Eat, Pray, Love begins with Elizabeth Gilbert in her early 30s, crying on the bathroom floor. She is catapulted into a severe emotional and spiritual crisis because of the realization that she does not want to have a child. The dramatic meltdown ensues; she divorces her husband, cashes the advance check for her next novel and makes a plan to travel around the world. She orchestrates her recovery in three parts: first, she will eat big plates of pasta in Italy, second she will find God in an ashram in India, and third she will learn to balance pleasure and devotion in Indonesia, thereby triumphing over her severe depression.
I sound sarcastic, but the truth is that I also feel empathic. We all experience seasons of grief, a lack of satisfaction, an ache for more meaning. It was easy to see her appeal as I watched Oprah Winfrey endorse Gilbert and her pilgrimage. I saw women like myself soaking up the wisdom of her story, wanting to break their shackles, drop their burdens, and be free. We love living vicarious emotional journeys. And in Gilbert we find a charming, insightful and self-depreciating voice to capture the adventure.
But the adventure, no matter how cleverly written, seemed circular. Gilbert sets out for reaching the turiya state, or a state of constant bliss, not affected by mood swings, fear or loss. Spoiler: she doesn’t get there. Gilbert says that in the end she was not rescued by a prince, but was the administrator of her own rescue. And although the notion that we can heal and save ourselves is appealing, I don’t buy it. When I noticed that half of my Facebook friends have this novel listed as a favorite I decided to put my thoughts to paper.
Before we get to the point, which is the second part of the book on finding God, I must say this: Eating plates of pasta in Italy is something I have personally experienced. It is awesome and I highly recommend it. After gaining fifteen pounds and enjoying much decadence in Italy, Gilbert travels to India to study in an ashram under the teachings of a famous Indian guru. Here we are taught through our narrator that God dwells within us, as us. That we need to renounce our division from God, to refuse the idea that God is separate from us. My initial response to this was, “Is it a good thing for the God of the Universe to be like me? Is it good that God would love like me? Or have patience like me?” There is more peace in knowing that God transcends the limitations of frail humanness. Although we are created in the likeness of God, thankfully, we are not God.
Zen masters say that “you cannot see your reflection in running water, only still water.” It makes sense for our spiritual health that we slow down and be contemplative. Silence and solitude are universally recognized spiritual practices. But is the point, as the quote says to see your own reflection? Are spiritual journeys really about looking only inward to our own hearts? Gilbert says on her website that “God resides in pockets of silence” that you find when you are brave enough to look within yourself. While in India, she makes a decision to stay at the ashram to look deeper into her own soul, rather than travel into the villages. She believes it took extraordinary bravery to come to this decision.
Sitting perfectly still in meditation for hours, quieting your mind, and seeking self mastery are not easy. But brave? Isn’t being by ourselves the most safe and familiar thing we know? Is meditation good practice for an individual? Maybe. Was Gilbert’s choice good for the Indian people living in hunger and poverty in the town where the ashram was located? Was it brave of her to stay isolated in thought about herself or would it have been more brave to feed to the poor? For me, this is the question that matters.
Is a spiritual journey about looking inside you to find God or looking into the pain of the world and, with the strength God provides, seeking to relieve it? Mother Theresa exemplified one brave enough to engage with others, to be responsible for them, to try to help fix brokenness, and give to those who are in need. However transformative and healing Gilbert’s time contemplating her navel seems to be to her, she missed the point. There were people in that Indian village hungry for healing, and, quite simply, food. My sense is that the rich American could have left a more lasting mark on the world had she looked outside of herself. She could have told a story to inspire people to act beyond themselves, in the interest of others, in the spirit of the love of God.
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Tricia, we’ve never spoken, but hi! Reading this makes me think, under the influence of both you and Travis, that Sophia will grow up to be a literary genius. Or, at least that she’ll become the kind of thoughtful student I dream of having in class…
You say, “although the notion that we can heal and save ourselves is appealing, I don’t buy it.” Aside from the theological angle, I’m always suspicious of this sentiment in any literature. Emerson and Thoreau drove me to study literature and writing in college, and I sometimes see some version of this in their thinking (which I, admittedly, haven’t read in a while…
). My limited understanding of their thought, and Transcendentalism in general, would have criticized the way Gilbert pursues her journey, though — just has you have.
I haven’t read the book — and probably never will. But, your review posits a sequence of events that I think foreshadows your critique: she gorges in Italy before going to India. She starts her adventure indulging her desires. Reading this review, Gilbert’s journey doesn’t sound so much like spiritual reclamation as it does Stuart Smalley-style affirmation.
So… when do you take over The Hog’s Head from the old man? I know it’s a pub and all, but it is a bit of a male-driven place around there…
I agree with you.
I read the book last fall, after several friends had highly recommended it. I felt like a cynic , but the more I read of it, the less I liked it. I felt that the ashram part showed how much she missed the mark — or else her writing did not really reflect her experience. It was way too much superficial detail and spiritual posturing. She was watching herself all the time.
I started the book last year and put it down, thinking I’d pick it up again one day, but I haven’t. It starts out well. Later it got to be self-indulgent on the author’s part.
Now I don’t even know where I left off, because my cat knocked it off the shelf and the bookmark fell out.
Thanks for your insight.
We can’t all chose the same path to spirituality.
Sure, we can.