My historical work-in-progress includes who is not only first mate on a merchant ship, but a small-time merchant himself. His captain allows him a share of cargo space in exchange for a cut of his profits. He has made a small fortune off of his investments, which he squirrels away in boxes hidden beneath his kitchen floorboards, as he’s saving to build his own ship.

When I first wrote this scenario, I merely assumed it was possible. Would an 18th century merchant-captain share cargo space with his ambitious young officer? Sure! Why not?

Fortunately, as I found out later, this scenario has historical precedent. Elias Hasket Derby, the wealthiest shipowner in Salem, Massachusetts, made it his policy to encourage and facilitate his young employees' small-time investments in foreign trade:

He allowed his apprentices to put their savings into small 'adventures' in foreign trade, for which he gave them space in his vessels. Even his seamen were allowed 800 pounds of freight apiece, to exchange for foreign products.

Alexander Laing, Seafaring America, pg. 69

One of Derby's young ship masters, Nathaniel Silsbee, was so successful in his investments that

...he retired from water, wealthy, at the age of twenty-eight, to manage his [own] ships from on shore. He made it a family enterprise by bringing in his brothers, William and Zacariah, when they, too, duly swallowed their anchors at the proper age of twenty-eight. Both had become shipmasters at nineteen.

ibid. 69-70

Not only did Silsbee become a wealthy shipowner, but he eventually entered politics, serving as a U.S. Representative, U.S. Senator, and member of both the Massachusetts House and Senate.

Nathaniel Silsbee (Wikimedia)

My character’s fictional and Nathaniel Silsbee's real-life stories are very similar. Both their fathers experienced financial failure. Both went to sea at a young age in order to support their families (mine leaves home at fifteen; Silsbee at fourteen). And both are determined young men with enough business savvy to take advantage of the financial opportunities that came of working on a merchant ship.

The scenario works. And the novelist wipes her brow with a, "Whew!"

The epicure Gassendi used to offer Descartes the humorous greeting: 'O Soul!' And Descartes would reply: 'O Flesh!' Yet it is neither the spirit alone nor the body alone that loves: It is man, the person, a unified creature composed of body and soul, who loves.

Benedict XVI, Deus Caritas Est, 5

When Sarah Damm approached me in May about contributing to WINE’s summer book club, she offered me a choice between the peacemaking chapter (which we just read) and the one on persecution. My response is telling:

That’s a hard decision. I just read something very beautiful on peacemaking, something that resonated with me—and that kind of topic is my usual go-to. However, persecution is something I’m deathly (no exaggeration) afraid of; I hate conflict. Either one works, but if you’re looking for a punchier, poignant post, I’ll go with persecution.

By “punchier” I meant, “An honest confession of how even the bickering of my family and friends on Facebook over hot-button topics sends me running to a corner to suck my thumb.” That conflict makes me sick to my stomach. That I really, really, really like it when people like me.

Punchy or not, I hoped she would say, Oh, that’s okay! You can do the peacemaking chapter! Because who doesn’t love peacemaking?

Instead Sarah—cruel, heartless woman!—replied with:

Perhaps that is the Holy Spirit nudging you 🙂 Whenever I get a bit nervous about something that I know is the “right” thing for me to do, I know it is the Lord. Otherwise, I’d be running in the opposite direction!

Persecution it is. Dang it.

Read the rest at Women In the New Evangelization.

via WikiCommons (CC).

This past fall I was blessed to begin formation with my local Lay Dominican chapter, happily coinciding with the opening of the 800th Jubilee of the Order of Preachers. My husband and I count a few Dominican friars among our friends, but it wasn’t until I met sisters that I recognized my attraction to all things Dominican. As it turns out, I’d been living many aspects of the Dominican charism already.

Every charism within the Church has something to teach us about holiness and Christian living, and the Dominican charism is no exception. (Not to brag too loudly, but we have a lot of saints and blesseds. Something must be working.)

With this in mind, and in anticipation of Monday’s (August 8) feast of St. Dominic, I’d like to indulge in a little bit of Dominican rah! rah! and give a brief overview of the Four Pillars of Dominican life. My hope is that everyone might find a nugget of practical wisdom or spiritual takeaway. There’s something for everyone here, even the most Franciscan or Carmelite or Benedictine or Jesuit people among us!

Read the rest at Integrated Catholic Life.

I’m okay, you’re okay, God just wants us to be happy, all good people go to heaven…

“Moralistic therapeutic deism” was a term coined by sociologists Christian Smith and Melinda Lundquist Denton in their 2005 book Soul Searching: The Religious and Spiritual Lives of American Teenagers to describe the “I’m okay, you’re okay” departure from historic Christianity and its message of sin and redemption. For moralistic therapeutic deists, the authors explain, God is

“something like a combination Divine Butler and Cosmic Therapist: he’s always on call, takes care of any problems that arise, professionally helps his people to feel better about themselves, and does not become too personally involved in the process” (pg. 165).

When the term is bandied about in Catholic circles, it’s usually in derision, and rightly so: coming into the Beatific Vision and union with God Himself requires a bit more than self-congratulatory religious and moral relativism. It’s why many Catholics are frustrated by milquetoast “God Loves You!” preaching: they see “feel-good” homilies as a reduction of Jesus’ message and promising people an easy way out.

Our faith is one of constant conversion, and it’s good to remind others of it. But before you do: make sure you know who you’re talking to. When some people hear another complain,

“Man, I wish Father would stop harping on how awesome we are and how God loves us and start talking about sin,”

they internalize it as,

“Meditating on the love of God is for lazy Catholics. I don’t want to be lazy. I’ll focus on the hard stuff.”

Read the rest at Aleteia.