On Ists and Ics and everything between.
"Swimming in the same chaotic sea" - Taboga |
I’m halfway through rereading Stuart
Murray’s, The Naked Anabaptist. As
is often the case—I suspect with most people who have spent years
studying and teaching the language medium—my mind wanders into the
area of words, sentences, paragraphs, grammar, connotation and
denotation. Why did Murray use that word? What connotations does this
sentence carry that may be unintended? Murray’s use of the English
language is generally above serious criticism; he was, after all,
born and raised in England where education has tended to emphasize
language-arts as core . . . at least historically.
Without
even having thought about it much, nearly all of us—I think—have
come to know that semantically, words that end in ist
are usually nouns and words that end in ic
are generally adjectives (words that modify the meaning of nouns). In
the sentence, “He’s a sarcastIC AnabaptIST,” the last word
categorizes the person, the former adds a characteristic. (You can
play a game with this: complete the sentence, “I’m a *******ic
*******ist,” and see if you can zero in on the essential “YOU.”
You might be, for instance, a “chronic optimist,” or an “ascerbic
nihilist,” or a “spastic bigamist.”
So
what does this have to do with Murray anyway? Well, Anabaptist
is one of those ist
words that implies that you either is one or you ain’t one. My
Sixteenth Century ancestors had the name, Anabaptist,
applied to them in derision: the morons who believed that child
baptism was invalid and re-baptized each other as adults. If you were
this kind of ist, you
faced the danger of torture and execution by fire or water. If you
weren’t, well, you were just subject to the ordinary sufferings of
this life. Murray traces this history briefly, but takes out much of
the ist part by
indicating that many people have learned from this history a new way
of thinking about faith and practice, so that you can actually be
whatever you want, ist wise,
but AnabaptistICally
modified, an Anabaptistic Adventist, for instance.
But
then we’d need to wrestle with the ist in
Adventist.
(It’s
noteworthy that the first followers of Menno Simons were called,
Menists, not
Mennonites.)
Ah,
well. It’s something we’ve learned culturally. Maybe it makes
human complexity manageable for our simple minds. You can’t really
know a person—it seems—until you’ve attached a label to him or her.
Never mind that the success rate of understanding one another through labels is probably closer to 0% than to 100%, but for better or
worse, it’s how we operate. And the labels aren’t always ists
or ics; it’s
entirely possible—and common—for a brilliant, energetic
film producer to turn out to
have been a sleazy, prevaricating, misogynistic scuzball.
But that would turn out to be just another label that leaves out more
than it adds in.
For
the record, I’m not Anabaptist,
but I’ve grown up Anabaptistic.
I’m not humanist,
but I’ve become somewhat humanistic. I’m
not conservatist because
I’ve been nudged toward being much more . . . liberalistic,
if you will. I’m not an atheist,
but am agnostic
when it comes to thinking through stuff using labels. I’m neither
misogynistic not
feministic; I waffle
somewhere between those two poles. I think you get the point.
In
the end, I think, we’re all personists, swimming
in the same chaotic sea, hoping for an island on which to rest. True,
we can be more or less of one adjective or another, but labeling is,
as they say, an exercise in nailing jello to the wall.
If
Murray is accurately portraying the Anabaptist
contribution to peaceful, faithful living, I think the world would be
a better place if we were all . . . anabaptistic
personists?
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