Anna Rowlands reflects on the Synodal process and examines the shared values of Pope Francis and the French philosopher Simone Weil.
For the last year, I have been moving between two seemingly parallel worlds: the writings of the 20th-century French philosopher and mystic Simone Weil and the world of Pope Francis’s Synod on the synodal character of the Church. Although there have been times in recent years when I have wondered whether Pope Francis has read some Weil – comments made in his social writings on the uprootedness of modern societies are strikingly like hers – these were not projects that I imagined would intersect.
Indeed, read one way, one might think of Weil as a possible Synod sceptic. Why? Two things, in particular, drove Weil’s social and religious critique: her horror at the social effects of individualism and the culture that valorises the “I” and her concern at the misdirected longing of the human person to lose themselves in the “we”. As she described it, the desire of modern humanity to rush headlong towards “self-immolating” in the life of the collective. She adopted Plato’s language of the Great Beast to describe the lure of the false collective. The individual craves society and its recognition, and then, ironically, society returns the individual to itself as small and insignificant in all the wrong ways. Thus, for Simone Weil, to take one’s bearings from society was the road to hell.
One of the reasons that Weil was drawn to Christianity was because she saw in its doctrines and liturgies an antidote to this individualism, a way to repent of having imagined that we are sovereign masters of ourselves, others or the world. Interestingly, Weil admitted that she was so severe in her critique of the collective because she found herself so instinctively and all too powerfully drawn towards it. Famously, she said that had she allowed herself to attend a political rally in the 1930s, she feared she would have been the first to be seduced by its powers. This same instinct also prevented her from being baptised, a matter she agonised about. She worried about those the Church excluded, and although she was a daily Mass attendee in the last years of her life – in fact, at Farm Street in London – and begged her brother to have his children baptised, it was not a step she was able to take for herself. Her role was to welcome others as they crossed the threshold and remain in solidarity with those outside. She worried about the who of the Church, not so much the who of Christ or the what of Christianity (although she had a fairly heterodox reading of some of that).
This is why, for me, there is rather more to connect Weil to the Synod process than might at first seem apparent. Pope Francis has asked the Synod to focus on the who and where of the Church: who feels they belong and have a place as part of the Body of Christ? Where are there social and ecclesial margins that need to be reached out to with the healing and love of Christ? Of course, these questions cannot be addressed coherently without discussing the what of Christ and the Church. Still, the primary ecclesiological impulse of the Synod can be seen in its choice of three keywords: communion, mission and participation.
To unpack this a little, how can the Church be ever more converted towards its calling of proclaiming Christ crucified and risen, and to that end, enabling all the baptised to play as complete a role as possible in a vibrant Church, alive in dignified and joyful worship, fostering genuine depth of loving relations between the faithful, and committed to reaching outwards in tenderness and care through gestures small and large towards consoling, healing and transforming a broken world? This work is never finished, always broken and in need of renewal and can only happen through a Christian community journeying together. One African report noted that our calling is to be “missionary, charismatic, poor and merciful”. I have yet to meet anyone from any part of the Catholic community who feels we have that nailed and the labour is unnecessary. Mainly, we disagree in our interpretation of how to do that, priorities and boundaries.
Beyond the increasingly brittle and oppositional debates about the Synod “good” or “bad”, the really interesting parts of the Synod process can be seen in the remarkable echoes between the conversations that have taken place in very different contexts. The reports make important readings, and paying attention to what was learnt during the continental meetings could be fruitful. Quietly, these give us important clues that aid our continued conversion and growth.
The reports speak of a range of ordinary pastoral challenges, including a hunger for meaningful and accessible pastoral accompaniment for family groups – not only for individuals – for ways to accompany people across the changing seasons of their life, including a “preferential option for the young” and greater attention to inclusion of the disabled in ordinary parish settings. The struggles of families to hold onto and nurture their Catholic identity and practice is a global concern, and we are evidently not meeting that need well. And, yes, women’s participation and involvement in governance were raised across contexts. Equally, there is a desire for liturgy that is beautiful, meaningful, dignified, participatory and accessible. This includes a cry for preaching that is well prepared and spiritually nourishing (not too “intellectual” or abstractly theological, not hastily prepared, nor patronising or hectoring, to use language from the reports). Liturgical diversity is viewed generally as a source of enrichment but sometimes division – and something a synodal Church needs to reflect on more. This view, by the way, comes as much from East African reports as from the Pacific region and European ones. There is a general cry to recognise the range of charisms and gifts present amongst all the baptised for the health of the Church. In a homogenising world, in an individualist generation, the Church that emerges from the pages of the reports is one hungry and thirsty to be genuinely different, free and alive, sustained in the society of prayer, love and mutual care, on her own Gospel terms.
Of equal interest are the perspectives on Catholicity that emerged from the continental meetings. These meetings, including laity, consecrated religious and clergy, were a significant innovation and brought unexpected challenges and fruitful insights. We are used to imagining ourselves as part of parochial structures, national episcopal conferences and the universal Church. What the continental meetings enabled was an encounter and dialogue within regions. Here, people could share their priorities and visions, and what was revealed were important differences of perspective and emphasis. Some of these relate to the different historical contexts of particular national communities, particularly how the recent and more extended history of secularism and anti-clericalism, or the state suppression of Christian practice, might form the character and priorities of the communities. Understanding these histories and how they shape our expressions of catholicity seems vital to fostering a more plural and universal Church.
One anecdote from my experience in reading and presenting the reports from across the world last autumn might help demonstrate why this learning is so important. Late one evening in Rome, I attended a reception and a journalist (not a Catholic) said to me, “So, what’s in these reports? Surely all you will find is that the European Church is divided from the Church of the Global South on issues of sex and gender, abuse and power. And there has to be a split at some point.” This pessimistic perception of who we are and how we are as Catholics made me deeply sad. Despite the noisy headlines, it is not what this Synod process has taught me. There are differences in language emphasis, imagery and sometimes priorities between contexts. Still, the more significant divisions – rather than diversities – can be most significant between near-neighbours in continents and within episcopal conference communities. We must face this challenge with grace and attention, no matter what the outcome of the Synod processes will be.
And this is why Weil would be more Synod friend than critic, perhaps. She believed that we transcend the dangers of the self-absorbed “I” and the falsely idolised version of a “we” through practising giving and receiving the gift of attention. Weil believed that the gift of complete attention given freely to another person is the greatest gift one human can give to another. It can heal and restore to life. Yet she thought it truly rare and difficult for us to practice. Our minds find reasons to distract or to justify our resistance to giving that costly attention. Truly transforming attention we learn first only in prayer, which is the purest kind of attention. When we offer the attention we learn in prayer to others, we most imitate the God we love in prayer. This kind of attention is more than merely listening. It is part of the deeper process of conversion and renewal that I believe we sorely need as Catholics, and beyond either optimism or pessimism remains my hope for this synodal process.
Anna Rowlands is Professor of Catholic Social Thought and Practice at the University of Durham and a non-voting expert participant in the Synod on Synodality. She writes here in a personal capacity.
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