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A friend of mine died unexpectedly last year, but it wasn’t an accident or bad health. Following a painful business failure, my friend took his own life.

Because this wasn’t a friend who was in my life every single day, I’ve gone on with my life and his memory doesn’t come up frequently anymore. Two things have happened in the last couple of days to make me think of him.

First, I happened to mention his death to someone a couple of nights ago, someone who I’d introduced him to several years ago. She hadn’t had any more contact with him since that one time, but it was still upsetting to her to hear that he had killed himself.

Second, I was going through the address book on my computer Tuesday morning when I came upon his name and old contact information. It was like an odd digital ghost in black and white as I stared at his name. I thought I should delete the card, but I didn’t.

So what do these reactions suggest about our attitudes toward death and suicide? I’m not entirely sure, but I have an idea. When the names or circumstances of people who have died come up, we tend to think that our feelings are about them — remembering who they are and what they meant to us. I’m not so sure that’s usually the case. I suspect our reactions have more to do with the way we feel about our own lives.

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It would be hard to accuse me of being a Luddite about digital technology. I know of few people who are as tied to their technology as I am. I’m always connected, whether it’s with my iMac, iPhone or iPad. Despite being a big believer in the power of technology, though, I’m hesitant about digital textbooks — but I’m not sure why.

Printed textbooks seem destined to go the way of the dodo. Lately, I’ve been reading a lot about how iPads are sweeping schools and displacing books. I love my iPad, so I can see how it’s capable of that. I’m just not certain it’s the right medium for learning.

An iPad running a textbook app with hyperlinks and all sorts of learning aids might be great for improving education. I’m not saying I’m definitely against them. I just know I’m uncomfortable about switching away from books.

I have the Bible on my iPad and I use it for quick reference and for following along during worship services, yet when I’m ready to do more serious study, I still find myself reaching for a paper copy of the Bible. Why? I find that I can flip around and make connections in the paper copy far more quickly than I can on the iPad version. Yes, the iPad version has hyperlinks and a search engine, but if I’m reading something in Mark and I want to compare it to something in Matthew, my fingers “know” where to go quickly and I get there far more rapidly than I could if I had to use the digital way.

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There’s a dangerous idea that’s taken hold of mainstream politicians, media and even voters today that if you don’t support invading other countries and reshaping them to the will of the U.S. government, you’re an “isolationist.”

During a recent GOP presidential debate, Newt Gingrich attacked Ron Paul as an isolationist. Since Gingrich has been employed as a college history professor, you’d think he would have some idea about how dishonest he’s being to score political points. Sometimes it’s hard to say whether people such as Gingrich are ignorant or just dishonest. I suspect it’s dishonesty.

Just because someone doesn’t want to invade other countries, it’s not reasonable to call him an “isolationist.” Reasonably — and more neutrally — he’s a “non-interventionist.” If you’d like to see Paul give an explanation of the difference between isolationism and non-interventionism, check out this five-minute video from four years ago.

If I don’t have any intention of using violence to go into my neighbors’ homes to enforce my will, it doesn’t mean I’m an isolationist. I might want to have good, mutually beneficial relationships with them — for friendship, trade or other things. Declining to attack others who have not attacked you is not “isolationism.”

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