Often, a set of simple verbs can encapsulate the entire spectrum of our lives, presenting an ideal manifestation that we should, in some way, embrace. The bestselling novel, “Eat, Pray, Love” exemplifies this. It chronicles the journey of an independent woman who embarks on a post-modern, self-indulgent quest for life’s meaning, summarized by these three verbs. This somewhat autobiographical tale traces the author’s journey from the US, her home country (highlighting work and divorce), to Italy (eat), India (pray), and Indonesia (where “love” comes into play, as she found another partner, though they later divorced).
To provide a comprehensive view, including the nuances behind the story, the verbs should perhaps be: work, divorce, eat, pray, love, and divorce — and maybe work once more. It paints a vivid picture of the typical life-search narrative of postmodern knowledge workers. This resonance with readers on similar life journeys is likely why the book became a bestseller and was later adapted into a film.
There’s no blueprint for a perfect life. Every individual and family grapples with their unique set of challenges and issues. As Tolstoy wrote at the outset of his novel, “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” On the surface, it may appear that we happily work, eat, pray, and love. However, behind these ostensibly joyous activities, we each face our own struggles. Under the veneer of postmodern consumerism, many are subconsciously discontented, constantly indulging in the pursuit of an ideal life and the perfect reflection in the mirror of our narcissistic despair.
Can we escape this deceptive confinement? I’m unsure. Even I question whether I’m free from such indulgence. In our contemporary, overwhelmingly secular society, everything becomes an object of consumption, including ourselves. We live to consume everything and everyone. Consequently, we work, eat, pray, love, and divorce. A consistent theme is our consumption.
Whether we recognize it or not, we shape our lives around the act of consumption. Why is this the case? In this vast secular age, following the proclaimed “death of God” and the end of grand narratives about our world and universe, we grapple with the purpose of our existence. Life is bestowed upon us seemingly out of nowhere and, with the same unpredictability, can be snatched away, as in an unexpected death. Thus, the meaning of life, which mystically spans the period between our birth and death, eludes us. What should we do in the interim? Without a higher power or overarching narratives, it seems all we can do in this postmodern, secular age is consume to pass the time, conveniently labeled as “eat, pray, and love.”
Is it possible to peel away these labels to reveal the raw truth of our existence? Utilizing a similar approach with key verbs, perhaps a select set of terms might offer some insight.
As I mentioned in the title, we can write, run, love, and pray. Even in the context of the pervasive secular age consumerism, these verbs serve as reminders of our efforts to transcend our narcissistic tendencies, if executed correctly.
The verb “write” represents our minds. Many people overthink and become hypersensitive, with many identifying as HSP (Highly Sensitive Person). However, the selfless act of writing can guide us toward genuine thought. It is only through writing that we can think clearly. Writing is, in essence, thinking. Hence, many intellectual achievements take the form of written works like books. Consider the author of “Eat, Pray, Love”. Even if her primary intention wasn’t to sell the book, I believe there were genuine moments where her writing led her to clear thinking. The therapeutic effects of journaling, for instance, are well-documented.
The verb “run” symbolizes physical actions and their philosophical implications. Whether you walk, swim, or lift weights, the goal is to reconnect with your genuine feelings towards the earth. Reflect on how you feel when you touch water, land, or wood, or even when you’re exposed to fire. Ponder on your emotions under different weather conditions – be it sunshine, humidity, or stormy rain. How do you react to the pain in your muscles and bones, or to injuries sustained during physical activity? All these experiences, whether pleasant or not, are crucial for connecting with the world and the universe. Run to reestablish your physical, physiological, and existential presence in the present moment.
When I refer to “love” here, it certainly isn’t confined solely to romantic love, or Eros. This love should encompass all four Greek variants: from Storge (empathy bond) to Philia (friend bond), from Eros (romantic love) to Agape (unconditional “God” love). Have you ever closely examined which type of love you employ in your acts of compassion? These variants span a spectrum ranging from physical to mental, emotional, and spiritual domains. We must be conscious of our hearts, minds, souls, spirits, and Spirit. Truly, our maturity’s measure lies in the range of loves we can sincerely express and receive without limits. Achieving this state is nearly impossible without setting aside our inherent self-indulgence.
Only then can we comprehend the genuine meaning of “pray”. This verb is often misunderstood. To pray, one doesn’t need to visit a spiritual place for a ritualistic experience. Nor does one have to be a member of a specific institution like a church, temple, mosque, or monastery. While these traditions provide time-tested best practices on prayer, and should certainly be respected, the true essence of prayer isn’t about mastering specific techniques taught by various traditions or modern and postmodern philosophies. Prayer isn’t about expressing desires or mastering a particular skill set. It’s not about negating all these elements, either.
In letting go of ourselves, we can move past the self-centered consumerism. However, the act and teaching of self-forgetfulness can itself become a consumer product, which ought to be discarded. The same applies to prayer. We must transcend the numerous methods taught about “how to pray”. Even the teaching that suggests moving beyond these methods should be abandoned.
So, what should we do? I’m unsure. But I believe that if, and only if, we write, run, and love with genuine intent, we might find ourselves naturally, almost spontaneously, immersed in prayer. In this state, the act of praying might not even originate from us. When we pray, is it really us praying? Perhaps not. Maybe it’s only God who prays.
Image by Joshua Choate
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