We Need a Better Name for This Vocation (Part 2 of 2)

Image Credit by Gaetano Esposito

About that Name

So now that we've defined the vocation briefly, let's talk about the name "Generous Single Life in Christ."   First, I must fess up that this term is not used universally.  Many just call it "the single life." (Note 1) This is even worse, because it could apply to literally anyone unmarried.  

The advantage of using "The Generous Single Life in Christ" is that it is clear that it is a vocation.  It is called "generous" to distinguish it from a selfish life lived for oneself.  It is "in Christ" to distinguish it from the generous life of the virtuous nonbeliever.  However, there are some problems with the longer term.

1) It is not specific to this vocation: All vocations are "generous" and "in Christ."  We need something more specific, which still maintaining the clarity that it is a vocation.

2) It is too long: There is a reason most people shorten "Generous Single Life in Christ" to "single life" or "single Catholics." As previously discussed, these terms could also apply to those who are single while they are discerning the other vocations, rather than those committed to the single life.  If writers are shortening it to the point it loses its descriptiveness, we need something more concise.

3) It is not poetic: The term "Holy Orders" rolls off the tongue.  It has an almost militant sound to it, like soldiers flowing across the battlefield.  We need something more poetic

"Holy Matrimony," you'll notice, is the best name by the above criteria.  It is specific to its own vocation, concise, poetic, and clear that it is a vocation.  Perfection!

Or, Pewfection!

Diving Far Beyond my Authority or Skill

Coming up with a new name would probably require someone more educated in both philology and theology than myself.  I wish I could put J.R.R Tolkien on the job, but he'll have to help merely through prayer.

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I doubt I can come up with a term that is specific to this vocation, concise, poetic, and clearly a vocational term, but I would like one that has at least three of the four.  Here are my ideas so far.

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A) The Generative Life: According to Lexico, the word generous and the word generative have the same latin root "gener-" meaning "stock or race."  Generous came about due to the associations of magnaminty with noble stock or birth, while generative comes from said roots association with "to beget."  I think this rolls off the tongue nicely, suggesting the fruit we will bear if we are rooted in the vine of Christ (John 15:5).  However, the problem is the need to be rooted in Christ applies to all vocations. | Pros: concise, poetic, vocational | Cons: Not specific

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B) The Baccalaureate Life: Lexico says that the term bachelor comes from the Old French bacheler "of uncertain origin." A dead end.  But then I decided to look up this fancy pants term for a bachelor's degree, and determined it has a much more interesting origin. "Mid 17th century (in baccalaureate (sense 2 of the noun)): from French baccalauréat or medieval Latin baccalaureatus, from baccalaureus ‘bachelor’. The earlier form baccalarius was altered by wordplay to conform with bacca lauri ‘laurel berry’, because of the laurels awarded to scholars."  I like this.  It suggests the final crown won by those who persevere in Christ, while also suggesting singlehood.  However, has too much of an association with college life, which in turn has an association with wild parties and mortal sin rather than holiness in our society.  Still, we could try to reclaim the term. | Pros: poetic | Cons: not specific | Unsure: vocational sounding? short?

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C) The Heeled Life:  Okay, this one was a lexical journey.  I was thinking about how the single life allows one to be be more flexible in filling needs that might otherwise be missed.  That led me to the root words for flexible to bend to bond to servant to slave.  All of them were dead ends.  Then I thought how filling missing needs is like the the caulk in a ship, humbly filling in the cracks so the whole thing stays afloat.  I looked up the word "caulk" and by a very meandering path (through a bizarre interlude where it referred to the "copulation of birds") it comes from the French calx or "heel."  I like this because it expresses the following at Christ's heels and suggests a profound pun (we are healed).  However, I am forced to admit I am too pleased with its cleverness for it to really be clever. | Pros: concise, vocational | Cons: not specific, too wrought

Rangers of the North in the Wilderness by Wouter Florusse

D) Holy Wandering: When Tolkien wrote "Not all who wander are lost," he was not referring to a wealthy college grad backpacking across Europe, but to a king who wandered the wilderness killing demons to protect subjects who hated him.  I like this one, but mainly because it makes me think of the Lord of the Rings. | Pros: poetic, concise | Cons: not specific | Unsure: vocational sounding?

The Miracle of St. Zita by Bernardo Strozzi 

E) Committed Lay Single: I was determined come up with at least one specific term.  This is not very poetic, but it does say it all.  One is a member of the laity (i.e. not the clergy or religious life), single, and committed to a vocation.  It is not short, but it is shorter than "Generous Single Life in Christ." | Pros: specific, vocational sounding | Cons: not poetic | Unsure: short?

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F) Dedicated Single Life: I did not come up with this one.  I discovered after first publishing this article I may be operating under a slightly incorrect starting premise.  When I ran it by a friend for review, the good doctor had never heard the term "Generous Single Life in Christ" but had always heard "Dedicated Single Life."  I did indeed find some formal acceptance of the term, but not universal acceptance.  Thus I think the conversation still needs to be had.   | Pros: specific, vocational sounding | Cons: too long | Not sure: Poetic? (Note 2)

Well, that's enough for now.  Feel free to add your own in the comments below.  Maybe if we find the right one, it will start to be used more frequently, and thus this very important vocation will get the attention it needs.

Or alternatively, maybe Generous Single Life in Christ is just fine; an aspiring yet unpretentious term for a a humble calling.
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Notes:

1) Throughout this article, I am talking about the common names of vocations in the English-speaking world.  While each has a specific theological meaning, the Generous Single Life in Christ does not appear to have a universally accepted term in English.  I don't know if this is the case in other languages.

2)  I am also a bit partial to this one, because it reminds me of the Aiel in The Wheel of Time series. "Aiel" in the fictional language of that world translates to "The Dedicated."  (Plus they had a society  of women who swear not the mary in favor of being married to war.)

We Need a Better Name for this Vocation (Part 1 of 2)

Often, when I do not understand why the Church does what is does, I discover a hidden wisdom later that makes me wonder why I made such a fuss.  This may indeed be one of those cases, but for now, I have a bone to pick with the English-speaking Church: words are important; we cannot keep calling one of the four vocations of the Church something as clunky as "The Generous Single Life in Christ." (Note 0)

A Very Brief Summary of the term "Vocation"

For those of you who are not Catholic, let me backup a bit.  Vocation in the Catholic Church has a specific theological meaning; it does not mean merely a career.  The word comes from the Latin vocare, meaning "to Call" (Lexico by Oxford).  In other words, a vocation is a calling from God.

Every Christian in the world has the same primary vocation: holiness.  This cannot be overemphasized, and deserves a blog article of its own.  However, when Catholics talk about "vocational discernment," they usually mean the four "secondary" vocations, which break down as follows:

A)  Consecrated and Religious Life

B) Holy Orders

C) Holy Matrimony

D) Generous Single Life in Christ

These can overlap a bit; for instance a married man can be called to be a permanent Deacon, while a Benedictine priest is called to both Religious Life and Holy Orders.  I couldn't find a good venn diagram to illustrate this, so I had to make one myself in Microsoft Paint.  Apologies in advance for most definitely not being a graphic designer.  You might need to scroll this way ---->

I could get tangled up in the finer points of this forever, but I don't want to get too much farther off topic.(Note 1)

What is meant by a Generous Single Life in Christ?

The Generous Single Life in Christ is not just a default state of being single while dating, or floating through life because one has not discerned any other vocation.  Like ALL other vocations, it is a "preordained" calling by God which involves a "permanent commitment" and "sacrifice" in order to "help others get to heaven" (Note 2).

However, of all the vocations, it is the one with the least written about it theologically.  Even The Catechism of the Catholic Church has only a few brief sentences on it (Note 3).  Google results are scanty; the best definition I found comes from the Diocese of Saginaw:

"Life as a single person can be a vocation from God! It is not simply reserved as the last "default" option, but the single life can be the way we serve God and one another.
The vocation to the single life is a vocation to generosity. Single women and men usually have more freedom than those in other vocations. They tend to have more time, energy, and sometimes money to give themselves in service of God and others. Single people can become examples of great service and generosity. Often it is single people who do so much to make things happen. The vocation to the single life is a gift to the Church!"

Okay, we've defined it.  In the next part, I will expound upon my issues with the name.

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Notes:

0) Throughout this article, I am talking about the common names of vocations in the English-speaking world.  While each has a specific theological meaning, the Generous Single Life in Christ does not appear to have a universally accepted term in English.  I don't know if this is the case in other languages.

1) After I first published this article, a friend corrected me that Religious Life is actually a subset of Consecrated Life.  Consecrated Life takes vows related to the apostolic councils (traditionally poverty, celibacy, and obedience, though it is a bit more complex than that).  Religious Life involves consecrated individuals who live in community.  Societies of Apostolic Life are difficult to categorize; they make promises rather than take vows, live in community like Religious, and often include ordained men.  Thus I put them spanning all three, but that might be incorrect.  Dr. Matson believes Secular Institutes are also difficult to categorize, but my research shows them firmly in the consecrated life. 

2) Most of my understanding of the four secondary vocations in the Church comes from Fr. Brett A. Brannen's excellent book To Save a Thousand Souls.  This paragraph quotes from him heavily, but the entire article is indebted to him.

3)  "We must also remember the great number of single persons who, because of the particular circumstances in which they have to live - often not of their choosing - are especially close to Jesus' heart and therefore deserve the special affection and active solicitude of the Church, especially of pastors. Many remain without a human family often due to conditions of poverty. Some live their situation in the spirit of the Beatitudes, serving God and neighbor in exemplary fashion. The doors of homes, the "domestic churches," and of the great family which is the Church must be open to all of them. "No one is without a family in this world: the Church is a home and family for everyone, especially those who 'labor and are heavy laden.'" (CCC 1658)

Planning through Uncertainty

I am ridiculously well-equipped to handle this crisis.  I have a large support network that is accustomed to being contacted via phone.  I have a day job I have held for years that is tangentially connected to healthcare (and thus recession resistant).  I could afford to stock up on (a reasonable number of) groceries.  My apartment boast a downright unfair number of windows for a New York City domicile and thus is quite pleasant to spend the daytime in.  Most of my weekly routines transitioned almost seamlessly to phone or video.  I am relatively young and (despite my best efforts) healthy.  So I have a lot to be grateful for; I will be fine.

Even so, I am in mourning for a lost sense of security.  I scroll through Facebook and read about the fear and uncertainty of those who have it much, much worse.  I take naps too late and don't sleep well overnight. I call my parents and whine.  I want to know what is coming tomorrow.  I want to make plan I know I can stick to.  I want to know my summer vacation will still happen.  I want to know my grandparents will remain healthy.  And I don't.

The Kingdom of Today

"I don't see much point in talking about my plans, since we don't know what is going to happen with all this," I told my spiritual director at our usual monthly meeting (held, in an abundance of caution, over the phone this time).

He very wisely and profoundly replied "We never do."

What a delightful burden that would be to put down: the insistence upon tomorrow.

Times have been good for so long that I forget that I can't see the future.  I forget that my happiness is not rooted in the promise of tomorrow.  All God gives me is the Now.  And this is not insecurity, but relief.

Earthly kings always try to expand their kingdoms without considering their own capabilities.  I send my armies into tomorrow, to conquer and subdue it, without considering whether I can hold I can hold the ground.

But the extra hats just look so cool cool

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow is too large a kingdom for one such as me to rule.  Today has enough judgments and joys to keep me quite occupied.  I am not a king; I am a steward of the now that God has allotted me.  After all, it is much easier to be a steward than a King, because you have someone above you to ask for advice.

Sails and Rudders

Even knowing this, I find that my little portion and the hope of Heaven is not quite enough to sustain me during good times, nevermind bad.  I still want to make plans.  Is this impulse a lack of humility and faith?  Not inherently, I think.  Because God has a plan for me.  God does know tomorrow.  And when I make a plan that I think fits with God's plan, I offer my services to God towards fulfilling His plan.

by Thomas Merton

It won't work out.  Maybe it doesn't work perfectly because we live in a fallen world.  Maybe it doesn't work because I got God's plan wrong to begin with.  But at some point, some aspect of the plan will fall apart.  What then?  First, I remember that the results were never my responsibility.  Just as today is my only domain, the effort is my only responsibility.  The results are up to God.

And then, secondly, I adjust the plan, like one adjust a ship's rudder when the winds blow it off course.

Oh, very well.  You caught me!  Those of you who know me know that my first response is to grumble and procrastinate, not to make a new plan.   My plans often don't work out because I didn't work them, not because of any failure of circumstance.  And yet, eventually, I plan again.  What would be the point of doing otherwise?

Before this crisis, my plans still failed.  I still failed.  The strength of the headwinds has increased, but the solution has not.  I still have to turn the damn rudder back towards my destination.  I still have to make a plan.  Because I have Hope that making a plan, even one radicially and constantly altered by internal and external circumstances, is worthwhile.  Because I have Faith that if I do this, I will reach the divinely set destination, though not via the route I first expected.  And because I have enough Love for those around me to keep sailing.

Crossing the Bar by Henry Moore

So, I will still mourn for my illusory security, but console myself that it is no more illusory now than it was before this crisis. I will still make plans, but prayerfully, remembering what I can and cannot control.  I sail unknown seas, but that has never not been the case.  And what a wonderful consolation that is.

Rising's Rapid Reviews: The Metropolitan Museum of Art (Fifth Ave Location)

My feelings upon reviewing my first visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art on 5th Avenue are a bit like Samwise Gamgee's feelings on being asked if he liked his first meeting with elves. “'They seem a bit above my likes and dislikes, so to speak.'"  However, I did have a joyful time at the Met, and I wished to share a bit of that joy.

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I know absolutely nothing about the visual arts beyond a few proper nouns. When I am attracted to a piece of art, it tends to be because 1) I like the subject matter--usually something from legend or myth--and 2) I can tell what it is.  So if you are looking for educated visual arts critiques, you shan't find them here.

This painting clearing indicates the convergence of the painter's desire to draw a bunch of colored lines with the buyer's desire to show they can afford to spend a lot of money on a bunch of colored lines.

My original intent was to go to the Museum of Moving Image, which was at least tangential to my own primary field of acting.  However, I was behind schedule, and the Met was open until 9pm.  And so I made my way up 5th Ave. with all the penitent joy of a secular vacationer who, being in Italy anyway, decides it won't kill him to see the Vatican while he is there.

 

Don't bring your backpack

It started out a bit rocky.  I made my donation (the Met is pay-what-you-can for tri-state residents) and jostled through the tourist crowds in the entrance hall (taking time to scoff along the way at an pretentious caption underneath a postmodern mural) until I made my way to the tourist crowds in the Egyptian section.  I almost left when a security guard told me that I could not wear my (rather heavy) backpack, and instead had to carry it.  I understood the reason; surprisingly few things in the Met are behind glass, and it would have been easy for me to turn suddenly and scrape against a temple wall or Grecian bust.  However, this made my visit slightly more physically draining that I had anticipated.  

Summoning Nyarlathotep

Temple of Dendur

The Egyptian section was, of course, very impressive, because Egypt is is impressive.  The history panels were very informative, and, you know, pharaohs and stuff.  I dutifully read the captions under each pot and idol for a room or two, then sped ahead to a temple by an indoor pond (under a very postmodern glass enclosure).  This Nubian temple was gifted to the United States by Egypt for services in preserving Nubian artifacts during the building of a damn.  I sat and tried to have profound thoughts--something along the lines of how odd it was to be in the preeminent city of a the world's current preeminent empire looking at the fragments of a much older former preeminent empire.  However, the sense of the weight of history receded quickly; the temple only dates to the time of Augustus Caesar.  As there was no risk in accidentally awakening a Great Old One by tracing the wrong runes, I lost interest and decided to head to the first floor mezzanine.

The Aroma of Art

Entrance Hall of the Metropolitan Museum of Art when in Fourteenth Street by Frank Waller

I found myself in a section of American art.  It was there that I discovered one of the best parts of the Met: it doesn't smell like New York City.  For those of you who are not familiar with the equistise and complex perfume of the Big Apple, I can only say that one hour breathing in air that *doesn't* smell like someone is frying a diaper on a hot dog cart is equivalent to a restful three-day weekend.  And the Early American section of the Met smells fantastic--like a used bookstore where all the shelves are made of antique cherry wood.  I palled around with some painting depicting life in the 1800s, including a painting of a woman looking at paintings in the Met, which was mildly amusing. I paid my respects to George Washington, and then headed up the stairs once more to the second floor.

Eating My Vegetables

Standing Bodhisattva Maitreya

I am extremely westocentric in both taste and education, so heading upstairs was fighting my inclination to head straight to medieval armor and weapons.  I made a firm resolution to educate myself in calligraphy of feudal Kyoto instead.  I was a bit disappointed in the captions in that exhibit; I felt they could have been done a better job at framing the works in history, but the art was enjoyable. I attempted to find the Chinese art, but got lost due to the path being blocked during a concert.  I took a roundabout route through more American art and some Joseon pottery, and then found myself sitting quietly with some Bodhisattvas for a while.  Their serenity felt familiar (artistically speaking, not theologically speaking) to the statues of saints at church, and I quite enjoyed their company.

Where be the ladies of the court?

My energy was rapidly depleting, and I was getting hungry.  I thought about leaving, but then it occurred to me that I had not even tried to find one Pre-Raphaelite painting.  If there is one genre of visual arts I can call myself a fan of, its the Pre-Raphaelites.  I suspect this has more to do with the the painting largely being filled with graceful women of Arthurian legend than the art itself, but I did want to see if they had any before I departed for the evening.  I power-walked through European paintings looking for anything resembling a Waterhouse print.  I didn't find any Pre-Raphaelite paintings, but I found myself drinking in two paintings in particular.

The Weeders by Jules Breton

I am normally a rather open francophobe, so it was a surprise to discover that my two favorite paintings were French.   This one, quite simply, reminds me of working with my grandfather on his farm.  I never much cared for farm work, but I admit that one gets to enjoy beauty at a level unknown to an office laborer.  It is also quite satisfying to see the sun set and know that dinner and rest approach. 

If I were to wax philosophical about this painting, the pregnant woman looking into the distance seems anticipatory, as if the setting sun and end of her labor prefaced her coming *labor* and the joy of a child.  She is like Mother Church herself: realistic that there is a still a ways to go, but pregnant with the expectation of Christ's coming at the end of time, just as rest comes as the end of the day.  

The Forest in Winter at Sunset by Théodore Rousseau

This one reminds my of Halloween. What higher compliment could I pay? 

Interestingly this one also deals with the final stretch of hard labor before the rest of night.  Apparently, the theme of evening is resonating with me right now.

Departure

After European paintings, I headed back down to the main floor and tried to look at some swords, but my attention span had been reduced to nothing by sensory overload.  I stumbled out the exit without even glancing at the forest of Roman statues around me.  As I walked away, I took one last look up at the lit windows and promised to return another time with a lighter backpack.  I am very grateful to the Met for the wonderful evening it gave me, reminding me that this city is not quite so ugly as it seems at first glance.  I plopped down three blocks later with some fast food, another Lord of the Rings Quote in my head.

"'Dear me! We Tooks and Brandybucks, we can't live long on the heights.'
'No,' said Merry. 'I can't. Not yet, at any rate. But at least, Pippin, we can now see them, and honour them. It is best to love first what you are fitted to love, I suppose: you must start somewhere [...]'" 

Blessing upon all creators and all observers of beauty. Have a wonderful week, and thanks, as always, for reading.

--Epimetheus