Roots, Obligations, and Joy
What I learned last week from speaking to doctors and writers. And a reflective writing exercise inspired by a radically compassionate French philosopher.
“To be rooted is perhaps the most important and least recognized need of the human soul.” — Simone Weil, The Need for Roots
In England, at the height of WWII, French refugee Simone Weil penned The Need for Roots, a breathless work of social and moral philosophy which reminds us that roots, obligations, and joy are deeply intertwined. Weil, known for her sharp insight into suffering and grace, saw roots as essential to our sense of belonging and identity. Without them, she believed, we drift in search of meaning. Perhaps it was this drive for meaning that prompted Weil to formulate grand plans of returning to her native France with the French Resistance by parachuting to the front lines with a corps of nurses. National pride aside, she argued that roots alone aren't enough; they come with obligations to ourselves, to others, and to the world around us. These obligations, rather than burdens, are what give depth and purpose to our lives. In fulfilling them, Weil argues, we encounter a quiet yet profound joy. Far from the satisfaction found in the enjoyment of fleeting pleasures, we experience true joy from living in harmony with the responsibilities that connect us to something greater than ourselves. In this way, Weil invites us to see joy not as an escape from duty, but as its reward.
Last week, I had the privilege of speaking about the Resilience Writing Project to two audiences rooted in different academic traditions: Rhetoric Society of America and the Catholic Medical Association. Despite their differences in subject matter, both are healing professions—medicine heals the body and mind, rhetoric heals the body politic. And both work to find meaning in our current moment by returning to their roots.
The topic of the RSA Remote was Rhetoricians Engaging the Public. During this virtual sit-down discussion, moderator Prof. Whitney Gent lead Prof. Maegan Parker-Brooks and me in a discussion about the ins and outs of teaching others to use writing as a tool for processing grief and trauma. Since most of our audience members were professional rhetoricians working in academia, Prof. Gent asked why public-facing writing initiatives, like the Resilience Writing Project, are important to higher education.
A number of reasons could have made satisfactory answers, but Simon Weil was on my mind. Her philosophy shaped my response: The roots of rhetoric, in the tradition I’m trained in, can be traced back to civic action in ancient Greece. With these roots comes a responsibility to the communities I’m part of. So why wouldn’t I teach the art of writing to people outside my university who could benefit from it? Wouldn’t my university expect me, to some degree, to engage with the tradition of the discipline I teach? Rhetoric is, at its core, a means of finding and sharing the good. And the more good, the better.
Sharing the good was exactly my intention at the 93rd Annual Catholic Medical Association Educational Conference. My workshop on the benefits of expressive writing for healthcare professionals followed one of the most fervent displays of academic disagreement I’ve ever seen. Neurologists and nurses squared off over proposed revisions to the 1980 Uniform Declaration of Death Act that would loosen the criteria for declaring brain death. (Here’s a pro statement and a con statement.) I certainly learned a few things about neuroanatomy from the exchange, but what stood out to me was the profound moral injury advocates on both sides expressed. When and how to declare someone’s time in this life over affects more than the deceased. .
While I know enough to know that I have little to add to a debate on brain death, I know that the medical professionals in that room carry experiences of death and grief with them in profound ways. I was there to share the good that expressive writing can do for those professionals, and to equip them with skills to help others write through loss and grief. And we even had a few laughs.
Prof. Gent closed the RSA Remote discussion with a question about the joys I have experienced doing the work of the Resilience Writing Project. Authentic joy, I responded, is always shared. I’m fortunate that I get to experience it with others in the workshops. Or in case of the CMA, to have the joy extend after the workshop concluded. As I waited for the elevator back at my hotel, a surgeon who sat quietly through my workshop approached me. He told me that nearly 30 years earlier, he signed the papers to take his father off life support. For all those years, he second guessed that decision, keeping it secret. After 20 minutes of writing about the episode in the workshop, he knew he made the right decision. Then he pointed across the lobby to a woman. "I’ve never told my wife about this, he said. I’m telling her when we get to our room.
Following this exchange, Simone Weil’s notion joy gave me another perspective on teaching expressive writing to healthcare workers. A few minutes of writing can set us all on a path to reconciling with our roots and taking up our responsibilities. For the surgeon, writing provided the clarity he needed to understand himself as a loving son, which stands to make him a more loving and lovable spouse. To think that I can share something so profound with someone else is itself a joy.
A Reflective Writing Exercise Inspired by Simone Weil
Why not take a few minutes, say 10, to write about your roots. Roots can be your ancestry, the things that make you feel grounded, or even a past experience that’s shaped you.
Then, set the timer again for 10 minutes. This time, reflect on the obligations and responsibilities your roots require you to fulfill.
In a final 10-minute writing session, explore how you feel when you tend to the responsibilities of your roots.
You can complete this exercise in three sittings, or in one go, as the spirit moves you.
Perhaps you’ll strike a new golden vein of joy. Or you may resolve to shoulder obligations not out of duty, but from the desire to nourish your soul. Let us know what this writing exercise taught you.