I knew going into the interview with Paula Huston that she had a different perspective than Bruno Barnhart, and I was (and still am) glad to be able to offer listeners diverse of points of view on the subject of the current status and future possibilities of monasticism. What surprised me, however, was how stridently and single-mindedly she put forth her views. Whereas she sees the fruits of the Romantic Movement as continuing to exercise a corrosive influence on modern/postmodern culture, making the flourishing of traditional monasticism or any deeply committed, highly disciplined way of life all but impossible, I wondered if she herself wasn’t operating from an exaggerated idealization of monastic life. So I put the question to her and am publishing her response below, which I think is a clear, concise summary of her main point.
On a personal level, this interview perplexes me in so much as it’s likely the one thus far wherein I find the most to disagree with, while at the same time am sympathetic to her argument. Hence, while Paula and Bruno’s views on everything from art and creativity to theology and monasticism can seem diametrically opposed, I personally cannot take a side. Rather, I see Paula’s caution and skepticism toward new developments, and reverence for ancient patterns, a necessary compliment to Bruno’s dynamic, revolutionary approach. On a deeper level, this perception of complementarity reflects how this journey is stimulating my own wrestling with the tension between attraction to “emerging communities” on the one hand (dynamic, creative, spontaneous) and “ancient roots” on the other (depth, stability, historical continuity). Paula tips the scale strongly toward the latter and I welcome that contribution, even while I cannot give it my full assent.
St Catherine’s Monastery © 2007 Christopher Chan
Paula Huston: “The word “romanticism” is another term that in common usage has been robbed of its original meaning, or at least its literary meaning, and has come instead to serve as simply another way to say “idealization.” As I said, I was using it during the interview in this much narrower literary sense. Though the British romantics did indeed idealize the past, particularly the ancient pagan world and high Medievalism, they did so for a different reason than the one at work in my own high view of the past. They sought (or created out of thin air) previous cultures that seemed more passion-driven and connected to the earth than their own. Much of this was driven by a rejection of the preceding era, the Enlightenment, which looked to Reason for salvation. The goal of these young romantic rebels was to follow their passions wherever they led, which put them in direct conflict with the wisdom of the classical Greeks and ancient Christians, who BECAUSE they had such great respect for the power of the passions (and their ability to fragment us and destroy our lives), stressed self-discipline as the path to self-preservation. Obviously, monasticism has its root in this second view. Monastic ascetical practices would have been anathema to the high Romantics (and especially the most romantic of the 19th century philosophers, Nietzsche). What the romantics bequeathed to our era were 1) an automatic resistance to moral and spiritual authority, 2) a rejection of traditional wisdom about the dangers of unrestrained passion and desire, 3) an almost religious worship of “the natural” vs. the institutional or dogmatic, 4) a strong focus on the self and its perceived needs as opposed to focus on the community and its needs, and 5) a belief that truth is individual and to be found “within” rather than in any exterior or transcendent form. Actually, they bequeathed a lot more to us, but these points constitute the essence of my beef with them. This romantic attitude toward life, coupled with the unbelievable technological mastery we’ve become heirs to in the 21st century, has created, in my mind, a culture that suffers from an extreme form of what the ancient Greeks would call hubris. We have been convinced that we need to look no further than our own selves for wisdom and truth. Modernism, to a large degree, is about self-worship.
This is what I meant when I said that contemporary monasteries are engaged in a death struggle with modernism. Within the modern framework, there is absolutely no place for a philosophy or religion that depends upon sources of moral and spiritual authority outside the self. This is why people come to the monastery, are briefly intrigued, then drift on to something else more interesting. They are in the business of “experiencing” life, the business of discovering their own wants and pleasing themselves rather than seeking to break out of this narrow cocoon of self-absorption in order to actually find their place in the Body of Christ. The two worlds represented in this culture clash are so far apart at this point that it really does require crossing a great and frightening gulf to be willing to live in this radically alternative, monastic way. And, as a side note, this is why I don’t have a lot of optimism about the current new monastics. Just as all of us are in the post-modern world, they (and we) are absolutely soaked in the philosophy of self-pleasing. Self-sacrifice is a completely foreign concept. And so (of course) they will be tempted to set things up in a way that’s comfortable for them, that doesn’t challenge them in any real way, that doesn’t get at the core of self-worship. They will call this way of skirting the hard work required of real monastics (and real Christians, for that matter) “creativity.” The hard stuff, the truly challenging, soul-changing stuff, is too “rigid” or “authoritarian”–or it is simply “not me.” Hence my sincere admiration for people who are called to traditional monastic life and actually stick it out–the long, boring, confining years when it seems as though life has completely passed them by and they are dying on the vine–but they stick it out because they can look back over 1700 years and read about people who did the same and not only survived but were transformed. It is SUCH a hard life, if it is truly lived this way, that I know I could not do it myself. But I can certainly honor it and do my best to defend it when I’m asked for my opinion.”
Dear Julian,
Thank you so much for doing this work! It’s really beautiful to hold this paradox which opens our hearts.
Peace,
Heidi
Thanks, Heidi. Glad you’re tuning in. By the way, my anticipated interview with Mu Sang Sunim just fell through. I’m still hoping for a Kwan Um voice along the way, though.
I enter this fascinating dialogue with fear and trembling. But maybe if I just address Paula’s fascinating ideas it will be o.k.
Paula, I so appreciate your appreciation of life long monastic commitment (and marriage commitment, also friendship commitment) but I would personally nuance a bit some of your views. Merton (himself with a strong streak of romanticism, with consequent…difficulties) looked for the best, while wanting to be quite aware of the worst, in other traditions. And many of us feel that “hermaneutic” has borne real fruit in dialogue. Might we look for the best in romanticism? Isn’t Wordsworth a consumate romantic? My understanding is that at least the older Wordsworth was also a devout Anglicn, and apreciative of the Oxford Movement, and certainly would have acknowledged Transcendence, but still seeing the beauties of nature as manifesting the Source of all beauty. Are there any values in “modernism”? What about the commitment to democracy, to the equality of women, the rights of minorities, the positive values of science, etc. And I grant that monastic life can have its very heavy, very dry moments. Also dark nights. (This the feast of John of the Cross). But does not marriage also? Or being single in “the world”? I have been a monk now some 53 years, and thank God for the vocation every day. And most of the days are mellow, happy, even joyous. I am comforted and nourished when I look back over the centuries of Christian monasticism, but most especially when I seek to open myself to the “above” the Transcendent. The Lord’s first commandment. And then monastic community and guests as a beautiful opportunity to live the commandment like unto the first. And each aspect of monastic life seeks to make that the more possible, it seems to me.
In the incarnate Christ,
Robert
Thanks, Robert, for addressing elements I left out of the follow-up question I posed to Paula, which could have better been articulated as wondering if she over-idealized monastic life vis-à-vis an exaggerated, virtual wholesale dismissal of the values of modernity/postmodernity. And in her portrayal of the monastic life, an exaggerated depiction of its difficulty and dryness (which isn’t to say that it’s easy and all light) and its unbridgeable distance from contemporary mores (which isn’t to say that it sits well therein, either). I was hoping for more nuance myself, but clearly she follows a hard line on these matters.
Hi Julian,
This dialogue continues to prove very interesting! As a strong proponent of the value of spiritual tradition, I was surprised to find Paula’s comments shared above to be a real turnoff. It sends me running to the Order of Interbeing community, where joy is embraced, and the concept of “Interbeing” transends those of “self” and “other,” I have not touched the “wounded Catholic” in me for some time, and Paula’s comments hit a raw place. Her approach may not contribute to a bringing together of our larger spiritual community with compassion, understanding, and mutual support, which is a personal passion of mine. Sending you love and best wishes for the blessings of the season. Love, Laurene
Sorry to hear that her comments touched a raw nerve. It may comfort you to know (as she stated in her interview) that Thomas Merton, friend and admirer of Thich Nhat Hahn, is her exemplary near-contemporary Christian monk. I may not agree with her entirely, and think the kinds of dichotomies she draws between monastic life and contemporary culture are overstated and too one-sided. But I also think there’s a strong Buddhist resonance here that I can sympathize with, in the sense that her critique of our culture’s elevation of desire or passion (again, I think she fails to distinguish between what the romantics and the classical Greeks/Christian [and Buddhist] monks meant by this word) sits well with Buddhist teaching on self-centered desire. Whether Christian or Buddhist, real practice doesn’t begin until there’s a strong recognition that our patterns of desiring don’t actually lead to the kind of satisfaction they promise. In that sense, I think Paula’s main insight that our culture militates against that kind of recognition is right on the mark. That said, I’m much more comfortable with perspectives, like Merton’s or Bruno’s, that are able to turn an incisive, critical eye toward existing traditions while also appreciating and integrating elements of culture from outside that tradition.
The anti-dichotomy queen is very pleased that you have included this. In some ways I find myself leaning toward more of an affinity with Paula’s perspective, just as I see you sympathizing more with Bruno’s, but like you I see complementary merits to both and so can’t unequivocally side with one against the other. Some of your descriptions are telling; I think the word “dynamic” can be applied equally well to ancient monastic ways of life, and likewise “continuity” to that which is yet emerging. Both approaches surely do need each other.
Yes, I see why you have an affinity with this whole discussion. I do lean more toward Bruno’s perspective (he was one of my primary teachers in the monastery, after all, and like Bruno I’m strongly influenced by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, to the extent that I can claim to understand him!). At the same time, I can easily read myself into Paula’s critique as one of those whose “unconscious romanticism,” shall we say, has led me to choices with painful consequences. All in all, I think the whole terrain I’m treading here significantly sidesteps easy dichotomies, which must please you to no end.
Thanks muchly, Julian, for avoiding a basic “this against that” stance, but rather seeking to hold in an inclusive way the both/and that often characterizes balanced spirituality. The very title of this forum, “Emerging Communities+Ancient Roots” suggests that, it seems to me. And that also resonates with the Gospel. Jesus affirms: “Every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old” (Mt. 13:52). Maybe this approach for Christians is ultimately rooted in a full, inclusive Christology, for which Christ is both Alpha and Omega, not the one or the other. Thomas Merton has some emphatic lines about how the “false self” inevitably wants to put his/her “city” against that other person’s “city,” whereas the “true self” seeks somehow to embrace all cities, all countrysides.
Robert
Hello, everyone, and thank you for your gentle (and understandably somewhat baffled) comments regarding my follow-up to Julian’s original podcast. Mea culpa, and I sincerely apologize for my strident tone, and for any stirring up of old wounds I may have precipitated. The great irony here is that I often warn my writing students against indulging in rants!
One of the most beautiful tenets of monasticism–one you taught me, Fr. Robert–is perhaps proven by this unhappy interchange. If we are to live well as brothers and sisters, you said, then it’s a good idea to avoid the sorts of passionate discussions that inevitably lead to disagreement. In my own writing, I’ve always tried to avoid those hot-button topics so prevalent in our culture because I am convinced that most of the time such debates do more spiritual harm than good. If we can’t converse calmly and lovingly, says monastic wisdom, then we probably should just keep silence.
Which, despite my instinctive urge to leap to the defense of traditional monasticism at a moment’s notice, I will now try my best to do! And may God bless and keep you all during this coming Lenten season!
Paula
Paula, I only wish more of us could be as strident (…and thoughtful and reflective) in tackling hot-button topics! The “clash” between your and Bruno’s views in your respective podcast episodes has been incredibly thought-provoking for me, and I think others as well. As Robert pointed out, or perhaps implied, we who know you know that you’re more nuanced in your thinking than you may have appeared, but you did serve to highlight a contrast that may not be the last word but is nonetheless a word that deserves a voice. At any rate, thanks again for stirring the pot and adding some zest and diversity to the conversation.
Thanks, Julian and Fr. Robert. You two are wonderful advertisements for the monastic life! I agree with you, Fr. Robert, that there are indeed times for the blunt, straightforward approach. In fact, this was the only kind of talk I was capable of hearing during my most confused years, and I am grateful to the person who (as he so delicately put it) discerned that I was one of those who require an “elephant gun.” But as Roberta Bondi points out in her marvelous book, To Love As God Loves, gentle persuasion has always been the method of choice for monastics. Otherwise, we risk sparking self-defensive anger and disrupting genuine communication. So–how do we speak honestly and truthfully, yet lovingly, at the same time? A very important question, and one I’m going to ponder deeply during Lent this year!
Paula
Thanks, Paula, for your kind remarks. I agree with Julian that we who know you appreciate your gentle, non strident spirit. But in the encounter of ideas it can be helpful, even if not always, to articulate things in stark, contrasting terms. We just had the reading from the Letter of James in which he seems to be taking St. Paul on very emphatically, and theologians have been consequently wrestling with the relationship between faith and works ever since. I tend to be usually a both/and kind of chap, but Kierkegaard’s either/or inclination certainly does wake people up and get them pondering.
Robert
>>So–how do we speak honestly and truthfully, yet lovingly, at the same time? A very important question, and one I’m going to ponder deeply during Lent this year! Paula>>
Thanks, Paula, for the above. There is the splendid New Testament exhortation to :”Speak the truth in love” (Eph. 4:15). An eminent Protestant theologian, Richard Niebuhr, preaching on that text at our Pomona College decades ago, commented that we poor wounded people tend to either speak the truth, but without love, or speak in love, but compromising truth. But if love means willing the good of the other, not some emotional attraction (and we are enjoined to love also our neighbor), then it seems to me possible. Jesus could speak even rather harsh truths to the Pharisees etc., but willing their good, weeping over Jerusalem. But we need to keep focused on the sincere intention to will the other’s good if we have to speak words that might hurt the other, and accept hurting words in the hope that the other wills our good. So it seems to me.
Robert