On "Shane" by Jack Schaefer ****

This classic western is essentially the tale of a mysterious superhero who rides into "town," does away with the bad guys, and leaves. It is told from the point of view of a kid who witnesses the action, and it's interesting to see how Schaefer manages to get the kid to places where he can witness the important events.

My wife, in her own reading of The Virginian, is the one who first brought up the superhero comparison to westerns, and it made me think a bit about how most of the books I've read so far fall into just that sort of set of cliches. Indeed, there are numerous sites on the internet that claim superhero movies are the new western--and then a whole bunch rebutting that claim (westerns are more varied is the standard reply). But so far, I'd say there's a fairly common throughline with regard to standard western elements. Most involve a super gunslinger, generally mysterious, who saves a woman from some baddies. There are variations, of course. Some involve more than one gunslinger, as in Zane Gray's Riders of the Purple Sage. Some, as in the case of Shane, avoid the woman--the romantic love interest. Here, the gunslinger saves a family.

The work itself is set out on rangeland that is transitioning toward farmland. The resident rancher wants to keep the land free for his cattle to roam, and so he's doing his best to push out the homesteaders who have taken up residence on the vast open federal land with the intention of claiming their 160 acres. Threats of violence and then actual violence follow. The focus of the rancher's attack is the Starret family, because that's where the manliest man of the small and not yet official community resides. When I say, "not yet official," I mean that this is the wild west, land where there is no sherriff to enforce the law. It's neighbor against neighbor. And in that sort of situation, one needs men like Shane to protect the "decent" folk.

The writing here is assured, and the narrative point of view provides a kind of innocence and wonder that works well in what is a kind of tall tale. That gives the work a feeling of genuiness that has seemed lacking in most of the other westerns I've read, so that even if it's much the same story, it feels heartfelt.

On “Ignatius of Antioch and the Parting of the Ways” by Thomas A. Robinson *****

This is probably the best book I’ve read on first- and second-century Christianity in Antioch. The work is in many ways a critique of scholars who have tried to argue that the reason for Ignatius’s martyrdom was an internal division within his congregation and of scholars who have argued that there were multiple Christianities or multiple Judaisms. Robinson is intent on arguing that the fractiousness was likely from outside Ignatius’s church and that Ignatius’s church was the main body, if not the only, of Christianity at the time. He makes good arguments on both counts, but at the same time, I remain unconvinced that Ignatius necessarily presents us with orthodoxy and that there was really only one church.

The book starts out with an exploration of the history of the city and Christian culture within it. This first half, as noted, sets a very good stage for all that follows and is probably about as thorough as Downey’s chapter on the subject of the church in this period in his book on the history of Antioch of Syria in general. That history, which Robinson lays out, is then used to discuss Ignatius in context.

One interesting argument Robinson notes is that we don’t today speak of Mormonisms. Clearly, there are various offshoots, small branches, break-off groups of Mormonism. But the whole is still seen as Mormonism singular, and there is still generally also one major Latter Day Saints group. It’s a good point. Critics probably are too much inclined to think that early Christianity had no main group or that all the various offshoots and branches were every bit as large as the main (thus, the misemphasis that “Christianities” present). That said, I think Robinson may be a bit bold in trying to claim, as he seems to do, that all the docetists and Judaizers were mixed in with the one church and had no means of meeting on their own. Clearly, even today, heretical teachings within one Christian sect that are orthodox in another still make their way across sects at times, and you can have a person with a few odd views meeting among others who have another set of views, even if another sect might be closer to that person’s views on a particular point.

Another interesting claim is that Ignatius’s concern about Judaizing was not so much that Jews were converting to Christianity and bringing their Jewish practices with them, and insisting Gentiles fall in line, but rather that Gentiles were becoming Christians, then as they became familiar with the teachings, were becoming more attracted to full-on Judaism, such that they were leaving Christianity to become Jewish proselytes (in other words, there wasn’t a lot of Jewish proselyte to Christian movement; rather, it was more often Christian proselyte to Jewish movement). It’s an interesting argument, and Robinson presents a good case. Again, however, I think one should be careful about taking a hard line with regard to what was happening. My guess is that there were some who did exactly as Robinson claims, but I’m less inclined to believe that there weren’t also still Jews who were attempting to influence Christian practice. Maybe everything was settled in Acts 15, but it seems to me like even after that, there were plenty of people in the church who seemed unwilling to abide by the decision (at least if we take Galatians as being written after the Acts 15 decision) and that that had not all come to an end by 100 CE.

On “The Didache” by Thomas O'Loughlin ***

This second book on the Didache that I read was aimed at a more general audience and yet seemed much less interesting and useful. The work lays out the discovery of the Didache and then focuses on themes within the Didache and what those would have said about the community that used the document. O’Loughlin often seems more concerned, however, about how we read the Didache in our contemporary day and what that says about contemporary Christianity. He notes how various scholars have accepted or rejected it, or dated it late or earlier, based on their preconceptions about what Christianity is like now. If a given doctrine or practice seems odd, then that is good reason to reject part of the document or to argue that this particular sect was heretical in some way or that the ideas represent something before full development and so on. O’Loughlin closes with a section on the Eucharist and how one’s views on that are often used to separate Christians today, whereas, he claims, the Didache, shows that the Eucharist was really about unifying Christians rather than separating—once one was baptized, one was “in.” Baptism, thus, was the distinguishing feature. Point taken, except that even the Didache notes that the Eucharist was for members only, and is that not also then a way of distinguishing one set of people from another, just like baptism? Today, with so many Christian sects, many with differing views on the Eucharist and baptism, it really isn’t much different. One might be baptized and then be “in”—and able to participate in the Eucharist, but only in the group. Go to another Christian sect and a rebaptism might be necessary, but afterward . . . Although I suppose there are sects where only the ministry participates in the Eucharist, but that’s a whole other issue. Anyway, with a focus so much on critiquing contemporary Christian practices, the book proved to be less than I was looking for historically.

On “The Way of the Didache” by William Varner **** I

I figured I needed to read more about the Didache and its connection to Antioch and the early church. I chose two books in hard copy. This was the shorter, but it looked more technical, in part because of the extensive notes and the much smaller print. I figured it would take longer to read than the other and would be less interesting. Surprisingly, that turned out not to be the case. This was by far the better book of the two. Perhaps, that's because I was looking for something that would be more historical in focus, and this certainly was that.

 Varner discusses the history of the discovery of the Didache, a handbook used by earlier Christians, and how that discovery led us to understand that we'd had versions of what was referenced in other works all along in yet other early works. Varner than provides his own translation of the Didache with extensive notations regarding how various passages mirror passages in the New Testament, which itself was very useful. He then focuses on the where and when it was written and to whom; whether the work, which uses parallel passages in Matthew, predated Matthew, postdated Matthew, or drew from the same source, presenting various interesting theories; posits an idea that the first part of the work (the so-called Two Ways chapters) was intended as a baptismal preparation guide; questions whether Jewish sources were the origin of that material; discusses the various rites and church organization guidelines discussed in the second half of the book (baptism, eucharist, ordination) and the short apocalypse section at the end of the book, offering cogent points at each about what this community was likely like.

On "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" by B. Traven ****

"We don't need no stinking badges"--a comment my friend Mike used to often make. I'd forgotten about that line, but when I came across something quite like it in Traven's work, I realized that Mike likely was referring to this book or to the old Humphrey Bogart movie based on it, or, more probably, he was saying, "We don't need no stinking badgers," a line from some comedy (Strange Brew?--turns out it was Weird Al's UHF) or cartoon strip that he found uproarious that I didn't get the full meaning of. I've long intended to watch the movie--still haven't--but with Traven's work (in German) reaching public domain this year, I thought it a good thing to add to my westerns list.

But is this book even a western? It's certainly an adventure story, but one could debate whether it qualifies as a strict western. It's set in Mexico, in the mountains but also in the tropics--and in the 1920s. However, in the broader view of what qualifies as a western it would be: it involves bandits, Indians, and a search for gold. Nary a car appears, though oil plays a big role in the start of the book.

The tale focuses on one Dobbs, who, as the story opens, is homeless in Mexico. He begs, gets more than he expects--enough for a restaurant meal. The next day, he asks the same man for money again. The man tells Dobbs he needs to be more frugal. Indeed, Dobbs takes up residence at a cheap place, just a bed. He gets work at an oil field. The employer pays him only a small portion of what he's owed when the job comes to an end--there's promise of more work, though, and he'll get paid fully then (fat chance!). He and another guy essentially threaten the boss to get paid their full wages. Those paid, they settle in at their cheap hotel. Oil work is drying up; they are unsure what to do.

That's when they meet Howard, an old-timey gold prospector. If they can get together $100, they could head to the mountains to mine for gold. Somehow, the two guys wrangle up the money--debts they'd forgotten they were owed--and the three men head into the mountains.

Howard, through a couple of stories, warns them about the ill effects of gold. One can never have enough. Once you have what once seemed like a lot, you'll want more. And you'll do anything to get it. This is obvious foreshadowing.

Once they hit the gold and grab what they can. Howard again warns them. It's one thing to obtain the gold. It's another to actually sell it and cash out. The story involves a lady whose husband is killed for the gold; she hangs on and continues prospecting, making a bundle. When she's ready to cash out, she meets a dashing man who knows of her riches and a marriage is planned. Shortly before the wedding, however, she disappears.

And so it goes. In a way, the gold itself becomes the main character for a while. The story seems to be Dobbs's, but Traven's limited third-person drifts from man to man and eventually to other characters who don't show up till near the end of the book. Gold comes and goes, Traven seems to note; the real treasure is in the respect one has in the community.