In his book, A Hidden Wholeness: The Journey Toward an Undivided Life, Quaker author, Parker J. Palmer, calls us to stop killing our souls by “compartmentalizing” our lives. Instead, he invites us to live “divided no more” by uniting our inner and outer lives. In other words, he calls us to wholeness.

Palmer seeks to help us do this by bringing together four themes: “the shape of an integral life, the meaning of community, teaching and learning for transformation, and nonviolent social change” (ix). Though Parker’s insights are not particularly directed toward the church, it is obvious (or should be!) that his insights are compatible with the church’s life and mission.

Divided We Fall

Though our culture encourages soul-dividedness (i.e. not wearing one’s heart on one’s sleeve, separating the personal from the public, etc.) we must realize that this fragmentation of the soul is destructive to ourselves and to our communities. Because of a general lack of integrity among most people, we continually have to wonder about others, “Is this person the same on the inside as he or she seems to be on the outside?” We desire congruence between outer appearance and inner reality. When we suspect this is lacking, we go on high alert. We want “what we see” to be “what we get.”

And yet, it is incredibly difficult to continually practice such personal integrity. We fall into the trap of presenting a persona to others that is not congruent with who we really are. We pretend we are smarter and tougher than others. Over time, the “false self” we create appears more real than the “true self” – who we really are. This leads to fragmentation and division of the soul. We lose wholeness and integrity. We embrace our own illusion and live a lie of our own devising.

The So-Called Inner and Outer Life

Palmer uses a Mobius strip – a continuous one-sided surface that can be formed from a long rectangular strip by rotating one end 180° and attaching it to the other end – to illustrate how our inner life and outer life must relate:

Holding the strip together with the fingers of one hand, use a finger on the other hand to trace what seems to be the outside surface of that strip: suddenly and seamlessly you find yourself on what seems to be the inside of the strip. Continue to trace what seems to be the inside surface of the strip: suddenly and seamlessly you find yourself on what seems to be the outside of the strip.

I have to keep repeating “what seems to be” because there is no “inside” and “outside” on the Mobius strip - the two apparent sides keep cocreating each other. The mechanics of the Mobius strip are mysterious, but its message is clear: whatever is inside us continually flows outward to help form, or deform, the world - and whatever is outside us continually flows inward to help form, or deform, our lives. The Mobius strip is like life itself: here, ultimately, there is only one reality. (46-47)

We fool ourselves when we believe that our inner life and outer life have no relationship with one another. When we live a divided life, we wreak havoc on our souls.

A Community of Solitudes

How does the divided self become whole? Palmer points out that the simple 10-step solutions offered by popular self-help literature often lead to even greater self-deception and self-absorption.

Solutions of that sort are snake oil, of course. The quick-fix mentality that dominates our impatient world serves only to distract us from the lifelong journey toward wholeness. And the self-help methods so popular in our time, the best of which offer us support for that journey, sometimes reinforce the great American illusion that we can forever go it alone. (22)

Whatever the solution to our inner dividedness, it will not be discovered alone. We need both solitude and community to live a whole life.

Of course, solitude is essential to personal integration: there are places in the landscapes of our lives where no one can accompany us. But because we are communal creatures who need each other's support – and because, left to our own devices, we have an endless capacity for self-absorption and self-deception – community is equally essential to rejoining soul and role. (22)

Palmer calls us to rethink the relationship of solitude and community, for these two experiences are not at odds, but compliment and complete one another.

If we are to hold solitude and community together as a true paradox, we need to deepen our understanding of both poles. Solitude does not necessarily mean living apart from others; rather, it means never living apart from one's self. It is not about the absence of other people – it is about being fully present to ourselves, whether or not we are with others. Community does not necessarily mean living face-to-face with others; rather, it means never losing the awareness that we are connected to each other. It is not about the presence of other people – it is about being fully open to the reality of relationship, whether or not we are alone. (55)

Parker’s model for uniting solitude and community is a “circle of trust.” A circle of trust consists of a group of people whose “singular purpose is to support the inner journey of each person in the group, to make each soul feel safe enough to show up and speak its truth, to help each person listen to his or her inner teacher” (54). If one understands “his or her inner teacher” to be the Holy Spirit, then this model is compatible with Christian spiritual formation.

In a circle of trust, we practice the paradox of “being alone together,” of being present to one another as a “community of solitudes.” Those phrases sound like contradictions because we think of solitude and community as either-or. But solitude and community, rightly understood, go together as both-and. To understand true self – which knows who we are in our inwardness and whose we are in the larger world – we need both the interior intimacy that comes with solitude and the otherness that comes with community. (54)

In these “circles of trust,” a supportive, accepting, and loving group of people come together to create an environment to help a person toward wholeness.

Here is one way to understand the relationships in a circle of trust: they combine unconditional love, or regard, with hopeful expectancy, creating a space that both safeguards and encourages the inner journey. In such a space, we are freed to hear our own truth, touch what brings us joy, become self-critical about our faults, and take risky steps toward change – knowing that we will be accepted no matter what the outcome. (60)

True personal and spiritual formation in the context of loving community is at the heart of Palmer’s circles of trust. The church would do well to incorporate Palmer’s insights and methods with a few minor adjustments. Throughout the book, Palmer repeatedly teaches that circles of trust must have no set agenda. For Palmer, this includes all authority of any kind other than that which originates from the self. Because of this, he has no place for the basic essentials of Christian community –a shared faith rooted in shared beliefs and values.

Formation may be the best name for what happens in a circle of trust, because the word refers, historically, to soul work done in community. But a quick disclaimer is in order, since formation sometimes means a process quite contrary to the one described in this book – a process in which the pressure of orthodox doctrine, sacred text, and institutional authority is applied to the misshapen soul in order to conform it to the shape dictated by some theology. This approach is rooted in the idea that we are born with souls deformed by sin, and our situation is hopeless until the authorities “form” us properly. (57)

Obviously, evangelicals do not emphasize the dignity of humanity as much as we should. And yet, we must not completely lose our understanding and awareness of human sin. There is great potential for self-deception in the human heart – not solely from the false self of societal expectations, but from the prone-to-deception self that relishes in being its own source of authority.

Spiritual Mentors in the Community of Solitudes

Even with his emphasis on personal discovery and personal authority, Palmer recognizes the need for spiritual mentors and leaders in circles of trust.

Unfortunately, our idea of leadership has been deformed by a myth that links leadership to hierarchy, as if leaders were needed only in systems that operate from the top down. But when we are in “community” – which, at a turn of the kaleidoscope, evokes the romance of an instinctive life together – we can dispense with a designated leader, allowing the role to pass spontaneously from one person to the next. Or so goes the myth.

Yet in my experience, a community requires more leadership than a hierarchy does. A hierarchy has clear goals, a well-established division of labor, and a set of policies about how things are supposed to run; if the machine is well designed and well lubricated, it can almost run itself. A community is a chaotic, emergent, and creative force field that needs constant tending. And when a community’s aims are countercultural, as they are in a circle of trust, its need for tending is even greater. Lacking a leader grounded in the principles, skilled at the practices, and granted the authority to lead, a circle of trust will fail because the relational culture it requires is so rare and so fragile.

The authority such a leader needs is not the same as power. (76)

Conclusion

With just a few minor tweaks, Palmer’s insights and methods are compatible with spiritual formation in the context of a local church. With his model of “circles of trust,” Palmer effectively integrates the four themes: “the shape of an integral life, the meaning of community, teaching and learning for transformation, and nonviolent social change” (ix). Even more importantly, his goal – achieving personal integrity by uniting our inner and outer lives – is at the heart of Jesus’ call to “be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

© Richard J. Vincent, 2004