Integrity

"What is it that I like so much about the house you're building for me, Howard?"

"A house can have integrity, just like a person," said Roark, "and just as seldom."

"In what way?"

"Well, look at it. Every piece of it is there because the house needs it -- and for no other reason. You see it from here as it is inside. The rooms in which you'll live made the shape. The relation of masses was determined by the distribution of space within. The ornament was determined by the method of construction, an emphasis of the principle that makes it stand. You can see each stress, each support that meets it. Your own eyes go through a structural process when you look at the house, you can follow each step, you see it rise, you know what made it and why it stands. But you've seen buildings with columns that support nothing, with purposeless cornices, with pilasters, mouldings, false arches, false windows. You've seen buildings that look as if they contained a single large hall, they have solid columns and single, solid windows six floors high. But you enter and find six stories inside. Or buildings that contain a single hall, but with a facade cut up into the floor lines, band courses, tiers of windows. Do you understand the difference? Your house is made by its own needs. Those others are made by the need to impress. The determining motive of your house is in the house. The determining motive of the other is in the audience."

"Do you know that that's what I've felt in a way? I've felt that when I move into this house, I'll have a new sort of existence, and even my simple daily routine will have a kind of honesty or dignity that I can't quite define. Don't be astonished if I tell you that I feel as if I'll have to live up to that house."

"I intended that," said Roark.

"And, incidentally, thank you for all the thought you seem to have taken about my comfort. There are so many things I notice that had never occured to me before, but you've planned them as if you knew all my needs. For instance, my study is the room I'll need most and you've given it the dominant spot -- and, incidentally, I see where you've made it the dominant mass from the outside, too. And then the way it connects with the library, and the living room well out of my way, and the guest rooms where I won't hear too much of them -- and all that. You were very considerate of me."

"You know," said Roark, "I haven't thought of you at all. I thought of the house." He added: "Perhaps that's why I knew how to be considerate of you."

--The Fountainhead

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Last summer, I started reading The Fountainhead and felt very frustrated with it. I did not like either of the main characters, seeing them both as crazy extremes of the way one is to approach life. This summer, I am reading it again and I find it to be an interestingly, wonderfully different experience. It's amazing how much a person can change in a year. Even subtle changes can inspire drastic growths in one's outlook on the world.

This particular segment of the book is one which I feel speaks directly to me and my learning experiences this past year, so I am sharing it with you. It speaks volumes of truth to me. I hope it does to you, too.

Struggle Of The Ages

When you reach a certain age, you are expected to behave a certain way. There's a maturity that is demanded of you as you grow older, and you might also find that you desire it. But, especially when you're still a young adult, the residue of adolescence sometimes gets in the way. It's like there are two forces fiercely twisting and twining around inside for control. One is dark, heavy, and hot, gripping your heart and mind like a thousand sweaty handshakes that never let go. The other is cool, composed, and level-headed, but difficult to reach. You have to climb over the jagged, slippery rock of the first force before you can reach this second one - this more mature one. It's like you have to climb up inside in order to grow up.

Sometimes I don't know what it is to be grown up. Does something happen to your emotions that you are able to remain better in control of them when you grow older? Do you acquire a skill a younger person does not have? And how is this skill acquired? I so wish I didn't feel so strongly about things not worth feeling strongly about. I wish I could be more grown up about that sort of thing. It feels so stupid and immature to feel things when I oughtn't feel them.

Conflicting emotions are so tricky. Because which one do you really feel? I am so shy and a large part of me wishes to remain out of the limelight. But sometimes I do wish I could be told that something I've done is great, or thanked for something, or just shown some recognition that I'm doing the right things, and that's not to say that I've never had that, because I have. But then again, how can I possibly want those things? Because I don't do things in order to get any of that. I do things because I so much want to. I want to do things for people. I want to write. I want to accomplish. I want to be a good person because I believe that is the best way to be. Not because I want anything more than to be happy with myself and to make other people happy. And yet sometimes this conflicts with a secret desire for recognition. But how? How can those two exist simultaneously inside? I'm not an arrogant person or a selfish person. I know I'm not. So why do I sometimes crave these things? And I feel so ashamed when I hear other people say they don't want these things, because I don't want them either, except for that tiny voice inside of me that does.

I wonder if everyone really has that tiny voice inside?

The Book Of Over-Think

Warning: This post is an inherent contradiction.


Calvin's brought the whole "caring too much about things" thing to an opposite extreme. See, it's not good to over-think a situation, but it's not good not to think at all.

The statement above might sound random to you. That's because I spent way too much time thinking about this post (it's been sitting in the drafts for about a week) and, seeing that there was no way to begin at any sort of beginning, I began in the middle. It's an age-old concept dating back to Homer (or is it Horace? Does it matter?) called in medias res, but if you walk around saying that, people might think you're an intellectual. Now, there's nothing wrong with being an intellectual, per se, but it all depends on how you'd like to come across, and I find that if one is too intellectual and goes around talking about people like Homer and Horace and not getting them all muddled up (not like anyone else'd know the difference) and speaking in Latin - asum thusum - what was I saying, again?

Oh yes. Caring too much. Over-thinking. Theorizing. Thesee-izing (that's coming up with a thesis plus a few to make it plural - or thesi - or thesii - or any neologism thou wishest).

I said something in my Literature and Philosophy class (yes, that is the name of one class, not two, despite the many confusions people have had when I've mentioned it before) which was considered "brilliant" or a "breakthrough" or, if you like, "seeing things our way now." It was this: "When the prejudices of the 'I' get in the way, you're not giving something itself proper attention, you're just giving attention to what you project onto the thing."

The reaction when these words slipped accidentally out of my mouth (although I had written them down on the side of an article beforehand) was that of a cult opening its arms wide and embracing me with an emphatic, "come join our side, soul-that-is-no-longer-wayward!"

And yet, despite my reluctance to join the dark side, I see that it is perhaps not as dark as I would have liked it to be. Because if it truly was that dark, then I'd stand with my hands on my hips in triumph, brandishing my brilliant arguments with pride and always coming out one step above (like on a staircase, which is certainly more prestigious an accomplishment than being one step ahead on a path, which takes much less energy and skill, unless 'twas a rocky path, in which case I shall consent to being one step ahead, although preferrably also above, on a rock, because the higher you are, the more you can see, and the more strategic your position, you know). But since it is not dark at all, but actually quite sensical, I find myself painfully admitting that perhaps I was ***** (for those not used to this game yet, I mean "wrong" but since I'd not like to say it, I won't). According to a philosopher we read in class, and according to the person who wrote about her, "'Something in our soul has a far more violent repugnance for true attention than the flesh has for bodily fatigue.' The repugnance Weil [pronounced 'vay,' not 'whale,' just so you won't sound as stupid saying her name out loud for the first time as I did] has in mind here is the ego's reluctance to engage in scrupulous self-criticism, since such criticism has a tendency to humiliate, to shatter the ego's pride and vanity." So, you know, we don't like to self-criticize because it makes us feel like we're being criticized (gee) and this hurts our ego. Blah blah.

Somehow I'd like to segue into this point:

That one should not approach a situation with a thesis. One should evaluate each situation as its own entity and not try to "figure things out" or "discover anything." People should not be treated as a mystery to be solved, nor should their actions be, nor should any situation one stumbles upon. As a wise person I sometimes come across says, "it is what it is 'cause it is," yeah?

Douglas Adams, in his book Mostly Harmless says, "Anything that happens, happens. Anything that, in happening, causes something else to happen, causes something else to happen. Anything that, in happening, causes itself to happen again, happens again. It doesn't necessarily do it in chronological order, though."

Now, that is odd, because how can all that not happen in chronological order? But perhaps this is not worth philosophizing over because that is not the point at all. The point is that anything that happens, happens, and it happens without being thesis-ized over.

And now, to throw on the cloak of an intellectual, I will say that there is something I cannot understand about Wiggenstien's The Blue Book. He says, "What is the meaning of a word?" Then he explains that to give a word definitions is not necessarily saying what the word means. His example is with a pencil. About a pencil one may say, "this is a pencil" or "this is round" or "this is wood" or "this is one" or "this is hard" and so on and so forth. These are all ways one might define or describe a pencil, but to know what a pencil is is to be able to differentiate it from, for instance, a pen. And to know what to do with it. Etc, etc, etc.

Yet aren't these all intuitive? Don't we understand this concept without having to put it into words and analyze it? What is the real point in this essay? To tell us what we already know?

But yes! Wiggenstien admits in his Philosophical Investigations, "the problems are solved, not by giving new information, but by arranging what we have always known."

My teacher, to quote: Philosophy is not in the business of discovering something new about the world.

HA!

But then why? Why learn philosophy? How is philosophy not synonymous with "over-thinking?"

This conversation with a friend, according to that friend, "was such a Calvin&Hobbes strip," and so we come full circle:

"Calvin": sometimes I wonder if people spend a lot of their lives wasting time mulling over things that are obvious
"Hobbes": you mean like that? :)
"Calvin": oh shut up

Clearly, Some Philosophies Aren't For All People

Sometimes, I think philosophy should be simpler.

Can't I Handle The Truth?

Y'know...I've always considered myself to be an English Literature major, but today, I received the insult of insults. I was told I was coming at things from a scientist point of view!

Apparently, I am too practical for the world of literature - or, at least, for literature as read through the eyes of a philosopher. Why? Simply because I believe that it is important to make the distinction between fiction and reality.

Of course, that begs the question - what is fiction? If we define fiction as something that is "untrue," then just because a story is fabricated does not necessarily make it entirely "fictional" in the context of distinguishing it from "reality." Yes, it is a story of fiction, but it may also contain many truths and those truths are definitely not part of the fictional aspect of the tale.

Therefore, I do not mean to suggest that there is no practical purpose to imagination or to stories, nor am I saying there is no value in them - even if we can't find them to be particularly practical in our every day lives - but I do feel it is imperative to recognize fiction for what it is.

I am a creative writer. I spend an awful lot of time conjuring up fictions. That does not mean I don't recognize them as fictional, even if they are based on me or on actual events or emotions. Even children who play imagination games and get so completely engrossed in them...even they recognize that what they are playing is something from their imagination. They know that when they go in for supper, they are stepping out of the game for a little while. They can see that there are two worlds - the world of adults and the world of the game. They do not think the adults are playing with them. They know fiction from reality. It could be that they create a new reality for themselves during the game, but they still can tell the difference between that reality and the tangible reality that exists outside their imaginations.

There is a difference between hoping, dreaming, imagining and actually believing that something exists when it does not. How can there not be infinitely more value in being true to one's self and one's reality than in living a shallow life of lies and illusions?

And there is a difference between those shallow lies and illusions vs. using your imagination to deal with reality. For instance, in A Little Princess, Sara uses her imagination to help her get through her Cinderella story. She knows that what she imagines is not real, she does not go around sincerely telling people that she is imprisoned in the Bastille (for instance), but she allows herself to go along with the game just enough that it helps her get through her troubles.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, there is creating a world of imagination, and then there is living a life of illusion and delusion and denying reality altogether. This latter thing is what I'm against. I find it unethical to allow such delusions to go on in someone else and I find it a shallow existence to deny reality in favor of illusion.

With Northanger Abbey, there would have been a big difference if Catherine had only hoped to find a Gothic story going on at the abbey, or even played a game that there was one, as opposed to actually believing one existed. If she was only playing, she would have allowed herself to slip into her imagination and deliciously pretend exciting things were happening. But the fact that she went so far as to intrude into Henry's dead mother's rooms, and the fact that she actually accused Mr. Tilney of murdering his wife to Henry's face - and in all seriousness, too! - shows the danger and preposterousness of allowing yourself to believe that it is perfectly okay for fiction - true fiction - to be substituted for reality.

But this does not mean I am against imagination - believe me, I am all for escaping into your imagination. I just don't believe in substituting fiction for reality. Yes, I see them as separate, though there are some blurring of the lines, and yes, I see value in both.

So, alright, perhaps I am too practical for philosophy. But I have a perfect imagination and yet I am still able to be true to myself. And that's what counts.

Life is a jigsaw puzzle

Wow, lots of posts today. Sorry about that...wait, why am I apologizing? This is my blog, after all, right? Ah well. Still sorry. :)

I thought of this and was inspired to write it. Today is a thinking day.

I think that life is a puzzle. You can interpret that however you want, but what I'm talking about specifically is an actual, physical puzzle. A jigsaw puzzle. It has over a billion, gazillion pieces and, somehow, we - as the Human Race - have to put it all together. Each of us is a piece. As we go through life, we have to find just where we fit in the puzzle. It can take a whole lifetime. First we have to decide what kind of piece we are - a middle piece? an edge? a corner piece?

Then we have to discover just where in the puzzle we might fit. What region? Next to which other pieces?

Hopefully, as we get older, wiser, and more experienced, we also get closer and closer to figuring out just where in the jigsaw puzzle we fit in.

There is a place for everyone. The question is, where?

What is a purpose?

Everyone in life has a purpose, right? But of course, we don't know our purpose, we just know we have one. So, logically, if you have talents, it probably means you're supposed to use them for whatever your purpose might be, right? I mean, what would be the point of having talents in the first place? If G-d gave me a talent for writing, I'm supposed to utilize that talent in a purposeful way, aren't I? But how do I know? How do I know I'm not wasting it? How do I know what I'm supposed to be spending my time doing? How can I sit at my computer writing little stories for fun when I should be focusing on writing stories with greater meaning? And can a person have more than one purpose? Does everyone have a distinct purpose just for them, or are most people meant to be part of a larger crowd? Is that satisfying? Does everything we do need to be done with a higher purpose in mind? Is there a place for frivolity in this world? And what if I think I'm supposed to be doing one thing, when really it's another? What then? What happens if you fail?

Whenever someone passes away, other people always comment on how that person must have fulfilled his or her purpose. So wouldn't that deter people from wanting to fulfill their own purpose in life? I've always wondered about that. Why would I want to fulfill my purpose if that is the reason for my being on this earth? Why wouldn't I want to push it off as far as possible? Unless that isn't the only point of life. Is there really such a thing as one purpose or are there many reasons for us being here? Is fulfilling your purpose part of tikun olam?

Are there any answers to these questions or are they all just things to wonder about?

How do you see the world?

Does it sometimes feel like you exist in a different world than everyone else? That you have these ideas about things that seem wrong or completely out of the blue? And people say to you, "What? where did you ever hear that?" or "How could you not know this?" or "Um, no, it's actually like such."

Where do we get wrong ideas from - especially ones that weren't specifically taught to us, but that we thought came from our own perceptions of life? Do they come from being too sheltered? From being unobservant? From reading the wrong books? From having a bad sense of perception?

Can a perspective be wrong?

And is it wrong to feel stupid for not knowing things that everyone else seems to think are obvious? Is this a flaw? Is it a fluke or is it your fault that you just never came across whatever thing it is that everyone else seems to know but you don't?

Is the world a little bit different for everyone?

Perfection

In a discussion about controlling emotions, the topic of gedolim came up. The issue was precisely, I felt that it was unnatural to be so in control of your emotions that you could turn them on and off as necessary. Isn't the natural reaction of raw emotion the truest one's emotions could ever be? The more you control them, the more affected they are, right? But then it was explained to me - no. If you truly understand the emotion, you'll be able to assume it without it being affected at all but rather having it be that emotion in its truest form, as if you naturally experienced it. But still, intellectually knowing that a certain emotion is supposed to be felt at a certain time and then putting yourself in the mindset to have that emotion, even if you understand it - isn't that still false? Because that emotion is not your natural instinct! Except I know that you can make the argument, "but if you are on such a level that you truly understand your emotions, it will be natural instinct." I recognize this argument, but I am having trouble internalizing it. Something about it still feels unnatural.

Then someone commented that there are gedolim who have practiced in this manner with their emotions. So I responded, "But just because a gadol can do it doesn't mean I can." This comment was met with, "Don't put gedolim on such a pedestal that you feel you can never reach their level. Who says you can't?"

And then it struck me. It struck me so forcefully that I actually blurted it out: "But what if I don't want to?"

What? Not want to be on the level of the gedolim? Not want to go beyond that level - not want to strive for perfection? I was asked, why would I not want to be the most perfect that I could be?

I thought about it and realized something odd. I enjoy being imperfect. I like my imperfections. They're what make me human. They're what give me the ability to form opinions and learn and grow and be faced with difficult choices and...and even be wrong. Can you imagine - I like being wrong? Not all the time, of course, but it's part of learning. I love learning. I love growing and maturing and recognizing new things about myself and the world every single day. I love the surprises that an imperfect existence brings. And the closer one gets to perfection, the less room there is for growth - isn't there?

But then I thought of something else. What if the real reason I like being imperfect is because I don't know anything different? What if my imperfections are the very things which are keeping me from striving for perfection? What if I'm simply comfortable with being imperfect and am therefore not particularly enticed by a world of utter perfection? Obviously, human beings can never achieve complete perfection, but even the level of gedolim is not something particularly appealing to me. I like that there are gedolim, of course, but I would never strive to be at their level.

This comes from the same reasoning behind why, as a little kid, I used to not want Mashiach to come. Oh, sure, part of me did, but most of me was happy with my life and didn't want to change it. Is all this just anxiety about change, even change for the better? Is it a self-destructive attitude? And how much should gedolim be revered, anyhow? Obviously they are gedolim for a reason, and even though there are others who can reach that potential, not everyone can. If everyone could be a leader, we'd have a community of all leaders and no followers. Wouldn't that just be anarchy?

I apologize if this post was a bit confusing. My thoughts can get that way sometimes.

Pride and Prejudice is life

"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife." - Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

This is the opening sentence of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. The irony is, of course, that this is not true, but rather it is a prejudice. The other irony is that while the book opens up with a statement of a universal truth that is not, in fact, true, the rest of the novel is all about a different sort of universal truth - the truth stated in the title. Every person - every single person - has both pride and prejudice to some degree or another.

For me, further irony lies in the fact that I was prejudice against romance stories in high school. Extraordinarily prejudice, I might even say. And I was proud. I stood my ground. I knew what books I liked to read and what books I didn't and there was no way anyone was going to tell me differently. Therefore, when Pride and Prejudice was listed as a choice for summer reading in ninth grade, I chose a different book. And when my friends finally convinced me to read it, I did so begrudgingly, blinding myself by my prejudices to Austen's brilliance. I couldn't make it through even a quarter of the book.

It was only in twelfth grade - perhaps because I had matured a little - that I finally gave the book a real chance. And you know what? I loved it.

That's pride and prejudice for you, right there.

I think everything we do, every person we meet, every new thing we're introduced to, we see with a shades of prejudice. We have ideas about things we don't even really know about. We create labels in our heads for people who we've never even met. We judge before we know the thing we're actually judging.

Realizing all this is when I finally learned - Pride and Prejudice is not merely a story of romance. It is a story about life. About something that every single person in the entire world, without exception, can relate to. Because I refuse to believe that there is a single person out there without any prejudices at all.

But then again, perhaps that's just another prejudice.

To face your fear

Facing fears is probably one of the most difficult tasks a person has. It so easy to say, "oh, yes, I shall be brave and always stand up to what I'm afraid of" but it's quite another thing to do it. Fear comes on many different scales, too. There are more every day sort of fears, like will I get that internship, will I make it into the play, will I do well on my English paper? And then there are much more frightening fears: will I be healthy at my next doctor visit? Will I have enough money to live comfortably? Will I get into an accident while driving today?

The first sort of fears are so much easier to face. The consequences could be grim, but not that grim, if you look at it in the scheme of things. More like unsatisfactory as opposed to grim, really. But the second sort - those are so much more difficult to look in the face. They're matters of life and death, of comfort or poverty, of how you live your life. The stakes are much higher. How do you face a fear like that?

On a completely separate note, I am now the proud owner of The Goonies DVD. This makes me VERY happy.

The early bird

My brother had this discussion with his co-counselor and a camper:

Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

One of them (co-counselor or camper) said the egg came first. Why? Because you eat eggs for breakfast in the morning and chicken for dinner at night.

My brother countered with the fact that in the gemara, it says we start the day from the night before. Therefore, our chicken for dinner signifies that the chicken came before the egg.

The real question then becomes, when do you eat dinner? In the winter, the chicken came before the egg, no question. But what about in the summer, when it gets dark waaaay after dinner time?

A more pressing question is, if the early bird gets the worm, what happens to the early worm?

Privacy: the best policy?

I was thinking recently about the difference between keeping a public blog like this one and keeping a private diary. So many people keep blogs nowadays for the entire cyberspace to stumble upon and read, and there are plenty of pretty private posts out there. I know I've got a few, like the ones I wrote about Dr. Schwebel. So why didn't I just write them in a private diary? Why did I write them for the world to see?

Why does anyone write about their thoughts and feelings in public? Is it because of the hope for replies? Is it because we crave human connection? Because, honestly, although it is the internet, people reveal so much more about their inner selves in writing than they do in person. At least, sometimes. I find that I learn a lot about the way people think by reading what they write.

The draw towards keeping a private diary is, of course, that it is private. There's no need to censor yourself, no fear that someone is going to judge you based on something you write in anger or frustration or pure emotional overload. You can be completely honest with yourself.

But with a private diary, there is no hope for human connection. No one is learning anything about you and no one can offer you comfort, advice, kinship, nothing. So then - is a blog entry a cry for attention? And not in a bad way, but in a way that says, I need a friend right now, please know this about me. Of course, I don't mean non-personal entries. I'm talking about the deep ones, the philosophical ones, the emotional ones. It is like we are saying, please, this is bothering me, let's discuss it. Or, I am upset, please reassure me.

I think we write blog entries when we specifically want people to know what we think, how we are feeling - we are on purpose making them public. We need that human connection. We need to know we are not alone.

And yet sometimes -- sometimes it is better to keep things private. Sometimes certain thoughts and emotions should not be shared with the world. There is definitely a line about what you plaster across the internet, what you share with a few close friends, and what you share only with yourself. And if we find that line, if we find that balance, then that is a very healthy thing.

Self-Evaluation: Harry Potter style

If You Call A Tail A Leg...Would It Still Smell As Sweet?

Well, would it?

Sometime yesterday, when I was distracted and doing my own thing, my sister started wondering about names.

"Isn't it weird," she mused. "How everyone has a name? What's a name, anyway? Why can't people just say, 'Hey! Brown-Eyes!.'"

I distractedly replied as I stared at my computer screen, probably reading blogs, "I don't know, but wouldn't it be awful confusing if we called each other by our eye color? You know how many Brown-Eyes there'd be?"

But now that I think about it, that is kind of how names originated. People called each other by attributes, like Light Foot or Swift Deer or Sitting Bear or Running Horse. Then there were job names; Miller, Hunter, Miner, Locksmith. Sitting Bear the Butcher. Things like that. Well, no, it probably would have been more like John the Butcher. But still. Our surnames today still reflect that whole profession-as-your-last-name thing.

It's funny, though, how all cultures knew instinctively that they had to name people. People were individuals from the start. It's sort of a Jungian way of thinking - the collective unconscious. Sort of like how many cultures had very similar folk tales, even though they had no contact with each other until much later on.

My sister was also befuddled by the fact that, "Erachet, you only answer to 'Erachet.' If I called you 'Aliza,' you wouldn't turn around." I guess that's because we're all used to our names. We wouldn't recognize it if someone called us by something else. But also, there is an element of, this is your name, you are [insert name here.] Don't they say that parents get an element of ruach hakodesh when naming their children? Names have always been of the utmost importance. We add on names when people are sick. Names give us attributes - or maybe names highlight our attributes. Would you be the same person if you had a different name?

Would a rose by any other name still smell as sweet?

Of course, the joke about "if you call a tail a leg, how many legs does a sheep have?" completely ruins this idea, that names have any significance. But actually, if you analyze the joke, does it mean how many legs in essence or how many body parts called 'leg?' Because if it's the former, as the joke assumes, then, of course, the sheep still only has four, because calling a tail a leg doesn't make it one (...or does it? haha). But if the latter...then the sheep actually has five. If you call a tail a leg and then ask how many legs a sheep has, you have to include ALL the legs.

Then again, the name of a thing without sentience might not mean as much as a thing with. People, for instance, like I was just talking about. I think it is definitely true, a person behaves based on what they are called. Sometimes, at least. For instance, if you call someone stupid, he might behave stupidly. If you call someone brave, he might overcome his fears and prove you right. If you tell someone he's talented, he might gain the confidence to try new things and excel at them. So what you call someone really does matter.

It sort of reminds me of the Stern play, which was about a girl, Nattie, who a group of people thought was the Messiah. There was one line that Nattie's helper-person, Melanie, said that kind of stuck in my memory. It was something like, "does a child distinguish between what she is and what she is called?" And I think the answer to that would be, to an extent, yes. If you call a child by something she is not, she won't respond. She is her given name, so the analogy doesn't work. With Nattie, she is Nattie, and her identity up until that point has been Nattie the make-up artist. To give her a new identity all of a sudden, especially one she is pushing away, will change who she has been for so long. Sitting Bear, John the Butcher, Nattie the Make-Up Artist. And I think the whole point of that scene was, even though Nattie's actual job wouldn't change, whether she was called 'leader' or 'Messiah,' to give her the name 'Messiah' would be saying she is the Messiah. Because names matter, they have meaning.

The more I write this entry, the deeper I'm thinking about this. In any case, I already edited and added twice, so I'm going to make myself stop here. But answer me this name question:

What's the deal with steel wool? Is it steel or is it wool? Are there iron sheep jumping around Scotland? (quoted from the Janitor in Scrubs)