Obviously, Franklin desires to distinguish himself from all others. And what better way to do this than to be a vegetarian in the 18^th century? He refers to this habit as a “singularity.” Thus, it makes him unique. However, he offers no rationale as to why he decides this – such as finding the slaughter of animals inhumane. He only reads a book by Tryon, the first English advocate of vegetarianism, and becomes “determined to go into it.” His rationale hides in the statement that by being a vegetarian he is “leaving the common diet for that, and that for the common.” Nobody else will be like him.

These actions, conversely, are insincere, a false image meant to astound. Franklin only practices this habit in order to separate himself from the common man of his times. If he truly followed his beliefs, he would remain steadfast and never rationalize the eating of animal flesh. Yet, he succumbs to his false virtue when tempted with cod. As he “had formerly been a great lover of fish… when [it] came hot out of the frying-pan, it smelt admirably well” and unavoidable. He debates whether it is acceptable to eat the meat and then claims it just because fish consume one another. After this decision, he continually dines on meat and returns “only now and then occasionally to a vegetable diet.” Ensuring his self-righteousness, he states, “So convenient a thing it is to be a reasonable creature, since it enables one to find or make a reason for everything one has a mind to do.” Benjamin can never be wrong.

If Franklin likes this food so much, why abstain from eating it? Only so that he may impress others through his uniqueness. We see that he does not firmly believe in this practice; otherwise he would not strain from it. Instead, he chooses this lifestyle with appearance in mind. Image matters to Franklin and he clearly illustrates throughout his autobiography that proper character development leads to success.

Jefferson’s commentary on religion in Notes on the State of Virginia seems very ahead of its time for someone of his day and age. In contrast to the writings of Mather and Edwards, he does not glorify his faith and force in onto others. Instead, he reasons why it makes no sense to condemn the practice of other religions. His logic is simple and true, as he says, “it does me no injury for my neighbour to say there are twenty gods, or no god.” This brief statement is arguably the most basic argument against any form of censorship or regulation – if it doesn’t hurt anybody, don’t stop it. He states this belief again, saying that “The legitimate powers of government extend to such acts only as are injurious to others.”

This idea is usually credited to English philosopher John Stuart Mills who said “The only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilised community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others. His own good, either physical or moral, is not sufficient warrant.” Surprisingly, he was not born until 30 years after Notes. Thus, it may seem proper to recognize that he was not the pioneer of this idea. Instead, Jefferson had been using this logic prior.

However, although Jefferson legitimatized this idea with regard to religion, it seems quite hypocritical and ignorant that he did not realize its implications on slavery. It is obvious that slavery is harmful to someone, so why did he not fully condemn this act? The answer is obviously because he put blacks on level below whites; he believed he had proof because they were “in reason much inferior.” Yet, if Jefferson is to be considered such a great thinker, he should have found this fault. Although he may be ahead of his time in realizing the problems with religious laws, he was definitely not a ground breaking thinker in racial equality. With regards to other races, he fell in line with any common white man in Virginia in 1776.

Who does Jonathan Edwards think he is? If he is to preach to everyone about the divine light, he must surely have seen it. Yet, his vague doctrine makes it hard to truly distinguish whether he has actually experienced God or if he is fooling himself. He does assert that the spiritual and divine light “does not consist in any impression made upon the imagination” but rather that it is a “true sense of the divine excellency of the things revealed in the word of God.” Thus one does not believe that he knows God, but, instead, actually feels the connection. This sounds quite reverent. However, it is hard to determine what this “sense” to which he regularly refers is. How can one know that the sense he feels is not of the imagination, a yearning to label himself blessed? Perhaps, and most likely, Edwards had a desire to claim that he had seen God. There is no better way to prove his declaration than by proclaiming his experience to be the experience.

I find it difficult to differentiate between what is and is not divine light. If Edwards were to flip his two definitions, his doctrine would still seem just as plausible; the divine light is:

1. realizing one’s own sins,

2. seeing the image of god,

3. discovering new truths,

4. feeling Jesus’ suffering.

The diving light is not:

1. loving God,

2. granted to any status,

3. gained without effort.

His words are just a matter of opinion; they should not be taken as truths. Again, it makes sense that Edwards would promote his definition of the divine light. By doing so, it becomes quite easy for him to state that he has gotten the “most excellent and divine wisdom that any creature is capable of.”

Introduction

Howdy.

I think I'll introduce myself by telling the story of a boy who introduced himself.

While I was visiting various colleges this past year, I arrived at dozens of situations where I had to introduce myself to other people. I had tailored my announcement speech into a quick, bland blurb: hey, I'm Alex Kowalski from Boston and I'm a history major. I kept it concise and simple because I thought it was better to say less than more so that I didn't create any unintended impressions.

One boy took it too far with a different approach at a Vanderbilt information session. After the first 20 people had introduced themselves in the same boring style that I had, the chance landed on a shaggy brown haired, adolescent looking kid. For some reason, his polar fleece vest made me think nerd right away. But he proved to me that he wasn't.

"I like unicorns," he said in a congested tone. Nothing more. He laughed a little. Nobody was impressed. I heard a few coughs; his parents smiled as if they approved of his comment. "Okay then," said the tour guide as he nervously eyed the audience.

My dad, who is not openly critical of anyone, turned to me and said, "What a dweeb! I have never seen someone who fits that title so well." He was right - the boy wasn't a nerd, a dork, a lame-o, a loser, but simply a dweeb.

Now I don't want to appear as a dweeb, so here is my altered, formal introduction:

Hey, my name is Alex Kowalski, I'm from Boston, and I don't like unicorns.