I hate to harp on negative things, really I do. I mean, it was never my intention to use this blog as a platform to bemoan the state of anti-intellectualism or bring everyone down with my constant "I can't believe how stupid/lazy/violent/tacky/spiritually incontinent these kids today are," or; "What is wrong with people in our society these days?" but there have been two incidents in the span of about 48 hours that have really shaken my faith in people.
And for some reason, I feel that if I tell you all, reveal the heretofore hidden ingredient list of Soylent Green, perhaps somehow you might spread the tale, and mass awareness of the rising tide of blissful and willing ignorance might be stemmed.
I'm not holding my breath, however.
Now, to be clear, I'm not talking about true, natural ignorance, that with which we are born and which beats hydrogen's claim for the most prevalent element in the cosmos by a safe margin. Ignorance, for those of you ignorant of the definition, is simply the state of not knowing something. Indeed we are all ignorant of an infinite number of things, and it is that very quality of ignorance, its unfathomable scale, and unknowable entirety that gives meaning to human existence, for with such vast, unchartable seas of ignorance, we may continue perpetually learning, as or ships brave forth and never reach the ends of the map.
And there's nothing wrong with natural ignorance, that's why it's
natural. Just as it is natural to try to replace that ignorance with knowledge as we grow. But some people resolutely refuse to leave the shore, and stand upon it, not waving but glowering with resentment and disgust at the sterns of ship of those who quest forth into that ocean.
Natural ignorance, as Oscar Wilde's Lady Bracknell described: "is like a delicate exotic fruit; touch it, and the bloom is gone." Wilde's statement was meant ironically, the stolid Lady Bracknell endorsing the perpetuation of natural ignorance. But I believe with every molecule of my being that it is our duty as sapient beings to actively seek out those blooms and touch them
specifically so that they may disappear, and thus we may ripen into knowledge. Indeed, one might say a teacher's occupation is to go out of his or her way to touch the fruits of others, that the tender blossoms may disappear, to become young buds of wisdom.
And I like to think that I have touched the delicate fruits of many children over the years.
(Note to self, edit that previous statement before posting, it could possibly be taken out of context.)
The second of the two aforementioned events with which I will begin, was yesterday in class. I was teaching about conflict in my Theatre class, and so we read "The Story-Teller" by Saki. The setting of that short story is a train compartment, which is a concept that many of my students find unfamiliar. As I tried to explain, it occurred to me that the Harry Potter films featured an excellent visual example for them, as the Hogwart's Express features just such compartments.
So I began, "You've all seen the Harry Potter movies, right?"
Most agreed, and some made the connection as soon as I said that. But then one girl chimed in with:
"No. I hate those movies, they're stupid."
I was not shocked, I've encountered such opinions before. They are usually some variant of the three main arguments, paraphrased here with more honesty and incomparably superior wording:
1. I don't like any form of fantasy, excessive displays of imagination intimidates me.
2. I consider them Satanism, because I don't actually understand either of those things.
3. Those movies are for kids, and I am desperately insecure about being perceived as tough, so I must express public and vocal disdain for such ideas lest I be immediately assaulted by the masculinity patrol.
But when she added, "They are too long," I thought "Oh, she thinks I'm talking about the
books. Of course I'm used to kids shunning the books; everyone knows that reading too many words in a row turns you gay. And many kids (and self-proclaimed grown ups,) would prefer to have a story spoon-fed to them in the form or a movie, rather than take on the arduous and potentially lethal task of actually reading an entire short story, let alone and impossible trek through the vast literary tracts that Mrs. Rowling laid out before them, and from which they surely would never return.
So I clarified that I meant the movies, specifically. She explained, amidst the usual bodily noises such as sucking teeth, violent inhalation/exhalation of breath and the myriad other grunts and clicks that accompany the correct pronunciation of Rachetese, that it was indeed also the films to which she herself had referred.
She had never watched the Harry Potter films because they were
too long.
Not because the subject matter was taboo or merely uninteresting; she merely checked the run time of the films and dismissed them summarily.
Holy shit. I truly thought I had plumbed the depths of mental laziness and ignorance that had rocketed past blissful and was gripped in the throes of ecstasy, but here was a stark new plateau of don't-give-a-shit for which I was utterly unprepared. I sat down, wishing for an oxygen tank and a sherpa.
But my shock was not over. Outliers on the bell curve of human inanity are no new phenomenon, one finds shocking examples of all sorts of extreme behavior, but she was not a lone anomaly.
"I know right?" came another voice in echo. "They're like three hours long and shit!"
There were more of them. Soon several individuals had come forth to testify in the Church of Apathy, their languid hallelujahs proclaiming the mystery of "can't you just summarize it for me" and spreading the good news of "ain't nobody got time for that."
To be sure, there were kids in there that were big fans of the movies, and even one or two who had read the books, but such heretics were of little threat to the evangelism of the willful, nay fervent ignorance.
They were not talking about a physics lesson in school, they were not talking about a novel they had to read for English class, or even a book they wanted to read for fun. They were talking about a Hollywood blockbuster movie, dumbed down for them with simplified plot, telegraphed plot development, and flashy effects.
And they were complaining that it required too much investment.
So yeah. I was a little glum after the sermon. But part of that was because it reminded me of the first such event, which had occurred Sunday.
This incident took place at a social gathering at which I found myself, involving a number of persons with whom I have semi-regular contact. An individual who I had previously met on a few occasions had cause to sit down across from me, and seeing me, said with clear disgust: "Oh man, why did you have to wear
that shirt?"
Now, first off, I understand in hindsight that this was meant to be a prelude to some (mostly) friendly ribbing and joking about the differences in our outlooks. But at the time, I was utterly perplexed by this rather inflammatory line of questioning.
The shirt I was wearing at the time was one I had picked up as a souvenir from the 2004 Games Day event in Baltimore. Games Day is a convention for the various games produced by Games Workshop (who I've discussed
previously.) GW primarily produces tabletop miniatures wargames, where one assembles and paint armies of fantasy or scifi figurines and then use them to battle each other using increasingly bizarre and arcane rules involving dice and rulers.
There flagship game is Warhammer, a fantasy medieval battles game of warriors and wizards, and as such, the (now somewhat faded) picture on the front of my shirt depicted a detachment of mounted knights in armor, one of whom wielded a warhammer (like in the game's title. get it?) The shirt was maroon that year, and I have never gotten in a fight because of it (on the contrary, it was part of how I met one of my best friends, but that is a story for another day.)
So now I had to figure out if this guy hated Games Workshop, Warhammer, gaming in general, the concept of feudalism or the effectiveness of blunt weapons when used from horseback. What was his issue with my shirt?
After some unsuccessful forays to discover the reason behind his ire, I realized that he thought I was wearing an FSU shirt. He had seen the color and mistaken the raised warhammer for a tomahawk. So I explained that it was from Games Day.
"You're
how old and you play video games?" Was his response. Now, letting the fact that he misunderstood what I was talking about go for a minute, I take more than a little umbrage with that statement on many levels. But I stuck to the basics.
"I'm forty, and I play games written for forty-year-olds." Seriously, the fact that people are still having this debate at all is just tiresome. But I am a proud nerd, and specificity is one of our hallmarks. "But I don't just play video games, I'm a polygeek; I'm also into board games, miniature wargaming and roleplaying games."
"What are those?"
I've learned to suppress the sigh over the years; ignorance is natural, remember? "Games like Dungeons & Dragons. Are you familiar with that?" And here the whole conversation took an ugly turn as his face contorted into a sneer of contempt and mock pity.
"Man, my parents never would have let me near that kind of stuff." And like that, I pretty much had the whole picture. I didn't really need to continue the conversation. It must be like those chess masters you see in films, who can look at one move and see how the rest of the game will develop, but so much sadder.
"Whatever happened to telling kids to go play outside?" Yes. Because every kid who plays any kind of game must have grown up in a bubble. We never ran and played as kids, we never climbed trees (and set fire to them, but that's another story,) or played sports. No, the only way a person could end up a gamer of any stripe is to have lived a sheltered life, our skins waxy and pale like maggots. While huddled in our burrows, other mole-people tunneled their way in and delivered the dark secret of gaming, complete with all the rights and invocations, and in return, we swore to never kiss girls or dress like surface worlders.
I responded that I too had played outdoors, but that I also enjoyed reading books as a kid. This brought on a moment of silence. Recovering, he went off on a tangent with someone else sitting nearby about kids playing games on their phones and I went off to sit with a gaggle of school children, since I clearly was not mature enough to have adult conversations on appropriate growed-up diversions like golf or NASCAR.
Now this is not the first such person I have met, but this is someone with whom I will have more contact with from now on. But even then, I generally have no problem interacting with people who are diametrically opposed to my own views, but the exchange had just made me so sad.
The signs were subtle, but they were all there. "My parents would never have let me near that." So even subconsciously he accepts the parental influence on his views and beliefs. I'm seeing parents who not only didn't stress the importance of reading and learning, but instilled instead a fear of being perceived as weak, as indicated by preferring cerebral activities from appropriately masculine ones.
And then there was the mistaken shirt. Sports rivalries are an easy way to relate to other people. "How 'bout them ________?" is a great way to establish a connection between like-minded folk. It's safe, and requires little commitment as an opening gambit. Even provoking an argument with a rival supporter is safe, and fulfills much the same purpose. Wearing one's sporting preferences as a totemic badge helps identify yourself, and allows you to make connections quickly and easily. It's a pretty good system really, like heraldry.
Geeks do it too; why do you think I bought the shirt in the first place?
But the thing that really got me was the fact that he mistook the shirt in the first place. The color is quite similar to the FSU colors, but the image could not possibly be misconstrued as that school's mascots. Not if you could see it clearly, that is.
He couldn't see it clearly because he wasn't wearing his
glasses.
Of course he wasn't. I had never seen him wearing a pair in any previous encounter, and I would wager that he never wore them in public. And why? Because they would make him look like too much of a nerd. And that is truly sad. To prefer not being able to see clearly to having people think you are into reading? I can't get behind that one.
What do these two incidents combine to show us, class?
In one, we have a person afraid to be perceived as intellectual, while in the other, we have young, image-conscious teenagers loudly proclaiming that they can't handle the difficult task of sitting through a movie longer than 90 minutes, and feeling no shame.
And THAT is why the stereotype about Asian kids doing better in school exists. Because if your culture places a stigma on ignorance, you hide it. And much more importantly, you are driven to actually
do something about it. To erase your ignorance with knowledge. To respect not merely the teacher in front of the class, but the information they are trying to teach.
But if there is no shame, no stigma in being mentally underdeveloped, then why try? What possible benefit is there to the youth of today to try hard and learn if no one cares? And worse, if you will be mocked for trying to learn, what can we possibly offer them in return?
Oh my God, what if they are right? What if their Religion of Apathy is the one true path, and I am only now seeing the light? I'd better start converting now, let me begin my prayer:
"Our Father, but not like literally, just like because he's important, who's in Heavan (new spelling) Halloween be his name. To kingdom cum, it will be done on earth just like they do it in Heavan. Give us today some bread, and let slide all the bad shit we done, but not the people who do bad shit to us; fuck those guys. And don't let others tempt us, because then it totally isn't our fault because they
made us do it. 'Cos you've got the thing, the power and the glory, whatever."
Amen.
