A Nihilist Who Cares

Being Apart: An Account of Someone Who Just Doesn’t Quite Fit In

Nonetheless, there are in all periods people who feel themselves in some fashion to be apart.

-Christopher Hitchens, Letters to a Young Contrarian

Often, I reflect (sometimes aloud) about my differences from most others. My friend E has recently described me thusly: “Politician, Scientist, Wedding Officiant, Club Organiser, Philanthropist, Sword Fighter. Gerald Singh - 21st Century Renaissance Man”. My first thought (and I cringe to think of how egotistical this is going to make me sound) was, “you forgot sketch artist, ancient and medieval weapons historian, and weight lifter”. But the point isn’t to gloat accomplishments; it is to resist a narrowing of identity. It is to make sure that, should I have to describe my sense of self in a poll, I can safely check the “other” box. Being apart, as Christopher Hitchens so aptly named the feeling, is - by definition - an unconventional identity to take on. And in some ways, it really is “taking on” an identity. The importance this type of identity has for me is explained (or an attempt at an explanation) below.

Now, truly I am in some respects a bit different. Being of mixed race means that, growing up, I naturally found it hard to integrate into groups. Regardless of how “racially blind” anyone might be, the narcissism of small differences will always play itself out to distinguish groups, and when you grow up with minorities, demarcation based on ethnic differences is one of the first to occur. While some people may think that I could have naturally been welcomed to the ethnic groupings of both the Caucasians and Asians,  people being people meant that differences were emphasized over similarities. In no way was I an outcast - as I did have some great friends - but I always felt more like an honoured guest to various friend groups rather than a close member; the mysterious ally rather than the well-known comrade. To be apart takes, in many cases, being born to an unconventional life. To take from the opening lines of the best movie of 2007, Gone Baby Gone (should have won the Oscar that year), “it’s the things you don’t choose that make you who you are”.

But I do know others who are of mixed race who have managed to fit in to various groups, so perhaps my background isn’t enough. Choices and action are necessary to maintain a sense of otherness. Being someone with many physical and intellectual interests, I have friends in sport and in academe. But being apart, I can sometimes be too brainy for the sport friends and too brawny for the academic ones (sometimes I’m accused of being too intellectual for my academic friends, but that’s a different issue). I’m trained as a biologist but am more interested in talking philosophy, politics, and art with scientists and more interested in talking about science to philosophers and artists. In fact, I often make it a point to be so outside.

And this brings me back to my earlier idea. Mark Rowlands, in his marvellous book The Philosopher and the Wolf, defines humans as credulous beings, with their credulity making them victim to themselves. To quote Mark himself: “humans are the animals that believe the stories they tell about themselves.” To be apart is somewhere you may find yourself, but it takes commitment to keep it going. You need to make it your story, and you need to believe that story you make for yourself.

But why do it? Why have such a premeditated persona; why strive to be difficult to classify? There are at least three reasons. First is the most readily understood, for it speaks that part of us that the ancient Greek poets and playwrights attested so much of human nature to (probably rightly so): our pride. There is a pride in being somehow different and individualistic and contrarian. It is the narcissism of the small differences again, playing out on a more individualistic and ego-driven scale. The second and third reasons are (hopefully) more virtuous, and the third most closely meets the definition of apart that Christopher Hitchens refers to above: the lack of acceptable set identities and the discomfort with widespread belief.

Identity is something I can’t hide from much longer. And that troubles me. It’s becoming harder and harder for me to call myself something as generic as a “student”. The further in life you are the more a specific role is demanded of you. I’m trained (most formally) as a biologist, but still feel uneasy calling myself one. Not because I disrespect what biologists are, but because inclusion into a specific group can exclude me from so many others. I’d rather not be associated with a specific role, because, quite frankly, there is no specific role that I think that encompasses my passions, interests, and aspirations. I would rather not be defined externally. To be apart is, in some small way, an act of defiance. Defying definition is not done on principle, but on the reality that so often, no fitting definition exists. And when conditions are set in a way that is not conducive to how you’d want them to be, why give them credence?

Finally, there is, and will always be, an urge to resist the opinion of the majority. The security of consensus is often a false one. So much of accepted belief is taken as-is that one must wonder at the credibility of the argument. When precedent and authority is given as the common argument to believe something, it is an invitation to disagree (and to do so as vociferously as one can). The false security of the many can also overshadow and drown the voice of the minority. And the voice of the minority is often overlooked without proper assessment. When an idea or opinion is expressed with much thought going into it, it can often contain - at least - a grain of truth or a position worth considering. And it seems to me a worthy cause to sift through the grains.

This then is an initial account of the identity of one apart. I have no illusions that it will resonate with most (for how can the other ever be identifiable with a majority?) but perhaps some of it is interesting. And that’s a bit about me. If you are in search of a simple man, you’ve come to the wrong place. I am anything but a simple man, it seems. Or perhaps that’s the story I’ve convinced myself of.