Questions of Perspective and the One-Man Religion

I can only speak for myself, but it feels at times that my worldview, my perspective, my collected convictions or values, whatever you want to call it, is like a lens that rests on a nearly infinite number of supporting points. Personal experiences, moral lessons, beliefs both profound and mundane, bolster the lens in some places while leaving it slack in others, leaving me with a unique and wholly imperfect, even astigmatic way of looking at the world around me.

These pillars are revisited time and time again in my experience. When discussing the foibles of youth, I am continually drawn back to a paraphrase of Mark Twain's great quote about leaving home at 17 because his father was a fool, then being surprised at how much the old boy had smartened when he returns four years later. When discussing working environments, I am very quick to share my insight that, for me at least, my happiness on the job has less to do with what I am doing, and far more with just who I am doing it with.

When it comes to matters of faith, though, one of the most prominent pillars can trace its lineage to a comic book I bought in Leduc more than 30 years ago.

The Question was a Charlton Comics character from the mind of Spider-Man co-creator Steve Ditko. The imagery of an unpowered detective with a pronounced moral code and no facial features is probably best known outside of comics circles as being the inspiration for the Watchmen character Rorschach.

In 1987, the writer who helped redefine the modern Batman, Denny O'Neil, launched a new Question series with artist Denys Cowan. Starting with the archetype of the angry, masked inquisitor but hampering with arrogance and a lack of experience, the first issue saw Vic Sage as the titular character beaten to a pulp, bones broken, shot through the head and dumped into the river.

Saved by a combination of factors that included a low velocity bullet flattening against the outside of the skull and traversing to the other side before exiting, as well as a fortunate occurrence of the mammalian diving reflex, Sage's eventual recovery included not only training in the martial arts but a number of meditative techniques and an abundance of philosophical discussions. His mentors included established characters like Richard Dragon, Kung-Fu Fighter, and new ones like Lady Shiva. Some of the discussions in an issue carried on to the letters page of The Question, which also featured a recommended reading list. Certainly this book was exploring quite a bit more than your typical "tights and fights" comic, despite being firmly established as part of the DC comics continuity.

A year into the book, O'Neil scripted a story that spanned three different annuals, larger-than-average comics featuring characters with a strong association to him: Batman (who he redeemed from camp alongside artist Neal Adams), Green Arrow (who he wrote into a series of "social conscience" stories teaming him up with Green Lantern), and the Question.

Weighing in at over a hundred page, Fables tells the the story of the O-Sensei, a legendary martial arts instructor, who trades wisdom in the form of parables to the first two characters in exchange for their assistance with an undisclosed task. That ask turns out to be escorting him and his disciple, Lady Shiva, to his estranged family so he can be buried with his wife.

On a small boat off the coast of Malaysia, Shiva is asked why it is so important for the old man to be buried with his wife.

"It is a matter of religion," she replies. When asked which religion, she says it is one he alone practises. Green Arrow chides her; "a one-man religion?" he scoffs, and I still find Shiva's response profound:

"There is no other kind."

Former io9 writer Evan Narcisse wrote about the Question chapter of Fables in his article "The One Superhero Comic I Always Read When I'm Depressed." It's a great piece that I highly recommend, but I was disappointed that he didn't reference this exchange, and I mentioned it in my comment praising the article:

Faith and religion were not a common topic of discussion in our house growing up.My own feelings on the topic were largely unpinned as I began university, but my resentment of religious bigotry and tendency towards open-mindedness had me angling more towards disbelief and agnosticism than away from it.

Shiva's response introduced to me this idea of personal religion, of a unique relationship with what one considers holy. It also underscored the difficulty inherent in all "organized" religions; this notion that our limited human perception of the infinite could somehow be linked to a 2000 year-old book and codified into a belief system that might encompass huge swathes of humanity. Judaism eventually spawns Christianity, which is in turn sundered by the Protestant reformation. Protestantism splinters into Baptists, Lutherans, Methodists and Presbyterians. There are now tens of thousands of denominations of Christianity alone. Within my own denomination, there are disagreements on nearly every topic imaginable, from sanctifying same-sex marriages to the proper way to practice communion. 

I wonder: in any congregation in the world, could the beliefs of two different people ever possibly overlap completely? Could two ministers of the same faith end up presenting the same answers all the way through a 100-question survey on belief? Any married couple, for that matter?

Intuitively, this supposition of a single-person religion makes a lot of sense. Notwithstanding aberrations like the Aryan Nations and individual hypocrisy, treating any religious group as monolithic in their beliefs is a foolish proposition. The same can be said of almost any philosophical or moral outlook, for that matter.

Could the same theory apply as well to a lack of religion? Some atheists believe faith to be dangerously foolhardy while others think it simply misinformed, and there are probably a continuum of positions in between. 

Humans are fundamentally messy - capricious, mercurial and psychologically complex. A reminder to think of them as individuals first and foremost has been tremendously helpful to me over the years, and has gone a long ways to helping me keep an open mind about outlooks I might find unfamiliar or even off-putting at first. I am deeply indebted to both the clarity and focus it gives to my lens.

The idea that this flimsy piece of adventure serial, purchased for $3.50 three decades ago, could have such a pronounced effect on my outlook towards faith, religion and people, is still staggering to me. The simple exchange contained within it is one of the most pronounced pillars of my worldview.  When talk of spirituality arises, or ecumencialism, or inter-faith dialogues, I find myself rocketed back to the basement room in Leduc where I assume I read that comic. I don't think a week goes by that I don't think of Shiva's five-word response to one of the deepest inquiries we can ask ourselves - what do we believe?

Could there be a more critical Question?