“
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