Why etiquette ain't just quaint

Cotillion.

Growing up in cozy Paragould, Arkansas, it's a word I had never heard until my junior or senior year in high school. But as I got to know people from great metropolises like Jonesboro and Little Rock, I learned about cotillion from boys and girls my age whose parents had enrolled them in lessons given by the Amy Vanderbilts of their towns. They covered everything from how to dance, to how to eat from the proper plate (and with the proper utensil), to how to engage in polite conversation with elders and members of the opposite sex.

Paragould's got a lot. But it ain't got cotillion.

That's not to say I didn't learn manners. My mom was strict about that, particularly when it came to social interaction and conversation: we answered the telephone a certain way, always said "sir" and "ma'am" to adults, and never interrupted someone who was speaking. I heard the admonition, "Remember who you are," on a regular basis when I was headed out the door during my teenage years, which was shorthand for, "Remember that you are a Thompson and act appropriately."

In short, mom taught my three siblings and me etiquette. It wasn't cotillion-fancy, but mom took her Southern upbringing - with its complex standards of graciousness and hospitality - seriously. And she expected her kids to do so as well.

The funny thing is, that very word "etiquette" seems so quaint now. It's a word that really does evoke a figure like Amy Vanderbilt or Emily Post. Etiquette is best left wherever you put the white gloves and patent leather shoes once the debutante ball is over, right?

Maybe not. Few people would argue that there is a certain coarseness to society that didn't exist a few years ago. A lot of that is driven by media, as television, radio, and cinema broadcast images and words and stories that would have been taboo once upon a time. And if etiquette can restrain vulgarity while encouraging charitable interactions between people, then its standards have real value.

But I wonder not so much about the top-down effects of media entertainment (which are easy to see) as I do about the harder-to-see effects of how we communicate. [A quick disclaimer: I'm a big fan of those forms of communication that have evolved in my lifetime. You're reading a blog post that I wrote, after all.] Think about all the e-mails, text messages, tweets, Facebook wall posts, and other impersonal and digitized messages that you have sent to your family and friends in the past month. Now think about how differently you composed phrases, sentences, and paragraph-length concepts.

NE1 SWIM? OMG. It's a real problem. Even with emoticons.

I first experienced this with e-mail, when I would occasionally have my emotional intent or tone of voice misread by the recipient of my message. You've probably experienced this too. And the blogosphere is probably the worst of all, where people hide behind relative anonymity in order to lambast one another. Face-to-face conversations are just different than talking on the phone, which in turn is very different than texting. And you can say the same thing about letter writing - real, paper-based, gotta-use-a-stamp letter writing - which is worlds away from e-mailing and twittering.

In my new Reporter column, I try to look at what happens to etiquette when our communication moves from the patience-requiring arenas of personal conversation and letter writing to the quick-and-easy formats of e-mailing, text messaging, and tweeting. My concern is that, when we start to live most of our lives in virtual worlds where we don't have to be present to real flesh-and-blood people, we start to forget how we're supposed to treat one another. And for Christians who believe that loving our neighbor is a divine command, that's a significant issue. How do you know how to treat another person with compassion - let along come to know that person in a deep way - when the language you speak most of the day is in impersonal sentence fragments, stream-of-consciousness digital blurts, and impoverished abbreviations?

So is any standard of etiquette in our interactions simply in terminal decline? And does that make it harder to learn how to love one another? Y/N?

IDK. It's really TBD. But IMHO, the good of online community and digital interaction comes with a $.

G2G. BCNU L8R. 'Bye.

[Update on 7/7/09: David Brooks offers an interesting view in his New York Times column on the role of etiquette - meaning a disciplined manner of outward, public behavior - in forming inner virtue. He writes about dignity as that characteristic by which we "navigate the currents of [our] own passions," and he compares the positive examples of both George Washington and Barack Obama with the negative examples of other public figures who have been much in the news of late: South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford, late pop star Michael Jackson, and Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin.]

Practice makes perfect

Nature or nurture?

That always seems to be the question.

Well, actually, sometimes it doesn't seem to be a question at all. Like for instance, I know that no amount of nurture would have made me a great basketball player. Nature (and the flat feet and limited coordination that nature provided) doomed me to enjoying basketball from the stands instead of on the court.

But apparently for many things, nurture plays the bigger role. David Brooks has an interesting column in the New York Times recently, where he looks at the qualities needed to possess an ability that we would commonly call "genius." Common views see genius as created by a divine spark or, in our contemporary parlance, by nature. When we see a Mozart or a Tiger Woods, we assume that such men were born with something the rest of us were not.

That ain't necessarily so, Brooks argues. "In the [scientific] view that is now dominant," Brooks writes, "even Mozart's early abilities were not the product of some innate spiritual gift. His early compositions were nothing special. They were pastiches of other people's work. Mozart was a good musician at an early age, but he would not stand out among today's top child-performers."

So what made Mozart special, then? According to Brooks, it "was the same thing Tiger Woods had - the ability to focus for long periods of time and a father intent on improving his skills."

Citing researchers into the way talent is expressed in the abilities and accomplishments of people, Brooks concludes, "The key factor separating geniuses from the merely accomplished is not a divine spark. It's not I.Q., a generally gad predictor of success, even in realms like chess. Instead, it's deliberate practice. Top performers spend more hours (many more hours) rigorously practicing their craft."

I'll leave off Brooks' use of the term "innate spiritual gift" for now. Christians do believe in spiritual gifts that may give certain abilities within the body of Christ, though we do not believe such gifts are innate (because they come not from us, but from the Holy Spirit). But Brooks isn't making a theological argument anyway. His usage of "divine spark" is really a stand-in for "nature," and he seems to prefer the former term only because it points to the somewhat superstitious way we tend to look at how the unusually accomplished among us get that way.

The overarching point is extremely significant: Geniuses are not born. They are made, through deliberate practice.

And though Brooks favors modern sociological research, he could have come to the same conclusion by reading a a scholar just a bit older. In the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle ascribes only the barest human abilities to the realm of nature (e.g., our sense perceptions). When it comes to human excellences, he asserts, "Virtues, by contrast, we acquire, just as we acquire crafts, by having first activated them. For we learn a craft by producing the same product that we must produce when we have learned it; we become builders, for instance, by building, and we become harpists by playing the harp. Similarly, then, we become just by doing just actions, temperate by doing temperate actions, brave by doing brave actions" (2.1.4).

For Aristotle, virtue is both a state and an activity, so that the truly virtuous person is one who does the right things for the right reasons. And yet, the states will always follow the activities, meaning that we become virtuous people by engaging in virtuous activities. "That is why," Aristotle writes, "we must perform the right activities, since differences in these imply corresponding differences in the states. It is not unimportant, then, to acquire one sort of habit or another, right from our youth. On the contrary, it is very important, indeed all-important" (2.1.8).

We can have excellence in an endeavor like playing the harp (or playing golf). Or we can have excllence in character, which we see in a brave person or a just person. Or we can have excellence in intellect, such as we see in a person who possess the virtue of prudence (or practical wisdom).

But in all these cases, Aristotle agrees with the research that David Brooks finds so fascinating: Geniuses are not born but made, and in the end, it is practice that makes perfect.

Practice makes perfect

My latest column in the United Methodist Reporter was inspired by some reflecting I was doing on the third anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. I'm not sure what caused it, except that this seems like the most threatening hurricane season since the terrible one in 2005. For the first few days after Katrina overwhelmed New Orleans, I remember feeling this sense of disbelief that was similar to what I felt (in a more intense way) when the World Trade Center was attacked on 9/11. Then in the days following the storm as the situation got worse, I remember feeling panicked and helpless, like I should be doing something.

I was pastoring a church in Searcy, Arkansas, at the time, and our church (as well as the United Methodist Church of Arkansas) did end up doing a lot. We raised thousands and thousands of dollars for relief supplies. And as soon as it was possible individuals and small groups of people started traveling from Searcy down to affected areas in Louisiana and Mississippi to pitch in. When several dozen refugees were settled in a camp right outside of Searcy, our congregation cooked meals, bought phone cards, and donated clothing to them as an act of love and hospitality. As all these things started happening, I remember my feelings of helplessness turning to thankfulness, as I saw how the Holy Spirit was at work amongst my flock.

I finally got the chance to go down to the Gulf coast in October, about 5 or 6 weeks after the storm. I was leading a group of students from Hendrix College, and we stayed about 5 days in Pascagoula, Mississippi. That's the story I tell in my column. It was humbling to see how the great majority of the good that was being done was being done by Christians from all over the United States. The two most common vehicles on the road that week were pickup trucks and church vans, and quite a few of those vans had the cross-and-flame logo of the UMC. It was a tough, tough situation. But the people told us over and over again that they didn't know what they would have done without the churches.

One reason that committed discipleship is so important is because it is a form of training. The little things we do each day - prayer, Scripture reading, helping our neighbor, tithing - are forms of preparation. Ultimately, they prepare us for full citizenship in the kingdom of God. But between now and then, they prepare us to know how to act when the Hurricane Katrinas come.

Too many screens

Long day, lots of e-mails. The upcoming issue of the proposed changes to the charter of my alma mater, Hendrix College, has consumed me somewhat over the past few days. Through blogging, e-mailing, and telephone conversations, I have spent a lot of time on this issue. I'm really happy that people are taking notice and taking the time to get in touch. That's a good sign. On the other hand, I haven't been doing much else!

I want to take a break from the Hendrix discussion to point to my new column in the United Methodist Reporter. I've missed a couple of issues because of the Reporter's heavy coverage of General Conference, but Gen-X Rising returns in the newest issue with my piece on 'Bucking the TV tendency'. In this article, I look at the role that our connection to electronic screens plays in our day-to-day lives.

This might seem like a non-issue at first glance, but I think it has a pretty profound effect on the way we think about human relationships. Whether it is your cell phone, iPod, laptop, or whatever, the screen that you communicate with throughout the day is designed to make your life more pleasurable/convenient/ easy. But the thing about your interaction with screens is that you are always the master, and the relationship is always one-way (in the sense that you can control the screen you are using or turn it off when you want).

Because we are so formed as human beings by our daily habits, the role that electronic screens plays in our lives has repercussions for how we understand relationships in general. And that, of course, has a lot to do with how we think about our lives as friends of Jesus and friends of each other.

The greatest talent I never had

Is there one talent out there that you'd like to have but don't?

One thing you wish you could do really well but never had the time or ability to learn?

For me, that talent would be knowing languages well - how to speak, understand, write, and read them. I have at different times studied French, Spanish, and Latin, and I made one abortive attempt to learn Greek. And the thing is, I love these languages. Every one of them! But I am not proficient, let alone fluent, in any of them.

A big part of me wants to blame my backwoods Arkansas upbringing on this lack. "If only I had grown up in a city," I sometimes think, "I would know how to order coffee in Quechua and could appreciate soccer in a dozen European tongues!" But I know this isn't fair to my background, for a couple of different reasons. For one, I could have started learning Spanish at the age of 12 and chose not to. And I could have started learning Greek at 22 and dropped out. Plus, my more sophisticated city-dwelling friends don't seem to be walking around chatting on their cellphones in Swahili. So I think part of it is a personal failure, while the other is simply the product of growing up in a larger American culture that doesn't value foreign language study much (although I hope that is changing).

I finally realized that most real talent (except perhaps for true child prodigies) comes only after years and years of practice. And now, relatively late in my education, I am trying to gain some proficiency in languages for the purpose of both study and ministry. But it's hard. And if I had formed the habits of such study earlier in life, I would reap greater benefits now.

How about you? Any talents you wish you had but don't? Any interesting stories of opportunities squandered or opportunities redeemed?

Oh, and I also wish I could play the banjo.

Cure for the post-Christian blues

A friend recently wrote to ask me for my definition of "post-Christian." It's a tricky term, and it probably gets thrown around too much. But I do think we are living in an increasingly post-Christian culture in this country. I see that primarily in that we can no longer count on people to be familiar with the Christian faith, the church, or the Bible simply by virtue of growing up in our society.

Now, many people have pointed out that society moving in a post-Christian direction is not necessarily such a bad thing. In a culture where everybody is a Christian, is anybody really Christian? Throughout most of the 20th century, it was far too easy for Americans to consider their Christian faith and their American citizenship as one in the same. A good Christian was a good, patriotic American. It was that simple. The danger of that type of confusion has been pointed out by many pastors and theologians in recent years.

Society is more 'secular' than ever, and it is becoming more so everyday. Just last night, I was flipping around the TV and paused at Real Time With Bill Maher and The Colbert Report. In the span of just a couple of minutes watching each show, the two hosts made vicious comments about Christian faith and practice. I know, I know. I should consider the sources. Bill Maher in particular is extremely hostile to religious faith of any kind (and not just Christian). And Colbert's a practicing Catholic who pokes at Christianity from the 'inside.'

But my point is this: it is now completely acceptable to ridicule Christian faith in mainstream media. For Maher, Colbert, and a hundred other TV and radio hosts. And not just in a satirical, joking way, but often in a way that is designed to denigrate and dismiss.

So what does this mean? It means that a kid growing up watching Bill Maher and Stephen Colbert rather than going to church is going to be formed in a very particular way. Not only will he not be a Christian; he will be hostile to Christianity. And since there are more and more kids every day who are growing up that way, our society is becoming increasingly post-Christian.

This is a huge challenge and a huge opportunity for Christians. It is a challenge because it means we have got to choose whether or not we really want to be Christians. After all, Christian identity is not just a matter of saying "I believe" with John 3:16 and leaving it at that. It is a way of life, to be lived in the place we call the church. So we are challenged to declare our allegiance. Will we go with Joshua, when he says, "As for me and my household, we will serve the LORD" (Joshua 24:15)? Or will we let ourselves slip into a comfortably heathen existence?

And the opportunity? The opportunity is one for faithfulness. For far too long, we have lived as Laodiceans. If Christ returned today (and he might), we Methodists should not be surprised if he looked at us and said, "Because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I am about to spit you out of my mouth" (Rev 3:16). But the transition to a post-Christian society means that the church no longer has to confuse citizenship with discipleship. We can live into a fervent faith. And if we don't, our failure to do so will become much more apparent (much more quickly) to both ourselves and others.

So we should be of good courage. Being Christian in a post-Christian world offers us the chance to practice a faith that has been scarcely seen in our culture's history.

Don't know much about history...

I was a history major in college, and I have always appreciated good commentary on the importance of history in informing responsible citizenship in the world. In the past several years, it has seemed to me, more and more, that a good knowledge of history can also offer the church a powerful reminder of the prevalence of human pride and sinfulness over time.

In a recent op-ed piece, Arthur Schlesinger, Jr. (pictured at right), casts a historian's eye on the necessity of knowing history for a nation to understand the world in which it exists. He writes, "As persons deprived of memory become disoriented and lost, not knowing where they have been and where they are going, so a nation denied a conception of the past will be disabled in dealing with its present and its future."

Schlesinger is talking about our current experience in Iraq. He compares our mis-adventures there to America's experience in Vietnam in the 1960s and 70s, marveling at the similarities between the two.

But his observations hold a lot of relevance for the church as well, even though that is not his intention. If the church does not take stock of its own tradition - both great triumphs and utter failures - it will bumble along with no mission and no purpose other than as some kind of weak panacea to the anxieties of its members. We must realize that our tradition makes us who we are. Only by identifying ourselves within the Christian story can we recognize ourselves as the people of God who are called to witness to God's plan for the salvation of the world.

"History is the best antidote to delusions of omnipotence and omniscience," Schlesinger writes. "Self-knowledge is the indispensable prelude to self-control, for the nation as well as for the individual, and history should forever remind us of the limits of our passing perspectives."

Just so, our own history reminds us that qualities like omnipotence and omniscience can only be ascribed to God. We do have only passing perspectives, and the self-knowledge of that fact can lead us into the humility and trust that are necessary qualities for discipleship to Jesus Christ.