Hardy

HARDY, FIELD WORKERS AND PILGRIMS

Some four generations ago, in Tess of the D’Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy created a work in which there was “a strange sympathy between Tess and her world” with ”no separation between what the characters feel and the setting in which they feel it”.

These words, from the critic A. Alvarez, are to me resonant of my modern experience of pilgrimage, in which my main preoccupation has been to link myself physically and spiritually with the landscapes through which I travel.  Hardy seems to believe that the female is better able to achieve this connection than the male.  Of the field workers of the 19^th century he says “A field man is a personality afield; a field woman is a portion of the field; she has somehow lost her own margin, imbibed the essence of her surrounding, and assimilated herself with it.”

That we should respond to the difficulties or pleasures imposed by the landscape and climate whilst traveling out in the open is obvious but the suggestion is that there is potentially a deeper, more soulful connection available to us. Maybe Hardy felt the woman achieved this more easily because instead of setting herself against the land, she allowed herself to be absorbed into it; earth being a female element, not a male one.

Yet the business of allowing ourselves to be absorbed by our surroundings is not the only thing that qualifies us as pilgrims.  The man who takes, for example, magic mushrooms, may surrender himself to the moment, merge himself with his surroundings, without having any particular destination in mind.  While a specific sacred destination seems to be a prerequisite of pilgrimage it is arguable that many of the same goals may be achieved by simply “wandering with God”. So, what are, and what have been, the reasons for pilgrimage?

Pilgrimage, like the crusades, often had the purpose of asserting its version of Christianity in a region which had been or was under threat from another religion, being perhaps Catharism or later, Protestantism, which didn’t believe in it, or Islam, which did, but its own version.  Considerations of the afterlife were highly relevant of course, but I doubt that much was said about merging mind and body with landscape, although it doubtless happened.

Nowadays, we are unlikely to be looking to assert our religion or secure the afterlife, we are more likely to be hoping to better understand ourselves by setting ourselves this particular arduous task, this physical journey.  We may also be looking to conserve a tradition from the past, which will involve recognizing and enjoying, perhaps paying a kind of tribute to, the landscapes, art and architecture of the route.  It may be that the modern pilgrim doesn’t want to feel superior to the tourist yet is uncomfortable with the idea of seeing himself as one, and hopes to add something more to the idea of unity of person and place in the form of spiritual and symbolic components, so that his or her journey becomes a more complete work or story. The truly sacred nature of this journey may be achieved by this sense of completeness, or perhaps the sense that it fits well into the grander scheme of things, forming part of a satisfactory and illuminating pattern.  If this sense of completeness is to be achieved then the nature of the return becomes vitally important, for the final destination is home, not the point of pilgrimage.  Once home, the pilgrim may start to consider his next journey, hoping to add something to the first, or maybe improve upon it.  Hence the journey may become something like a work of art, perhaps with good fortune acquiring a sacred quality.

 The fascination of this for me is that I find I can always add another layer to what I have written, or express it in a slightly different way, in the same way that I can always add to my journeys.  I wonder if unifying person and place is a necessary first step in the process – must we first take to the road, walk until we become the road and then introduce (or expect to happen) prayer or meditation?  Or will the latter come before the former?  Then, what of our understanding of the history, traditions and symbolic elements? These surely involve some preparation and study before we embark.  The man-made objects, principally architecture and sculpture, much of which is closer to folk art than religious art, are to me a perennial source of interest having their own symbolic meanings, a relevant part of the belief system behind the pilgrimage, part of its history, part of its wealth. Finally, what of the human encounters, for many a vital part of the experience leading to a greater understanding and appreciation of it? These may be the most random, least predictable and most rewarding things of all.

           

Chris Masters

August 2008