In the World, not of the World

“In the World, not of the World”
by Marco M. Pardi

“Something of a hermit’s temper is an essential element in many forms of excellence, since it enables men to resist the lure of popularity, to pursue important work in spite of general indifference or hostility, and arrive at opinions which are opposed to prevalent errors.”
Bertrand Russell (1872-1970). Power: A New Social Analysis, 2, 1938

The title phrase is actually apocryphal, appearing in several forms in the bible and found in other, older literature and oral traditions as well. Regardless, it provides both an elegant description and a possibly life saving prescription.

My memory is long and very detailed. Some would say too much so. Be that as it may, I remember being asked, at age 6, what I wanted to be when I grew up. The questioner was a cloistered nun, teaching in the monastic boarding school I had resided in since age 5. My answer was simple and direct: a hermit. Her response, or lack thereof, was as simple. She gave me an odd look and walked off. Had I been a smart ass kid I might have considered her reaction and told myself, “I’m on my way.”

Over the years I devoured the entire Tarzan series although the addition of Jane was something of a problem. And, I read outdoor magazines and even a Boy Scout manual a family friend had brought my older brother. Coupling this with my increasing ability to spend time in the outdoors I came to realize the life of a forest hermit could be pretty short. Indeed, reading the histories of early Christian hermits who followed the lead of St. Ambrose, I found that many of them went crackers early on. Those that did survive were provided with food, and even some social contact by people seeking to absorb the merits of their “good works”. St. Benedict, the unwilling founder of the Benedictine monastic order, laid out very specific and psychologically insightful rules for those seeking to withdraw into solitude. Do so in the company of others. He was by no means the first to understand the dangers: “The proof that the state is a creation of nature and prior to the individual is that the individual, when isolated, is not self sufficing; and therefore he is like a part in relation to the whole. But he who is unable to live in society, or who has no need (for society) because he is sufficient for himself, must be either a beast or a god.” Aristotle (384-322 B.C.E.) Politics 1.2.

Particularly after years in a monastic prep school, a rural monastery did seem like a good choice. But theology got in the way; I have never been able to reconcile the internal contradictions I feel I see in theos, or god based systems. And in my early years Buddhist monasteries were not easily found.

The answer turned out to be in the factual realization of my life in what sociologists would call my “family”. Beginning with my earliest ability to understand, I gradually came to realize that I was “in the family, but not of the family”. I was, de facto, being groomed for a life in which I could be physically present but spiritually apart. It was not really painful; it was just irritating that I had to wait to do something about it. So, I ate until I was big enough to leave.

Going into the military was one of the best things that could have happened. When I played high school football I really did not care which side won; I enjoyed legal contact sport. In the military, the stakes were a bit higher. But I was again fortunate in that I was able to successfully volunteer for duties that were either solo or with a two to three person team. And, I declined postings whenever possible that would have me indoors sitting at a desk.

Throughout the military, as time allowed, I took courses from two universities. And, my solitary work afforded countless hours for reading. The combination of “field work”, language abilities, and in depth immersion in other cultures led me straight to Anthropology. Interestingly, the personal and professional detachment of an anthropologist also fit a parallel career in which I had advanced quite well.

Things changed, however, when I married a Scandinavian girl and fathered a child. I still considered most people at or above the age of 12 as being on their own and responsible for their actions; encounters with armed 12 year olds around the world had settled that case. Now here I was with an utterly defenseless baby girl.

Suddenly, the world, with its hopscotch wars and perverse social and anti-ecological policies, became an all encompassing morass leveling direct threats against my baby. Being just “in the world” no longer offered the insularity it always had.

A choice seemed to appear: Leave or stay. On a several week trip throughout Scandinavia, staying with in-laws and friends, I consulted with Swedish immigration officials, a Danish academic society, and a Norwegian university – for a teaching position. Norway seemed the most likely option; I made it to the top three candidates. But, I missed the mark.

All the while, though, there were the nagging reminders that global policy meant just that. The once pristine Norwegian mountain streams from which I drew our morning pail of icy water carried increasing amounts of particulate fallout from clouds of pollution drifting around the globe. The threat of global nuclear war had one wondering how long life could be sustained in a wooden mountain cabin in northern Norway, albeit with protein aplenty on the hoof outside but little else, especially in winter to sustain a growing child. My abnormally shortened legs speak to my war time childhood malnutrition in WWII despite the circumstances of my family at the time. The Germans simply stole all the food and medicine they wanted. This, and much else was now happening on a global scale. Whether she one day became a believer or not, my daughter would grow up in this world. My choice, in some as yet undetermined small or large way, would furnish that world with opportunities for her growth or with impediments to her survival.

And so we returned to the U.S. which was becoming increasingly speckled with dead end “hippie communes” and guru du jour icons who wrote books and toured campuses. It’s easy to stand before drug addled crowds of young people and preach “Drop out” while collecting huge speaker fees for dropping in.

Many did drop out, and still do. Mass entertainment, including what passes for network news, seduces many away from thought. Technological devices, including the hand held Black Holes called SmartPhones, reduce many to the appearance that they are wearing transparent veterinary collars, or funnels, as they “socialize” even while driving.

But those people were and are easily labeled. And, where labels, of whatever kind take hold serious thought disappears. Once you are labeled you are boxed; the observer moves on to the next organism coming into view. Instead, play the enigma, the person who raises and develops questions, not the fool who claims to answer them.

Still, I drew the labels. I’ve been called communist, fascist, socialist, mafia, anarchist, Jewish, and Muslim by cultural lights too dim to see their own feet. “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy” as the title of a popular book once had it. But working in the world is a delicate balance. Social feedback is ironically necessary to ascertain that one has not unwittingly become of the world. It also ensures that I do not make the fatal error of believing myself.

“We are rarely proud when we are alone.” Voltaire, Philosophical Dictionary, 1764