Drawing on Thomas Merton, the authors write:
"To disappear from the world as an object of interest in order to be everywhere in it by hiddenness and compassion is the basic movement of the Christian life." (66-67)
But it is not the way of the world.
I once thought of academia as a community where people with a passion for books and learning strove for truth.
Then I learned that academics are just as, if not more, affected by a desire for stardom as anyone else.
Now I see that I worship recognition as much as any movie star (though without, of course, actually having it).
The problem is not just the violent oscillations of this kind of life, from exultation with praise to despair with criticism; nor is it just the disappointment that must come, as no one thinks your work is the best thing ever.
The problem is that, as the authors put it, "As long as our primary concern in life is to be interesting and thus worthy of special attention, compassion cannot manifest itself" (67). I will not displace myself from the proper and the ordinary, nor learn to "suffer with" (the real meaning of compassion) the downtrodden and destroyed, as long as my eyes are on the prize of human acclamation.
The problem, then, is in my own heart. But I do think that compassion is a rare virtue in academic culture. It is difficult to practice in a competitive environment. Perhaps you can write compassionately, empathizing with historical actors; perhaps you can tell the stories of humble and suffering people; perhaps you can sacrifice your own research to make your students better writers; perhaps you can take them places that lead to questioning and displacement and redemptive suffering.
Perhaps you can "suffer with" through prayer, interceding with compassion.
Can you sell yourself to employers and publishers and still be downwardly mobile, associating with the lowly?
I don't know.
But I think it is time to disappear.
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