may be crass, but it isn’t illegal (as long as I don't start a forest fire). There may be something here about hate crimes, but since hate crimes are all about intention, I don’t think Myers' acts would meet hate crime criteria since they were meant to demonstrate the folly of sacred objects, rather than to convey hatred of a particular group. Not 100% sure on this — anyone with legal expertise please feel free to prove me wrong. And just for the record, I don’t support burning books for any reason.

Of course, you can’t burn a church or destroy a sacred object that belongs to someone else (arson and theft are crimes, after all), and they may be arguing here that the consecrated host was stolen. Can you be said to steal something if it is freely given to you? Is the implied contract between a communicant and a celebrant legally enforceable? If anyone knows case law on this, I’d be interested in seeing it — the only relevant examples I can find involve stealing large numbers of free things (like campus newspapers) in order to keep them from being distributed. The distinction here is that there is a difference between criticizing a religion’s beliefs and attempting to intimidate its membership by vandalizing their buildings/libraries/relics, etc. I think Myers’ actions (destroying an object with negligible monetary value in the privacy of his own home and then writing about his reasons for doing so) are closer to the former than the latter, but the CCC obviously disagrees.

The last pillar of the CCC’s argument is the strangest. It deserves to be quoted again:

The freedom of religion means that no one has the right to attack, malign or grossly offend a faith tradition they personally do not have membership or ascribe allegiance.

By placing this statement immediately after their speculations on the Founding Fathers’ intentions, the CCC implies that the Founding Fathers understood the 1st Amendment to be a Constitutional shield protecting religious orthodoxies from the uncouth rabble who might “malign” them.

I have a mental image of John Adams doing a spit-take.

Adams certainly did his share of maligning. Speaking of his own forebears, Adams spoke approvingly of how they “derid[ed], as all reasonable and impartial men must do, the ridiculous fancies of sanctified effluvia from Episcopal fingers.” He also believed that the Mass and its trappings were intended to “bewitch the simple and ignorant.”

Come on, John, tell us how you really feel:

In the Countries of slavery, and Romish superstition, the Laity must not learn to read, least they should detect the gross Impostures of the Priesthood, and shake off the Yoke of Bondage. But in Protestant Countries and especially in England and its Colonies, Freedom of Enquiry is allowed to be not only [illegible] the Priviledge but the Duty of every Individual. We know it to be our Duty, to read, examine and judge for ourselves, even of ourselves what is right. No Priest nor Pope has any Right to say what I shall believe, and I will not believe one Word they say, if I think it is not founded in Reason and in Revelation. Now how can I judge what My Bible justifies unless I can read my Bible.

I don’t know whether the CCC would be “grossly offend[ed]” by those remarks, but Adams certainly meant them to be offensive.

Adams was not alone in saying mean things about the Catholic church. In 1774, the Continental Congress called Catholicism, “a Religion that has deluged [Britain] in blood and dispersed Impiety, Bigotry, Persecution, Murder and Rebellion through every part of the World.” John Jay supported an article of the New York Constitution that prevented people from becoming citizens unless they would “abjure and renounce all allegiance and subjection to all and every foreign king, prince, potentate, and State in all matters, ecclesiastical as well as civil.”

Our founding documents may enshrine a right to worship without fearing government persecution, but our Founding Fathers did not surrender their right to criticize "faith traditions." I doubt that Americans who grew up reading about the Marian martyrs would endorse any legal barriers preventing people from criticizing the doctrine of transubstantiation.

I am envisioning a comments thread that runs off the rails picking apart Prof. Myers’ actions rather than the CCC’s position on the freedom of religion. I’ll save you lots of time by linking to several threads that have beaten that subject to death.

Instead, what do you think: Did the Founding Fathers believe that the first amendment should function as a cocoon to insulate “faith traditions” from non-members who wish to “attack, malign or grossly offend” them?

"He'll Gitcha"

Every time I read one of John Boyle's thinly-veiled celebrations over the providential misfortunes of his political enemies, I think of the video of the little girl who says, "Don't talk back to Darth Vader, he'll gitcha."


Maybe God isn't Darth Vader, but in this diary, he's certainly in the "gitcha" business. John Boyle's God is aligned with John Boyle's politics and regularly brings his wrath down on the heads of Boyle's political opponents. He sends lightning to destroy Andrew Oliver's house and hurricanes to drown thousands of potential British army recruits.

In April of 1766, Providence came looking for Brigadier General Timothy Ruggles. Ruggles' transgression: as president of the 1765 Stamp Act Congress, he refused to endorse the anti-Stamp Act petitions that the group sent to the King and Parliament (years later, Ruggles' Tory sympathies made it necessary for him to flee to Nova Scotia).

In February of 1766, the Massachusetts legislature formally censured Ruggles for "Neglect of Duty." The Boston Post Boy (Boyle's paper) covered the story:

Boyle himself mentioned the Ruggles affair in his diary on February 22nd:

A Congress of Deputies from the several American Colonies met at New-York in October last, and petitioned the King, Lords, and Commons, severally, for a Repeal of the Stamp-Act. The Deputies on the part of this Govt. were Brigadier Genl. Ruggles, of Hardwick, James Otis, Esqr. of Boston, and Oliver Partridge, Esqr. of Hatfield. On the 12th. Instant, Brigadier Ruggles was reprimanded by the House of Representatives for neglect of Duty at said Congress, particularly in refusing to sign the Petitions The Conduct of the other two Gentlemen was approved of. 

Boyle had never mentioned Ruggles before, but six entries later, the General shows up again:

Brigadier General Ruggles of Hardwick, being with some Men who were falling some Trees, one of the Trees falling sooner than expected, struck the Brigadier before he could get out of the Way, whereby he was greatly bruised, and had several of his Ribs broke, also one of his Arms in two places.

As in his comments about the destruction of Oliver's house, Boyle did not explicitly attribute Ruggles' injuries to divine retribution, but it's impossible to overlook his insinuations. In Boyle's mind, God's creation is allied with the Whig cause. Lukewarm patriots, beware!

Axe Murderers at the Library

This morning, I read a very polite letter written by a librarian to a patron who had complained about the children's book, Uncle Bobby's Wedding.

One commenter, Lou Franklin, was pretty upset that anyone would defend this book, which is about a young guinea pig who worries that her relationship with her favorite uncle will change after he marries another (male) guinea pig. Franklin wrote an unhinged response in which he declared that the book is "homosexual propaganda" and is thus wrong, wrong, wrong.

All that was pretty entertaining, but I was more interested in Franklin's assertion that public libraries do not serve the needs of all members of the community. Jamie, the librarian, pointed out that, "A public library provides material of interest for the entire community - not just those who support your own views and opinions." Franklin fired back hysterically:

The entire community? How about Klansmen? Got any children's books for them? How about neo-Nazis. No? What about pedophiles? Heroin addicts? Axe murderers? Excuse me, can you direct me to some children's books about the joys of Devil Worship? What? You don't have any?!? No, a public library does not provide material of interest for the entire community. Nor should they.

And that got me thinking — does the public library have books that could serve the needs of the groups listed here? It has been my experience that you can find a children's book on pretty much anything, so now I'm intrigued: is Franklin's over-the-top rhetoric (which resembles nothing so much as a toddler balling up his fists and shrieking, "NO, NO, NO!") accurate? Dismissing for now the bogus analogy that equates gay families with the vibrant axe murderer community, is it true that the public library does not contain books on these topics?

It is certainly true that public libraries generally contain books that could cater to adults on Franklin's list. I'm not saying that anyone who reads these books belongs to these groups, just that members of the listed groups might enjoy these books:

Klansmen: The Turner Diaries, The Politically Incorrect Guide to American History, American Negro Slavery
Neo-nazis: Mein Kampf, Protocols of the Wise Men of Zion
Pedophiles: the psychology section, Conversations with a Pedophile
Heroin Addicts: How to Stop Time, Methadone Treatment Manual
Axe Murderers: biographies of Lizzie Borden, Opportunities in Forestry Careers
Devil Worshippers: Satan Wants You, Raising Hell

But can we find books that might be helpful for children who may be dealing with these issues? The books Franklin objects to are books that can help children understand and cope with things that are happening in their lives. Although Franklin seems to think that public libraries should remove anything that references a subject that is objectionable to him, the truth is that kids deal with all of the issues he listed and books can help them sort out a confusing world.

Klansmen (I'm not sure here if Franklin means books that help kids deal with hate crimes or books that deliver the Klan's message. I'll include both.):
Anti-hate crime: Getting Away With Murder, Mim and the Klan, many books on slavery and civil rights
Klan-compatible: The Littlest Rebel (book and movie), The Favorite Uncle Remus, Tintin in the Congo,

Neo-nazis: same problem as before, could probably use some of those same books

Pedophilia/Abuse: My Imaginary Friend, The Right Touch, My Body is Private, The Trouble With Secrets, A Terrible Thing Happened, Maybe Days, Zachary's New Home

Heroin Addicts: Methadone, My Dad Has a Disease, An Elephant in the Living Room, some of the same books as above

Axe Murderers: more Lizzie Borden, Rotten Rulers, Cruel Crime and Painful Punishment,
My Daddy is in Jail, When Dad Killed Mom, Willie's Dad

Devil Worshippers (I know that atheists and people who practice Wicca do not consider themselves Devil Worshippers, but I'm willing to bet that Franklin does.): Aidan's First Full Moon Circle, An Ordinary Girl — A Magical Child, The Winter Solstice, A Solstice Tree for Jenny, What About Gods?, Humanism — What's That?

So it seems that there are children's books on many of those subjects. You may have to search through some antiques to cover the pro-Klan and pro-Nazi angles, but you could do it. As for the other categories, it's not even a challenge to come up with books that can help children feel safe and loved even when they are dealing with potentially confusing or scary issues.

As for whether any of these categories are at all analogous to Uncle Bobby's Wedding, I don't know. The Wiccan books are probably closest since, like with gay marriage, there's really nothing to worry about. The others all deal with real problems (hate, crime, addiction) but offer kids a chance to identify with characters or learn more about complex issues. I concede that there are few modern children's books that portray the Klan, Nazis, and pedophiles in a positive, normalizing light (though you can still find plenty of racist and fascist themes in picture books). But there seems to be a good selection for reassuring kids that even if a parent/aunt/uncle/friend is a drug addict, an axe murderer, or a heathen, everything's going to be ok.
.

"He's really only having this conversation with himself."

Re: James Carse's interview @ Salon

I was getting all ready to write something about this, but now I can just say +1 to this.

In Which I Come Very Close to Kicking a Catholic Priest

On Thursday, we buried Papa and I came very close to kicking a priest. Kicking him hard in his big, fat head.

Some background:
In 1945, my Naunie and Papa were married at the Church of the Immaculate Conception in Waterbury, CT (as of this year, it is a basilica). Naunie's parents were also married in this church. Both Naunie and Papa have been parishioners there for a long time and they renewed their vows there on their 60th anniversary in 2005. They have not attended regularly since they moved across the state in 2007 to be nearer to their children, but it is safe to say that they are longtime members of the Immaculate Conception community. All of this will become relevant later on in this story.

As I have written previously, Papa died on July 11th after suffering the aftermath of a catastrophic stroke for almost an entire year. He was miserable, and even I, nonbeliever that I am, can agree that he is "in a better place" because the torment he underwent was excruciating just to watch. His death, though tragic, was not unanticipated, especially since he started refusing nourishment in June. Our whole family is devastated, but we've had a while to get used to the idea.

On the weekend after Papa died, the funeral director encouraged my aunt to call the Immaculate Conception in order to make sure that the organist could play the songs my Naunie requested.

Enter Father Fat Head (FFH for the remainder of this post).

In their very first encounter, he turned the Inquisition loose on my poor aunt. "Are you even Catholic?" he asked her, "Haven't you ever been to a funeral?" What was he planning to say if either of her answers were "no"? She stammered two affirmative responses. He then proceeded to lecture her on how she was too grief-stricken to do any planning and that people in her "state" don't know what they want. As this story goes along, I think it will become clear that he meant "women" when he said "people."

At the wake, FFH gave an SNL-worthy lecture on the "10 Stages of Grief," which would have included five we'd never heard of before if he had ever gotten around to covering more than three. And btw, why does the family at the wake need your lecture on grief? Especially when it comes wrapped in bullshit "wisdom" about how the women always cry at these things? Can't you just say something comforting or nice about the deceased? Or pronounce his name correctly? Barring that, stick to the Hail Mary and everyone can walk away, if not happy, at least not insulted by FFH's condescending attitude. In a room full of very smart people, it was clear that a) he thought he was the smartest and b) he was not.

All of this is not too bad so far.

On the night before the funeral, Pete and I went out for drinks with some of my aunts, uncles, and cousins. Around midnight, I casually asked, "So, who's doing the readings tomorrow?" Apparently, I was, along with my equally surprised cousin, Seth. No problem. Our parents have been running around crazy this past week and they forgot to tell us. Not a big deal. We still have 10 hours in which to pick readings and rehearse them. Seth and I flipped a coin — I got Old Testament.

Back in my hotel room later that night, I was dismayed to find that either the Gideons had overlooked my room or a previous guest had already stolen the Bible. Again, not a big problem, as I have the power of the internet at my fingers. After a surprisingly lengthy search (there are not a lot of Old Testament passages on generosity/hospitality that do not involve tithing or hookers), I located what seemed to me an appropriate passage: Isaiah 58:3-10. I have no idea whether this is an appropriate passage for a funeral, but it is about how piety and self-flagellation are not enough — that God says we must be compassionate toward the poor and fight oppression if we hope to have God on our side. Whether or not it makes a good funeral reading, I thought it made a good reading for Papa, so I picked it.

Unfortunately, I didn't have a printer and didn't think to copy it out on paper, assuming (stupidly, it turns out), that I would be able to find a copy of the Bible somewhere between my hotel room and the lectern.

In the morning, we arrived at the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception half an hour before the service. With Seth and two of my younger cousins who were in charge of bringing up the gifts, I set off to find the priest and ask if he had any special instructions. We found him, introduced ourselves (he shook Seth's hand but not any of the 3 girls'), and asked him what we should know beforehand. He mumbled something incoherent and waved a chubby hand, dismissing us. Ok, guess anything goes. Luckily, we were able to locate the gifts on our own and I gave my terrified younger cousins the helpful advice, "Well, I guess just grab something and bring it up front."

Meanwhile, we're scoping the place out for Bibles. None. I wasn't expecting to find any in the pews (I was a Catholic for 20 years), but I thought we'd be able to find one, you know, around somewhere. This kind of thinking got us nowhere, so Pete started frantically copying out the verses, which I had had the foresight to leave up on my laptop.

Too soon, FFH started up the service and called me and "Steve" to the front to read. There's no one named Steve in our family, but we assumed he meant Seth and went with that. Out of time, I grabbed my laptop and decided to just read off the screen. I even planned to tilt it so that the Obama and Out Campaign stickers were less visible.

"Steve" went up to the lectern, gently introduced himself by his actual name, and gave a short introduction as to why he though his reading was relevant to Papa. He mentioned that it was "from Corinthians," but gave no further details. I should add here that he was reading from a page he had "borrowed" from his Gideon Bible. No problems, everything's going fine.

Since FFH called us up together, I took the podium when Seth finished, which was apparently not the right thing to do. The organist started playing (and singing) just as I was starting to speak, so I shut up and waited for him to finish too. I was not prepared for him to start singing. Imagine an old, old man with a gravelly voice and a range of half an octave singing "Just a Closer Walk With Thee," with just a little swing to it and you will see why I had to bite my lip to keep a straight face.

When I was sure he was done, I started my little intro, which I reproduce here word-for-word:
"My Papa was always known for his generosity, hospitality, and compassion. In honor of those values, I have chosen to read this passage from the Book of Isaiah."

And I started to read.

I had gotten to the middle of verse 4 when I realized that FFH was standing right behind my left shoulder. I tried to ignore him and kept reading. Then, he tapped me on the shoulder with his gross, meaty finger, so I turned around and looked him square in his mismatched eyes. "What verse are you reading?" He asked me. I said, "It's Isaiah, chapter 58, verses 3-10." "Well," he said, "you have to announce that."

wtf?

Sure, no problem, but maybe you could have told me that BEFORE the mass? Perhaps when I came to ask you if you had any special instructions and you declined to shake my hand or speak to me directly? Also, he looked a little disappointed that I knew the citation, though, honestly, if I had made it up, I don't think he would have known.

If I had been thinking clearly, this is where the kicking would have started.

Ok, so I turned back to the microphone and started again, this time saying the whole citation (so that people can follow along?) and beginning with verse 3 again.

Problem: my flow and concentration were both broken. Also, my Papa was dead and FFH had just touched me with the hand he had refused to extend to me in respect not 15 minutes earlier and did I mention that my Papa was dead and in a box about 3 feet away?

I got through verse 5 ok, but all through verse 6, I could feel my face collapsing and all of the control going out of my cheeks. On the last part of verse 7, I broke down and started bawling. Not sobbing decorously, mind you. No picturesque single tear for me. I mean flat out weeping, complete with gulping, violent exhaling, and sniffling, which sounds great when it's magnified through a microphone in a marble basilica. I had to turn away to catch my breath and when I tried to start again, about two words came out in this awful shrieking sob that was so loud I startled myself and just gave up and howled. I cried unrestrainedly for a minute or two, up on the altar, in front of everyone, and then got it together enough to rush through verses 8 and 10 (skipped 9 — no way I could have lasted longer) and then ran off down the steps.

My mom met me at the bottom and we held each other, crying (I'm sure quite loudly) while FFH got up behind us and kept right on with his chanting. I stumbled back to a pew after a while and missed a good chunk of the next part of the service as I tried to collect myself. The organist's incomparable rendition of "Amazing Grace" cheered me up a little, and I was able to pass off my laughter as more crying.

I got it together just in time for the homily, and what a homily it was. Turns out, FFH likes to speak in bumper sticker phrases. He led off by comparing life on earth to a sign he saw on the highway that said, "temporary inconvenience for permanent improvement," and saying that life and deeds on earth doesn't matter — it's only faith and heaven that matter. At this point, I started to doubt that the dude was Catholic, because I definitely remember some CCD lectures on salvation through faith and good works, not just faith. Pete also made the excellent point that this line of thought really belittles the dead person's life by saying it didn't matter anyway. From there, FFH went on to how young people today are so irresponsible and earth-focused, blaming this somehow on the "fact" that it is "against the law to utter the word GOD in a public school." Because it's illegal to pray in schools, we now have metal detectors in every school, which somehow relates to my Papa, though I couldn't tell you how. Next we learned that if we don't teach young people to pray, we will have more 9/11s. And that, "If you are too busy to pray, you are too busy in every way."

Can you heckle a priest? Pete wanted to know.

All that was pretty awful, but when he got into the whole, "If Pat were here today, he would say . . ." bullshit, I was 100% done. My Papa never would have said any of those things. He never would have told us to set our minds on heaven instead of doing good on earth, and he never, ever would have said anything so trite as, "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." What makes a pompous jackass think that when he is addressing a room full of people who know Papa very well that he can get away with the bullshit platitudes? If you don't know the deceased (and did not bother to talk to any of his family members to find out) and did not get to know him over the 85 years that he attended your church, at least keep your remarks general, ok? Because everyone in the room knows that you are talking out of your ass and it doesn't make you look good. You may have the incense and many things made out of gold, but you don't know what the hell you're saying and you're not fooling anyone.

Next up, communion. My poor little cousins grabbed those gifts and brought them up as best they could, handed them over, and beat a hasty retreat. They were halfway back to their seats when FFH called them back, told them they'd done it all wrong and gave them a quick lecture on the right way to deliver the frackin' crackers. I have no problem with doing it the right way, but, again, couldn't this have been covered BEFORE the mass?

My aunt managed to get through the eulogy (she cried much more modestly than I did), we listened to the organist mangle "The Star Spangled Banner," and we all got the hell out of there.

The graveside service was awful, but at least it was short. There was an honor guard complete with salute and taps, and everyone cried a lot, but at least I wasn't up on a podium in front  leading the ceremonies. I tried to comfort my brother by offering to get him a microphone to cry into so that we could be even. After we placed our flowers, my uncle took the priest aside and told him that he was not welcome at the repast and that his shepherding skills could use some work.

Maybe all that doesn't sound so bad when I put it out there in bald prose, but trust me, it made a bad day a whole lot worse. The only silver lining here is that Papa would have been disappointed if we had come out of the funeral with no stories to tell, and all of this will enliven our holiday get-togethers when it isn't quite so raw. For now, I'd like to just forget the funeral and remember how we all went out for pizza after the wake and told stories about Papa and remembered how much we loved him without anybody telling us we were doing it wrong.

On the drive home, as I reflected on the day, I decided that it is completely absurd that my wonderful, strong, loving family turned over our grief into the hands of this ignorant jackass. What did he add to the service that made it more meaningful? I understand that the church part of this was important for my Naunie and great aunts to feel that they had done right by Papa, but seriously, did it make anyone feel better? Maybe it did — maybe they found some comfort in FFH's message even if the messenger was peerlessly foul. Since the religious rituals were not meaningful to me, the whole thing took a turn for the grotesque. We would never allow FFH to take over our classrooms or our kitchens or our birthday parties — why did we let him take charge and belittle us when we were most vulnerable?

If I were not already an apostate, I think that this experience would have driven me from the church (not necessarily from God, but from Catholicism). I wonder what FFH thinks his job is. Is it to be rude and picky about minutiae or is it to comfort grieving families and celebrate someone who lived the kind of life to which we should all aspire? FFH never said a kind word to any of us throughout this whole thing. He never listened to any of us, even when we were trying to make sure we met his expectations. He didn't smile or nod sympathetically or ask us to tell him about Papa. He treated the whole funeral as if it were something we were trying to usurp and disgrace, and never made an effort to act like a compassionate human being, let alone a spiritual adviser. I guess the Catholic church has to take what it can get as far as priests go and if you're not a known child rapist, you get special bonus points.

There's more I could say, but it's been tough to relive even this much, so I'll end with this:
Father Fat Head, you know who you are. You may think that you acted appropriately today, but I would like to disabuse you of that notion. The next time you all get together and have a meeting about how the people are abandoning your churches in record numbers, maybe you should keep your arrogant, over-large, inconsiderate head bowed and reflect on how you have contributed to the problem by treating a very large family of nice Italian Catholics* like crap on the day they buried the person who meant more to them all than anyone else.

*As far as I know I'm the only one to go 100% over to the dark side (so far), though a few have become Episcopalians.

Antipas

In the past, I have drawn attention to a few examples of 17th-century New Englanders named Jezebel. This name puzzles me. Why would an intensely religious person name his or her daughter after a Biblical woman who is chiefly remembered as being "representative of all that is designing, craftty, malicious, and cruel" and for being eaten by dogs? I am similarly puzzled by New Englanders named Bathsheba (Bathsheba Lee of Concord, MA d. 1791 @ age 70). It's not as bad as Jezebel, but Bathsheba doesn't have very positive associations either.

I would like to add a new name to this discussion:

Antipas.

There are several men named Antipas in the Boston records, including Antipas Boyce (b. Feb. 8, 1661/2), Antipas Edwards (b. Nov. 23, 1698), and Antipas Marshall (b. May 3, 1699).

Antipas is a Biblical name, but not one with generally positive associations. There is a minor martyr named Antipas of Pergamum who is mentioned in the Book of Revelation, but very little is known about him. The more famous Antipas is Herod Antipas, son of Herod the Great, executioner of John the Baptist, and instrumental in the crucifixion of Jesus.

Herod Antipas was not a good role model for little boys in Puritan Massachusetts. In a 1738 catechism printed in Boston (title page at right), the section on Herod Antipas goes like this:

M: By whom and for what was [John the Baptist] made a Prisoner?

C: By Herod, viz. Herod-Antipas, Son to that Herod, who sought Christ's Life. And the Reason of it was because John said to Herod, It is not lawful for thee to have thy Brother's Wife: And well he might, for Herod in that one Act, was guilty of Violence, Adultery, & Incest.

If Puritan parents named their children Thankful and Prudence because they hoped that they would exhibit those virtues, how can we explain names like Jezebel and Antipas?

Neoclassical Republicanism and New England Gravestones

Cross-posted from American Creation.

In the last decades of the eighteenth century, New England gravestones underwent a stylistic revolution that mirrored the country's political revolution. The deep, plastic, organic shapes of the 17th and early 18th centuries gave way to light, planar, geometric forms (this swing from the sensual to the cerebral can also be observed in furniture, tableware, picture frames, and many other types of material objects — a phenomenon is called “shared mental structures”). In addition to these stylistic changes, the content of gravestone decorations shifted from soul effigies, spiritual breasts, and other religious symbols to neoclassical elements such as urns, willows, columns, and laurel wreaths.

These artistic transformations reflect an evolving worldview in which classical republican ideas and aesthetics (as filtered through popular understanding of the Enlightenment) encroached on the provincial culture of New England Puritanism. While Americans’ interest in the ancient republics translated into an explosion of neoclassical style in popular culture (town names, architecture, people signing letters to the editor with classical names), many New Englanders were uncomfortable with the growing influence of “reason” when they thought that it might threaten their religious traditions.

New England gravestones from the period 1770-1820 illustrate ordinary people’s attempts to accommodate both neoclassical and Christian ideas into their eschatologies.

During the period 1690-1770, New England gravestones were typically tripartite slabs decorated with symbols and bearing short, factual epitaphs. While there was considerable variation and development in gravestone art during this period, most stones (particularly pre-1750) featured natural images (such as vines, breasts, flowers, and hourglasses) that had theological significance. For example, the breasts visible on many 17th-century represent the Scriptures, which provided “divine milk” to nourish the soul. As Edward Taylor (1642-1729) wrote,

Lord put these nibbles then my mouth into
And suckle me therewith I humbly pray,
Then with this milk thy Spiritual Babe I'st grow,
And these two milke pails shall themselves display
Like to these pritty twins in pairs round neate
And shall sing forth thy praise over this meate.

If you think that’s a little weird, don’t read anything written by 17th-century Franciscans.

Epitaphs from the pre-1770 period typically focus on the physical presence of the body and often begin with “Here lies buried . . .” or “Here lyes the Body of . . . ” or “Here lies the mortal part of . . .” The earlier the stone, the less likely it is that it will have any epitaph beyond the deceased person’s name, date of death, and age (women also often have their husbands’ names and ministers were more likely to have more elaborate epitaphs). When ordinary people do have a verse after their biographical information, it is usually a one-liner such as, “Ye memory of ye just is blessed,” or “Blessed are ye Dead who die in ye Lord.” The religious beliefs of the community are conveyed through images and placement (stones often face East so that the dead can sit upright at the last trumpet), rather than through words.

After 1770, the images on New England gravestones underwent a profound stylistic shift. Instead of the undulating leaves, death’s heads, and winged soul effigies that adorn earlier stones, gravestones of the late 18th century are typically decorated with columns, urns, and weeping willows. It is very rare to find a stone from the 1800-1820 period that is not ornamented with these neoclassical symbols. At the same time, gravestones began to lose their function as markers of the location of a body awaiting resurrection and came to be regarded as memorials to benefit the living. Instead of “here lies,” these epitaphs began with “Sacred to the Memory of . . .” or “Erected in Remembrance of . . .”

Yet, even as New Englanders embraced the neoclassical aesthetic, they remained skeptical of rationality’s ability to fulfill their spiritual needs. As the religious decorations disappeared, they were replaced by epitaphs that affirmed the deceased’s religious faith. Whereas earlier stones expressed the person’s hope for salvation pictorially, stones cut in the neoclassical style often have verses added to the epitaph to assure the reader that the dead, “died in hopes of salvation through his merits.”

New Englander’s ambivalence toward the Enlightenment worldview is best summarized by the gravestone of Oliver Miles of Concord, who died in 1820 at the age of 82. His stone, like many others of the period is decorated with the geometric columns, urns, and subtly incised borders that characterize the neoclassical style. Despite this aesthetic choice, his epitaph reads:

Can reason’s dictates be obey’d?
So weak alas! Her strongest aid;
O let religion then be nigh,
Her consolations never die.

Epitaphs also illuminate the tension between republican ideology and traditional New England Congregationalism’s idea of what constituted a life well lived. The ideal republican citizen was judged by his good works in service to the polity, while Congregational theology abhorred any “doctrine of works.” (I don't mean to say that neighborliness and service to the community were unimportant to earlier New Englanders, but these virtues were grounded in a specifically Christian milieu.) Famed patriots such as General Washington were not beloved because they were men of great faith, but because they were men of great deeds and “character.” The tension between these two systems of merit plays out in epitaphs during the Early Republican period. While the rare pre-1750 epitaph that enumerated a person’s good points generally confines itself to his/her piety and sobriety, later epitaphs extol the deceased’s “usefulness,” “civic spirit,” and good works, as well as his/her faith. Such is the case on the John Cuming stone (1788) in Concord, MA:

Naturally active as to genius & disposition, he early appeared on the stage of life, where he conducted with spirit & dispatch & acquired honor in different stations. As a physician, he was, beloved, useful, & celebrated. His compassion for the distressed hastened him to their relief; & his hand was as charitable as healing to the poor; — and as a Magistrate, he magnified his office, nor held the sword of justice in vain. Constitutionally particular, animated & warm in his disposition & temper, earnestness & zeal, affection & precision were his characteristics: hence from his youth, in conversation, he was cheerful & affable; in civil business, prompt and expeditious; in private & public worship, punctual and fervent; in charity liberal; in piety devout. His learning, dignity, and donations procured him an honorary degree from Harvard College: to that society for the support of a Professor of Physic, & to the Church and Town of Concord, for public, charitable, and religious purposes, he made generous donations in his last will.
The Righteous shall be in everlasting Remembrance.

A century earlier, Cuming's donations, public service, and civic virtues may not have been as important to his position as one of the “righteous,” but they were clearly important to his community in 1788.

Some New England epitaphs from the Early Republican period focused solely on the deceased’s good citizenship, excluding any mention of religious virtue. By 1805, Thomas Hunt could be remembered as a good man and a solid citizen, even if piety was not among his memorable qualities:

Here lies the remains of
Mr. Thomas Hunt
of Concord, late of Boston
who died Jan. 8, 1805, Aetat 22
Tho’ death consigned him to an early grave, his amiable life and sprightly talents will long survive in the recollection of those who knew him. His heart was formed for friendship and society and embraced in its affections his country’s good. The millitary [sic] science was his pride, and early he became a member of a volunteer company in Boston, in which he acquited [sic] himself with honour, his energies in vindicating the injured rights of his country, were justly anticipated.

I’m sorry that all of these examples are from Concord — I just visited last week, so they’re fresh in my mind and I have pictures. For non-Concord examples of stylistic progression, please see this follow-up post.

These are just a few of the thousands of gravestones in New England, but they are representative. There’s no question that religion was important to the New Englanders of the Early Republican period, but Christian faith was no longer the only important criterion for determining the value of an individual life. After the Revolution, patriotism and civic “usefulness” offered an alternative way for people to live a good life.

Grace vs. Works

The other day, a little girl from the Mendon Mennonite Church gave me a pamphlet in Harvard Square. She was very polite, so I took it, even though I generally ignore people in Harvard Square.

I was surprised to find that the pamphlet advocated a doctrine lifted right out of the seventeenth century.
Any pre-1660 Massachusetts minister could have said Amen to this:

Grace is that characteristic of God that reaches out to undeserving man and provides what is needed to save him. It is God's enablement. Without grace, we are hopeless. Grace must be offered before faith can be effective . . .  Grace is amazing; however, God's Word also warns us that it can be frustrated and abused. On one hand, some people frustrate God's grace by reverting to works as a basis for salvation. On the other hand, others presume on God's grace as a license to live sinfully. Note in the following Scriptures that God's grace was never intended to make excuse for sinful living in Christians, but rather to enable them to live righteously to God's glory.

Two things jumped out at me: the rejection of justification by works and the calling out of Antinomianism. I'm not really up on my modern Protestant theology so I'll throw this one open to any commenters who might want to help me out: Are American Protestants still fighting these seventeenth century battles? Or are Mennonites engaged in an outdated discussion?

Provincial Soldiers and Popular Religion in the Seven Years' War

Crossposted from American Creation. And I promise I'll stop blogging about this book after this, at least for a while.

The talented historians on this blog have made it abundantly clear that religion played an active role in the intellectual life of our “Founding Fathers.” I’m not particularly interested in the individual faith of particular men, but I am fascinated by the ways in which religion contributed to the development of imagined communities within the new nation.

Recently, I read Fred Anderson’s A People’s Army: Massachusetts Soldiers and Society in the Seven Years’ War (more here), in which Anderson argues that Massachusetts soldiers’ piety and providential thinking encouraged them to think of themselves as a distinct group. By the 1750s, most Massachusetts men (other than those who worked in shipping industries) had very little contact with ordinary non-American Britons. When volunteers from Massachusetts came into contact with hard-drinking, hard-fighting, foul-mouthed British regulars, they were horrified. For their part, British officers and men found the Americans undisciplined, sanctimonious, disrespectful, and old-fashioned. Many factors, including recruiting practices and military discipline, contributed to these misunderstandings, but religion was a major element.

The average 18th-century British regular soldier was not a particularly observant Christian. Like all Britons, most were baptized and attended occasional Anglican services, but the army was not overly concerned with the spiritual life of its men. In 1758, the British army camped near Lake George had 15 chaplains: 14 served the 6,000 Massachusetts provincial troops while one served the 6,000+ regulars (210). While New England soldiers participated in daily prayer services and attended two sessions of preaching on Sundays, regular soldiers were seldom seen participating in organized religious services.

Disparity in religious observance between the two groups was not just a matter of formal worship. Massachusetts men were deeply troubled by the regulars’ conduct, complaining that British soldiers ignored the Sabbath, fornicated with female camp followers, and regularly took the Lord’s name in vain. Caleb Rea, a Massachusetts soldier, said of swearing, “as a moral cause I can’t but charge our defeat on this sin, which so much prevails, even among the chief commanders” (117).

Their mundane interactions with British soldiers in camp convinced many Massachusetts soldiers that, “they were the moral superiors of the redcoats, and this conviction colors most of their perceptions of the British” (117).

Anderson argues that the young men who fought in the Seven Years’ War were profoundly influenced by their interactions with regulars. During the war, they began to think of themselves as culturally separate from the ordinary Britons (admittedly, not a fair sampling of British society in general) whose behavior so offended them, which made it easier for them to contemplate political separation 15 years later.

Another factor setting provincial soldiers apart from the regulars was their “old fashioned” providential thinking. New England soldiers believed that every occurrence — victories, defeats, bad weather, etc. — had “not just an immediate cause, but an underlying moral cause” and that the army would never prosper while the regular soldiers continued to defy God (203). The redcoats tended to dismiss this view, but it allowed the provincial soldiers to credit victories to their own prayers and clean living (even though their military contributions were dubious). In this way, Massachusetts soldiers came to believe that they were primarily responsible for winning the war and that the regulars were, if anything, a hindrance to final victory. The regulars might be tactically competent, courageous, well-supplied, and numerically superior, but the New Englanders believed that these considerations could never lead to victory if they were not right with God.

The implication (not made explicit by Anderson) is that this belief in the efficacy of Providence may have enabled New Englanders to face down British regulars in the 1770s, despite the army’s overwhelming advantages.

Too often, historians explain Revolutionary-era ideology as exclusively rational, legalistic, and inspired by the Enlightenment without taking the colonists’ providential worldview seriously. If, as Anderson argues, young provincial soldiers were “accustomed to casting events into [a] providential framework,” it is unlikely that they would have abandoned this habit of mind twenty years later (199). Without further investigation, it is impossible to say definitively whether soldiers from other colonies would have shared Massachusetts’ fondness for interpreting events as signs from God. In addition, it is hard to imagine that Virginians or western Pennsylvanians drew such a stark distinction between themselves and their redcoated comrades based on religious communitarianism. Still, Anderson makes a crucial point by casting popular religion as a political, as well as a cultural, phenomenon. For Massachusetts soldiers, religion was both a spiritual matter and a badge of inclusion in an imagined community — one that was beginning to conceive of itself as distinct from the rest of the British Empire politically as well as culturally.

Were Colonial American Slaves Christians?

Cross-posted from my new co-blogging gig over at American Creation:

In March, Pat Buchanan wrote syndicated column called “A Brief for Whitey,” in which he enumerated what he believes to be the “convictions, grievances and demands” of the “Silent Majority” of white Americans. Among Buchanan’s jaw-dropping claims, he parrots the old proslavery canard that slavery was a positive good because it gave enslaved Africans and their descendants the opportunity to become Christians:

First, America has been the best country on earth for black folks. It was here that 600,000 black people, brought from Africa in slave ships, grew into a community of 40 million, were introduced to Christian salvation, and reached the greatest levels of freedom and prosperity blacks have ever known.

There’s an awful lot to unpack in that paragraph, but I will confine myself to the subject of people who were “brought from Africa in slave ships” and “were introduced to Christian salvation.”

In the words of Larry E. Tise, author of Proslavery: A History of the Defense of Slavery in America, 1701-1840, the idea that “American slavery was a blessing to degraded Africans” was “the quintessence, the very heart of American proslavery thought whether colonial or antebellum” (Tise, 32). During the early 19th century, pro-slavery legislators, ministers, and intellectuals argued that slavery was a benign, patriarchal institution that benefited slaves in every way:

What more can be required of Slavery, in reference to the negro, than has been done? It has made him, from a savage, an orderly and efficient labourer. It supports him in comfort and peace. It restrains his vices. It improves his mind, orals and manners. It instructs him in Christian knowledge” (William Johnson Gray, "The Hireling and the Slave," 1855).

It is not my intention here to recount the history of proslavery thought. Interested readers can find in-depth treatments of the subject here, here, and here. Instead, I want to ask a simpler question: Were slaves in the American colonies Christians?

Short answer: some were, most weren’t.

This is a tricky question because it is so broad. It is virtually impossible to generalize about the religious practice of all enslaved people in all centuries and all colonies. Even if we ignore the syncretic religions of the Caribbean and Latin America, it is difficult to generalize about African-American religious practice before the Civil War. Some slaves, like Phillis Wheatley, became devout Christians, while others continued to practice African religions or blended religious traditions. In addition, counting Christians is problematic (see Brian’s post and discussion here). For this post, I am defining “Christian” as someone who was baptized into a Christian denomination (Methodist, Baptist, Moravian) or who regularly participated in identifiably Christian rituals (reading/discussing the Gospels, praying to Jesus, etc.), even if those practices included non-Christian elements.

Before the Methodist and Baptist revivals of the early 19th century, very few slaves were instructed in Christianity and even fewer were baptized. Before 1667, slaveowners in Virginia feared that baptized Africans could not be held as slaves under British law. In order to calm their fears, Virginia passed a law stating, “baptism does not alter the condition to the person as to his bondage or freedom; masters freed from this doubt may more carefully propagate Christianity by permitting slaves to be admitted to that sacrament."

Even after this legal question was settled, many masters actively discouraged slaves from attending religious services because they feared that Christianity would make slaves “not only proud but ungovernable, and even rebellious” (Raboteau, 103). In 1740, after the Stono Rebellion, South Carolina passed its infamous “Negro Act,” which forbid slaves from gathering during their free time, even for religious services. These laws were replicated by other states in the 1830s in response to Nat Turner’s Rebellion.

Pre-1800 efforts by missionary groups such as the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts (S.P.G.) were generally limited, underfunded, and unsuccessful. In 1720, Thomas Hasell of the S.P.G claimed that after 11 years of missionary work among the slaves in South Carolina, he had baptized fewer than 10 people. In 1713, ministers working for the S.P.G in South Carolina reported that, “The conversion of slaves is, considering the present circumstance of things, scarcely possible. ‘Tis true, indeed, that an odd slave here and there may be converted when a minister has leisure and opportunity for doing so . . . But alas!” (Wood, 142). Silvia Frey and Betty Wood, authors of Come Shouting to Zion: African American Protestantism in the American South and British Caribbean to 1830, argue that Anglican missionary efforts in the colonial period were dismal failures (Anglican Christianity had very little to offer slaves) and that virtually no slaves converted until Moravian missionaries gained footholds in Virginia (1740s) and Georgia (1770s).

In the last years of the 18th century, Methodist and Baptist camp meetings and revivals began to baptize considerable numbers of enslaved people. Despite many difficulties, particularly the laws that prevented most slaves from learning to read and write, thousands of slaves did convert to Christianity during the 19th century. Before 1800, observations like Alexander Hewatt’s (1779) were not unusual:

[T]he negroes of [South Carolina], a few only excepted, are to this day as great strangers to Christianity, and as much under the influence of Pagan darkness, idolatry, and superstition, as they were at their first arrival from Africa (Raboteau, 66).

Of course, we can’t take the words of Hasell or Hewatt at face value — the slaves they observed may have been adherents to a syncretic Christianity that was shocking or unrecognizable to ignorant observers. At the same time, we should not privilege the propaganda of antebellum writers who also had their own reasons for inflating the numbers of Christian slaves: slaveowners wanted to portray slavery as benevolent and abolitionists hoped to outrage their countrymen by relaying tales of enslaved Christians such as Uncle Tom and Eliza.

Slave narratives written in the 19th century often speak of both Christian and non-Christian religious practices among slaves, such as when Charles Ball recounts what seems to him a “traditional” African burial or when Frederick Douglass tells the story of Sandy’s root. Since these narratives were written for political purposes in the 19th century, they are not very good sources for examining African-American religion in the colonial period. I don’t know much about the historical archaeology that has been carried out at slave quarters, but I would be interested in seeing if that work might shed any light on pre-1800 religious practices.

Contrary to the claims of slavery apologists, there is little evidence to suggest that very many slaves were converted to Christianity before the Methodist and Baptist revivals of the 19th century. Some historians even argue that some kidnapped Africans were syncretic Catholics who had been converted by Portuguese missionaries and were prevented from practicing their Christian religion once they arrived in the New World.

Of course, even if it were true that all enslaved Africans became Christians, the narrative of “civilizing the savages” would still be repugnant. All justifications for slavery are odious. In this case, it is not just bad taste; it’s bad history.