Fitting Others Into Patterns: Judging

Fitting others into patterns can be another manner in which community life is destroyed. A while back my friend David Weddle and I were driving home from fishing.  I was sharing a poem with him about community life by William Stafford (see earlier post on community life). I was reciting the lines,

“If you don’t know the kind of person that I am and I don’t know the kind of person you are then a pattern that others made in the world may prevail”.

David said, “Say that last part again”. I repeated, “A pattern that others made in the world may prevail”.

David shared with me a valuable insight and  the significance of those lines as it relates to community life. He talked about “patterns that others have made” or what we call stereotypes. He talked about “Categories” or “patterns” that we “fit” people in to because we really do not know them. I could see how I have done this with people and how it is hurtful

“If you don’t know the kind of person I am and I don’t know the kind of person you are”,  is the beginning of the problem.  If we really don’t know each other then we are prone to judge and be judged. It is quite easy to do this if we really do not know the person we are putting in to a pattern. We just assume the person matches the pattern, a pattern that others have made.  And it is far easier to superficially match patterns based on past data, rather than get to know someone deeply.

Perhaps, as Christians we could take this a step further. As Christians we should know each other, or at least begin to know each other in the deeper sense of who we are in God. We should know each other as individuals with unique gifts and life experiences, but sadly even in church we rarely know each other at a deep level.  As the poet says, more often, "The parade of our mutual life gets lost in the dark", And no real community can be established. .

We judge others. I judge others. It happens often. If a group of people who do not know each other share what they do for a living, often people are categorized into a pattern or stereotype. The words: Lawyer, doctor, teacher,  preacher, professor, carpenter, business man, fly fishing guide, all can form images in the minds of listeners. We then might then think we know a pattern. We then categorize.

We even judge other fly fishers. We say things like, “He does not know what he is doing. He can’t cast. He only uses San Juan worms or egg patterns. He can’t use a dry fly. He fishes the same hole every time, (or ‘God forbid’), he uses bait and eats his fish”.

We even judge others for being judgmental. We think we  see a pattern and we just assume that a  person is judgmental.

What is strange is that we tend to think of our judgments and “categories” as being uniquely our own insight into the character of others. We think putting people into these patterns is a reflection of our own individualistic and independent wisdom. This leads to a certain sense of pride and smugness even though the reality is that often someone else made the pattern. Remember the words of the poet suggest we merely follow, “as elephants parade holding each elephants tail; . . . a pattern that others made may prevail” and “following the wrong god home we may miss our star.”

We see in the Gospels how Jesus was judged and “pattern-ized.”  If he was seen eating with the “wrong” people they put him into a category. He, more than anyone, knew the pain of not being known and misunderstood.  Strange how none of those patterns or categories fit him because he did not match any known pattern on Earth.

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And because we are at least in some small way,  “in God”, the patterns we think we see in others really don’t match either. As soon as we try to fit someone into a pattern or stereotype seemingly out of no where some thing from beyond the pattern rises as from a far off land  or as a trout rises, and we are pleasantly surprised and proved to be wrong.   

Fly Fishing Experts: How to Catch More and Bigger Fish?

Not really.

We live in a society where we practically worship gurus. It’s not really their fault. We prop them up. We prop them up in many areas of life. I hear of them in fly fishing, sports, fitness and finance and education. I hear about them on how to live the spiritual life. I hear about them in regard to how to catch more and bigger fish.

 I wonder why we do this propping up and putting folks on stage.  It is almost as though we have a neurotic need for gurus. We sit in workshops and classes and in church pews taking notes and listening to their every word. I guess I have grown skeptical of it all.

In contrast to guru idolization, I love the message of a rather cynical poem by Charles Bukowski titled “The Secret”.  In the poem he assures us that no one is really all that special and magical.

“Nobody has the strange and hidden power, Nobody is exceptional or wonderful or magic, they only seem to be. It’s all a trick, an in, a con, don’t buy it, don’t believe it” 

Maybe this idolization of gurus is symptomatic of the “Sibling Society” we now live in as described by Robert Bly (Sibling Society, 1996 Bly). If we are a bunch of little immature kids all competing for recognition and immediate gratification then the idea of having gurus fits in nicely. We blindly welcome this idolization of gurus because we think they will give us the edge over the other squabbling siblings.

In fly fishing, we think that the guru will show us magically how to catch more or bigger fish all the time. Just like magic.

In the spiritual life there is always some guru offering some new way to always be happy or blessed or fulfilled or on how to live a victorious life.  

Bly also describes this sibling society as one that “participates in more and more nonevents”.  A guru announces that he is speaking on how to catch more trout or bigger trout and the masses show up. But most often, it is another ‘non event.’ Nothing new or magical is presented.

In the field of education I wish I had a dollar for every workshop, taught by some expert, that I had to sit through on some new way to teach. Maybe I could have retired a few years earlier.

Perhaps in the end this is what the fly fishing and the spiritual life have in common. There is no magic. No one really has it all figured out whether it be about life or fly fishing. The truth is that we really don’t know a whole lot.  And on any given day we can find ourselves stripped of everything and overwhelmingly stumped. Completely humbled.  Fishless. Spiritually, financially and emotionally bankrupted.

There are no gurus. There are no guides.  Not really. At least not in the way we most often think.

Bukowski concludes his poem with this final thought.

“There are no strong men, . . . at least you can die knowing this and you will have the only possible victory”.

Educational Meander: How to Paint A Donkey? Unfolding Individuality in Teaching

This poem, “How to Paint a Donkey”, by Naomi Shihab Nye, describes an emotionally hurt child who could not paint a donkey pleasing to her teacher.

She said the head was too large,

The hooves too small,

I could clean my paintbrush,

But I couldn’t get rid of that voice,

While they watched,

I crumbled him,

Let his blue body stain my hand,

I cried when he hit the can.

She smiled, I could try again.

Maybe this is what I unfold in the dark,

Deciding for the rest of my life,

The donkey was just the right size.

The child heard the criticism of her teacher…

“She said the head was too large. The hooves too small”.

And as a result, she throws the painting away,

“I crumbled him.

Let his blue body stain my hand,

I cried when he hit the can”.

We can feel how personal this donkey was to this child. But it was not acceptable.

We are aware of the stereotype of the insensitive teacher being too critical of children but perhaps we are at a time when it is teachers who feel criticized for the way they teach. Many teachers are discouraged. In one way or another they are often being told that there is only one way to teach and their own personal way is not good enough. ~There is pressure to conform. ~As a result their own personalized art of teaching they once loved and embraced is being crumbled up and thrown in the can. ~

I don’t think we fully realize how if the vast majority of teachers have to conform to one style we are disempowering them of their passion, their gifts and their sense of belonging. We cannot continue to throw aside the unique personhood and style of the teacher.

What can we do?  Like the child in the poem, maybe we can find a quiet place in the dark and “unfold” what we have crumbled up and canned. We need to grieve over what we have thrown away and decide for the rest of our teaching career that our donkey was just the right size.

Lost On the River

But sometimes, lost
on his way to somewhere significant,
a man in a long coat, carrying
a briefcase, wanders into the forest.

He hears the voice,  . . .
he sees the thrush and the dandelion,
and feels the mist rise over the river.

And his life is never the same,
for this having been lost –
for having strayed
from the path of his routine,
for no good reason.

Michael Blumenthal, “A Man Lost By a River"

Dante spoke of awakening in a dark wood where the true way was wholly lost. This is the paradox of becoming lost but awakening, of being lost but of being found.  Jesus said he came to find the lost.

I think I was better at being lost when I was a kid than I am now as an adult. I would wander the hills fishing little ponds looking for bass. Some times I would get a bit lost looking for a way to fish someone’s private pond or I remember sneaking into reservoirs at night crawling under troublesome fences. Sometimes, in the darkness, I got lost trying to get back out.

In those moments of feeling lost, I don’t remember feeling fear or as though I was wasting time. It was all part of the adventure. I did not have to hurry up and get to a meeting as I do now. Maybe as a kid it was easier to find that different pace Thoreau spoke of and hear the beat of a different drummer.

As an adult, I now have to carry a brief case and wear a long coat. I don’t know if I could crawl under that fence with out that briefcase or the coat getting snagged on the wire. I don’t  know if I could stray from the path of my routine for no good reason. Now I have to stay on task, be responsible and "successful". 

I get the feeling that I am not alone in this and that perhaps many adults don’t know how to get lost anymore. It is as though there is not any  time to stray. One cannot afford to get off the main road.

So I ask myself. Can I put my brief case down?  Do I know how to get lost anymore?   Can I still wander the hills ?  Can I still wander into the forest and feel the mist rise over the river?

And if I could still stray from the routine, would my life never be the same for this having been lost?

Could I become lost so as to be  found?