The mail brought me two more packages of address labels—free—from various well-meaning charities which expect that a grateful recipient will respond by making a donation to their cause.
I already have an excess of labels. They fill a two-inch wide slot in an organizer on my desk. A rough count suggests that I currently have about 2,200 unused labels.
What misguided marketing genius decided that everyone wants address labels for a technologically obsolete means of delivering a message, anyway? Especially in a computer age. If I choose to use the postal system, a few keystrokes will tell my computer to print a return address on the envelope. If I choose not to use the postal system, another few keystrokes will send my message instantly as e-mail.
The more I think about labels, the more they bug me. Sure, they’re a means of marking my mail, my possessions. But they’re also a way of defining what’s not mine.
As soon as I slap the label “fundamentalist” onto someone I disagree with, I don’t have to listen to him any longer.
When one of our elected representatives makes a thoughtful suggestion, asks a valid question—yes, it does happen occasionally—it’s immediately labeled according to that person’s political and economic ties. Then it can be safely ignored. We already know what it’s about.
I recall a conference organized to oppose a mining project.
“Shouldn’t we ask the company about these issues?” someone asked.
“Why bother?” came the retort. “We already know what they’re going to say.”
In any controversy, derogatory labels tend to fly around like autumn leaves. Environmental activists get labeled “tree-huggers,” or even “eco-terrorists.”
They, in turn, fire labels at the other side—resource rapers, free marketeers, Friedmanites, one-per-centers.
Thus we set up compartments between ourselves and within ourselves. This is business, that’s family. This is secular, that’s religious.
There are some secular songs we never sing in church, even though they may express hope, faith, love and compassion far better than a 17th century hymn. But they’re labeled pop, not church.
Theoretically, religious faith should influence all of life. But people who affirm “Thou shalt not kill” on Sunday go to work on Monday building missiles or selling cigarettes. They would never swear in church, but they don’t hesitate to use the name of the Lord as an expletive at the worksite or the boardroom.
They live in compartments that don’t connect.
And sometimes, as a result, they walk away from the compartment that doesn’t fit. They seal it up and never risk opening it again.
I wish we could do without the labels that let us divide our lives into watertight compartments. Instead of treating science as an enemy of theology, I wish we could let it inform and influence our faith.
I wish we would let studies in psychology and literature help us understand our religious texts better, regardless of what religious tradition we happen to profess.
Perhaps I’ll make a symbolic start by throwing out any more labels sent to me by charitable organizations.
