It Only Hurts the First Time

In June 2001, Jinx, a division of Image Comics, published a trade paperback by Brian Michael Bendis, a veteran writer for Batman, Daredevil and others, titled “Powers.” “Powers” was met with resounding success, landing Bendis and the illustrator, Mike Avon Oeming, nominations at the prestigious Harvey Awards and readership enough to guarantee a long and fruitful series.



“Powers” was unique in that, while its subject matter dealt with the tired and formulaic stories of superheroes and super powers, the structure of the stories humanized these characters to a degree in which no series had ever attempted. The main character, Detective Christian Walker, is a jaded homicide investigator working to make a difference in the seedy underbelly of an unnamed metropolis while superheroes and meta-humans run amok zipping across the skies above and shooting laser eye blasts all over his city. Detective Walker and his rambunctious partner, in the first issue, have occasion to investigate the death of one of these superheroes, and in the process discover that these “meta-humans” are just like the rest of us. They’re scared and lonely, they feel regret and routinely make horrible mistakes, and they die, albeit with more difficulty, but just like the rest of us.



In the world of “Powers,” the relationships between superheroes and the rest of humanity functions very much like hero worship or the cult of personality; the meta-humans are famous, magazines advertise tell-alls and candid photographs, bold letters decry “The Olympian and Retro-Girl together again?” In one issue, a superhero is being interviewed on a daytime television talk show. She’s sitting languidly in the chair answering inane questions about her ability to fly and shoot sparkling explosives from her fingertips, all the while dressed in the obligatory skin-tight spandex leotard and Zorro mask. When the interviewer asks when she first realized she had these amazing gifts, she replied, “When I realized god was dead.” Somewhat taken aback, the interviewer asks her to explain, she says, “When I realized there was no god, and that I alone was responsible for my past present, future and eternity, I became my own god. Almost immediately, I realized I had these amazing powers.”



I dislike using the phrase, “I don’t believe in god,” because the structure of the phrase itself is inappropriate and misleading. The phrase is a negative qualifier built on the premise that “belief” in god is default and I’m simply opting out, like “I don’t eat meat,” or “I don’t breathe oxygen.” By stating “I don’t believe in god,” I’m automatically putting myself on the defensive, in terms of sentence structure, and placing myself separate from most of humanity. While this is technically true, because most people in the world do believe in a “god” of some manifestation, the millions of skeptics and critical thinkers, in whose ranks I share, don’t have a tight phrase like “I believe in god, “ or “I believe in Ganesh” or “I believe in Hopi the wind spirit.” All we’ve got is “I don’t believe in leprechauns, faeries, ogres, gnomes, trolls, magnet therapy, homeopathy, aura cleansing, acupuncture, divination, breatharianism, audiobooks and countless other silly things.”

Needless to say, it’s rather cost prohibitive to print t-shirts.

The “I don’t believe” mantra is exclusionary, needlessly defensive and I don’t think it fits the humanistic and hopeful ruminations in which the philosophy of objectivism and self-reliance is steeped.

I propose a different approach for the atheists, secular humanists, skeptics and critical thinkers of the world. It’s time to stop qualifying ourselves in terms of what we don’t accept, but simply embrace what we do. It’s time to stop shouting our well-founded disbelief in all the stupid shit people do and think to make themselves feel better, it’s time we declare unwavering faith in the one institution that’s been with us all along. It’s time to declare steadfast conviction and unshakable belief in ourselves.

Say it with me now, “I believe in me.”

“I believe in you.”

I believe in humanity and automobiles and little tabby kittens. I believe that a plane can fly because of the shape of its wings and that the resulting differential pressure creates lift. I believe in the atom and the molecule and in deoxi ribonucleic acid I trust. I believe in broccoli and I believe in whiskey (especially in whiskey.) I believe in science, medicine, peer review and reproducible results. I believe in the fallibility of science because I believe in the fallibility of humanity, but like humanity and the free market, science’s success can be attributed to the fundamental procedures in place to correct its mistakes. I believe in humor, computers and lizards. I even believe in humorous, computerized lizards.



I believe in the atmosphere, the universe and Alpha Centauri. I believe in white blood cells, both the White Stripes record and the blood component. I believe in internal combustion, and I believe science will make it obsolete in my lifetime. I believe in my house, my wife, my kitties and my friends. I believe in Kanda, The Video Lair, and Clay’s Smokehouse Grill. I believe in the microchip, the cellular phone and the elastic waistband.

I believe in me.

I believe in things that are real, and choose not to define myself in terms of the non-real things that I do not accept.

Yes, I even believe in P. Diddy.



“Everyone has right to his own opinion, but no one has a right to his own facts.” – Daniel Patrick Moynihan