Mental Maps and the Inevitable March of the Isms
I have found that one of the challenges of growing old is attempting to act as if arguments I’ve heard for decades are fresh and new.
Marching as I often do under the banner of Humanism (yep, one of those pesky Isms), I’ve long listened to the theism / atheism debate, though I have to admit I tuned out several years ago. No, I don’t think the theism / atheism debate is engaging, because I don’t think atheism and theism are actually what people are talking about in that argument. We rely on that argument because marching in the Ism Parade is easier than lighting out for the territories of ambiguity.
As I see it, the deeper debate — beyond anything to do with theism, a-theism, or any other Ism — is about the value of mental maps. The question is: How do we find a mental map that will suffice in giving our lives value, meaning, and purpose?
Is a particular sort of theism (because there are oodles and gobs of theisms) an adequate mental map to withstand the slings and arrows of being alive?
Is a particular sort of atheism (because there are oodles and gobs of atheisms and agnosticisms and pantheisms and on and on) an adequate mental map to withstand the slings and arrows of being alive?
That’s the deeper question. A question that can’t be answered with an Ism.
When we share our mental maps, it is well that each of us remembers the personal nature of the tool, even though just about everything we can think is some sort of Ism. When we forget the individuality of everyone’s experience, we join in the Death March of the Isms — a death march in more ways than one.
In other words, my theism or atheism or humanism or what-have-you is mine and mine alone. And your . . . whatever . . . is yours and yours alone. Seen from this vantage point, I have to wonder if being “spiritual” is an attempt to hop out of the Ism Parade.
The way we describe ourselves in American English is revealing: we tend to say, “I’m a Baptist” or “I’m a Humanist.” We don’t tend to say, “I’m the Baptist” or “I’m the Humanist.” (Even though in the narcissism of individuality we may actually think that!)
This verbal habit springs, I suspect, from a tacit understanding that each of us represents an aspect of being the larger Ism or label, but our own mental maps don’t precisely map onto the prescribed map of a particular Ism. Meaning: we all know we don’t fit into the Ism Parade, try as we might.
Oh, and note that sometimes we do say, “I’m liberal” or “I’m conservative,” a sure sign that politics is messed up!
So why do so many of us even try to don an Ism’s uniform and march to its martial tune? Beats me! Perhaps because it’s shorthand and easy. I don’t know. Somehow, we have to participate in the Ism Parade before we can march toward an examination of our own values.
But reflect on this: doesn’t the mere fact of the multiplicity of human maps of what we call “reality” signal a sure sign of one thing: We as a species don’t understand reality in one single way — and perhaps we don’t understand it at all.
Sure, we get cues from our genes and our families and our cultures. And the mental maps that preexist help us to survive and thrive in this strange place called life and reality. Isms exist because they have served as handy frames.
But the call of having an individual consciousness is to employ it. Which means, each of us will — ideally — parade with an Ism before and while we find our own drummer to march to.
OK. I’m mixing my metaphors too much here. But perhaps you see what I’m getting at: an Ism is a fine thing to check out. But marching solely in one Ism Parade ultimately requires living an unexamined life. Sure, each of us can do that. But where’s the fun?
Come on. Step out of line. Do a little dance. Tell the Ism Parade to go on without you.
Listen to podcasts.
