Taking the Plunge: The Known Citizen

Taking the Plunge

I recently received numerous emails from my alma mater asking me to donate money--"any amount!"--before the end of the fiscal year. Although my post-college careers have not been lucrative in any way, I was impressed by my school's fundraising campaign so I tried to resist my reflexive stinginess. Dubbed the "Take the Plunge Challenge," Colgate invites alums to "take the plunge" by donating, offering the following incentive: if 1300 alums donate before the end of the fiscal year, five dedicated (and awesome) administrators have agreed to "take the plunge" in Taylor Lake, a beautiful, albeit bacterial lake that is a central landmark of the school's scenic campus. These administrators listed the reasons why they are willing to take this literal plunge for Colgate--they all strongly believe in the school's mission, faculty, and students.

In truth, I deleted the first several emails I received after reading them. I admired Colgate's creative and weirdly heartwarming fundraising approach, but only from afar. However, after browsing the fundraising website a few times, the marketing gimmicks started working their magic on my precious neural networks. First, there was this picture:




These well-respected administrators just look so refreshingly ...goofy. They want to jump into that gross lake? For Colgate? For students like me? That's kind of ...sweet, I think. As I read about their sincere reasons for wanting to be a part of this campaign in such an involved, quirky way, I couldn't help but reconsider my initial "Bah, humbug!" response. As a result, I decided to take my own plunge--a plumbing of the philosophical depths of my Colgate education, so to speak.

Why Colgate?

I shall always remember the reason that I decided to attend Colgate: a quote from Colgate's guidebook for prospective students. I now realize that Colgate's marketing techniques tend to exert quite the influence on my psyche... In any case, the quote in the guidebook was spoken by former university president, Rebecca Chopp. When asked about the value of a liberal arts education, Chopp indicated that the purpose of such an education is to teach students how to "live a life worth living and create a world living in." This quote, coincidentally set against the backdrop of Taylor Lake in the guidebook, grabbed me. The quote provided me with the space to create a connection between education and a worthwhile life. Furthermore, it caused me to wonder what makes for a worthwhile life and world. Why is a Colgate education so enriching and valuable?

In light of recent news and historical events, I felt that this conversation was exceptionally timely. The questions sparked by Colgate's fundraising campaign--e.g., the purpose of a liberal arts education--are very much connected to the response that is currently demanded of us as citizens of a democratic society. News about the NSA leaks, changed election laws, DOMA, and Prop 8 require us, as citizens and human beings, to think critically about government surveillance, discriminatory voting practices, and limited rights for people who love each other. The question posed by Rebecca Chopp's quote in the guidebook is timeless: What does it mean to live a life worth living and create a world worth living in?

The beauty of that link between education and the value of life is that it is ongoing. We can engage questions about what it means to respond to life now by drawing on thinkers, history, cultures, religions, literature, and research from the past. I recently rediscovered W.H. Auden's poem, "The Unknown Citizen," and I was reminded of Auden's prophetic voice. Although the poem was published over seventy years ago, it is still captivating. Auden is a (posthumous) gadfly. His poem invites us, citizens and human beings, to Take the Plunge to be known, to be heard, and to build a better community:

The Unknown Citizen
by W.H. Auden

He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be
One against whom there was no official complaint,
And all the reports on his conduct agree
That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a
   saint,
For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.
Except for the War till the day he retired
He worked in a factory and never got fired,
But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.
Yet he wasn't a scab or odd in his views,
For his Union reports that he paid his dues,
(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)
And our Social Psychology workers found
That he was popular with his mates and liked a drink.
The Press are convinced that he bought a paper every day
And that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every way.
Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured,
And his Health-card shows he was once in hospital but left it cured.
Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declare
He was fully sensible to the advantages of the Instalment Plan
And had everything necessary to the Modern Man,
A phonograph, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.
Our researchers into Public Opinion are content 
That he held the proper opinions for the time of year;
When there was peace, he was for peace:  when there was war, he went.
He was married and added five children to the population,
Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of his
   generation.
And our teachers report that he never interfered with their
   education.
Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:
Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.

                             
 http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15549#sthash.pRvurrJH.dpuf
---

The skinny (since I'm about to hit the hay!): I realize that my time in college was by no means perfect, but I will always thank Colgate for preparing me for this ongoing plunge. (And, to the Colgate Development Office: I suppose your campaign worked, as I end this blog post feeling forever indebted to my alma mater!)

Go to Your Room. And Tango!

Ever since I started working at Boston University School of Theology (and, in hindsight, at every moment in my life leading up to my job here), I have been seeking to define and refine my "theological position"--that is, what I think about God and the manifestation of God (or lack thereof) in my world, relationships, faith, and life. As I sit here at my desk, wondering if my back will ever become permanently slouched from my poor sitting posture, I realize that many of my "first order theological questions" (as Sir Linscott calls them!) are connected to a quote that I often saw etched into the then-brand-spanking-new Ho Science Center during my time at Colgate University: "Why are things the way they are and not otherwise?" According to Wikipedia, Johannes Kepler, the author (speaker?) of the quote, was a mathematician, astrologer, and astronomer-- a key figure in the 17th century scientific revolution. In my mind, the mastermind behind such a quote must have often been lost in thought, questioning the nature of each and every aspect of his life. His questioning is even evident in his portrait:

Clearly, Kepler was a man who questioned the nature of collars, facial hair, and accessories. Above, he appears innocently pensive, but I feel he is also insisting that I question the nature of my own shirts, hairstyles, and compasses. Thank you, Johannes.

All jokes aside (unless you didn't think that Kepler picture bit was a joke--then it definitely wasn't), I have been thinking about Kepler and his "otherwise-ing" thought experiments as I brainstorm ideas for this theological position paper. Except instead of asking questions related to my theological position, such as "Why has my idea of God come to be the way it is and not otherwise?" or "Why do I think of religion in a particular way?", I find myself looking up videos of tango performances on youtube and wondering what my life would be like if, instead of never having danced tango, I was inclined, or even ordered, to tango. Stay with me...

This all began in my procrastination, a procrastination that is perhaps rooted in not wanting to delve into those first order questions in such a serious way. "What do I think about the nature of God?" Well, I don't know...it just seems like too intense of a question to contemplate after eating Girl Scout cookies while listening to Third Eye Blind. My mind started wandering, and I began to think about a conversation I had with my co-worker earlier today in which I made it very clear that if I ever marry I would want to somehow execute an elaborate, beautiful first dance with my partner. Then, I started thinking about how much preparation this would require since I am not a skilled dancer. This led me to really think about what things would be like for me if they were otherwise in this situation. What would my life be like if I were a phenomenal, graceful dancer? What would people say? What would people think (not that I care what other people think...)? How would such poise and skill influence my self-esteem? What if I were an amazing dancer in middle school--through the braces, (semi-disappeared) acne, and (ever-present) awkward moments. How different my life would be!

I wanted to make my musings more tangible so I searched "amazing tango performance" on youtube. Ah, the wonders of the internet! As I watched these beautiful (amazing) performances, I started picturing a version of myself that could not be defined outside of tango. At school talent shows, I would be "Katalina, the one who can tango!" I would have started at an early age in this fantasy so I would have quickly become the leading partner. I imagine myself remembering all my steps, not tripping in heels, embracing constructed gender roles, smiling and making eye contact with the audience (and judges) without ever missing a beat.

As I watch the fifth video of amazing tango, the nagging Microsoft Word icon keeps reminding me that I have a paper to write; a fantasy to let go of. I feel anger well up inside me when I realize that my parents could have pushed me into tango. My life could have been soaked with tango; my identity defined by it. Why did my mom tell me to say my prayers before bed? If she would have instructed me to practice tango for a half hour each night instead, things would certainly be "otherwise." I would be critiquing these videos on youtube right now, scoffing at the woman who calls herself a tango dancer with those sloppy turns. The chemistry between the tango dancers would spark memories of my time in Tango Dance Camp in Buenos Aires--which was one big fiesta (to say the least!).

I throw my fists in the air when I realize how limited my life is without tango. The graceful movements, the stage presence, the passion for dance, a longing for the stage, a tango-infused understanding of beauty, love, and partnership...I have none of this because my life is the way it is and not otherwise (*said with fists thrown in the air!*).

Ah, but alas, I must return to my paper--to my thoughts about my theological position. There are so many ways I could neatly wrap up this blog post. I could relate the tango metaphor to my Catholic identity and talk about all of the theological insights I gained from realizing that I just happened to be born into the Catholic tradition but I could have been raised otherwise (in a different tradition or in no tradition at all). My religious identity is just as arbitrary as my lack of a tango identity...what does this all mean?

Or perhaps I could discuss the beautiful "dance" of faith or of theological ideas that takes place in our lives all the time: our experiences cause us to constantly adjust what we think about God, love, suffering, life, and death. The spirit, memories, and tradition of tango never die, but sometimes songs end. Or maybe the tradition of tango will die once it is no longer relevant in a particular context. But still, it serves a purpose; it is a meaningful, beautiful mode of expression; the spirit of tango is transcendent, and transformative. I could pass the torch to my friend, Chihoon, so he could describe his art exhibit from last semester, which beautifully captured the relationship between tango and God: our elusive, intimate dance of faith in this life.

Now that I have just procrastinated another twenty minutes by revealing the ways I could have ended this post, I am left wondering how to actually end it. For the sake of time, I guess I will just have to end this post knowing that we can't always wrap everything up neatly, and that we often struggle to adequately capture our deepest longings and convictions with words...