When you say "I'm a Catholic," or "I'm a Yankees fan," or "I'm a vegetarian," the words feel like reports. They sound descriptive — like telling someone you have brown hair. They aren't descriptions. They're positions. The instant those words leave your mouth, you've stepped into a formation. Inside and outside. You're standing on one side of a line.
On the other side of that line are people with a different label, and the line can neither be wide enough nor narrow enough. The separation between the ranks might be a demilitarized zone for all its capabilities. Officially empty. Technically peaceful. In fact the most heavily armed strip on the map. A DMZ between fragments, dressed up as politeness.
K's claim is that the line does the work. Not the doctrine behind the label. Not the strength of your belief in it. The line. The label needs an opposite to exist. Catholic requires non-Catholic. Yankees fan requires Red Sox fan. Vegetarian requires carnivore. Republican requires Democrat. And the opposite is always being held at arm's length, even when you're smiling at it across the table.
You can soften the label. Hold it lightly. Add nuance. Acknowledge the other side has a point. None of this changes the mechanism. The fragment is still defending itself against the rest of the field. The flinch you feel when the label is questioned is the proof. The flinch is the fragment, alive and on duty.
The labels aren't optional decorations on a deeper, truer self. They're what the self is. Strip every label and what's left? That question terrifies most people. The terror is the point. The fragment isn't the wearer of the costume. The fragment IS the costume.