Last weekend I had a unique experience. I sat quietly in a room with 23 other adults. The only words spoken were in hushed tones and whispers. Each of us had our own task, which commanded our full attention.
My first task was to spoon glass beads from a larger bowl into three smaller bowls, and then back again. My next task was to fold four red napkins in different configurations along white stitched lines. Finally, I poured grain from one small metal pitcher to another and then poured it back again several times.
In case you haven’t guessed it yet, I am describing my first weekend of training for Catechesis of the Good Shepherd (CGS), a Montessori-based approach to catechesis for children 3-12 years old.1 It was established in the 1950s by Sofia Cavalletti and Gianna Gobbi and is based on developing the child’s natural capacity for wonder by allowing children to work with various materials.
The tasks I just described are called Exercises of Practical Life and their purpose is to orient the child to the space (the atrium) and to help them foster the skills necessary to do the various “works” that make up the substance of the catechesis. We learned in our training that young children use work as a means to perfect themselves, that they “create themselves through the repetitive work of their hands.” In contrast to an adult conception of work, young children value the process of work, rather than the product (hence why small children can do the same task over and over and over again without getting bored). The adult seeks maximum results with minimum effort, while the child desires the opposite.
Our CGS trainer gave us the homework of doing some Exercises of Practical Life at home, i.e. to do some simple, necessary work, but with careful attention, focusing on the process and not simply the end product. For my task, I chose to empty the dishwasher. Instead of grabbing handfuls of silverware and stacks of plates as I normally would, I took out each item one by one and put it away with an individual motion. Initially, it made me anxious to spend so much time on something that I knew I could get done much more efficiently; several times I had to stop myself from going more quickly. But as I continued in the process there came a certain freedom. Eventually, I was able to stop hurrying in order to get to the next thing; I started thinking about each dish and how it may have been used; I was allowed to relish this small act of service to my family. And while there is perhaps no profound revelation in these thoughts and actions per se, my experience in the atrium and emptying the dishwasher last weekend crystallized for me something that I’ve been thinking about some time: we really don’t know how to pay attention. And worse than that, even when we think we’re paying attention and engaging with reality, we likely aren’t.
I am speaking of myself as much as anyone else. I am a queen of distraction. I find myself all but incapable of accomplishing any task without checking Facebook several times, having netflix or music on in the background, or suddenly remembering some other task that needs doing, which reminds me of some other task that needs doing, etc. etc. until I have a series of half-written e-mails, half-graded papers, and a half-cleaned desk. Perhaps I’m alone in this, though I don’t think I am.
The distraction of social media is especially pernicious because it gives us the illusion of doing something, while really only numbing our ability to pay true attention. Social media increasingly has become a platform for political-emotional-agenda-pushing-grandstanding-self-righteous word vomit. And while social media certainly elicits a great deal of emotion, in the end it’s superficial because there is no real human interaction. There's no vulnerability. I can control the entire experience. I know which of my friend’s pages to visit if I want to find something to rally behind. I know which of my friend’s pages to visit if I want to be angered by their close-mindedness. I can see what I want to see—I can selectively pay attention, which means I’m not actually paying attention at all because true attention is attuned to reality. I can’t feel or know anything deeply because there was no real encounter or challenge, it was simply a confirmation of my own beliefs.
Of the many ills that plague our culture today, I would say that our inability to see and hear one another is one of the worst. We’re obsessed with being right. Never before in human history have we had such means to share ideas, to learn new things, to broaden our horizons, to empathize. But to what end? We’ve become expert trolls, talking past one another, listening only for the sake of responding, all the while patting ourselves on the back for being “enlightened.”
One answer to this problem, I believe, is attention. What would I notice if I resisted the urge to look at my phone while standing in line at the DMV? What capacity would I deepen within myself if I didn’t keep Facebook open on my computer all day? What might I actually accomplish if I ceased “multi-tasking?”
The answer, I believe, is simply this: orientation to reality and openness to the other.
Early 20th-century philosopher Simone Weil, who wrote at length about the importance and power of attention, defines it as such: “Attention consists of suspending our thought, leaving it detached, empty and ready to be penetrated by the object…Above all our thought should be empty, waiting, not seeking anything, but ready to receive in its naked truth the object which is to penetrate it.”2 Thus, attention is a matter of kenosis—self-emptying—of waiting to receive something outside of ourself. When we truly pay attention, we are allowing ourselves to recognize and affirm the other as other. Similarly in The Religious Potential of the Child, Sofia Cavalletti writes, “Listening is the leaning toward others, the opening of ourselves in a receptive attitude toward the reality around us; it is only the capacity to listen that prevents us from revolving around ourselves.” To pay attention is to break out of our own little world and to see those around us.
Taking this idea further, the ability to be attentive directly influences one’s capacity for wonder, and, by extension, allows us to truly love our neighbor. Cavalletti asserts that “Wonder is a very serious thing that, rather than leading us away from reality, can arise only from an attentive observation of reality... If we skim over things we will never be surprised by them. Wonder is not an emotion of superficial people; it strikes root only in the person whose mind is able to settle and rest in things, in the person who is capable of stopping and looking” (emphasis mine).
Paying attention allows us to see the world as it really is—charged with the grandeur of God! It allows us to recognize that Christ is truly present in the people that we encounter, regardless of how “right” or “wrong” they are. And this realization of God’s presence in all of creation must impel us to action. As Pope Benedict puts it, “The Christian's programme—the programme of the Good Samaritan, the programme of Jesus—is ‘a heart which sees’. This heart sees where love is needed and acts accordingly.”3 The job of the Christian is not a matter of working for perfect social programs or winning debates; it is about loving in the here and now. Perhaps this is part of what Christ meant when He told us to become like little children.
I cannot see the reality around me if I am not looking, and I cannot look unless I choose to fix my gaze on the Pierced One. If you want to change the world, don’t think you’ll accomplish it by posting things on social media. First learn how to empty the dishwasher well. Pay attention to whatever or whomever is in front of you right now. Love them well and the world will be changed.
2 “Reflections on the Right Use of School Studies with a View to the Love of God”↩
3 Deus caritas est, §31↩
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thanks for the article, beef was delicious anyway its cooked
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