“

OK, class,” my teacher yells across 
the classroom. “Father is coming 
to talk to us today, and I need you 

all to be on your best behavior!” It was 
days like these 
I enjoyed as a 
grade 
schooler 

at 
a 
Catholic 

elementary 
school: a change 
in direction and new questions. 
When Father enters the classroom, 
we all stand and say hello. He goes 
to the board and begins to explain 
the religious lesson on Genesis, 
interestingly enough.

I increasingly had become more 

involved 
in 
the 
light 
scientific 

readings that only a nine year old 
could understand, and my skepticism 
of the early teachings of the Church, 
especially Genesis, was quite high. 
Nevertheless, Father spoke to us about 
how God created Earth in seven days, 
how Adam named the animals, how 
Eve came from Adam’s rib and how the 
Devil tempted Eve with the forbidden 
fruit. To me, even as a nine year old, this 
all sounded like hogwash.

To change the direction of the 

lesson, I raised my hand and stated, “I 
have been reading about the Big Bang 
Theory. Have you read on this?” Father 
paused. “Yes, and it is good that you 
bring this up! Genesis is a description of 
how our Earth was created, but God’s 
days might be different than ours, and 
the length of time for him might seem 
like seven days, but for us millions of 
years. The Big Bang is an answer to 
that.” A voice popped up in the corner: 
“But that isn’t what it says though?” I 
added, “Aren’t we told that the Bible 
is the word of God? Does he want us 
to guess? If we have this doubt in the 
wording, how can we trust God’s words 
to begin with? Father said, “That is 
exactly what you should do. Question.”

I am presently a practicing Catholic. 

Before attending the University of 
Michigan, I attended Catholic grade 
school and classes until I was 17 years 
old, when I was confirmed. Throughout 
all of this, I have been, at one time, an 
agnostic, an extreme doubter of Jesus’s 
existence, and outspoken about my 
issues with the Church. Today, I am 
still quite skeptical of the Church’s 
teachings, but I still go to mass every 
week, read at church and participate 

in my local parish’s activities. Why, you 
might ask? Because doubt and debate 
are good. Questions about existentialism 
are good. The Church’s preaching of 
introspection is good.

In our modern culture where I 

see introspection and inquiry dying, 
I find that regardless of the church’s 
teachings, it is in these habits that I 
appreciate most. I owe a large part 
of my curiosity to my involvement 
in the Catholic church, where I was 
encouraged to question the existence 
of God, query my own self-worth and 
analyze the world around me.

I often tell people that constant self-

questioning is needed for improvement. 
The Church consistently asks us to look 
inside us to find areas in which we 
need to improve. While many would 
question the Church’s prescription 
(more time spent in prayer and time 
reading the Bible), it is the practice 
in itself that I find most appealing. 
Often, I find that in our modern 
society, people would much rather 
mindlessly scroll through Facebook 
or Twitter, watch endless hours of a 
television show and go out partying. 
While these might be fine in some 
amounts, it is what these activities are 
delaying that I am frustrated with. 
When interacting with my peers at 
the University, I am surprised with 
how many are frightened to look inside 
themselves for faults. This is also not 
just within our generation, but a more 
common problem. A 2014 Harvard 
and University of Virginia study found 
that most of the participants, all college 
students, would rather be electrically 
shocked than spend time in his or her 
own thoughts.

While I should not be taken as a 

model of introspection, I appreciate 
that the Church focuses on developing 
this side of us as humans. Too often 
today, we are quick to blame others 
and society as the issue, when often we 
don’t take a second to ponder our own 
thoughts and faults. Sometime it isn’t 
society’s fault, it is of your own doing. If 
one does, it is the fear of change and work 
needed for self-development that deters 
a sizeable part of the population. The 
Church’s advocacy for this constant self-
improvement is an important message 
many should listen to.

Though there are large sections 

of the Church that deter questioning 

God’s existence, my experience as 
a Catholic growing up encouraged 
this. For me, I think this fueled and 
developed a sense of intellectual 
curiosity, which is especially needed 
in today’s college culture. Not only 
that, but asking questions about 
existentialism, why certain behaviors 
occur, what does it mean to be human 
and countless other philosophical 
inquiries not only helps improve one’s 
sense of self, but also helps one come 
to a better understanding of what it 
means to be human.

In addition, the questioning of the 

Bible’s verses creates a sense of doubt 
in everything. For me, it has aided me 
in realizing bias. When I am reading 
an article from the New York Times 
or watching an interview on Fox 
News, I am constantly skeptical of 
the writing, looking for the particular 
parts that highlight its leaning. In 
addition, the Church’s promotion of 
doubt also makes me seek a difference 
of opinion, something I find lost on 
college campuses today. Though many 
believe they accept diversity of opinion, 
it is only when conflict occurs within 
one’s psyche that the inquiry stops. The 
Church, in my experience, has pushed 
me to enter in questioning the positions 
of others and why he or she came to 
that conclusion. I greatly appreciate 
that this doubt and advocacy for 
inquisitiveness was present in my early 
life and continues to be present.

Faith is, in my own definition, 

the 
suspension 
of 
rationale 
in 

support of something that cannot be 
conclusively 
determined. 
Though 

this is obviously the cornerstone of 
the Catholic Church and creates great 
conflict in today’s secular world, the 
underlying teachings of self-analysis 
and questioning existentialism are 
habits that modern culture should 
take into consideration. My questions 
surrounding my faith have aided my 
work in the neurosciences, my school 
and my daily life. I have found that the 
more I question my faith, the stronger I 
become as a person.

— David Kamper can be reached 

at dgkamper@umich.edu.

5
OPINION

Thursday, August 10, 2017

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

Catholic Education in a modern world

less one wanders the city, the scarier it 

becomes.

While I’ve been verbally harassed 

riding my bike through the Near East 

Side, I was harassed more frequently 

by passers-by when I used to go on 

long jogs through the streets of Bexley. 

Riding through the neighborhoods 

between 
Bexley 
and 
downtown 

Columbus, it seems any sense of 

tension or fear I feel is due more to my 

own preconceptions than the actions of 

the people I encounter there. 

— Regan Detwiler can be 

reached regandet@umich.edu.

REGAN 
DETWILER

Through the Heart of It All
A

s a white girl/woman growing 

up in the wealthier and whiter 

areas 
of 
Columbus, 
I’ve 

been taught to think of the inner-city 

neighborhoods 

of 
the 
city’s 

Near East Side 

as crime-ridden, 

scary 
and 

dangerous. This 

implies that the suburb where I live is 

crime free, welcoming and safe. But 

nearly three months of commuting 

via bike from my mom’s house in the 

suburbs to the downtown restaurant 

where I’m working this summer 

has spurred an ongoing process of 

examining my own prejudices.

In the Franklin Park neighborhood, 

which runs behind a sizeable park and 

conservatory, the homes are huge and 

beautiful, built for the city’s wealthiest 

families — mostly white — at the 

start of the 20th century. But by 1936, 

the areas just outside the park were 

subject to the infamous discriminatory 

housing practice of redlining. Much 

of the Franklin Park neighborhood 

was coded as declining in desirability, 

and since then, it seems that racial 

and economic segregation between 

Franklin Park and Bexley has only 

become more severe.

As I’ve spent more time in the 

neighborhoods of the Near East 

Side, I’ve grown more comfortable 

there and have had lots of brief 

interactions with people who live 

there. These interactions have been 

new experiences for me, since the Near 

East Side has more Black inhabitants 

than the spaces I typically occupy, and 

they’ve prompted me to do a lot of self-

reflection.

Interactions 
that 
have 
been 

particularly thought provoking for 

me are the ones I’ve had with older 

Black men. Because, over the course 

of time, I’ve been verbally harassed 

repeatedly by older men I don’t know, I 

am automatically on guard from sexual 

objectification when I encounter older 

men on the street. Often, it seems that 

to behave defensively is to act in my 

own best interest, because harassment 

is frequent. I’ve noticed, however, that 

I haven’t felt objectified in any of the 

brief interactions I’ve had with older 

Black men on my bike commute. On 

the contrary, I’ve felt surprised at how 

friendly and utterly platonic our brief 

exchanges of “hellos” have been.

What I want to interrogate here 

is not whether the Black men I’ve 

encountered have been friendly to me 

— they have, unquestionably. What I 

want to interrogate is this feeling of 

surprise I’ve had when the interactions 

are just that — friendly. Why am I 

surprised when this happens? Yes, 

I do anticipate, even expect, men on 

the street generally to treat me with a 

certain degree of objectification. But 

is this expectation intensified when 

I encounter a Black man? I know 

society teaches me that Black men are 

overly sexual, but I like to think, as 

the “educated progressive” I identify 

as, that I’m impervious to these racist 

influences.

The more sympathetic theory I have 

to explain my reaction of surprise is 

this: most of the spaces I occupy are 

populated in majority by white people. 

The neighborhoods I live in and the 

sidewalks I walk down, the schools 

I’ve gone to, the restaurants I go to, 

concerts and festivals I attend, do not 

attract a lot of Black people, and they 

attract even fewer Black men over the 

age of 40 who are less affluent than I 

am. Since I rarely encounter the kinds 

of Black men I encounter on my bike 

commute, interactions with them 

have not played a part in my process 

of constructing my expectations for 

older men generally. Therefore, I am 

surprised because their friendliness 

has contradicted my expectations for 

older men, rather than contradicting 

my expectations of older Black men.

But I don’t know. Am I just making 

excuses for myself? Why do I really feel 

surprised when an interaction with a 

Black man is nothing but friendly, even 

to the point of being unmentionable?

This brings me to another question: 

Would the older Black men I’ve 

encountered have been equally as 

friendly to me if I looked like I lived 

in that neighborhood? Would they 

be friendlier to a neighbor they know 

better? Are they as friendly to other 

strangers they encounter — say, 

wealthy looking white men I’ve seen 

pass through on their road bikes? 

Were the men I’ve greeted thinking 

about how they should respond to 

my presence, or were they acting 

naturally? I don’t know, and I don’t 

presume I could authoritatively guess 

at these individuals’ experiences.

Though society has taught me 

to fear the higher crime rates of the 

neighborhoods between Bexley and 

downtown, the scariest part of my 

commute has been examining my 

own racial prejudices and, through 

the process of writing this column, 

confronting my white fragility.

In “Wanderlust: A History of 

Walking,” Rebecca Solnit, another 

white woman who I’d characterize 

as progressive, writes on the subject 

of walking through cities. But I think 

much of what she says can also be 

applied to biking: that it’s about being 

outside in public space, and that the 

DAVID 
KAMPER

