One of the great permanent mainsprings of human action, according to the classic Christian moralist, C.S. Lewis, is the desire to belong to an “Inner Ring.” He observes via Tolstoy’s War and Peace that a human organization, in this case the Russian Army, operates with an official system of discipline and subordination, i.e. laid down in Army Regulations, and an unwritten hierarchy of power and authority observable only in the activity of the persons involved. One of Tolstoy’s characters, Boris, becomes aware of the unwritten system of influence when a mere Captain (Prince Andrey), chooses to chat with him, only a Second Lieutenant, while a very impatient and unhappy General waits his turn for Andrey’s attention. Boris immediately decides the unwritten system, the “inner ring,” is the more significant and he desires to participate in that circle (Lewis, C.S. “The Inner Ring,” in The Weight of Glory and Other Addresses, Wm B. Eerdmans, 1949, p. 55). Lewis here reflects on the human desire always to belong to an inner ring, the cherished center, the gathering with influence.
I have been fascinated and threatened by “inner rings” for as long as I can remember. Elementary school, junior high, and high school show multiple, ephemeral yet deadly real “inner rings” that create meaning for some kids while pushing other kids on the “outside” up to (and over) the brink of suicide. Think of all the recent attention to “anti-bully” efforts in schools and the cultural phenomenon of Glee that draws both satirical and poignant attention to the power of such rings. Closer to home, I know that families have inner rings too—alliances between siblings, children and parents, parents and uncles/aunts, etc. Have you ever felt like you were an outsider in your own family, the web of relationships “supposed to be home” for all its members? Many of us do, sometimes by unconscious self-choice and other times by circumstance and values.
My current interest in “Inner Rings” stems from my professional work in and beyond congregational systems of religious community life. Inner Rings are arguably the intimate building-blocks of tribalism and polarization in so many faith communities today. Rampant in mainline communities, at least, is the obsession with “who is in” and “who does not belong,” for reasons of sexual orientation, “illegitimate” politics, ideological discrimination, ethnic identity and more. Outside the mainline conversations, swaths of folks look with disbelief at the rancor and wonder how religion could ever be life-giving if its proponents are so vicious with one another while professing God’s love. For these reasons and more, I have begun to ask myself: Is there a value or need to learn to be an outsider within one’s own community? Is it possible to do so and still remain within the community? What are the benefits and costs of such a proposition, if it were even explored?
This question led me back to Lewis’s essay, both to define what I mean by an inner circle in conversation with a well-known Christian author and to begin to articulate in future posts the costs and benefits I see in living into my own apparent identity as an inside-outsider, by which I mean a professing disciple of Jesus’ way who yet regularly senses “being outsid-ed” by my own path of practice and my tradition-community. I will offer Lewis’s terms, nuance them a bit for my own purposes, then begin to get into what I’m learning, post-by-post.
Lewis’s Inner Rings
An inner ring, for Lewis, appears to be a morally neutral circle of relationship and influence, perceived by outsiders as a desirable web of relationship in which to identify, participate, and most importantly, to belong. As such, he does not decry or demonize the existence of inner rings in human society(ies). “[They are] unavoidable,” he writes. “There must be confidential discussions: and it is not only a bad thing, it is (in itself) a good thing that personal friendship should grow up between those who work together” (59-60). So he concludes, “Let Inner Rings be an unavoidable and even an innocent feature of life, though certainly not a beautiful one.”
The seemingly insatiable (and perhaps ugly) desire to belong to such circles is Lewis’s particular interest, both for its fundamental shaping of human lives and its potential to create anguish, suffering, even evil within human society. He calls this human desire to be in the inner ring “one of the great permanent mainsprings of human action. It is one of the factors which go to make up the world as we know it.” In desire for belonging to inner circles, he places the seeds of human struggle, competition, confusion, graft, disappointment and more. He warns, “Unless you take measures to prevent it, this desire is going to be one of the chief motives of your life … If you do nothing about it, if you drift with the stream, you will in fact be an ‘inner ringer.’ I don’t say you’ll be a successful one; that’s as may be. But whether by pining and moping outside Rings that you can never enter, or by passing triumphantly further and further in—one way or the other you will be that kind of [person].” (62) So Lewis defines and urges heightened awareness about the draw and function of “inner rings.”
With good reasons too. Reason one is that ‘inner ringing’ never comes in dramatic fashion or obvious moral clarity. “Of all the passions the passion for the Inner Ring is most skilful in making a man who is not yet a very bad man do very bad things.” (63) His entire address was spoken to the graduating class of the University of London, 1944. We only have to wait months for the inhumane revelations later in World War II to see his point with horrific precision. How many acted to be within their local ‘inner rings’ that required excluding Jews to point of attempted extermination, to excluding next door neighbors, to the exclusion of “outsiders” of all kinds?
Lewis’s second reason is more subtle, but no less damning. “The desire to be inside the invisible line” is the “very mark” of “a perverse desire,” to “seek what is not to be had.” If the line is invisible, how do you know when you’re inside it? “As long as you are governed by that desire,” he cautions, “you will never get want you want. … Until you conquer the fear of being an outsider, an outsider you will remain.” (63-64). Woody Allen quipped this very reality, of course. “Why would I be a member of a club that would have me as a member?” More prosaically, in Lewis’s prose: “The circle cannot have from within the charm it had from the outside. By the very act of admitting you it has lost its magic.” (64). He therefore concludes: “The quest of the Inner Ring will break your hearts unless you break it.”(65)
What do we do about it?
How do we gently confront the inevitable and potentially destructive reality of inner rings, and break the innate human desire to be within them? Lewis suggests placing attention to one’s work, what we might nuance as one’s vocation or calling. As a tenured professor in a prestigious British university, he advises us to make our work the primary end in our working hours, and the enjoyment of life with people we like the aim in our spare time. When you do that, Lewis says, then not only do you become a “sound craftsman” whose work will be recognized by other “sound craftsmen,” but you also “come unawares to be a real inside: that you are indeed snug and safe at the centre of something which, seen from without, would look exactly like an Inner Ring. … This is friendship.” (65) A certain irony emerges here, of course, as circles of recognition in higher education—inner rings of prestige and privilege—present one of the most potent forms of Inner Rings, at least for some of us. Still, I cannot deny the seeds of truth in what he has to say. Americans live for their jobs, so focusing upon good work that sustains is an easy sell. Committing to the enjoyment of life with people one likes to be around rings true to me for a vibrant life (pun intended). But do those things break the desire or the quest for the Inner Ring? I am not so sure. Did Lewis find those compelling because he was so clearly within his own Inner Rings? Cambridge (I think), the Inklings, etc. One could just as easily suppose an argument that finally being within Inner Rings of significance met his desire, thereby ‘breaking it.’
What I See
Regardless, I find myself at an odd time of life, a period of mid-life during which my incessant drive to be connected—perhaps what Lewis might name “to be within Inner Rings I value”—is being met with an inexplicable resistance to such connections or claims. The drive to be intensely connected appears in all areas of my life when I reflect on these last four decades. From the outside, I appear to have established belonging to several Inner Rings of note, whether they be academic societies, institutions of higher education, or circles of leadership in a particular community of an historic theological tradition. In my family, it has been observed to me from a self-perceived outsider that I belong to my own family’s Inner Ring(s). I recognize the validity of these observations, and I am grateful to live into such connections for their comfort and challenge. The pathway to these associations fits with Lewis’s advice, which is why I find it so compelling. Only by focusing on and discerning my work, defined without reference to any human institutional role or socialized function, have I been able to receive a deep peace about what I do. Only by listening gently to and for those persons with whom I enjoy my time do I find my own life truly received and offered up to the benefit of self and others.
Yet I am unnerved now by the continual draw of spaciousness, toward learning how to be an outsider, toward being an outsider who yet feels deep connection to all. My role as theological professor means I wear a professional mantle with all the ethical responsibilities and claims therein. Inside-outsider. My community’s ordination of my work as Word&Sacrament ministry means I no longer belong to any congregation but to the gathering of ministers we call a Presbytery. Inside-outsider. My husband’s and my choice not to have children in the Midwest means that are outsiders from most of our peers and their lives of child-rearing and nurture. Inside-outsider. Yet, my heart sings, breathes, listens into the silence so very full of presence and nurture, even as I hear my lament, a lament shared with my beloved, at feeling outside of Inner Rings for which I feel desire--profession-less work, a local community of faith-practice, recognized family. The desire remains as it is broken?
What does being an outsider mean amidst my insider-outsider life? Has the desire to belong to Inner Rings broken my heart so many times that a path of practice is breaking that desire within me? Do we only know freedom from such yearning by acknowledging such yearning wherever it be sensed? I suspect I’ll just get attached to whatever description I come up with next... J Smiling, I become aware that the desire to belong to inner rings has its inevitable pull in its very release. Perhaps the path of devotion always means releasing attachments and being returned to a renewed trust of the absent-presence that ruptures all with Life.
No comments:
Post a Comment