Wanted: an elderly, relaxed sloth

The main character in the 1983 German novel The Discovery of Slowness is described as an elderly sloth after a long massage and a pipe of opium--a wonderful image from Sarah Bakewell's book on Montaigne.

Montaigne, the 16th century French writer, retired at 37 to a tower in his chateau to write, to observe, to slow down and look. He found a much-needed kind of wisdom and moderation that contrasted with the turmoil of his times; he did so by writing his essays.

Bakewell suggests that Montaigne would be a good model for today's Slowness Movement, inspired by the 1983 German novel and centered in Italy, found today in many places, in many publications, not just as a reaction against fast food but as a reminder to live fully in the present. This is a type of spirituality for our times, though not often called such, a needed response to the hectic pace of lives measured by megabytes and iPods, where the slow pace of a massaged sloth is the last thing anyone would admire.

One key result of slowing down, or perhaps a concomitant part of it, is the ability to pay attention to each aspect of daily life, something that Montaigne mastered. Nothing escaped his gaze or his pen. He writes in a memorable passage taken from Bakewell's biography, How to Live:

"If others examined themselves attentively, as I do, they would find themselves,
as I do, full of inanity and nonsense. Getting rid of it I cannot without getting rid of myself. We are all steeped in it, one as much as another; but those who are aware of it are a little better off--though I don't know."

Note the typical note of skepticism at the end and the humility as the author honestly examines his life. What results are not quick and glib insights, as we are likely to find on blogs (not this one!) today but a mellow kind of wisdom.

As Virigina Woolf, one of Montaigne's many admirers, said, he attained happiness by analyzing the details of his life and gave coherence to all that make up the soul.

So Montaigne is a model of what so many seekers are talking about now, as they have in the centuries past: mindfulness. Paying attention to the fullness of the present moment before it is gone, savoring it slowly--even though the human impulse is to hurry. And finding a bit of happiness in the process.

I can envision signs on the highway: Slow down and live: the life you save may be your own. But Flannery O'Connor already thought of that.

For whom the siren wails

Since I live not far from a hospital, I often hear the siren of a rescue vehicle, and I always stop to listen for a moment, thinking of the emergency professionals rushing to the ER. I think of them and especially of the injured patient, and I think of myself (it could be me). I like to think this brief moment of attention is a prayer; sometimes, I use words, but generally no words are needed, just an awarness that, as John Donne memorably wrote in one of his prose meditations, we are all involved: "ask not for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

We are, he went on, all involved in mankind. So when I translate his words into my own context (ask not for whom the siren wails), I know at some level that whoever is in need of emergency care is one of us, part of the whole community of which we, in our separate worlds, are inescapably involved. We must be mindful of suffering.

I recall the reminder from Robert Bellah in Habits of the Heart that the American tradition of radical individualism often goes too far: we too easily forget our place in the community. We overlook the greater good, the basic fact that we are all in this together, a point Obama makes in various subtle or overt ways in his speeches.

Today I opened a recent book on Montaigne by Sarah Bakewell: "The twenty-first century is full of people who are full of themselves." This is the opening line of her engaging biography of the 16th century author of the Essays. She refers to bloggers and all the rest of us who seem preoccupied with their own selves, writing or texting about the details of their lives, enjoying life in what Bakewell calls "a shared festival of the self."

Yet, as Thomas Merton and many others have noted, to be alone, in silence, to pray, and to write about one's inner life is to be part of a spiritual community. Bloggers and other writers today, in sharing their personal stories, are helping (I like to think) foster trust and cooperation among peoples. This assumes that the readers of the blogs and articles take time to reflect and respond. It's not all self-indulgence.

As Christopher Jamison writes in Finding Sanctuary, the old meaning of "conversation" is to live with someone, to speak to them based on shared things we all have in common. He is writing about the monastic ideal where a community of monks can express individuality rather than individualism.

What's the difference? Individualism is the problematic me-first attitude that gave rise to Bellah's study years ago and that we see daily in self-preoccupation of many people. It is doing your own thing irrespective of other people. Individuality, Jamison explains, is quite different: it means bringing one's own unique contribution and talent to bear on the life of a community (even if that contribution might be to criticize it in an effort to improve it).

Individualism apart from involvement in a community (whether of church members or politically active organizers or members of a book club) is isolating and ultimately negative. Its ultimate image is found in Dante's hell where the souls are eternally alone, apart from any community (any love). Its real-life manifestation appears too often in our news when we learn of the loner-psychopath (usually a young man alienated from family and friends) who acts out his fear and hatred with violence, shooting a Congresswoman in Arizona, for example.

Are people tuned in to their electronic gadgets totally isolated from one another? To the extent that young people tend not to vote regularly or join churches or political parties, it would seem, as Jamison says, that the global village is fading. But if many, young and older, are willing to work to engage with each other in conversation, using the various media, they can build some kind of community. The blogosphere, in which I play an infinitesimal part, can foster a type of community.

As a result, when they hear the siren, many people may not think of prayer in the usual sense, but they will be mindful of their common link with human suffering. One day, God willing, they may act on this awareness.