A Welcome Divergence

My son and I caught a screening of the new Neil Burger film Divergent yesterday, and while I can’t say I was blown away, I did like it enough to recommend it, both for the quality of the film itself, and for the relevant-as-today’s-paper questions it raises.

Based on a novel popular among teens which I’d never heard of (what’s new?) the story centers on Tris, an intelligent and quite big hearted teen living in the remnant of the world (Chicago, and thereabouts) which has survived an unspecified but obviously catastrophic world war. With a limited number of humans left, the powers that be have developed a smiling but totalitarian culture in which all citizens are grouped with their personality types: Abnegation (selfless and sacrificial), Amity (peaceful), Candor (brutally honest), Erudite (smart) and Dauntless (daring). Though born into your family’s group, as a teen you’re required to decide, in a public and very ceremonial way, which group you choose for the rest of your days. First, though, you’re subjected to a government sponsored (read: mandatory) test determining which group you should join; still, the decision is yours to make once you get your test results.

“Faction before family” is a common saying in this brave new world, meaning that once you decide which faction suits you, you cut off all ties with those in the other groups, be they family or foe. Adherence to your label is lifelong and paramount.

Unless, of course, you’re one of those unfortunate Divergents who, against all laws of natural classification, are a combination of the five categories. Divergents –identified by the state test which sniffs them out – don’t fit any neat mold; they’re a little dauntless, a little smart, a little selfless, good heavens! No one term can be slapped onto them, other than “dangerous.” To defy categorization is to threaten the system, which depends largely on conformity to one’s faction. Tris isn’t quite all of anything, doesn’t fit just one mold, and when she realizes this truth about herself, that’s when the fun begins.

And I guess that’s why I liked it. It makes us ask ourselves how valuable, or comprehensive, or for that matter how accurate, our labels really are. I know we need them to a point, and many of them are God-given, inevitable, or both: Male or Female, Young or Aged, Saved or Unsaved, Dead or Alive. These are pretty inarguable; OK. But how rigidly and completely do we really conform to tags like Democrat, Sanguine, Masculine, Artistic, Aggressive, Conservative, Sensitive? And once we start accepting these labels, do we allow them to shape us, or to simply inform and hopefully enhance us?

They have their purpose, both in identifying key qualities and helping us make informed choices, and in that sense they do enhance. But there’s a difference between enhancing and dictating. When the term we accept becomes a dictator, then something’s wrong.

I remember being tested, before beginning a master’s program back in the 80’s, for my suitability to the Christian counseling profession. This aptitude examination, required by the school, would help cue both me and the institution as to my suitability for a degree in Christian counseling. I’d known for years this was what I wanted; I’d assumed, for better or worse, that my abilities would match my desires, and the test would confirm that.

The results said I was well suited for construction work. It’s OK to laugh. I still do.

And truth be told, I think I’d have been a pretty good worker in the field. Some of the happiest times of my life were spent doing what’s often called “manual labor”, and it fit me hand to glove. Still, I wasn’t willing to let that define me. God will ultimately judge whether or not I should have taken the test results to heart – maybe the world of construction lost a terrific bricklayer; maybe the world of Christian counseling was imposed upon by a Divergent – but I’m at peace with my refusal to accept being slotted. I chose to be a Pastoral Counselor rather than a Mechanic, Therapist, Foreman or Clinician, because that’s where my passion was, aptitude test notwithstanding.

So I’m attracted to stories about people who say, “This is what they call me, but what do I call me? And who, ultimately, do I listen to?”

God, of course, who creates then implants us with desires, gifts, passions. To ignore them because someone else denies them seems logical but is, in truth, real folly. I think He loves empowering the most unlikely candidates for what everyone thinks they’re ill suited. No one in King David’s family considered him royal material when Samuel came calling; Abraham and Sarah’s friends must have suspected Alzheimer’s when they said “We’re trying”; the early disciples were understandably leery of welcoming Saul the Persecutor from Tarsus into their ranks. It is, in short, our Creator’s delight to fashion the Least Likely to Succeed into the Big Man on campus, glorifying Himself hugely as the only possible explanation.

That was my takeaway after viewing Divergent – that I mustn’t allow myself to be defined too rigidly by any label other than the ones Biblically commended: Child of God; More than a Conqueror; Beloved; Holy.

See the film for yourself; I think you’d like it. Then ask yourself if you’ve been boxed in by terms or expectations not really your own, but imposed by man. At any stage in life, I think that’s something to mull over.

Hope you have a great weekend. Thanks for being here. God bless.

Love,
Joe