The other day I was visiting my brother-in-law's hardware store. The conversation turned to Brother-in-Law's very large Toyota Tundra. I jokingly said that it might even qualify as a compensation mobile. He simply replied that that's a pretty sexist thing for a self-proclaimed feminist to say.
If anything ever cut me to the quick, that did. After mumbling some embarrassed syllables of admission, I shuffled back to the car with my head hung low and fought back tears all the way home. Of course he was right. If he had intimated that women cursed with undesirably small . . . breasts, say, carry bigger purses so men will still want them, I might have bludgeoned him to death with my extra-large handbag. And yet I have been making the occasional joke about something equally sexist for years. I felt like the ultimate hypocrite. I sometimes get the impression that my (unusually open-minded) extended family thinks I just put on a feminist persona for appearances. This incident is excellent evidence of exactly that. How could a true feminist say something so obviously inappropriate? How could I possibly espouse complete equality if I fight the battle in only one direction? I felt rather depressed and lethargic for the rest of the day.
And several days later, I am still dwelling on my hideous faux pas. Am I just doing the "feminist thing" for show? Do I really want equality, or am I simply using feminism as a reason to feel angry and superior? If it is all a ruse, what do I do now? Start deferring to patriarchal authority again, trash my career plans, return to the temple and blithely agree to be less-than for eternity? Make comments in church about women's superior spirituality and role as gatekeepers of sexuality? Vilify working moms and stay-at-home dads?
The thought sends shivers down my spine. At this point, I realize that I'm not faking it. I actually believe in this stuff. Maybe I just make mistakes sometimes. As one of my psychology professors wisely stated, "gender roles are in the air we breathe." Even the most progressive individuals are going to slip up every now and then, because sexism is inescapable. We feminists are fighting the good fight from within and without. In a way, I am grateful that my brother-in-law opened my eyes to a hidden bit of sexism that I needed to root out (and I'm sure there are more yet to be discovered). I do wish that I could have taken on this traitorous bit privately, without the added element of public shame. Learning the hard way is never fun, but then again aren't we Mormons always talking about difficulties making us stronger?
So even die-hard feminists make the occasional sexist remark sometimes. Please forgive us, for clinging to feminism in a gender-polarized world is no mean feat. And if Brother-in-Law reads this, please accept my apology and realize that this post is, in reality, penance for my transgression. Now back to the battlefield.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Adventures in Ageism
Apparently it's been five weeks since my last post. Although this is by far my longest period of silence since the inception of this blog, I do not feel guilty. Within that time, I have:
But children are a different story. My astute niece even asked me why I don't like children the other day. I sort of lied and said I just don't have much experience with them. Well, the experience I've gained over the last few weeks has not helped my opinion of the little imps. I just can't understand their thought processes. They can't seem to understand that screaming what you want over and over is not an effective way to solve your problems. They also fail to grasp that their issues are minute. I want to widen their viewpoint, to show them the ease and comfort of their lives. I guess I see it as ungrateful. How can you be so upset about not getting to go to the toy store when you just got about a hundred shiny new toys for Christmas? Their parents are always bending over backward to ensure their health, safety, and happiness, and yet they scream and cry and act like the world is going to end because they have to take a nap (and how dare they turn up their noses at the heavenly luxury of napping?!).
I believe my prejudices are fueled by my belief that I was a perfect child. At least that's how my mother tells the tale. According to her, I rarely cried as an infant, slept all night long, woke up at nine or ten, weaned easily, potty trained easily, etc. Of course, I imagine parenting is much easier when there is only one. My parents never had to listen to squabbles about sharing because I had no one to share with. I never felt the need to act out for attention because I got all the attention I could ever want. I rarely fought against my parents' rules because I felt I was just another adult in the house. And when I did try to manipulate them, they didn't give in and quickly conditioned me to use more appropriate methods. Perhaps my parents should go into more detail with me about my childhood. I have heard a few tales involving vomitage, and remember a tantrum or two. Although my mom admits that the one time I ever yelled at her, she deserved it!
Or perhaps I resent children because I envy them. I wish I had it so easy. I wish I didn't have to control my emotions. I wish I didn't have to work and do hard things and be responsible. I wish I had someone to wait on me hand and foot. And if I did, I'd be thankful, you hooligans! I shall earn the title of crotchety old lady yet!
Look, I know my feelings about children are unfair. I know that their reasoning abilities are limited. I know that when they whine and scream and cry they are simply expressing their confusion and frustration at a complex world with complex rules. I know that their immune systems are still developing, which leads to frequent spewage. But that knowledge does not keep me from getting annoyed (or from hiding in my room for several hours a day to escape them). I guess I lack compassion for children. The true manifestation of my ageism, though, is that I feel no compulsion to remedy this void of charity. I am making no new year's resolutions to fix my skewed perceptions; I do not feel the need to talk to God or my bishop about it. And I have no idea why. At least I'm admitting it, right? That's supposed to be the first step to . . . something, right?
I do not want any parents reading this to feel as though I am attacking them or their parenting abilities. I do not blame parents for having annoying children because, as far as I can tell, they all get to me to some degree. Therefore it is the very nature of children that irks me. Aren't I terrible? I'm sure I'll get some angry parent commenting and saying that children are a blessing from God and I am going to hell. Well, if I'm going to hell, lacking patience for children is the least of my offenses.
Thank you for making it to the end of this very stream-of-consciousness post (which I have written while attempting to tune out the dulcet tones of screaming toddlers). Feel free to verbally crucify me in the comments.
- Written a plethora of excellent papers
- Aced all of my finals
- Gotten straight As in all my classes (booya!)
- Performed in the annual BYU Celebration of Christmas concert
- Experienced my first Thanksgiving and Christmas sans family
- Taken the GRE (did tolerably well)
- Witnessed and participated in the weddings of my dear cousin and brother-in-law
- Traveled to Orange County, San Francisco/San Jose, Virginia, and Washington D.C.
- Visited one of my top choice grad schools (and I'm pretty sure they want me)
- Visited the Smithsonian for the first time (was unimpressed by the Hope Diamond, was baffled that the Star of Bombay was so inconspicuously displayed, and appreciated the human evolution exhibit)
- Endured living with multiple small children for almost two weeks.
- Driving to San Jose with Husband's loveable, crotchety-old-man of an uncle, during which he inadvertently merged onto the wrong freeway and continued on't for several hours while spouting off a fountain of angry, one-sided political "truths", fumbling with new-fangled devices, and grumbling that the world has gone to pot.
- Driving to Washington D.C. with the same loveable yet crotchety uncle, when he voiced some exceedingly racist opinions and refused to see them as racist (because it's not racist if it's true, dammit!).
- Sitting in the splash zone on the way to Muir Woods with my sister-in-law and her two kids. Yes, there was vomit. A lot of vomit.
- Experiencing more vomit with my niece at the airport.
- Witnessing dozens of logic-free childish meltdowns.
But children are a different story. My astute niece even asked me why I don't like children the other day. I sort of lied and said I just don't have much experience with them. Well, the experience I've gained over the last few weeks has not helped my opinion of the little imps. I just can't understand their thought processes. They can't seem to understand that screaming what you want over and over is not an effective way to solve your problems. They also fail to grasp that their issues are minute. I want to widen their viewpoint, to show them the ease and comfort of their lives. I guess I see it as ungrateful. How can you be so upset about not getting to go to the toy store when you just got about a hundred shiny new toys for Christmas? Their parents are always bending over backward to ensure their health, safety, and happiness, and yet they scream and cry and act like the world is going to end because they have to take a nap (and how dare they turn up their noses at the heavenly luxury of napping?!).
I believe my prejudices are fueled by my belief that I was a perfect child. At least that's how my mother tells the tale. According to her, I rarely cried as an infant, slept all night long, woke up at nine or ten, weaned easily, potty trained easily, etc. Of course, I imagine parenting is much easier when there is only one. My parents never had to listen to squabbles about sharing because I had no one to share with. I never felt the need to act out for attention because I got all the attention I could ever want. I rarely fought against my parents' rules because I felt I was just another adult in the house. And when I did try to manipulate them, they didn't give in and quickly conditioned me to use more appropriate methods. Perhaps my parents should go into more detail with me about my childhood. I have heard a few tales involving vomitage, and remember a tantrum or two. Although my mom admits that the one time I ever yelled at her, she deserved it!
Or perhaps I resent children because I envy them. I wish I had it so easy. I wish I didn't have to control my emotions. I wish I didn't have to work and do hard things and be responsible. I wish I had someone to wait on me hand and foot. And if I did, I'd be thankful, you hooligans! I shall earn the title of crotchety old lady yet!
Look, I know my feelings about children are unfair. I know that their reasoning abilities are limited. I know that when they whine and scream and cry they are simply expressing their confusion and frustration at a complex world with complex rules. I know that their immune systems are still developing, which leads to frequent spewage. But that knowledge does not keep me from getting annoyed (or from hiding in my room for several hours a day to escape them). I guess I lack compassion for children. The true manifestation of my ageism, though, is that I feel no compulsion to remedy this void of charity. I am making no new year's resolutions to fix my skewed perceptions; I do not feel the need to talk to God or my bishop about it. And I have no idea why. At least I'm admitting it, right? That's supposed to be the first step to . . . something, right?
I do not want any parents reading this to feel as though I am attacking them or their parenting abilities. I do not blame parents for having annoying children because, as far as I can tell, they all get to me to some degree. Therefore it is the very nature of children that irks me. Aren't I terrible? I'm sure I'll get some angry parent commenting and saying that children are a blessing from God and I am going to hell. Well, if I'm going to hell, lacking patience for children is the least of my offenses.
Thank you for making it to the end of this very stream-of-consciousness post (which I have written while attempting to tune out the dulcet tones of screaming toddlers). Feel free to verbally crucify me in the comments.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
This Post is Rated "R" for Language
And now, dear friends, a lesson in vocabulary. You may be interested to know that the majority of insults aimed only at men actually insult women*. If you ever want to insult a man, simply diss a woman in his life. So, without further ado, a short list of somewhat-alphabetized examples:
Bastard: your mother was unmarried when she gave birth to you. A classic example.
Douchebag: you are that nasty thing that women use to wash their nasty (inferior?) parts. It actually means "you are a particularly annoying man who thinks you're all that, and God's gift to those silly little women creatures, when really you live in your mom's basement and photoshop abs onto your profile picture." I admit, this is one of my favorites. I guess I could justify using it by pointing out that it is meant to insult sexist people . . . right?
Lace-on-your-pants/Panty waist: Ostensibly refers to women's inferior clothing. You have a woman's sexual urges (you're homosexual), so why don't you just dress like a woman? Insulting men with women's clothing? Really? Compare to "wearing the pants in the family." My parents contributed this old-school insult.
Man up: don't be like a woman. Be brave, courageous, strong (women do not possess these qualities). Do the right thing; do what a man would do. Could be interpreted as "don't be like a boy/child." I prefer this definition, but it is sketchy since there is no "woman up" equivalent.
Mother f*cker: you had sexual relations with your mother. Accusing you and your mother of incest (the strongest social taboo worldwide).
Pussy: you are a woman's inferior genitals. Or, you are weak like a woman (so you must have her genitals. Penises confer all things strong and fearless). I absolutely abhor this word.
Pussy-whipped: you let a b*tchy woman control you, when YOU should be controlling HER. Why don't you just stand up to her and show her who's boss?
Son of a b*tch: your mother is a b*tch. Another classic.
Your mama jokes: somewhat self-explanatory. Your mother is [fat]. Your mother is [ugly]. Your mother is [stupid].
You play ball like a girl: Sandlot, anyone? Girls cannot play baseball because of their inferior muscles/spatial abilities/delicate clothing. You play baseball like they do.
C*nt: supposedly the most offensive word in the English language. Similar to "pussy", it refers to a woman's inferior genitalia. Read the interesting evolution of this word here.**
Woman/girl/lady: you are a member of the inferior and subjugated "second sex." You are weak, inconsequential, incompetent. You are meant to be used. You suck at life. You do not act; you are acted upon. Compare to "you're the man!" or "man up", above. These are probably the most hurtful to women because they are so commonplace. How is it okay to use "woman" as an insult? General authorities in the LDS church are constantly saying that women are incredible, that women are God's highest creation. And yet, I bet the vast majority of LDS men (and some women) have indirectly insulted women in this way before. The other day my father told me that men will never stop seeing femininity as a weakness in themselves, as insulting and less-than. I hope to God that is not true. Research shows that androgynous people are happier and better adjusted people. I applaud those men who are in touch with their feminine sides, and are not ashamed.
Which ones have I forgotten?
*Conversely, insults directed solely at women usually have to do with their sexual practices. But that's a post for another day.
**The word "vagina" literally means "a sheath for a sword" in Latin. The anatomical word for the birth canal has nothing to do with giving birth. No, it's just a place to put your two-edged phallic symbol. As such, some modern feminists are trying to reclaim c*nt, as it is more inclusive of the whole of female genitalia, instead of referring only to the bit that pleasures males.
Bastard: your mother was unmarried when she gave birth to you. A classic example.
Douchebag: you are that nasty thing that women use to wash their nasty (inferior?) parts. It actually means "you are a particularly annoying man who thinks you're all that, and God's gift to those silly little women creatures, when really you live in your mom's basement and photoshop abs onto your profile picture." I admit, this is one of my favorites. I guess I could justify using it by pointing out that it is meant to insult sexist people . . . right?
Lace-on-your-pants/Panty waist: Ostensibly refers to women's inferior clothing. You have a woman's sexual urges (you're homosexual), so why don't you just dress like a woman? Insulting men with women's clothing? Really? Compare to "wearing the pants in the family." My parents contributed this old-school insult.
Man up: don't be like a woman. Be brave, courageous, strong (women do not possess these qualities). Do the right thing; do what a man would do. Could be interpreted as "don't be like a boy/child." I prefer this definition, but it is sketchy since there is no "woman up" equivalent.
Mother f*cker: you had sexual relations with your mother. Accusing you and your mother of incest (the strongest social taboo worldwide).
Pussy: you are a woman's inferior genitals. Or, you are weak like a woman (so you must have her genitals. Penises confer all things strong and fearless). I absolutely abhor this word.
Pussy-whipped: you let a b*tchy woman control you, when YOU should be controlling HER. Why don't you just stand up to her and show her who's boss?
Son of a b*tch: your mother is a b*tch. Another classic.
Your mama jokes: somewhat self-explanatory. Your mother is [fat]. Your mother is [ugly]. Your mother is [stupid].
You play ball like a girl: Sandlot, anyone? Girls cannot play baseball because of their inferior muscles/spatial abilities/delicate clothing. You play baseball like they do.
C*nt: supposedly the most offensive word in the English language. Similar to "pussy", it refers to a woman's inferior genitalia. Read the interesting evolution of this word here.**
Woman/girl/lady: you are a member of the inferior and subjugated "second sex." You are weak, inconsequential, incompetent. You are meant to be used. You suck at life. You do not act; you are acted upon. Compare to "you're the man!" or "man up", above. These are probably the most hurtful to women because they are so commonplace. How is it okay to use "woman" as an insult? General authorities in the LDS church are constantly saying that women are incredible, that women are God's highest creation. And yet, I bet the vast majority of LDS men (and some women) have indirectly insulted women in this way before. The other day my father told me that men will never stop seeing femininity as a weakness in themselves, as insulting and less-than. I hope to God that is not true. Research shows that androgynous people are happier and better adjusted people. I applaud those men who are in touch with their feminine sides, and are not ashamed.
Which ones have I forgotten?
*Conversely, insults directed solely at women usually have to do with their sexual practices. But that's a post for another day.
**The word "vagina" literally means "a sheath for a sword" in Latin. The anatomical word for the birth canal has nothing to do with giving birth. No, it's just a place to put your two-edged phallic symbol. As such, some modern feminists are trying to reclaim c*nt, as it is more inclusive of the whole of female genitalia, instead of referring only to the bit that pleasures males.
Friday, October 21, 2011
National Chemistry Week!
Huzzah, it's National Chemistry Week once again! I nearly forgot because (for the first time) I'm not in a chem class during fall semester. For those of you who have yet to partake of the chemical fun, let me explain my joy.
In chemistry, there is a unit of measurement known as the mole. A mole is equal to 6.02 x 10^23 units (also known as Avogadro's number). The units can technically be anything, but chemists use the mole (abbreviated mol) to measure units of atoms, molecules, ions, etc. To celebrate their favorite unit of measurement, chemists come together on Mole Day. Mole Day festivities occur on October 23rd, from 6:02 a.m. to 6:02 p.m. (6:02 10/23, see the pattern?). One day, the American Chemical Society decided that Mole Day was just too much fun to limit to one day a year. As such, they instituted National Chemistry Week, which includes Mole Day. Let me list some of the engaging activities you may enjoy during this glorious season:
1. Mole Day parties. These are typically pot-luck style. Everyone brings food relating to the Mole. Some of the most common treats are baked goods with Avogadro's number piped on, MOLasses cookies (which can be quite humorous), chips, salsa, and guacaMOLE, and anything including Mexican MOLE sauce. Activities include poetry readings and performances of original songs relating to the Mole (I once performed a song like unto the YMCA song, titled M-O-L-E). Wearing geeky T-shirts is encouraged. I highly recommend hosting such a party.
2. Chemistry Magic Shows. These shows embody every child's wildest imagination of what chemistry entails: blowing stuff up, crazy color changes, kooky chemists dancing to disco music in tie-dye lab coats while laughing maniacally. . . oh yeah. Speaking of kids, these are a great way to get kids interested in chemistry/science. And they're usually free! So if you're into imploding cans, elephant toothpaste, loud noises, and fire, these are for you!
3. Liquid Nitrogen Ice Cream. If you have not sampled liquid nitrogen ice cream, you are missing out big time. It's so simple: milk, cream, sugar, vanilla. Combine in a stand mixer with whatever mix-in you desire (my favorite is Oreos). Then, get a dewar of liquid nitrogen and pour over the mixture. Instant ice cream! All of you organic granola people will love it for its lack of preservatives and fillers. The rest of us love it because it's so darn tasty! It is often served outside of the chemistry magic shows, or perhaps at the Mole Day parties. Liquid nitrogen ice cream is probably my favorite part of National Chemistry Week. I waited forty minutes for some yesterday. And it was worth it.
So if you haven't celebrated National Chemistry Week yet, go have yourself some nerdy fun!
How have you celebrated Mole Day/National Chemistry Week?
In chemistry, there is a unit of measurement known as the mole. A mole is equal to 6.02 x 10^23 units (also known as Avogadro's number). The units can technically be anything, but chemists use the mole (abbreviated mol) to measure units of atoms, molecules, ions, etc. To celebrate their favorite unit of measurement, chemists come together on Mole Day. Mole Day festivities occur on October 23rd, from 6:02 a.m. to 6:02 p.m. (6:02 10/23, see the pattern?). One day, the American Chemical Society decided that Mole Day was just too much fun to limit to one day a year. As such, they instituted National Chemistry Week, which includes Mole Day. Let me list some of the engaging activities you may enjoy during this glorious season:
1. Mole Day parties. These are typically pot-luck style. Everyone brings food relating to the Mole. Some of the most common treats are baked goods with Avogadro's number piped on, MOLasses cookies (which can be quite humorous), chips, salsa, and guacaMOLE, and anything including Mexican MOLE sauce. Activities include poetry readings and performances of original songs relating to the Mole (I once performed a song like unto the YMCA song, titled M-O-L-E). Wearing geeky T-shirts is encouraged. I highly recommend hosting such a party.
2. Chemistry Magic Shows. These shows embody every child's wildest imagination of what chemistry entails: blowing stuff up, crazy color changes, kooky chemists dancing to disco music in tie-dye lab coats while laughing maniacally. . . oh yeah. Speaking of kids, these are a great way to get kids interested in chemistry/science. And they're usually free! So if you're into imploding cans, elephant toothpaste, loud noises, and fire, these are for you!
3. Liquid Nitrogen Ice Cream. If you have not sampled liquid nitrogen ice cream, you are missing out big time. It's so simple: milk, cream, sugar, vanilla. Combine in a stand mixer with whatever mix-in you desire (my favorite is Oreos). Then, get a dewar of liquid nitrogen and pour over the mixture. Instant ice cream! All of you organic granola people will love it for its lack of preservatives and fillers. The rest of us love it because it's so darn tasty! It is often served outside of the chemistry magic shows, or perhaps at the Mole Day parties. Liquid nitrogen ice cream is probably my favorite part of National Chemistry Week. I waited forty minutes for some yesterday. And it was worth it.
So if you haven't celebrated National Chemistry Week yet, go have yourself some nerdy fun!
How have you celebrated Mole Day/National Chemistry Week?
Monday, September 26, 2011
A Modest Proposal
I think I'm going to start posting regular gender-related anecdotes from my life. Heaven knows, I have a lot of them now that I'm back in good ol' Provo.
The other day in concert choir, our conductor suddenly insisted that all the men evacuate the rehearsal hall. This is highly unusual; we never get out early. She did not explain why she had decided to do this, or what we women were going to do once the boys were gone. She shooed them out hurriedly and hollered at the few men who lingered. It was clear that she did not want any man to be present for the unannounced proceedings. Once she was sure there was no man within hearing distance, she proceeded to give us The Talk. No, not that talk. She informed us that a few men in concert choir had come to her and complained about the attire of the concert choir women. They had claimed that they felt the need to avert their eyes at times to keep their thoughts clean. Our conductor then laid down the law as to what manner of dress was appropriate and what was inappropriate; let's just say the words "cleavage" and "well endowed" were used frequently. She assured us that she did not believe any of us were dressing immodestly on purpose; we just need to be sure that the clothes we choose will not shift and expose . . . things . . . as we progress through the day. She insisted that the boys need us to dress modestly so they can fully contribute to concert choir. She brought it home with a plea for us to remember that our musical messages can only be conveyed through the Spirit, and that immodest dressing can detract from that because the boys are less focused and less able to feel that Spirit.
At this point I raised my hand. I said I don't like the idea that our motivation for dressing modestly should be to "help the men"; we all have agency, and the thought that I am the guilty party for another person's sins doesn't sit well in my brain. I then gave my reason for dressing modestly: self-respect. Our conductor agreed with me partly, but still stood by her assertion that the men need our cooperation. I left the hall a bit disgruntled, uncomfortable, and hurt. A strong, thoughtful, accomplished woman I admire had just committed a cardinal sin in my book. She had aligned herself (whether consciously or unconsciously) with the phrase "boys will be boys". That men have certain characteristics that cannot be helped. Needless to say, I was rather disappointed.
The memory of this event festered in my mind all week. The more I've thought about it, the more outraged I've become. I'm not so much angry at our conductor, or even at the men who complained. I'm angry at the prevalence of this misguided viewpoint. It is not a woman's responsibility to keep the men around her from thinking bad thoughts. I realized that when men gripe about the terrible women who don't dress modestly, they are admitting that they objectify the female body. They are essentially saying that when certain physical lines are crossed, a woman inevitably becomes a sex object, and they then hold little responsibility for their unclean thoughts. Herein lies the real problem: the human body is hyper-sexualized. I once heard the tale of a particularly horrifying achievement days modesty activity. During this activity, adult leaders actually drew garment lines on pre-pubescent girls. As if to say, "these are the magic lines that, when crossed, automatically turn you (a child) into an object of lust." What does this tell young girls about their worth and purpose? This also debases men, and robs them of their agency.
Living in Germany was enlightening. The human body is viewed quite differently there. They espouse the Freikörperkultur, or Free Body Culture (Husband and I wanted to participate, but sadly never had the opportunity). Nudity is tolerated in many public places. It is so different from America. It is rare to see a clothed child at a waterfront venue, and many adult men and women also walk around in the buff. The best part is that no one cares. The ones who bare it all do not have "ideal" bodies (because the "ideal" does not exist), but they are not embarrassed. No one is viewing them as sex objects. The general consensus is "hey, we all have one". The human body is fantastic and useful in a number of ways, but for some reason, we here in America focus heavily on only one of those numerous capabilities (even in children, which I believe feeds the pedophilia epidemic).
We in the church are not immune to this mindset. When we insist that women dress a certain way so boys don't have inappropriate thoughts, we are treating the symptoms, but not the cause. I view Zion as a place where every person dresses modestly out of self-respect and practicality, so that modesty need not have such concrete lines associated with it. But more so, I see Zion as a place where respect and equality reign supreme; where, even when someone bares their body, it doesn't matter because no one sees that body as a tool to use for their own gratification. I guess we don't live in Zion. Is it impossible to teach ourselves not to objectify ourselves or others? Are we so fallen that there is no hope of escaping the tendency to hyper-sexualize? Can we not put off this aspect of the natural man? I believe that if we teach modesty to both sexes from this point of view, we can begin to combat one of the wiliest tricks of the adversary and better appreciate our full worth as the children of God.
The other day in concert choir, our conductor suddenly insisted that all the men evacuate the rehearsal hall. This is highly unusual; we never get out early. She did not explain why she had decided to do this, or what we women were going to do once the boys were gone. She shooed them out hurriedly and hollered at the few men who lingered. It was clear that she did not want any man to be present for the unannounced proceedings. Once she was sure there was no man within hearing distance, she proceeded to give us The Talk. No, not that talk. She informed us that a few men in concert choir had come to her and complained about the attire of the concert choir women. They had claimed that they felt the need to avert their eyes at times to keep their thoughts clean. Our conductor then laid down the law as to what manner of dress was appropriate and what was inappropriate; let's just say the words "cleavage" and "well endowed" were used frequently. She assured us that she did not believe any of us were dressing immodestly on purpose; we just need to be sure that the clothes we choose will not shift and expose . . . things . . . as we progress through the day. She insisted that the boys need us to dress modestly so they can fully contribute to concert choir. She brought it home with a plea for us to remember that our musical messages can only be conveyed through the Spirit, and that immodest dressing can detract from that because the boys are less focused and less able to feel that Spirit.
At this point I raised my hand. I said I don't like the idea that our motivation for dressing modestly should be to "help the men"; we all have agency, and the thought that I am the guilty party for another person's sins doesn't sit well in my brain. I then gave my reason for dressing modestly: self-respect. Our conductor agreed with me partly, but still stood by her assertion that the men need our cooperation. I left the hall a bit disgruntled, uncomfortable, and hurt. A strong, thoughtful, accomplished woman I admire had just committed a cardinal sin in my book. She had aligned herself (whether consciously or unconsciously) with the phrase "boys will be boys". That men have certain characteristics that cannot be helped. Needless to say, I was rather disappointed.
The memory of this event festered in my mind all week. The more I've thought about it, the more outraged I've become. I'm not so much angry at our conductor, or even at the men who complained. I'm angry at the prevalence of this misguided viewpoint. It is not a woman's responsibility to keep the men around her from thinking bad thoughts. I realized that when men gripe about the terrible women who don't dress modestly, they are admitting that they objectify the female body. They are essentially saying that when certain physical lines are crossed, a woman inevitably becomes a sex object, and they then hold little responsibility for their unclean thoughts. Herein lies the real problem: the human body is hyper-sexualized. I once heard the tale of a particularly horrifying achievement days modesty activity. During this activity, adult leaders actually drew garment lines on pre-pubescent girls. As if to say, "these are the magic lines that, when crossed, automatically turn you (a child) into an object of lust." What does this tell young girls about their worth and purpose? This also debases men, and robs them of their agency.
Living in Germany was enlightening. The human body is viewed quite differently there. They espouse the Freikörperkultur, or Free Body Culture (Husband and I wanted to participate, but sadly never had the opportunity). Nudity is tolerated in many public places. It is so different from America. It is rare to see a clothed child at a waterfront venue, and many adult men and women also walk around in the buff. The best part is that no one cares. The ones who bare it all do not have "ideal" bodies (because the "ideal" does not exist), but they are not embarrassed. No one is viewing them as sex objects. The general consensus is "hey, we all have one". The human body is fantastic and useful in a number of ways, but for some reason, we here in America focus heavily on only one of those numerous capabilities (even in children, which I believe feeds the pedophilia epidemic).
We in the church are not immune to this mindset. When we insist that women dress a certain way so boys don't have inappropriate thoughts, we are treating the symptoms, but not the cause. I view Zion as a place where every person dresses modestly out of self-respect and practicality, so that modesty need not have such concrete lines associated with it. But more so, I see Zion as a place where respect and equality reign supreme; where, even when someone bares their body, it doesn't matter because no one sees that body as a tool to use for their own gratification. I guess we don't live in Zion. Is it impossible to teach ourselves not to objectify ourselves or others? Are we so fallen that there is no hope of escaping the tendency to hyper-sexualize? Can we not put off this aspect of the natural man? I believe that if we teach modesty to both sexes from this point of view, we can begin to combat one of the wiliest tricks of the adversary and better appreciate our full worth as the children of God.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
What About Evolution?
I recently watched a PBS documentary called What About God? for my evolutionary biology class. It addresses how modern-day Evangelical Christian students reconcile the apparent conflict between the origin of man as taught in biology class and in Sunday school. Several students and teachers in STEM fields of study, as well as some ecclesiastical leaders, were interviewed and asked about their viewpoints. The responses were varied. Some concluded that the theory of evolution of species is false; some expressed ambivalence and found it difficult to discuss their tentative ideas with their hard-core creationist friends and family. Still others asserted that there is no conflict at all, or that both evolution and creationism are valid hypotheses that should be taught equally. In the end we, the viewers, were left to make our own conclusions.
Since the original publication of Charles Darwin’s* On the Origin of Species in 1859, the theory of evolution has been ruffling religious feathers. Many fear that evolutionary theory contradicts scriptural accounts of the creation of the world and its inhabitants; they also claim that evolution “takes God out of the equation”. The fundamental question stands: can a person be a Bible-loving Christian and espouse Darwinian evolution? In my mind, the answer is—it depends. It depends on one’s definition of Christianity, and on what kind of Christian one chooses to be. Christianity is by no means a single religion with a single set of beliefs. In fact, very few Christians of the exact same sect agree on every point of doctrine. As such, some Christians may very well be evolutionary biologists, while others consider a belief in evolutionary theory a one-way ticket to hell.
If we assume that to be a Christian, one must interpret every word of the Bible literally, then the answer is no. No, a literal interpretation of the creation story in Genesis is not reconcilable with Darwin’s theory of evolution. One of evolutionary theory’s main points is that change happens gradually over long periods of time. This means that the creation of Adam and Eve would have taken millions of years. If an individual decides to believe that the creation occurred over a period of six Earth days, even that the creation of humans occurred in one twenty-four hour period (as is taught in Genesis), then, to that person, evolutionary theory must be considered absolutely false. However, if there is any room for metaphorical interpretation of the Bible in Christianity, then evolution may be acceptable. One may decide that the term “day” used in the Bible refers to stages of creation, rather than literal twenty-four hour periods. One may even conclude that the Biblical creation story is highly metaphorical, and is simply meant to teach that God is behind all creation. People who align themselves with this view of Christianity can then accept that God may have used evolution as the mechanism of creation, and that the theory of evolution reveals that God is much bigger and better than we could have imagined.
I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I consider myself a Christian, though many others do not because a number of my beliefs (heck, even a few Mormons think I don't belong). I believe that the Bible is the word of God, but is not a scientific document, and does not describe the method of creation. I believe that God has absolute knowledge of natural laws, and that hir** purposes are accomplished through these natural laws. I believe that God is a man and a woman, that God has a body of flesh and bones, that God reveals things to us today. I believe that God is more powerful, wise, and majestic than we can imagine; that all of us, to a degree, try to limit God by defining what God can and cannot do (as one creationist in the documentary ironically exclaimed, “man’s wisdom is foolishness before God”. That logic cuts both ways, my friends). I believe that humans are currently walking the evolutionary path from intelligences, to spirits, to mortal embodied beings, to immortal embodied beings, to gods. And I believe in Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution. Many say my beliefs are not concurrent with the definition of Christianity. If that be the case, then perhaps Christianity is not compatible with evolutionary theory. But in my opinion, I am a Christian (specifically a theistic evolutionist), and evolutionary theory enhances my Christian beliefs. Religious convictions are very personal and are unique to every individual. While several Christians in What About God? determined that the theory of evolution is in direct opposition to all religious beliefs, I side with the documentary’s overall theme: that every individual who calls hirself a Christian must assess hir own unique beliefs arrive at hir own conclusions.
*I'm thinking of naming a first-born son Charles Darwin Herrick in homage to the man who synthesized the unifying principle of biology. Also one of my grandfathers is named Charles. Can you imagine the reaction at that baby blessing?
**Hir=the gender-neutral pronoun. I'm giving it a try. It's growing on me, if only because writing "him or her" is cumbersome and going with "their" is grammatically incorrect.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Horrifying Historical Parallels
I just had a revelation.
As of late, I've been reading a lot about LDS patriarchy in the bloggernacle (here, here and here). The typical line in church is that God ordained men to be patriarchs and preside over the family. "By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families." As I was pondering this stance (and my own personal aversion to it), I realized that it sounds oddly familiar . . .
And then it hit me.
"Divine design" . . . Divine right! Does the common wording that prescribes the "role of men" not hearken of that which poor leaders of the past used to justify their power? I am floored. How did I not see this before? Historically, kings have rationalized their unrighteous dominion and assured their political legitimacy by asserting that God put them in that place of power, so they are obviously the best possible leaders. This doctrine is known as the divine right of kings, which we all know went well for everyone (sarcasm). Men in the LDS church (and others) use the same logic to justify the gender-defined lines of power and inequality. Thus, my new mantra when it comes to the "divine design" of patriarchy shall be:
Divine Right=A Silly Idea
Patriarchy=Divine Right
Patriarchy=A Silly Idea
Therefore, by the mathematical law of transitive relation (if a=b, and b=c, then a=c), it is proved. Amen.
Thoughts?
As of late, I've been reading a lot about LDS patriarchy in the bloggernacle (here, here and here). The typical line in church is that God ordained men to be patriarchs and preside over the family. "By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families." As I was pondering this stance (and my own personal aversion to it), I realized that it sounds oddly familiar . . .
And then it hit me.
"Divine design" . . . Divine right! Does the common wording that prescribes the "role of men" not hearken of that which poor leaders of the past used to justify their power? I am floored. How did I not see this before? Historically, kings have rationalized their unrighteous dominion and assured their political legitimacy by asserting that God put them in that place of power, so they are obviously the best possible leaders. This doctrine is known as the divine right of kings, which we all know went well for everyone (sarcasm). Men in the LDS church (and others) use the same logic to justify the gender-defined lines of power and inequality. Thus, my new mantra when it comes to the "divine design" of patriarchy shall be:
Divine Right=A Silly Idea
Patriarchy=Divine Right
Patriarchy=A Silly Idea
Therefore, by the mathematical law of transitive relation (if a=b, and b=c, then a=c), it is proved. Amen.
Thoughts?
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