Checked Boxes
Just about everyone knows what a tax form is. I remember one had a box which, if checked, would give $1 of my taxes to some presidential candidacy fund. And just about everyone has filled out a form answering whether he (or she) was male or female, providing two little boxes to choose from. Equally famous (and infamous) is the multiple choice exam where significant results hang in the balance, being settled by filling enough of the correct boxes. These and many other examples have this in common: that by simply checking boxes, big things can happen. Such big things happen because it’s usually some authority—the IRS, a legal institution, a professor—who hands out a form to be completed, completion of which can set the institution in motion for our benefit. Tax money returned, passing grades, admission into a club, and so on. This way of interacting is so commonplace that we come to expect to be given a form, a list, something to fill out, in order to get things done. This “checked box” mentality is an impersonal way of interacting so that the more commonplace it is, the more corrosive it seems.
The “checked box” as a metaphor looks much like this: “Here, fill out this form and return it to our office by such and such date.” It seems so simple, does it not? Put in some information and watch it all unfold. But the truth is that simple form is only simple in apparent format. Millions of people need help from tax professionals to fill them out. And there really is no such thing as “just a form.” There is no completing a 10-40EZ without a W2. And there can be no W2 without having already created a W4. And that W4 cannot have been made without a mass of other forms. Likewise: no birth certificate, no social security card; no SS card, no job; no job, no W2. And on, and on, and on. The “checked box” approach relies heavily on this illusion of simplicity. Further, and more subtly powerful, is the illusion of control, and here I’m referring not to the IRS (or institution requiring a form), but to the individual filling out the form. The one who completes such forms believes he has a kind of bargaining chip. “Simply fill this out, and you can get your money back.” The person seemingly has leverage over an immense power (as compared to himself). It is a sort of magic, and there is more than mere metaphor in this. Magic, like tax return forms, appears simple, but always goes deeper, dealing in forces well beyond what the dabbler can handle.
The “checked box” approach has been around for a very long time, showing up in many variations. To see this, here is a working definition, a little more general than the tax metaphor used so far:
A relation between an individual and a significantly greater power,
where the individual has clear tools under his control for managing
transactions between himself and that power.
Where have you seen this before? I’ve already mentioned school and the IRS. But parents set up such things with their young children: “Eat everything off your plate first, then you can have dessert.” It happens in commerce: “I’ll give you 10 bucks for that tie.” And it happens in religion: “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam.” By these examples two points need to be stressed. First, the use of this approach (the “checked box”) is not inherently bad. It is perfectly right, good, healthy, and proper for parents to set up such bargaining rules for a child; that is how they teach him. Secondly, the imbalance of power drives the necessity for such an approach.
Beginning with the second point, the imbalance of power creates the need for some kind of mediating method. The only way to be rid of the “checked box” approach is to eliminate all power imbalances. That, I flatly assert, is not an option in the current universe. Since the “checked box” approach will not disappear, the real questions of interest should be questions about goodness. Without goodness the sole mediating method defaults to might-makes-right: whoever prevails governs, end of issue. But, thankfully, might-makes-right rarely actually happens. Raw exertions of power are often, in fact, kept in check by notions of what is right and good—even warped notions. That is why questions of goodness are so important. When I encounter the “checked box” way of working, I ought not to dismiss it as stupid and annoying (as it often feels), but rather recognize a power imbalance in play, and look for whether goodness lies behind the situation. More importantly, the greatest natural power imbalance is that between mankind and its creator, where “checked boxes” are what we call “religion.”
Now returning to the first point, that the “checked box” approach is not necessarily bad. That should be clear from the examples that were given. But because the approach often is bad, we should take care to shun the bad manifestations, and uphold the good. My motive for this writing began from (stewed in) the degree of annoyance I feel when given a form to fill out. My annoyance, even angst, arises from the feeling that, rather than being treated as a human being, the bureaucrat is simply shuffling me along with all the other “cattle.” In such instances the interaction merely achieves the processing of another form, exerting the least amount of effort in doing so, treating as insignificant the person involved with the form and the often personal information put into it. The word “bureaucrat” is its own pejorative for good reason, and I use the phrase “checked box” in the same way. BUT forms can, when treated as tools, be a helpful medium of exchange. My bank withdrawal forms, for example, make the communication between myself and the teller very clear, so that when I present it to the teller we can interact as persons with fewer complications associated with the important details of handling my money. It’s the bureaucrat who omits the personal touch when interacting through forms.
The strongest parallel between religion and “checked boxes” arises at this point. As a youthful Protestant, I took great interest in matters theological, especially in finding the theological (philosophical, logical, definitional) distinctions between what I believed and what other Protestants and non-Christian groups said they believed. So I approached individuals of other groups through this lens, aiming to uncover these distinctions. I rarely made headway, but made lots of heat, because I approached the other as an object, merely one manifestation of theological statements. In short, in my mind was a sort of list, which was being filled out as the other person spoke. Each box on the list not checked, became both a disqualifier and an item of contentious probing. In short I was speaking to a checklist, not to a person. BUT it isn’t the checklist that was the problem, but the “bureaucrat.” The checklist could have been, instead, a tool for interacting as persons about the subject of belief. But I, as the bureaucrat, didn’t look past the list.
The requirements of religion, like lists of important theological points, can also be helpful tools—tools intended to help the growth of the person, morally, interpersonally, or in other facets of living. For example, Jews have maintained customs around keeping Sabbath holy. This basically seems to mean not working (as in employment or livelihood) and not doing frivolous things we often do, and going to worship. This is good. As a Christian, going to Sunday worship and trying to be restful is a weekly joy that pulls me out of the normal stresses of life and gives me a chance simply to be human rather than the proverbial beast of burden. Fasting practices have benefitted me with regard to self control.
Religious requirements, of course, can also be obstacles to maturity, when misused as by a bureaucrat. One egregious example is in Acts, chapter 21, where the Jews in Judea plotted to kill Paul. Upon his return visit they had their chance. Their ploy was to leverage others’ outrage accusing Paul by saying “he also brought Greeks into the temple and has defiled this holy place.” On a simple, honest level, to regulate access to (to moderate or to place boundaries on) the place of worship makes a whole lot of sense. But over time complexities and complications turned the meaningful requirement into a badge of approval or of disapproval, where genealogy became the difference between clean or unclean. So much so that bringing “Greeks into the Temple” could trigger a mob to protest and possibly kill the offender. Here the zealous bureaucrat takes umbrage at the erroneous procedure, bringing full institutional contempt to bear.
So, despite examples like this, the religious requirements (religions) are not of themselves bad. Just as in non-religious areas, the goodness of requirements depends both on the purpose served, and the actual effects brought about. Indeed human beings will have requirements, boxes to check. Consequently, the real culprit is what I began with: approaching others procedurally, ignoring the personal touch; approaching God procedurally, without bringing your full person to bear. Such an approach exudes disrespect.
“Go and learn what this means, I desire mercy and not sacrifice.”
So, without requirements—rules, etiquette, customs, procedures, rituals—many situations would overwhelm those involved, leaving them without tools to navigate the imbalances of power that inevitably arise. In a spirit of humility and respect, however, requirements provide a degree of freedom, a means to manage relationships. When relating to God, requirements help us to manage ourselves, in order to avoid a mistake of infinite impact. For with God it is impossible to grasp Him who is utterly out of reach. But rules, etiquette, customs, procedures and rituals enable us, for our sakes not for God’s, to reach out to Him. So consider, if you haven’t before, making use of the rituals that Christians of all ages have recognized as beneficial: fasting, prayer, charity, worship, theology. And there’s no need to completely reinvent these wheels. Look to history.
The “checked box” as a metaphor looks much like this: “Here, fill out this form and return it to our office by such and such date.” It seems so simple, does it not? Put in some information and watch it all unfold. But the truth is that simple form is only simple in apparent format. Millions of people need help from tax professionals to fill them out. And there really is no such thing as “just a form.” There is no completing a 10-40EZ without a W2. And there can be no W2 without having already created a W4. And that W4 cannot have been made without a mass of other forms. Likewise: no birth certificate, no social security card; no SS card, no job; no job, no W2. And on, and on, and on. The “checked box” approach relies heavily on this illusion of simplicity. Further, and more subtly powerful, is the illusion of control, and here I’m referring not to the IRS (or institution requiring a form), but to the individual filling out the form. The one who completes such forms believes he has a kind of bargaining chip. “Simply fill this out, and you can get your money back.” The person seemingly has leverage over an immense power (as compared to himself). It is a sort of magic, and there is more than mere metaphor in this. Magic, like tax return forms, appears simple, but always goes deeper, dealing in forces well beyond what the dabbler can handle.
The “checked box” approach has been around for a very long time, showing up in many variations. To see this, here is a working definition, a little more general than the tax metaphor used so far:
A relation between an individual and a significantly greater power,
where the individual has clear tools under his control for managing
transactions between himself and that power.
Where have you seen this before? I’ve already mentioned school and the IRS. But parents set up such things with their young children: “Eat everything off your plate first, then you can have dessert.” It happens in commerce: “I’ll give you 10 bucks for that tie.” And it happens in religion: “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam.” By these examples two points need to be stressed. First, the use of this approach (the “checked box”) is not inherently bad. It is perfectly right, good, healthy, and proper for parents to set up such bargaining rules for a child; that is how they teach him. Secondly, the imbalance of power drives the necessity for such an approach.
Beginning with the second point, the imbalance of power creates the need for some kind of mediating method. The only way to be rid of the “checked box” approach is to eliminate all power imbalances. That, I flatly assert, is not an option in the current universe. Since the “checked box” approach will not disappear, the real questions of interest should be questions about goodness. Without goodness the sole mediating method defaults to might-makes-right: whoever prevails governs, end of issue. But, thankfully, might-makes-right rarely actually happens. Raw exertions of power are often, in fact, kept in check by notions of what is right and good—even warped notions. That is why questions of goodness are so important. When I encounter the “checked box” way of working, I ought not to dismiss it as stupid and annoying (as it often feels), but rather recognize a power imbalance in play, and look for whether goodness lies behind the situation. More importantly, the greatest natural power imbalance is that between mankind and its creator, where “checked boxes” are what we call “religion.”
Now returning to the first point, that the “checked box” approach is not necessarily bad. That should be clear from the examples that were given. But because the approach often is bad, we should take care to shun the bad manifestations, and uphold the good. My motive for this writing began from (stewed in) the degree of annoyance I feel when given a form to fill out. My annoyance, even angst, arises from the feeling that, rather than being treated as a human being, the bureaucrat is simply shuffling me along with all the other “cattle.” In such instances the interaction merely achieves the processing of another form, exerting the least amount of effort in doing so, treating as insignificant the person involved with the form and the often personal information put into it. The word “bureaucrat” is its own pejorative for good reason, and I use the phrase “checked box” in the same way. BUT forms can, when treated as tools, be a helpful medium of exchange. My bank withdrawal forms, for example, make the communication between myself and the teller very clear, so that when I present it to the teller we can interact as persons with fewer complications associated with the important details of handling my money. It’s the bureaucrat who omits the personal touch when interacting through forms.
The strongest parallel between religion and “checked boxes” arises at this point. As a youthful Protestant, I took great interest in matters theological, especially in finding the theological (philosophical, logical, definitional) distinctions between what I believed and what other Protestants and non-Christian groups said they believed. So I approached individuals of other groups through this lens, aiming to uncover these distinctions. I rarely made headway, but made lots of heat, because I approached the other as an object, merely one manifestation of theological statements. In short, in my mind was a sort of list, which was being filled out as the other person spoke. Each box on the list not checked, became both a disqualifier and an item of contentious probing. In short I was speaking to a checklist, not to a person. BUT it isn’t the checklist that was the problem, but the “bureaucrat.” The checklist could have been, instead, a tool for interacting as persons about the subject of belief. But I, as the bureaucrat, didn’t look past the list.
The requirements of religion, like lists of important theological points, can also be helpful tools—tools intended to help the growth of the person, morally, interpersonally, or in other facets of living. For example, Jews have maintained customs around keeping Sabbath holy. This basically seems to mean not working (as in employment or livelihood) and not doing frivolous things we often do, and going to worship. This is good. As a Christian, going to Sunday worship and trying to be restful is a weekly joy that pulls me out of the normal stresses of life and gives me a chance simply to be human rather than the proverbial beast of burden. Fasting practices have benefitted me with regard to self control.
Religious requirements, of course, can also be obstacles to maturity, when misused as by a bureaucrat. One egregious example is in Acts, chapter 21, where the Jews in Judea plotted to kill Paul. Upon his return visit they had their chance. Their ploy was to leverage others’ outrage accusing Paul by saying “he also brought Greeks into the temple and has defiled this holy place.” On a simple, honest level, to regulate access to (to moderate or to place boundaries on) the place of worship makes a whole lot of sense. But over time complexities and complications turned the meaningful requirement into a badge of approval or of disapproval, where genealogy became the difference between clean or unclean. So much so that bringing “Greeks into the Temple” could trigger a mob to protest and possibly kill the offender. Here the zealous bureaucrat takes umbrage at the erroneous procedure, bringing full institutional contempt to bear.
So, despite examples like this, the religious requirements (religions) are not of themselves bad. Just as in non-religious areas, the goodness of requirements depends both on the purpose served, and the actual effects brought about. Indeed human beings will have requirements, boxes to check. Consequently, the real culprit is what I began with: approaching others procedurally, ignoring the personal touch; approaching God procedurally, without bringing your full person to bear. Such an approach exudes disrespect.
“Go and learn what this means, I desire mercy and not sacrifice.”
So, without requirements—rules, etiquette, customs, procedures, rituals—many situations would overwhelm those involved, leaving them without tools to navigate the imbalances of power that inevitably arise. In a spirit of humility and respect, however, requirements provide a degree of freedom, a means to manage relationships. When relating to God, requirements help us to manage ourselves, in order to avoid a mistake of infinite impact. For with God it is impossible to grasp Him who is utterly out of reach. But rules, etiquette, customs, procedures and rituals enable us, for our sakes not for God’s, to reach out to Him. So consider, if you haven’t before, making use of the rituals that Christians of all ages have recognized as beneficial: fasting, prayer, charity, worship, theology. And there’s no need to completely reinvent these wheels. Look to history.
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