Ashley Stinnett | Healthy self-contempt

Just Monking Around | You’re not gonna like what you find looking in

By Ashley Stinnett 09/25/16 11:33pm

During my interview for the “monk class,” Religious Studies 356: Living Deliberately: Monks, Saints, and the Contemplative Life, professor Justin McDaniel posed the following scenario: Someone in the world hates you. You don’t know who they are, or maybe you do. You didn’t necessarily do anything to them — they just hate you. Why do they hate you?

I was disallowed from asking clarifying questions in response. Being the creative (read: wise-ass) that I am, I made sure to elicit clarifications in other ways — raised eyebrows, cocked head, upward intonations at the end of a “statement.” These questions are just as much about my interpretations of them, my immediate associations as to what exactly is being asked, as they are about my answers.

Eventually, I stopped deflecting. “They are annoyed that I think I know things — that I think I can really understand, that I can really empathize.” For me, I think, that person who hated me was ... me.

Professor McDaniel chuckled and said I have a “healthy self-contempt.” Like his father used to say to him.

On the first day of class, professor McDaniel brought up this “healthy self-contempt” again. We’re always acting, he said, and, ever the Buddhist, he refuted all notions of authenticity and the self. You’re constantly performing, he said, the trick is always to be aware of it. Finding your true self — as is the common misconception of the class — is far from the point. But if that’s what other people think — and, if that’s what you want other people to think — then let it be.

You won’t like what you become aware of, he said. Especially not what you learn about yourself.

You won’t get what you came here for, if you did come here for something specific. This isn’t a chance for you to embark on those passion projects — write some plays, paint a masterpiece, become an expert calligrapher. These are mere distractions. That’s why you’re not allowed to read anything beyond what’s been assigned to you, use the internet, or spend more than $80 per week.

Why did I first want to take the monk class, back when I first heard about it in freshman year? It would be a fantastic way to get the cheekbones I’ve always wanted; I’ll be able to read the shit I definitely should have read by now (Ulysses, anyone?); I’ll finally have time to write and be super introspective and know my true self and I’m totes contemplative and everyone will think I’m badass and wise.

Why do I want to take the monk class now? I don’t know. I have no idea what’s going to happen. That’s precisely the appeal.

In a world of on-campus-recruiting and constant pre-professionalism, it’s surprising that a course like this can continue to generate so much interest. In a world of gaming the system and “maximizing your time” to be ultimately productive with the least amount of effort — and only, of course, so that saved effort can go on and be used on other endeavors to ... make you more successful? And maybe that is because of the complete opposition the course represents to this Penn status-quo. At the same time, it confers a sort of status upon you — mostly admiration, even from professors and administrators, surprisingly, that you’re willing to potentially “sacrifice” future prospects to ... dive into the unknown?

I do know that I’ll be absent from this real-world/Penn bubble for quite some time — but I also know that I’ll return. Not everyone will be so understanding of the time I’ve spent more off the grid. So I’m making up for lost time — now.

I’ve put myself out there much more than I ever have before. Perhaps that is the greatest motivation of all — to know that all of these “distractions” will be taken away very soon. So I’m indulging my every whim: My social media usage has skyrocketed (I sincerely apologize here to all my Snapchat friends); I’ve acted in two stage productions and a short film; I’m opinion columning; I’m racking up those bylines now and I’m working my tail off to get far, far ahead in all of my classes and jobs and applications before the restrictions on speaking and technology start.

For now, I’ve felt a little less self-contempt because of my extreme productivity — or really, my maximal indulgence in all distractions ever. The self-contempt is still there — loving distractions pre-restriction period definitely isn’t why anyone should take the course — but I’m not ruminating over what should be. Maybe this is what healthy self-contempt is.

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