Weddings and Whips I was recently re-reading The Witching hour, by Anne Rice for the second time. A good book, for the most part, even though it bears Anne Rice's trademark endless, monomaniacal sentimentality about the aesthetics of the neighborhood in New Orleans where she lives. While ordinarily I can skim through her monotonous droning on about historical minutia and such, this time, upon coming to the wedding of the two main characters, Michael Curry and Rowan Mayfair, my passive loathing of tradition sort of crystallized for me into a new form of hatred. Bear with me. The wedding in question was performed according to catholic tradition, in spite of the fact that Rowan Mayfair was not, by inclination, Catholic; family tradition stipulated that if she were to claim her inheritance, it must be done this way, as it always had been, and must always be. She accepted it only somewhat grudgingly, and by the time it was actually happening, she found she was really into all the pomp and ceremony. As I was reading this, I tried to envision myself being forced into a catholic ceremony. The first words to come from my mouth in this scenario were "Oh, such a mockery I shall make of this. A THOUSAND demonstrative homosexuals will in the pews, dressed in no more than the law demands of them! A thousand demonstrative, exhibitionistic HORNY homosexuals!". And though the reactions of the mortified catholics in this fantasy made me laugh, I realized this was sort of a cop-out; such a ceremony would likely simply never be allowed. So then I tried to envision myself going through with the ceremony in the traditional manner. Very quickly, I felt myself gripped with an overwhelming rage, at the idea of being forced into this role. But why? Why, SPECIFICALLY did this anger me so much? Then it came clear to me. Imagine a typical catholic wedding ceremony in however much detail it takes for you to grasp the concept. Now imagine two specific people of your acquaintance in the role of the bride and groom. Now, take this specific set of images, and replace the bride and groom with another male and female. Run through the sequence of events again, without deviation; same exact set of actions, as dictated by tradition. Then do it again, with another man and woman. Then again. Then again. Imagine each successive set of people going through the same exact set of motions, the exact same words, gestures, expressions. Now, if you're anything like me, then you'll realize that the most striking thing about this is how each of these scenarios seems equally valid; there's no reason why any one of them COULDN'T or SHOULDN'T happen; they're all doing it just the way it's DONE. That's how the ceremony works,, all steeped in tradition and such. Any one of them, taken individually, may seem quaint, may seem powerfully 'time honored', and may even seem life-affirming. But then imagine each of them, one after another after another after another, each one just like the last. Imagine a hundred. A thousand. A million. Each identical to the last. Each of them quaint. And powerfully time-honored. And life-affirming. And robotic. And mindless. And totally, totally empty. To me, it takes on the air of an assembly line, with me being expected to act as a perfect little mechanical component, being moved along the conveyor belt of life, having my life, my destiny, my every choice FORCED upon me by the mindless machine which is tradition! Where, in all of this, is there any place for the individual? Where is there any place for ME? The idea of being driven to one specific course of actions; a course which has been followed a million times before, just because it has been followed a million times before evokes in me feelings of slavery; like a vicious slave driver, whip in hand, is standing right behind me, snarling with rage whenever I step out of line. That's what following in the steps of tradition is to me; not time-honored or life-affirming, but mechanical, cold, and heartless. If I'm going to do something which involves any sort of personal significance whatsoever, it's going to have to be about ME! It needs to speak of who I am, and what choices I make! What I can create! What I can innovate! If it's going to be in any way significant to me, it's going to have to be something nobody has ever done before, or at least something I'm not doing BECAUSE anyone has ever done it before. And this doesn't just extend to specific ceremonies and rituals. Oh, no. Each and every person who wears a nike swoosh because they think that doing so will make them look good earns the same contempt, because they're making slaves of themselves. Willing, obedient, soulless slaves. Every high school student who needs the best prom dress from the best catalogue in order to feel good about themselves. Everyone who's ever mocked someone else for having a haircut which isn't 'with the times'. Everyone who feels it's personally important to take part in a bar mitzvah. Everyone who's ever proudly sung a national anthem. They're all robots. Not JUST because of what they do, but because of WHY they do it; they need this external validation. They need to toe the line to feel safe. They need to see that what they're doing is no different than what all the other mechanical components have done. They are weak. They are spineless. They have no soul, no creative spark. And they could be anybody. Anybody at all. Take that boy in the bar mitzvah. Replace him with another boy in the same set of actions. Any problem with this image? Nope? Okay. Take the woman with the trendy haircut. Replace her with another such woman uttering the same words. Any problem? Nope? Okay. Do you see? They barely exist at all during these actions! They could be anyone! Anyone could do such things! All it takes is mindlessness, a lack of creativity, and the lack of willpower necessary to buckle under pressure. And to take pride in such traits; to take pride in your religious ceremony, to take pride in your prom dress, to take pride in your trendy hair cut, to take pride in your traditional catholic wedding is to take pride in a deficit of character! And that's why the idea of being forced into this role fills me with such fury; it would mean celebrating weakness, when I know I have strength within me. It means saying "I am weak. I am foolish. I am pathetic". Such emasculating, self-deprecating nonsense is not for me. I will not tell someone I am weak and pathetic when I know I am not. I will not bow down. I will not bend, and I will not break. Not for the slave driver which is tradition. Not for the esteem of people I loathe. Not for parents, or employers, or society, or for anyone. I will always walk my own path, and be strong in this: The knowledge that what I do, I do because I have the strength to do it, not the weakness to fail to not do it.