My next column will be penned on the banks of the River Liffey. In a pub. With a pint of Guinness beside me. As the warm smell of salt-sprinkled soda bread tickles the nostrils. And Dubliners merrily proclaim the words of some historically relevant folk song, “Arm in arm.” It’s a nice vision.
The scene above is one which I described to my study abroad companion as I tried to get him excited about our destination after we abandoned the Istanbul pipe dream. Ironically, the day after the debut of my column in which I announced my decision to forgo spending the fall semester on the Golden Horn, I received an email stating that the IES study abroad program in Istanbul had been suspended. Sadly, not so ironically, yet another terrorist attack rocked the city of Istanbul a week later.
I considered this event a sign from God. I struggled with using this terminology. It didn’t seem right to think that fate would send me a message about something as trivial as where I am going to spend four months travelling in the form of three gunmen wearing explosive belts, but I didn’t know what else to call it. The day of the attack, I received several texts from close friends, which expressed the same thought process—first, a lamentation for the city of Istanbul and the poor souls affected by the tragedy, and then an acknowledgement that the incident was a “sign from God.”
As much as I would like to omit that one event from the list of signs from God that I made the correct study abroad decision, and focus on Ireland upsetting Italy in the Euro 2016 soccer tournament the day my column debuted, that too doesn’t seem right.
In my internal debate on whether or not to categorize the ISIS terrorist attack at Ataturk Airport as a sign from God, I came to the conclusion that some, if not most, beliefs are inflexible. One cannot make exceptions to their beliefs for convenience’s sake. If you believe in signs from God, many might describe that belief in an all-knowing and omnipotent being who controls everything by executing it personally or allowing it to happen rather than changing course.
Therefore, picking and choosing signs from God compromises the integrity of your beliefs. To say that God can carry out trite occurrences, such as the outcome of a soccer game, but to chalk tragedy up to chance is irresponsible. Either everything happens for a reason, or everything is random and inconsequential.
Some beliefs, such as the one that lead me to consider the death of 45 innocent people an omen from one possibly bearded man (or bearded woman?) in the clouds, are so consequential that they cause other beliefs to be organized around them.
Our perception of God’s existence is just one example of the binaries that decide our belief systems. Like links in a chain (probably supporting a cross, a Star of David, a crescent moon or some other religious symbol), our values are interlocked. A belief about God necessitates a belief about human nature, which necessitates a certain political stance. These beliefs are about as inflexible as their metaphorical equivalent. The only way to alter a link in a chain is with bolt cutters. And then, when one link breaks, the entire chain falls apart.
This is why our backgrounds are especially important. The experiences that determine one’s values determine their entire belief system, which is comprised of connected and unaccommodating notions. Adapting a belief will contradict the belief itself, in a manner similar to the discussion of God’s existence above, or it will contradict another related belief. For this reason, one’s environment has an immeasurable impact—it shapes every single belief that one holds directly or indirectly.
Over the course of the summer, I had the opportunity to begin my immersion into Irish culture early. I worked at a summer camp where eight of my co-counselors were Irish natives (yet another occurrence that I considered a “sign from God”). Their beliefs were reflected in their accents. Just as every one of them shared a common Irish accent, each had a relatively similar belief system.
And yet, Terry Feeney from Donegal spoke differently than Nathan Foley from Dublin. While the Irish counselors had similar beliefs, motivated by a shared Irish heritage, on many major topics of discussion from this summer ranging from the “Brexit,” to Pokémon Go, each take was different. The twang of the Donegal accent was accompanied by a difference in opinion, and the lightness of the Dublin accent aided in voicing an original perspective. Each Irish counselor had their own views as a result of their own environment and personal experiences in the same way they had a unique accent.
The way we think is just as much a product of where we come from as the way we speak. In Dublin and abroad, I will have the opportunity to see how differences (and similarities) in beliefs come to be. I also will evolve my own viewpoints as a result of my experiences and new environment. Maybe my time in Ireland will leave me with a distinctly Irish view that won’t break my chain of beliefs.
At the conclusion of my summer at camp, I thought again about the scene that I described to my study-abroad partner when I pitched Dublin as a study abroad destination—and this time, I was able to include several more hypothetical details. This time, despite their varying backgrounds and resulting beliefs, 32 Dubliners—one from each of Ireland’s counties—came together to sing the words of “The Auld Triangle” before the start of a Gaelic football contest, Ireland’s most popular amateur sport. As the Dubliners sang the words of the uniting anthem, they linked arms and all belief systems could agree on one thing: “the auld triangle goes jingle jangle.”
Jacob Weiss is a Trinity junior. His column, “ulysses,” will run on alternate Thursdays.
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Jacob Weiss is a Trinity senior. His column, "not jumping to any conclusions," runs on alternate Fridays.