Some thoughts on identity

Whoa, you may say: if the title is any representation of the content of this current post, Tom is making quite the haughty re-entry into the blogosphere. My response would be to settle down, and not get your hopes up - merely some thoughts that I jotted down whilst procrastinating from reading Bonhoeffer's Ethics last Sunday, which Luke Hill and I are currently moseying through. Clearly, I haven't been that motivated to write down anything creative lately, so a digitized version of some scatterbrained thoughts will have to do. I'm not entirely sure why my thoughts turned to the idea of identity at the time -Dietrich must have written something to spur on the segue. I feel as if my conceptualization of an "economy of identities" has its roots partly in a conversation I had with Luke earlier this year, well represented by his subsequent blog post; however, for the most part, the following content has no distinguishable origin other than as a confluence of random thoughts. Anyways, here goes:

"It is in the economy of identities that we become defined by our aptitudes, proficiencies, and powers. In this economy, "we are what we are good at," whether it be sports, relationships, or cooking. Personally, I feel as if I constantly find identity in my perceived capacity for knowledge, as well as my ability to communicate that knowledge.

I believe this inclination - to define ourselves by what we are good at - originates in a number of sources. For the sake of simplicity, I'm only going to cover the two that immediately struck me as applicable in my own context. The first sources is purely worldly and rational: it is capitalism. A spate of unabashedly Marxist analysis has led me to the conclusion that we're raised with the constant assurance that we're "special" in some particular way, that we're especially "good" at something - able to contribute to society in some "unique" fashion. While this type of affirmation, during early childhood, may be solely meant to add some character to an otherwise blank slate, by the teen years it has the primary intention of forging us into the particular cog that benefits society as a whole. As our molten identities harden, they become more and more rigidly defined; we are not developed into malleable substances, but of hard, brittle material. When this metaphorical casting process ends, the ability of our identities to evolve further is severely limited; indeed, the only alternative to remaining in a hardened state is crumbling - total brokenness.

This first source - capitalism - is close to universally applicable. Most countries have adopted the Western capital-driven economic model to some extent, and one gets the feeling that those that haven't are only stalling. The second source I'd like to highlight applies to a narrower (but not too narrow) sub-group: Christians. It is particularly relevant to those Christians convicted of the paramountcy of God's Word as revealed in the Scriptures. My experience growing up in an evangelical, somewhat "fundamentalist" atmosphere nurtured within me a belief that each individual is endowed with a unique "spiritual gift," which, accordingly, could be utilized in performing certain applicable acts of service within the community of the Church. Common interpretations of passages such as Ephesians 4:7-16 can cause the adherent to identify solely with his perceived strengths; in this way, interpretations of these "spiritual gifts" can play a similar role in personal and extra-personal perception as notions of specialization within capitalist systems. Believers are subjected to a refining process (e.g. "discipleship") in which they are tempered to perform a certain set of tasks, usually in pursuit of an ultimate "mission." In this sense, their perceived possession of such gifts becomes central to their identities not only as Christians, but also as people in general (exasperated by the fact that many evangelical Christians confine themselves almost exclusively to their church community).

The alternatives to the first "source" - capitalism - are notably scarce. As previously stated, most human cultures are careening full-speed ahead towards specialization-based economies, if they aren't there already. And even if systems such as socialism became ubiquitous, increased agency and determinism on the part of the state would have very similar effects on the "designations" of people, ala Huxley's Brave New World.

On the other hand, Christian spirituality offers an alternative to the "dictatorship of spiritual gifts" previously described. Prior to the passage previously referenced is a preface - Ephesians 4:1-6 - which proclaims the united identity we have with God and the Church. It is in this encounter with God, who is "above all and through all, and in [us] all," that we are meant to be defined.

A lack of realization of the identity in Christ achieved through acknowledgement of unity with Him, leads to the omnipresence of fear within the human mind. Fears of death, ostracization, and irrelevance abound. The "brokenness" I referred to earlier - not to be mistaken for the meek, humble brokenness touted in the Gospel message - represents the crumbling of confidence temporarily "propped up" by an assigned identity. Whether one attaches his identity to the expectations of a "market" community or a "spiritual" community, he always runs the risk of being overcome with the fear of failing to meet those expectations. This fear, in turn, prevents him from seeking out the power offered to him by God, which is often embodied in authentic, genuine encounters with others. Depression, anxiety, and addiction, I think, are all possible consequences of this disconnect."

Hopefully, you were able to get past some of the hyperbolic/exaggerative phraseology used in this piece (I'm especially proud of "dictatorship of spiritual gifts"). Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed after a stimulating service at Priory Park Baptist, I was perhaps a bit over-enthusiastic when I wrote it; although I could have more thoroughly edited it this time around, I wanted to fully capture the no-holds-barred charm of the rough copy. Further thoughts to follow - as usual, comments are appreciated!

Powerlessness

To say it's currently raining outside would be an understatement: in actuality, it's totally cats and dogs. Although I'm rather enjoying the current episode, there's something about extreme weather conditions that generally makes me feel vulnerable. It's as if I suddenly come to the realization that the elements - whether downpours, thunder, or tornadoes - are much bigger and more powerful than I am. I suppose it shouldn't come as a surprise that a world where individuals in certain privileged positions - achieved by means of education, money, etc - are made out to be larger-than-life, it takes something as omnipotent as Mother Nature to bring us back down to earth. For me, while this is often a positive, humbling experience, it can also be relentlessly diminishing. I've always been mindful of the distinction that needs to be made between healthy meekness and outright powerlessness, and I'll readily admit that I'm very uncomfortable with the thought of the latter.

In Radical Gratitude (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2002), which I'm currently studying with some friends, Mary Jo Leddy claims that society has compelled us to believe in the "forced alternatives" of being "totally in control" of our lives, or "totally powerless." As one can gather from the title of the book, Leddy is primarily concerned with examining the virtue of gratitude; in the process, she frequently contrasts it with what she identifies as a pervasive dissatisfaction in the lives of Westerners. While she quickly dismisses the quest to be totally in control as a vain, irrational, "impossible dream," she's also quick to point out the dangers associated with feeling powerless. Leddy claims that powerlessness stems, rather ironically, from the eventual realization that quests for absolute power are doomed to fail. Consequently, because we've been convinced of the system of "forced alternatives," we become mired in self-pity and apathy, unconvinced that any initiative we take will have a lasting impact. The only way to prevent the onset of the self-fulfilling prophecy that is conviction of personal powerlessness, Leddy argues, is to act on the realization that there are certain areas of our lives that we can change, and others we can't.

Admittedly, I've been feeling pretty powerless lately, and not just because of rainstorms. Whether it's lack of discipline in my work, poor efforts in maintaining relationships, or a variety of other vices that I won't get into, I feel a genuine lack of power to affect significant positive change in my own daily habits and routines. I've learned a fair amount about myself through self-examination and conversation with others in the past couple years, and have come to realize that I'm a perfectionist to the extent that if there's no prospect of me accomplishing a task to the highest standard, I don't feel as if it's worth doing at all. Thus, Leddy's humbling assertion that there are some things that I naturally won't be able to achieve on my own is hard for me to swallow.

I am, nevertheless, encouraged by the new train of thought my reading of Radical Gratitude has developed. 2 Timothy 1:7 comes to mind in all of this: "For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind." Coupled with a good deal of prayer and consultation with friends, I think I'm going to start trying to make more small changes in my life, in place of my tendency to constantly try to reinvent the wheel. Hopefully, this will help me overcome the feelings of "corrupting powerlessness" that Leddy identifies as having got under the skin of our society.

Raising the dying

You may find it ironic that I'm writing a post about dying in a blog that's barely twitched in the past two months.  If this was the first thought that popped into your mind, congratulations  - very clever.  Perceptive, too: it's true that Tom's Passage to India has been something of a ghost-blog of late.  I think it would be an exaggeration to attribute this to writer's block, as the ideas - and even the odd witticism - have been churning out of my mind at their regular pace.  The problem has been actually getting them down into legible form; simply put, the ideas are there, just not the will or the words.  I think I'll ineloquently dub it "writer's glass wall", in that by all accounts, the potential for a solid post seems to be there, but I just can't get pencil to scratch paper.  

To be honest, I'm still not feeling all that creative.  I've decided a good way to kick-start my cranium would be to quote someone much smarter and more intelligent than me, out of the hope that it'll lead to a remotely insightful response on my part.  I'll leave it to you to decide whether my strategy is sound; for now, I pass the baton to Sheila Cassidy, a British doctor best known for her contribution to the hospice movement:

Medically speaking, hospices exist to provide a service of pain and symptom control for those for whom active anti-cancer treatment is no longer appropriate - there isalways something that can be done for the dying, even if it's only having the patience and courage to sit with them.  Most lay people imagine that hospices are solemn, rather depressing places where voices are hushed and eyes downcast as patients and their families await the inevitable. Nothing could be further from the truth.  Hospice care is about life and love and laughter, for it is founded upon two unshakable beliefs: that life is so precious that each minute should be lived to the full, and that death is quite simply a part of life, to be faced openly and greeted with the hand outstretched.  One of the hallmarks of hospice life is celebration: cakes are baked and champagne  uncorked at the first hint of a birthday or anniversary, and administrators, nurses and volunteers clink glasses with patients and their families.  (Cassidy, Sheila. "Precious Spikenard", Catholic New Times of Toronto, 1985.)

This is actually an excerpt twice removed: I pulled it out of The Road to Daybreak, a memoir by the late Catholic priest Henri Nouwen that I currently have my nose in.  In this context, Nouwen is using Cassidy's passage to illustrate that hospices, like the Daybreak community for the mentally challenged that he worked at, are places that "proclaim loudly the preciousness of life and encourage us to face reality with open eyes and outstretched hands", where "the certainty of the present is always much more important than the uncertainty of the future."  (Nouwen, The Road to Daybreak, p. 21). 

More than anything else, this made me think about the way that many people - myself included - conceptualize compassion.  In my last post, I suggested that popular support in the West for development aid signifies the presence of elements of selflessness and empathy amongst it's citizens.  What I've recently come to suspect, though, is that we give largely on the condition that there are prospects for improvement; in the case of development aid, for example, we want to know that children will be given the opportunity to hone their potential in school, leading to more promising livelihoods.  Would we be as enthusiastic about contributing our resources and efforts to the wellness of those who don't have a future in this world in a physical sense?  In other words, would our compassion flow as freely to someone on their deathbed, as it would for a repressed child?

I suspect that the hospice movement addresses a need that has gone largely unnoticed in the mainstream.  Stephen Lewis, in his widely popular contribution to the Massey Lectures, Race Against Time, speaks passionately of the importance of treating those already afflicted by HIV/AIDS, in addition to preventing the spread of the disease.  At one point, he recalls a conversation with a World Bank official who bluntly states the need for a "trade-off" in favour of prevention, considering the impending mortality of those already infected (Lewis, Race Against Time, p. 157).  Although this anecdote may relay seemingly exceptional callousness, I'd imagine it represents the attitude of many institutions charged with serving the suffering and vulnerable.  

I think it comes across as pretty unnatural to invest in the dying in our results-based world.  Then again, the broader idea of compassion doesn't fit that smugly into this paradigm either.  Personally, I feel that if I'm going to ever learn to serve others, I'm going to have to elevate them to a position of preeminence, regardless of their position, potential, or usefulness.

Huffing and puffing over aid

After four years of being tube-fed international development discourse, it quickly became obvious to me that the aid debate is one of academia's favourite varieties.  Apparently, the popular media has also picked up a taste for it as of late; of particular note is the cyber-spar that recently occurred between Jeffrey Sachs and Dambisa Moyo, two "household names" of development economics (OK, so the classification's slightly absurd - bear with me).  Sachs' contribution to the Huffington Post is a layman-friendly introduction to his conviction of the need for development assistance, which he defends primarily by pointing out the flawed positions of aid skeptics such as Moyo and William Easterly.  Moya responds in an equally terse fashion, suggesting that the confrontation at hand is only the most recent in a history of editorial animosity.

I'd like to start off by saying that my opinion of Sachs has been slow to galvanize.  Likely, this is due to the circumstances in which I've been exposed to him: aside from the occasional required-reading snippet, I wasn't exposed to his work until I cracked The End of Poverty on a rambunctious riverboat floating down the Laotian Mekong, the "crew" of which were constantly supplying debauched British backpackers with local moonshine.  Needless to say, Jeff came off as a bit dull in comparison.  

As I got more into it, though, I started to recognize qualities that also come through in the discussed article: although he is a committed free-market economist, Sachs recognizes the role that non-reciprocal financial interactions have to play in improving the prospects of developing countries.  Whether it's the forgiveness of debt or the provision of aid, offerings of resources that don't need to be paid back play an important role in increasing the capacity of countries to help themselves.  Sachs is insightful in pointing out that these resources are often the capital upon which countries like Rwanda build effective health infrastructures; he is even more profound in emphasizing that aid funds represent the immediate lifeline to millions on the brink of demise.  Although the article doesn't include the case studies and statistics to prove Sachs' points in and of itself, it serves as a useful call-to-action to Westerners to rethink their meagre contributions to global welfare.

Conversely, I found Moya's response to be smug, trite, and bordering on naive.  Her assertion that "development is not that hard" is enough to propel any development practitioner's head towards the wall, and serves to solidify her place amongst the ranks of one-dimensional conventional economists.  Although we can certainly take hints from past work in areas such as poverty alleviation, the "300 years of evidence" that she refers to is hardly the panacean canon that she makes it out to be.  Sachs knows as well as anyone that certain strategies, such as curbing inflation, have been, historically, applied with similar success in different contexts; however, he would also acknowledge that a smorgasbord of socio-economic-cultural factors come into play when these types of plans are actually implemented.  Moya displays her ignorance to this key historical fact, by attributing the effectiveness of the Marshall Plan and India's Green Revolution primarily to their brevity.

Moya's disciplinary tunnel-vision is further confirmed in her myopic diagnosis of Africa's problems of corruption and economic regression.  Although it is likely true that, in some cases, aid monies have been manipulated fraudulently by crooked officials, the conversation isn't complete unless problems such as poor transparency and judicial independence are mentioned.  The immense sums that Nigerian leaders have historically siphoned out of that country's oil industry is evidence that governments have the potential to be massively corrupt, regardless of whether the money comes from foreign sources or their own wellspring.  As for her claims that Africa is worse off now than in the 1970's, she conveniently fails to mention the effects that AIDS and economic structural adjustment programs alone have had on the continent's ills (ironically, SAP's - facilitated largely by Moya's ex-employer, the World Bank - were characterized by the kind of rapid free-marketization that she espouses).  

All in all, it seems to me that Moya is far more stubbornly attached to her ideology of African self-sufficiency than Sachs is to the idea of the importance of aid, as she alleges.  As far as I can tell, her claims that he neglects job creation in favour of aid-dependency in Africa are wholly unsubstantiated when this article and The End of Poverty are considered.  Although I'm horribly under-qualified to make any type of economic assessment on my own, it seems likely that the differences between Sachs' recommendations for Eastern European development and that of Africa are based on a recognition of the different socio-political-cultural conditions within those areas - exactly the type of broad-perspective that Moya has no apparent interest in adopting.  

Although I won't go into them in depth, I think there are also some important philosophical questions that come into play in the aid debate.  They centre largely around the concept of dependence, and whether it really is a bad thing to rely heavily upon another individual, group or country (check out my earlier post, in which I addressed this more generally).  Certainly, history is full of examples where economic powers have created dependence complexes as a means of exploiting weaker regions; however, the basic concept doesn't have to be painted this darkly by default.  Perhaps the acts of giving and receiving aid on an international, governmental scale could contribute to the development of human attitudes of altruism and humility.  There could be something to this; I think it more likely, however, that these attitudes will have to form on individual levels, before they're embodied on such a large scale.  

Life in uniform: not just guns 'n roses

I was checking out baseball scores on ESPN's website today, and decided to look at the power rankings to see if editors were giving the Jays the credit they're currently due.  Despite their usual bias against teams north of the border, the ESPN pundits pegged Toronto at a lofty #3 on the list, which was very conspicuously brought to me by the recruitment division of the US Army.  Out of appreciation for their thoughtfulness, I decided to indulge the sportscaster by checking out their sponsor's website.  The experience that followed bewildered me far more than the Jays' recent success on the field, which is significant to say the least.  

At first glance, the homepage of GoArmy.com strikingly resembles the interface of a military-based real time strategy video game, along the lines of Command and Conquer or Warcraft.  Upon entering the website, I immediately embarked on a nausea-inducing approach from the perspective of some kind of attack helicopter, eventually being presented with a bird's-eye view of what is, ostensibly, a typical desert US army installation.  This interface acts as a type of virtual graphical sitemap: by clicking on a section of the "base", the user is directed to related occupational info.   A click on the link hovering above the MP station, for example, lead me to a video narrated by an ambitious young military policeman.  The video game-feel of the site is further advanced by the columns of soldiers and battalions of vehicles moving around in the background - overall, I wouldn't be surprised if they had contracted Electronic Arts to design the darned thing.

Initially, the whole spectacle seemed comical.  The awe-inspiring graphics, zealous accounts by bright-eyed recruits - it all came across as harmlessly over-the-top.  The biggest laugh came when I started talking to "Sergeant Star", the virtual guide who's job is to tell you anything you'd want to know about a potential career in the trenches.  Truly a marvel in web-based artificial intelligence technology that's worth checking out: click on the link on the bottom-right of the main page.  Just don't call him too many names - three strikes, and it's off to boot camp, private!

As I thought about it more, though, I realized how strongly the website affirmed some common critiques of US Army (indeed, western) recruiting practices.  My mind immediately went back to those World War II-era soldier's letters I read in Grade 10 history, in which farm-boys-turned-riflemen spoke of the excitement of leaving for foreign lands; the thrill of fighting for one's country.  Is GoArmy.com the US military's attempt to piggyback this timeless fantasy?  Apart from a few sober caveats on the part of Sgt. Star (which I really had to pry out of him, by the way), there really doesn't seem to be much on the site emphasizing the physical and psychological risk one inevitably takes on by signing the roll.  

Also, as classist as it may sound, the format of the site seems to have set a certain demographic clearly in it's sights.  Can anyone say uneducated, suburban, upper teens-early 20s male?  Not to say I didn't / don't currently play video games: I've had my share of Goldeneye-induced all nighters and LAN parties.  However, is any well-informed, thoughtful person going to give serious consideration to a career in the army because of a super-cool recruitment website?  I'm not in any way suggesting an average member of the said demographic would fall for such sensationalism, but it's pretty clear the army is trying anyways.  At the very least, I'd describe it as vanity; more critically, it could be seen as insulting to the intellect of potential recruits.  

Above all, I view GoArmy.com as a gross misrepresentation and glorification of the business as a whole.  Even if the army's chief role isn't simply to "kill people", as Canada's former Chief of Defence Staff Rick Hillier once so controversially asserted, the fact remains a life in the military is ominously filled with tough decisions and lose-lose scenarios.  "War is hell" is a truthful cliche, and a soldier's job is, all things considered, an unfortunate one.  The world of the army may very well be characterized by "courage and honour", as the voice-over on the discussed webpage claims it is; however, many have also experienced it as one crawling with death and despair.  The salient message of GoArmy.com simply fails in conveying this core truth.

I suppose I could be rebuked by a claim that a job in the army is "just another job" that millions of ordinary people work at every day, and should be treated as such.  There is, of course, truth to the second part of that statement: I know plenty of people who currently work, or have worked, in the military, including my best friend and family members.  I can confirm that they are (or were) in it just as much for an honest living as anyone else.  However, I refuse to accept that it's "just another job".  The reason that I reserve so much respect and admiration for members of the military is that by taking that gun into their hands (or wrench with which they fix a fighter plane, or microphone with which they call in an air strike), they're shouldering a degree of responsibility not experienced by other members of society.  Exceptional nature of the beast considered, GoArmy.com's "bed of roses" - or more like "guns 'n roses" - portrayal just doesn't fit the bill.

Dealing in Death

If you've been reading this blog for a little while, you've probably discovered that I enjoy over-analyzing some of the more obscure, mostly irrelevant things in everyday life.  For the most part, I like to think that I've gotten a pretty good handle on a lot of it: the fact that nobody else bothers to analyze this stuff notwithstanding, I've come to view myself as pretty damn perceptive.  Two things that I don't relate to very well, though - no matter how well I try - are marketing schemes and funeral homes.  My feelings toward marketing schemes are something of a disillusionment, mostly because they're so commonly intended to sucker people into buying things they don't need.  The fact that I know perfectly friendly people in the funeral business dictates that my attitude towards this beast is slightly more amiable; however, I simply can't bring myself to fully understand an establishment that profits off of people dying.  Needless to say, when these two entities come together - most commonly as funeral home marketing schemes - I'm totally thrown for a loop.

Let me explain.  Before you start worrying for my sanity, rest assured that this isn't a dilemma that I randomly dreamed up during this morning's sermon (out of the possibility that Dave Williams is reading this, I'd like to emphasize that it was tres good).  It actually emerged right when I got home from church, upon my decision to open an unaddressed piece of admail placed in my mailbox by a local funeral home, that will remain unnamed lest my ass gets sued for libel.  I'm not sure what initially inclined me to open it; what I do know, is that the content elicited a pretty mixed bag of emotions, ranging from humour to shock.  As a taste, check out the introductory paragraph of the letter:

Dear Family,

This is your opportunity to recieve a FREE FUNERAL COST ESTIMATE.  You can also receive a FREE Planning Ahead Brochure, filled with valuable information on planning ahead.  Simply mark your answers below and return the completed questionnaire in the attached postage-paid envelope.  It's easy and there's no obligation!

NO COST - NO OBLIGATION

Am I the only one that feels as if this represents a compilation of much that is seriously screwed up about our society?  On a trivial, personal level, this letter had the callous effect of tainting my otherwise sunny, happy, content day, by reminding me that I'd eventually have to plan a funeral for myself or my loved ones.  Whoopee!  Slightly more nauseating is the fact that the following portion of the letter was a questionnaire format, in which the "future client" is prompted to anticipate their future preference for a wood or steel casket, much like an airline passenger would be asked to choose between the vegetarian blog of unintelligible matter and it's meat equivalent.  The utilization of such marketing standards as "no cost - no obligation" - in bold and caps, to boot - also just doesn't seem quite right to me.  Call me crazy.

I was especially struck by the concluding paragraph of the piece, which informed the reader of the fact the funeral home had the gall to make the advertised product a "limited time offer."  Are these guys serious?  Is it meant to be a joke, something along the lines of "your time is limited, and so is this offer"?  I also found it pretty amusing that at the end of the letter, the author provides a check-box beside a sentence reading "Please see that I also receive a FREE Planning Ahead Brochure".  Couldn't they have just said something along the lines of "Please ensure that I receive another depressing reminder of my impending death"?  The ridiculousness of this content has convinced me that these guys are either failed stand-up comedians who got booed off the stage one too many times for making their audiences feel like crap, or zombies.  One of the two.

I realize that if I was truly writing in the analytical tradition of my last few posts, I'd try to draw some sort of absurd sociological/theological/philosophical conclusion from this stuff.  After considering this course of action for about five seconds, though, I've decided that it would be mostly ridiculous, considering I just concluded what could be described as a glorified book review of a funeral parlour pamphlet.  I may not be headed for a six-foot deep hole anytime soon, but I won't rule out the nuthouse...

A categorical cry for help

For those of you who haven't noticed, this blog is a bit of a hodgepodge.  When I actually make the effort to post multiple times every couple weeks, the range of topics addressed becomes quite diverse, to say the least.  The first absurd metaphor that comes to mind is a typical food plate at an after-service church pot luck: it's hard to make out what is what, and when your taste buds are finally getting accustomed to the vegetarian chili, that little bit of jello dessert that snuck it's way onto the fork throws you right back off again.  

With this in mind, I've flirted with the idea of categorizing my posts.  Practically speaking, it makes sense, both for myself and others: whether one of my readers wants to skip to a certain topic because he thinks I suck at everything else, or I want to track down something I wrote in the past (I think it's all good), a classification system of sorts would come in handy.  It seems as if my most avid blogging buddies - all of whom are far more well versed in the trade than myself - have elected to categorize; the pragmatist in me advises me to follow their example.

Logical sensibilities aside, however, I can't help but feel a type of aversion to the idea.  Perhaps I'm reading a bit too far into it (not a far-fetched possibility, by any measure), but it seems that by attaching a label to something, I'm creating a condition where all of the preconceptions and stereotypes associated with that label could taint my post.  Not that this is necessarily a bad thing - personally speaking, if I didn't regularly group ideas together, my mind would be as confounded and disoriented as a Lewis Carroll novel.  One of the things I value the most about this space, though, is that it's a place where disciplines, topics, themes - whatever you want to call them - can intertwine and relate to one another.  Whereas Marxist economics and evangelical theology might be considered strange bedfellows in many conventional forums, my blog gives me the unique chance to throw them in a room together, and see what happens.  

As I write this, I'm deprecating myself for sounding conceited.  Who am I to think that I'm in a special position to draw these types associations in my humble blog, while critiquing well-aged classifications in the process?  Perhaps categorization would be a needed shot to my ego, a wake-up call to the limits of "thinking big" and the merits of dedicating oneself to a focused topic.  

If you haven't figured it out already, this is more of an call for opinions than anything else.  To those of you who do keep a blog: why or why not do you categorize your posts?  If you do, do you find it limits the perspective they offer?  There may be people who don't read a blog, but have a pretty good idea how they'd structure it if they did; my menial appeal extends to you also.