I want to explain why ideals and exclusion are essential and how they relate to addiction. But I’ll need to explain myself one step at a time. In today’s post, I will explain how too much inclusion can be a bad thing.
Inclusion has become a sacred value for many of us.
Inclusion feels so inarguably virtuous that most of us get “the ick” at the thought of excluding people.
One consequence of our love for inclusion is that we have come to dislike ideals.
Take Motherhood, for example. It’s an ideal that many find oppressive rather than uplifting. Haven’t we all heard a mother say they felt judged for not living up to the ideal?
We like Rosanne because she doesn’t make anyone feel like they don’t belong. No one has ever said, “I just feel so bad about myself after watching Rosanne and realizing I don’t live up to the ideal she portrays.”
Just for fun, let’s imagine ideals could be good.
As a thought experiment, I’d like to explore the concept of ideals and see if there is any value in upholding them. I’ll continue with the theme of Motherhood, but I am not interested in Motherhood per se. I could choose another ideal and make the same points. It’s just that the thought experiment needs a concrete example—so motherhood will do for our purposes.
We can start by simply acknowledging there is something praiseworthy and miraculous about motherhood—the whole process of it.
Miraculous: When a man and woman love each other enough to form a committed bond.
Miraculous: When love results in a pregnancy.
Miraculous: When a woman grows a baby in her womb.
Miraculous: The birth of a child.
Miraculous: When a mother nurses her child.
Why should the celebration of these miracles harm anyone?
Steinbeck and DaVinci
The final scene of Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath shows how celebrating the ideal can actually enhance the glory of the approximation.
In the scene, Rose of Sharon nurses a starving old man, preventing his death. This is a startling depiction of the power of mothers to nurture and sustain life, and by extension, it says something about human kindness.
But the scene is far from ideal. Rose of Sharon has lost her baby. Instead of nursing her flesh and blood, she nurses a stranger. Instead of nourishing a baby at the beginning of its life, she nourishes a man near the end of his natural life.
At least part of the scene's strange beauty comes from how it alludes to previous depictions of the ideal, such as the hundreds of paintings of The Madona and Child.
Pictured above: DaVinci’s Madona Litta
Centuries of reverent depictions of the ideal Madona and Child bestow glory on Steinbeck’s final scene, the way the sun’s light illuminates the moon.
Celebrating the ideal doesn’t have to diminish imperfect approximations. It can give meaning and resonance to the approximations.
Why disparage ideals?
If ideals are good or even miraculous—and if honoring them uplifts even their approximations—why hate them?
Resentment.
We prefer not to admit our resentment. Instead, we whitewash over it with pretty talk about inclusion and diversity—about the rich tapestry of experiences. But, if we’re honest, don’t we resent ideals?
First, we resent ideals because of the extra work it would require to pursue the ideal.
Second, if we can’t be the ideal and receive the acclaim owed to it, then we’d rather no one get that honor and acclaim.
Inwardly, we “[live] in malice and envy, hateful, and hating one another" [Titus 3:3]
Out of envy, we paint caricatures. Every beautiful woman is an airhead or a gold digger. Every man is exhibit (A) in the case against toxic masculinity. The wealthy are greedy. The educated are elites. The religious are hypocrites. The popular are bullies. Professional athletes are spoiled millionaires. And every single C-Suite executive is a backstabbing corporate climber. And on and on, I could go.
Certainly, no one might deserve our respect or honor. A verse like Romans 13:6 sets our teeth on edge:
7 Give to everyone what you owe them: If you owe taxes, pay taxes; if revenue, then revenue; if respect, then respect; if honor, then honor.
We refuse to give respect and honor to the ideal of something. Instead, we deconstruct, decenter, and disparage ideals. Every good and beautiful thing must be knocked over to expose its rotten underbelly. Then, we can all be equal. Equally rotten and resentful. The nice thing about a world full of malice and envy is that we’ll never need to experience the unbearable indignity of acknowledging another person’s excellence.
In the next few posts, I’ll explain why popular kids aren’t mean, why ideals matter to recovery and how celebrating the ideal might be an obedient response to the command to “Love thy enemy.”