It was perhaps one of the most disturbing conversations I could ever recall. A guest of a family friend had been recounting his world travels with his wife. Together they had been to almost every imaginable destination for SCUBA diving trips: Bali, the Galapagos, the South Pacific—you name it, they had been there. Yet something about the conversation turned my stomach. This couple lived one of the most depressing lives I could imagine. For despite all their exotic travels, there was nothing but hedonism and pursuit of the next experience to motivate their lives. They were voluntary Cains, aimlessly wandering the earth without rootedness or meaning. If you have ever scrolled through the social media feed of a travel blogger, you might have felt a similar inner revulsion.
Yet, before I could pronounce a judgement on them, I began to notice a disturbing amount of this attitude permeating my own thinking. While by no means as well-traveled, I too sometimes viewed the world as a to-do list of destinations, one of which I felt had to finally make me happy. I knew too well the feeling of disillusionment after a big trip that failed to deliver on its promise. While the obvious root cause of all this is the idol factory that is the human heart, I began to wonder if there was also something particular to our culture as modern Western tourists that was damaging our outlook upon the world.
Contrast, for instance, the state of affairs for a medieval pilgrim on his way to a sacred site with that of 21st century leisure traveler. Certainly the latter has the easier lot. We drive to the nearest airport, hop on a flight, and arrive at our destination. Yet, all this ease does come with a price. Consider Mount Washington in New Hampshire, perhaps the most rugged peak on the east coast. It is quite possible to drive up the mountain to the visitor center on top. Yet the experience of a day tripper in a minivan upon looking out across that vista is nothing compared to that of a hiker who has endured the steep ascent in the fog and rain to reach the summit. The suffering better prepares the one who looks upon that beauty to appreciate it for what it really is. For the pilgrim, the journey from his hometown to a relic or holy site would be an arduous, months long process. If done correctly, it would be in some ways a spiritual journey, teaching the traveler endurance and patience along the way. We, on the other hand, expect a smooth ride, and become angry when we experience flight delays or traffic jams. This expectation of ease plays into our consumer mindset, for we think we can neatly control creation to get what we want.
That we should think about the world as consumers comes rather naturally to us. It is a vision of reality fed to us relentlessly by advertisements and social media. But more fundamentally, it comes with our poietic world where nothing but malleable matter exists. Ours is, as Rod Dreher put it, a “flat” world, where the spiritual topology has been erased. In comparison, a medieval pilgrim lived in a mimetic world permeated by the supernatural, where demons were a real danger to travelers and miracles might occur in conjunction with relics. Perhaps it is no wonder then that we are bored, restless, and prone to wander, for our immanent frame has stripped us of the wonders and horrors present everywhere on God’s earth. Similarly, we also tend to psychologize travel, searching most of all for the best experiences and becoming disappointed if it fails to live up to our expectations. The pilgrim would have little time for such thoughts, his goal would be objective-to reach his destination or die trying. The trip might be miserable but if he saw the sword of St. Galgano and returned alive, that would be a success.
Now, I do not advocate for abolishing commercial travel and do not think we should romanticize the often-grim medieval world. You will not find me trying to backpack to my grandparent’s house overseas anytime soon. However, I think there is much that we moderns can learn from adopting something of the pilgrim’s mindset, both in travel and in daily life. Firstly, we can learn to see suffering as normative rather than pleasure. The consumer mindset has no recourse to deal with suffering or pain. For the pilgrim, the suffering endured was not only expected, but a vital part of the spiritual journey. Learning to endure such minor inconveniences as traffic jams or flight delays is a small step in the right direction. Secondly, we should look for spiritual significance in ordinary life. This is not a call to see miracles and demons lurking behind every corner, but rather to recognize the world is a battle between good and evil, not a clump of neutral matter. There really is something sinister about those racy advertisements on the billboard. That seemingly ordinary church you see off the freeway really is an outpost of Christ’s kingdom on earth. That person snoring loudly on the train really is a being destined either for glory or damnation.
Finally, let us view not only our travels, but our lives and all of history as moving toward an end. Trying to find joy in travel for its own sake will never fulfill us, we must set our minds on a greater goal. For the pilgrim, that was a journey of spiritual transformation culminating at one particularly sacred place. For us, in the short term that might be a goal such as visiting family, seeing a particularly meaningful historical site, or serving a community in need. Yet ultimately, like Christian in A Pilgrim’s Progress, we are pilgrims bound for a Celestial City beyond this veil of tears. Atheist can go the wrong way on the road for he sees no meaning in the landscape; his journey is his destination. Yet for Christian, all of life is seen by the lens of either moving toward or away from that glorious place. The destination gives the meaning to the journey. So as we traverse this flat earth, often seemingly devoid of meaning, let us remember we truly are but pilgrims and exiles in a foreign country. If we hold out only but a little longer, the golden walls of the New Jerusalem will appear above the horizon.
