y ideas and stuff.
One theory to explain the Stockholm syndrome is cognitive dissonance. Specifically, people don't like being unhappy for long periods of time, but when people are kidnapped for a long period of time, they will be unhappy for that time, unless they come to love their captors. Thus, to resolve the cognitive dissonance, the victim may begin to identify with the captors.[4]
The above is a thought -- What I am thinking about (and have been all of my life) is how the culture (family, religion, ethnicity, etc) you were born into is both a cradle, a haven and a prison.
In my case, the family I was raised in was also part of an odd little sect, Plymouth Brethren. SO there was a lot of family and a lot of believing going on. A lot of "This is how WE do it" and "This is what WE believe about that."
For part of my life I embraced the beliefs AND the sect. For part of my life I continued to embrace the beliefs (fundamental Christianity) but NOT the sect. Then I shifted to Liberal Christian Theology, then became a secular humanist/agnostic -- which is where I am today.
Today's post is essentially a prefatory essay. I am thinking about culture as prison and also thinking about who, exactly, the captors are. As I see it, my captors were/are my parents, my idea of God/Jesus, the Bible and Christianity, various church and para-church organizations and to a lesser extent, my relatives. But beside my parents, I think that IDEAS were the primary captors.
The line in the quote above (wikipedia, of course) "people don't like being unhappy for long periods of time, but when people are kidnapped for a long period of time, they will be unhappy for that time, unless they come to love their captors." struck a chord with me. Of course! People hate being unhappy, so will find a way to BE happy. With a family religion it's even easier, because, presumably, the captive (child) already loves the captors.
This is, however, all a distraction (this essay, I mean). If I am going to write about my captivity and my attempted escapes (I do not consider myself entirely free yet -- I have a great deal of cognitive dissonance daily), I should get to that, via the novel.
Born in Captivity
It was an exciting day at Kindergarten. It was the first school day after Packy the elephant had been born in the Portland Zoo. All year we had been singing "Jumbo the Elephant" during music, but today. Mrs. Wilkins changed the words! This was revelatory for me. I did not know that it was possible to change the words of a song or that it was permissible. Apparently it was! So we sang,
Packy the elephant
Packy the elephant
You live in the Portland Zoo
Packy the elephant
Packy the elephant
It's fun to look at you.
Packy was the first elephant born in the western hemisphere in more than 40 years. Portland's zoo was famous!
I walked home from Kindergarten that April day in 1962, with my big brother. I told him about the new words to the song. He said, "Jumbo the Elephant is the real song. You are singing pretend words."
I decided I would not tell my parents about the song. If Tim thought it was a mistake, then I was sure they would not approve.
When we got home, I went upstairs and changed out of my school clothes into play clothes. I went outside to see if Susie Hansen could play. We walked along the curb together -- one foot on the curb, the other splashing in the April puddles. "Are you saved?" I asked her. "Saved from what?" she said, puzzled. I dropped the subject. I did not know the answer to her question. I thought everyone knew if they were saved or not. I knew Susie went to Blessed Sacrament school, and my parents had always told me they believed in God, but they were Catholics. I knew her mom and dad smoked, and her mom wore "worldly" make up and jewelry -- but what did believing in God mean if she didn't know if she was "saved" or not?
Her question had me worried, though. She didn't know about being saved and I didn't know what I was supposed to be saved from. I made sure to pay attention the next Sunday in Aunt Shirley's Sunday School class.
As it turned out, the flannel graph story was about Paul and Silas in the jail. I liked the flannel board, and I got to help put the people on it. This story had the jail before the earthquake and the jail (rubble) after the earthquake. I thought it was a little silly that Paul and Silas didn't just walk out when the walls were no longer there. But -- the jailer, who was afraid he would lose his job when all the prisoners left, asked Paul and Silas, "Sirs, what must I do to be saved?" and they told him, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved..."
I still hadn't heard from WHAT, though. But then Aunt Shirley asked, "Why did Jesus die on the cross?" and I remembered (partly) -- "To save our sins!" I said. Tim rolled his eyes and corrected me: "To save us FROM our sins."
"That's right!" said Aunt Shirley, as I tucked my head down trying to hide my red face. He died on the cross to save us from our sins -- to save our souls so we can go to heaven."
OK. Now I had the answer to Susie's question. And now that I heard it, and was paying attention, I knew, of course, that I had heard about a thousand times before. But I did not like the pictures in my mind when I heard those words: "soul" and "heaven". My imagined soul was a wispy, ghosty, sheer-curtainy thing, sort of in a person shape. I don't know where I got the image first (maybe from 'The Family Circus' cartoons). But it was the default image whenever the word was mentioned. It was not interesting. Even though I knew we would get new bodies in heaven, the new bodies looked like more substantial souls. All sort of the same.
And heaven -- the golden streets and the gates, and the many mansions and the line from a Sunday School song: "Around the throne of God in heaven will many children sing..." gave me the idea that heaven was a hard-surfaced, marbly, metallic, shiny place where children had to stand and sing at God on his throne for eternity. Although sometimes we would be kneeling (but on palace floors or golden surfaces?). I had heard that we would not need to eat or sleep, and that really, all we would want to do would be to sing God's praises all the time. I couldn't quite make it work for me. I loved to eat, and I loved to be comfy, and while I liked music, I did not like the kind of music we had at meeting.
"Meeting" is what we called our church. The Plymouth Brethren, if known for anything, are known for splitting hairs, mincing words and divisions. "Church" meant the whole universal church -- the people -- the Body of Christ. It was not a building, and we did not belong to a church -- we belonged to Jesus. We went to a "meeting room" and we gathered with the "assembly" -- with "the saints gathered to His name in Portland" to be exact. And we were told by visiting preachers and the older brethren that if people asked us where we went to church, we should correct them and make sure they understood all this. It was a bit much for me, as a 5-year-old, to take on. But I always felt a little guilty when someone asked me to do something on Sunday, or why I couldn't join Brownies or Bluebirds, and I had to tell them because of my "church". I knew I shouldn't use that word, but I was also shy, and not a proper apologist for my faith yet.
Susie and I never talked about religion again. Even though I felt more able to answer her "saved from what" question, I didn't feel like bringing it up again. The whole exchange had made me feel very uncomfortable and inept. Being playmates was great, and I liked her -- I decided to trust God to make sure she didn't end up burning in hell.
I, however, was not convinced that I was safe from the lake of fire. I "believed" on the Lord Jesus Christ, but I thought maybe there was something else I needed to do to get saved.
One night before bed, Mom told us how she got saved. She lived in Hoquiam, and so did many of her relatives: aunts, uncles, cousins, grandfather. In fact, Grandpa and some of the uncles lived with them. She came home from school one day and no one was at home. She walked around the block to Uncle Vernie's house, and no one was there, either, By the time she got to Uncle Alden and Aunt Kay's similarly deserted house, she was sure the Lord had come and taken his people home to heaven and she had been left behind! She knelt on their front porch and confessed her sins and asked Jesus into her heart -- to save her.
That story shook me up. I went and knelt behind the kitchen door (I was a private, shy person) and prayed that same prayer and felt safe. I was saved!
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