Church Kids
Some say that Facebook shouldn't get treated like some Optimum Reality, but it can be pretty accurate. Take a look, for example, at my wall. Literally half my posts for the past week or two have been about debate. If that's surprising to you, it's probably because half seems too little- debate can be pretty absorbing. It's all been building up to our first tournament, which was this weekend. What was unique about this one, other than the fact that it was the first, was that all the 2nd-year debaters got told to do IEs: Individual Events. Because I'm really not into rhetoric and am relatively atrocious at memorizing things, I decided to sign up for Impromptu, which would help me most with my debating.
There's a lot of sitting around and waiting in Impromptu rounds. We spend a good ten minutes waiting for all of the six or seven speakers to arrive, and when we get started, each speaker needs two minutes for prep. And after three or four minutes of speaking, the judge will take another minute or two to fill out the ballot. It's a party, for sure. Such a party, in fact, that the speakers will even talk to each other, on occasion, when permitted.
In my second round, we had a party like that. Among us was one of those perfect Freshman novices that had just discovered a love for debate and had decided to pick any ridiculous fight with anyone he could in the room. (I liked him already.) Eventually he got to asking people if they even knew they really existed, to which I said, "Cogito, ergo sum." All excited, he translated my quote and went on chattering about Descartes, explaining how he'd said one's own existence was the only thing that could be proved... And I said, "That and the existence of God." Label 1.
It's true that Descartes did prove God's existence in the same way he did his own, but the fact that I had even brought Him up seemed to indicate that I believed in a God myself. Descartes is widely loved and accepted for his skeptic philosophy in the secular world today- "I think, therefore I am" isn't a particularly controversial thing to teach, either. But God is a whole different matter. No argument for his existence can get brought up, because that wouldn't be politically correct.
This probably sounds a whole lot bitterer than I intend it. I actually don't believe God's existence should be taught in (public) schools; it's disrespectful, unethical. I do think it should be discussed, though. If the idea of God's nonexistence can get brought up, the idea of multiple gods and an omnipresent pan-pseudo-God and the traditional idea of the Judeo-Christian God should also be brought up. Mentioning God and teaching him as if he exists isn't wrong if you teach all other faiths and beliefs as if they exist, too.
In any case, there I was after about a minute of discussion in a roomful of people, already having labeled myself. The conversation moved on, and after another two minutes, the same kid asked me where I got my necklace. It was strange enough getting asked about my necklace by a freshman guy, but I also hesitated before answering because my answer would be equally strange: "I got it from the preacher's daughter at a church in Tijuana, where I was on a mission trip this summer." Label 2.
"Oh, that's cool!" he replied, surprised as I knew he'd be by my answer. I asked him why he'd asked- turns out he just really likes stars, too.
Once again, the conversation moved on. Someone started asking people where they're from, and the aforementioned kid said he lived in Hobart, a virtually nonexistent town bordering Issaquah. I asked him where it was- I've often wondered because the main street in Issaquah, where I grew up, is called "Issaquah-Hobart Road." I mentioned that I still go down there a lot, though, because- another hesitation- my church is on Issaquah-Hobart Road. Yeah. Label 3.
The kid himself was a Christian kid. He never said so overtly, but his interest in the church itself and the air he gave off seemed to indicate that it wasn't strange to him, nor something he was accepting out of an honor for "cultural diversity." Even so, it was a secular environment, and just about everything the group had talked about so far had included something which had labeled me "Christian." I felt very uncomfortable.
I am not ashamed to believe in God. I am not afraid of encountering non-Christians. I am totally willing to have discussions with non-Christians, even about faith- gasp- and accept that they don't believe. I don't want to simply convert people. That's not the type of person I am. I am, however, ashamed and afraid and unwilling to be The Christian and be remembered for nothing else.
Why? Because it's a perfect reflection of what I've been made to be. I live in an environment where there is an inherent assumption that God does exist and brining him up is not taboo or politically incorrect, we bring up things that would label us in any mixed conversation and never think about it twice. We're taught to do it without flinching. Thanks again, Miss Havisham. But there's another reason.
Growing up in the public school environment, I always accepted the fact that I was a "Christian." Not that I adhered to the faith, but that I associated myself with that group of people. There were lots of Christian kids, just like there were a couple Jewish kids and bunch of nonreligious kids. The Pacific Northwest is a very "accepting" environment in regard to religion. There is truly no such thing as a weird belief- none that would be called such a derogatory term, in any case. But there are weird manifestations of those unweird beliefs, and those are what I always noticed as a kid.
Those were the CHURCH KIDS, the glaringly blatant ones whose only purpose was to talk about Jesus, whose entire identity seemed to be the fact that they were Christian. These types get praised beyond belief in the Christian circles I move in now: they're the ones that are willing to stand up for their faith! How inspiring and laudable. Ehm. I always felt quite alienated from them.
Even though we would both call ourselves "Christian," those CHURCH KIDS had a different reputation. They were the ones who thought their beliefs counted for everyone and weren't willing to respect the fact that people are all different. It's like they tried to be as Christian as possible so that their Christianness would diffuse through the room and infect everyone else, too. Their sincerity was pretty ludicrous. It would have been funny, but it was a little too strange and annoying to be.
I'd guess that most of the people I know (at least most of the people that teach me) would read through that description and accept it all up until the part where I call the sincerity ludicrous. We're all taught to be CHURCH KIDS and to feel guilty when we're not. The reality is that no one gets pulled closer to Christianity or any serious discussion about faith by being blatant about it. It has just the opposite effect.
I am not a CHURCH KID. I am a person with a set of beliefs, just like anyone else. I'm willing to talk, no to assert. Everything I believe is something I believe to be true, but nothing I believe is completely the Truth. I'll passionately explain why others are wrong, but I'm equally certain that the half-truth I advocate is equally false in some way or another. I don't know everything and I am not perfect. No one is otherwise, and I don't want to let on that I think I am. I flee from that stereotype... which is why I don't like being labeled Christian.
There's a lot of sitting around and waiting in Impromptu rounds. We spend a good ten minutes waiting for all of the six or seven speakers to arrive, and when we get started, each speaker needs two minutes for prep. And after three or four minutes of speaking, the judge will take another minute or two to fill out the ballot. It's a party, for sure. Such a party, in fact, that the speakers will even talk to each other, on occasion, when permitted.
In my second round, we had a party like that. Among us was one of those perfect Freshman novices that had just discovered a love for debate and had decided to pick any ridiculous fight with anyone he could in the room. (I liked him already.) Eventually he got to asking people if they even knew they really existed, to which I said, "Cogito, ergo sum." All excited, he translated my quote and went on chattering about Descartes, explaining how he'd said one's own existence was the only thing that could be proved... And I said, "That and the existence of God." Label 1.
It's true that Descartes did prove God's existence in the same way he did his own, but the fact that I had even brought Him up seemed to indicate that I believed in a God myself. Descartes is widely loved and accepted for his skeptic philosophy in the secular world today- "I think, therefore I am" isn't a particularly controversial thing to teach, either. But God is a whole different matter. No argument for his existence can get brought up, because that wouldn't be politically correct.
This probably sounds a whole lot bitterer than I intend it. I actually don't believe God's existence should be taught in (public) schools; it's disrespectful, unethical. I do think it should be discussed, though. If the idea of God's nonexistence can get brought up, the idea of multiple gods and an omnipresent pan-pseudo-God and the traditional idea of the Judeo-Christian God should also be brought up. Mentioning God and teaching him as if he exists isn't wrong if you teach all other faiths and beliefs as if they exist, too.
In any case, there I was after about a minute of discussion in a roomful of people, already having labeled myself. The conversation moved on, and after another two minutes, the same kid asked me where I got my necklace. It was strange enough getting asked about my necklace by a freshman guy, but I also hesitated before answering because my answer would be equally strange: "I got it from the preacher's daughter at a church in Tijuana, where I was on a mission trip this summer." Label 2.
"Oh, that's cool!" he replied, surprised as I knew he'd be by my answer. I asked him why he'd asked- turns out he just really likes stars, too.
Once again, the conversation moved on. Someone started asking people where they're from, and the aforementioned kid said he lived in Hobart, a virtually nonexistent town bordering Issaquah. I asked him where it was- I've often wondered because the main street in Issaquah, where I grew up, is called "Issaquah-Hobart Road." I mentioned that I still go down there a lot, though, because- another hesitation- my church is on Issaquah-Hobart Road. Yeah. Label 3.
The kid himself was a Christian kid. He never said so overtly, but his interest in the church itself and the air he gave off seemed to indicate that it wasn't strange to him, nor something he was accepting out of an honor for "cultural diversity." Even so, it was a secular environment, and just about everything the group had talked about so far had included something which had labeled me "Christian." I felt very uncomfortable.
I am not ashamed to believe in God. I am not afraid of encountering non-Christians. I am totally willing to have discussions with non-Christians, even about faith- gasp- and accept that they don't believe. I don't want to simply convert people. That's not the type of person I am. I am, however, ashamed and afraid and unwilling to be The Christian and be remembered for nothing else.
Why? Because it's a perfect reflection of what I've been made to be. I live in an environment where there is an inherent assumption that God does exist and brining him up is not taboo or politically incorrect, we bring up things that would label us in any mixed conversation and never think about it twice. We're taught to do it without flinching. Thanks again, Miss Havisham. But there's another reason.
Growing up in the public school environment, I always accepted the fact that I was a "Christian." Not that I adhered to the faith, but that I associated myself with that group of people. There were lots of Christian kids, just like there were a couple Jewish kids and bunch of nonreligious kids. The Pacific Northwest is a very "accepting" environment in regard to religion. There is truly no such thing as a weird belief- none that would be called such a derogatory term, in any case. But there are weird manifestations of those unweird beliefs, and those are what I always noticed as a kid.
Those were the CHURCH KIDS, the glaringly blatant ones whose only purpose was to talk about Jesus, whose entire identity seemed to be the fact that they were Christian. These types get praised beyond belief in the Christian circles I move in now: they're the ones that are willing to stand up for their faith! How inspiring and laudable. Ehm. I always felt quite alienated from them.
Even though we would both call ourselves "Christian," those CHURCH KIDS had a different reputation. They were the ones who thought their beliefs counted for everyone and weren't willing to respect the fact that people are all different. It's like they tried to be as Christian as possible so that their Christianness would diffuse through the room and infect everyone else, too. Their sincerity was pretty ludicrous. It would have been funny, but it was a little too strange and annoying to be.
I'd guess that most of the people I know (at least most of the people that teach me) would read through that description and accept it all up until the part where I call the sincerity ludicrous. We're all taught to be CHURCH KIDS and to feel guilty when we're not. The reality is that no one gets pulled closer to Christianity or any serious discussion about faith by being blatant about it. It has just the opposite effect.
I am not a CHURCH KID. I am a person with a set of beliefs, just like anyone else. I'm willing to talk, no to assert. Everything I believe is something I believe to be true, but nothing I believe is completely the Truth. I'll passionately explain why others are wrong, but I'm equally certain that the half-truth I advocate is equally false in some way or another. I don't know everything and I am not perfect. No one is otherwise, and I don't want to let on that I think I am. I flee from that stereotype... which is why I don't like being labeled Christian.
"Once you label me, you negate me." -Søren Kierkegaard
I got informed I was Catholic at a tournament...because of my clothes. It wasn't even something like, "Oh, what school do you go to?" from which you might infer my faith. It was, "You look like you go to a Catholic school."
ReplyDelete........how I wish I could have said something like, "Um, no, actually, I go to Homestead High and I'm not Catholic, I'm atheist", regardless of the truth of that statement, just to throw the guy off.
I'm fine with incorrect stereotypes, but when somebody stereotypes me correctly it tends to bug me.
If it is accurate to say that you do not want to be labeled "Christian" because of the stigma, which pushes people away from Christ, what label would you prefer or be content with? In other words, if you are not a "Church kid," what are you?
ReplyDeleteI am Marié Dippenaar, that's what I am. To strangers, I'm That Girl (assuming the word "girl" doesn't carry any bad/uninformed stereotypes, either)... not That Christian. Once you label me, you negate me.
ReplyDeletePatrice, that's really sad, I'm sorry.
What are you tring to say with that quote? Incidentally, your very name could be considered a label. Even more ironically, it could be argued that it becomes a label more to those who know you well than to those who do not. This conversation is so "Marie-ish."
ReplyDeleteAnd I feel that you have not gotten to the heart of my original question. It seems that your ideal would be that you are"labeled" something with no connotations or meaning other than that it identifies you based on an association between the phonetic sounds of the word and the unique individual that is you- no stereotypes or generalizations attached. But that's not realistic- people are going to label you. They will call you Christian, emo, smart, debater, South African, American, and a plethora of others. But let us specifically talk about religious labels- in terms of that, what would it be acceptable to call you?
Patrice, you should have looked at him with a blank face, said "Imma rasta and I'm goin' outside fur a hit."
Baha, stereotypes. All over the place. And they get so stigmatized, too. Poor, poor stereotypes.
ReplyDeleteUltimately, existence is a nonconcept. Humans draw their little schisms between things that really shouldn't be divorced. What does it matter if you don't exist? Why exist, if it forces you to think? Why think, if only to exist?
Who does this kid think he is to negate your existence? He's borrowing too closely from my own arsenal of idiosyncrasies. Obviously, the universe isn't all that creative. If he really existed, he would have done something distinguishing. Instead, it was a poorly-hidden attempt at maneuvering you into the first of three coincidences.
Isn't three a lovely number? It's so neat. You escape the cliche of dualism, but still retain that essential simplicity required for understanding. Kinda coincidental, then, that you experienced three coincidences. Parallel to the Trinity much, Church Kid?
No, the end result of this coincidence was definitely an affirmation of Murphy's Law, or: "The perversity of the universe tends toward a maximum." You like definitions, right? Perversity in this case means, "whatever we don't want to happen." Supposing I take a CHURCH KID! perspective here, that would mean everything's in God's hands. Is this evidence of a Plan? (Since you like capitalized nouns like "Truth.")
But really what you've found here is a room full of faceless enemies. They were only to be your enemies for a short while, that is, while you were speaking, but you immediately took a defensive and cringed at what you decreed they should label you as! The combination of total, inexplicable randomness and your own personality resulted in this blog post. ARE YOU THE CHOSEN ONE?
No. Because ultimately, the distinction between choice and randomness does not exist. It's a human conception, that, like the nature of the concept itself, does not exist. You see, I can't explain this to you in your own subjective terms, even if I clearly define everything. Ultimately, we all need some objective Truth to hold on to. And that's where this gets tricky: because there is no such thing as subjective or objective truth.
ReplyDeleteSo we'll drop that line of "reasoning" before your silly human brains explode or you stop reading, whichever might have come first (although it never will, now). Is there a purpose in all of this? And the answer is, to my chagrin, an absolute: yes. Much like my own post here, the sum of actions you term "experience" is indeed leading towards a purpose. I don't know what that might be. Perhaps the purpose was the writing of this blog. Maybe you said something someone really needed to hear. Or perhaps the blog's purpose was for people to read this comment and meditate on the subtle truths I hid with the nonsense to let them slip by. But we must know that, ultimately, there is a purpose. Or "Purpose," if you will.
Paradoxes. God loves 'em. How do you have the freedom to respond to this comment, as I sincerely hope you will, and yet play a part in a divine Purpose? Why is it that the things you control correspond directly to the things you don't, or can't?
You may have wondered where I was going with this, unless you were too busy trying to stop your brain from melting. Let's be a bit more direct, then: STEREOTYPES ARE EVERY BIT AS REAL AS THE TRUTH.
Stereotypes are a perception, a concept, because the human brain cannot comprehend everything you wish it could. People do not wish to comprehend. they simply wish to exist. "Cogito ergo sum" means less than "sum ergo sum," perhaps even less than "non sum ergo sum." No, what lies in the drawing of distinctions is a loss of focus. You are Marie. Fine. What does "Marie" mean? Do you have a definition, one you think is properly free of connotation? Which definitions do you accept? The one you make yourself? But you can't make one yourself: there is no you to define. You may list qualities, but you only defining the parts, not the whole. There's an infinite number of parts; the whole cannot be comprehended, even by itself. Likewise there are an infinite number of numbers in between one and zero. You have to skip steps; we all have to skip steps; and who is anyone to say which steps we ought to skip or remember?
Ultimately, there is no truth in subjective or objective terms; there is no reality or nonreality; there is no Marie or unMarie. There is only one, confused whole and the order we try to draw out of a chaotic universe.
Wait. Chaos is simply the inability to perceive order.
Best wishes to the reader's neurologists,
--Gonzalez.
Remember my distinction between informed stereotypes and uninformed stereotypes. If you know enough about 1. me and 2. the words you're using, it's fine to talk about certain traits of mine individually, as separate parts of me. But if all you know about me is that I'm a "Christian"- which is an extremely loaded word- then it's likely you'll apply any number of untrue things to the entirety of my character. Very few people would hear that I'm a "Christian" and conclude only that I "claim to follow the teachings of Christ." So to answer the question, I'm not comfortable with people that don't know me putting any *religious* labels on me at all. They're too loaded. I try not to give them the opportunity. Once you know me well enough and there's been time to make clear what KIND of Christian I am and why I believe what I do, what it means when I say I am of that conviction, THEN I will reluctantly let you call me "Christian." But in general, I'd like people to take that word with a good handful of salt. A word that *I* haven't defined can have any number of connotations in *your* mind that are absolutely untrue about me. (The assumption is that I am an authority on my own character.) You've now made me something I'm not, which negates everything about my reality.
ReplyDeleteI'm okay when you call me "Marie-ish." It's a label I've made. It can only be based in the truth, if you've perceived me correctly. I am its only definition. The definition changes with the way I choose to display my character, so it can barely be inaccurate. If you use a word like "smart" that has a huge application outside of my own personality and actions, I get associated with things I shouldn't be. "Smart"- like "Christian”- is a very loaded word.
Certain stereotypes are more so than others. The amount depends on company, time, age, etc. For example, Americans like the ones at the tournament are knowledgeable enough about the way American society works that I'm fine with them calling me “American.” "American" barely has any connotation to them because the word encompasses all the people they know, with all their diversities. Hence, it's a very, very broad stereotype. Accurate ones tend to be. But if you go to South Africa and call me an American, I become something totally different because people don't necessarily know as much about American society. The stereotype is much narrower and more inaccurate. The more inaccurate, the less it reflects truth; and the less it reflects truth, the more thoroughly you negate my true existence.
Nick: I apologize for the terrible brevity of my response, my brain has indeed melted in its entirety. You must try not to do that, it hurts incredibly.
ReplyDeleteThe definition I accept of myself is my own existence. I follow the divine example. The reason there is a Universe and we have our lives to occupy what we know of it, is that God has no shorter way to define himself.
But -- and here's where my point comes into bearing -- you're making a distinction between informed and non-informed. And you're basing it in other people's consciousness. That's where philosophy shouldn't go. And stereotypes are a philosophical issue, if I'm not mistaken.
ReplyDeleteThis is why I don't like your crusade against connotation. While I love the lengths you go to in order to ensure exact meaning, ultimately what you are trying to achieve is nothing less than total control of the other person's mind. People are free to form their own associations. They will argue on those grounds. And that's why you're able to talk to people. define too compulsively, and your language loses its meaning. Again: paradox.
Here's what you should do: nothing. People will act, tautologically, how they will act. If you never see them again, then there's no effect. If they go home and write a counter-balancing blog about how church kids like you are a detriment to society, than all they've done is reinforce their own submission to chaos/order. Divine chaos. Kinda lends some credence to predestination, huh?
You're a great individual, most of the time, but other times you flinch. Because "Christian" has some bad connotations? Or for more trivial reasons? If you're afraid people will define you in a certain way, then ignore them and be yourself. That's the only way to be "Marie," right? Why do you need to shrink from the title of "Christian" if you can be yourself? Why do you need to defend yourself with three paragraphs explaining which stereotypes you are and aren't okay with?
And now let's address the inevitable hypocrisy found wherever philosophers meet. Who actually did any stereotyping? Did the kids at your IE's? Or was it you, with the "people assume Christianity is X" and "stereotypes are Y" blog post? Might want to think over the irony that is everywhere. As the song goes, "I can see the fingerprints of God."
And I'm deeply, deeply offended that you did not address my arguments about distinction and how it contradicts rationality. Flow it across, please.
No man can be completely informed, but almost always there exists an imperfect expression of reality which may operate well enough that we come to a workable consensus. There are the completely uninformed- stupid people- and the completely informed- God- otherwise, we are all in between.
ReplyDeleteI do not live under pretense. My carefulness with connotation is the protection of the true self I am living to my fullest extent, or whatever other truth I am protecting. My stereotyping of others is informed. I did not assume anything about the character of the individuals in the room. I know something about the culture, and therefore think and act accordingly in order to preserve truth. I do not regret the three ways in which I subjected myself to labeling: they are true regardless of any faulty interpretation I try to prevent.
If philosophy is so hypocritical, perhaps we should both shut up.
Silence is consent.