2022/12/01

The Wonder (film) - Wikipedia

The Wonder (film) - Wikipedia

The Wonder (film)

The Wonder is a 2022 psychological period drama film directed by Sebastián LelioEmma Donoghue, Lelio, and Alice Birch wrote the screenplay based on the 2016 novel of the same name by Donoghue. Set shortly after the Great Famine, it follows an English nurse sent to a rural Irish village to observe a young 'fasting girl', who is seemingly able to miraculously survive without eatingFlorence Pugh leads an ensemble cast that includes Tom BurkeNiamh AlgarElaine CassidyDermot CrowleyBrían F. O'ByrneDavid WilmotRuth Bradley, Caolán Byrne, Josie WalkerCiarán HindsToby Jones, and Kíla Lord Cassidy.

The Wonder
The Wonder (film).jpg
Official release poster
Directed bySebastián Lelio
Screenplay by
Based onThe Wonder
by Emma Donoghue
Produced by
Starring
Narrated byNiamh Algar
CinematographyAri Wegner
Edited byKristina Hetherington
Music byMatthew Herbert
Production
companies
Distributed byNetflix[1]
Release dates
  • September 2, 2022 (Telluride)
  • November 2, 2022 (United Kingdom and United States)
  • November 16, 2022 (Netflix)
Running time
103 minutes[2]
Countries
  • Ireland
  • United Kingdom
  • United States
LanguageEnglish

The film premiered at the Telluride Film Festival on 2 September 2022. It had a limited theatrical release on 2 November 2022 and streamed on Netflix on 16 November 2022. It received positive reviews from critics who praised the production design and cast performances, particularly Pugh's.

PlotEdit

In 1862, Elizabeth "Lib" Wright, an English nurse who served in the Crimean War, is sent to a rural village in Ireland where she is tasked with closely watching Anna O'Donnell, fasting girl who according to her family has not eaten for four months. She is to be assisted by a nun, Sister Michael, and the two are to report their findings independently to a council of local dignitaries. The trauma of the Great Famine still looms over the community, and many locals are wary of the English nurse. Lib meets Anna's deeply religious family: her mother Rosaleen, her father Malachy and her elder sister Kitty. At dinner, Lib learns that Anna's elder brother died of an unknown illness. Anna herself appears in good health and says she has been kept alive by consuming "manna from Heaven".

At her lodgings, Lib encounters William Byrne, a man who grew up locally and whose family perished in the Great Famine while he was away at boarding school. Now a journalist for the Daily Telegraph, William is reporting on the story, which he believes to be a hoax. Lib and William become intimately involved. Lib's observations initially reveal no evidence of deception. Anna prays many times a day and speaks of the fate of the damned in Hell. Lib, still grieving for the death of her only child, takes laudanum to help her sleep.

Noticing that her mother kisses Anna goodnight on her mouth while cupping her face, Lib deduces that chewed food is being covertly passed to Anna. She forbids the family from touching her. Anna does not deny that this is her "manna", and she discloses to Lib the reasons for her fast: her elder brother had repeatedly raped her, and she attributes his death to God's wrath. Anna believes that by sacrificing her life she will free her brother's soul. Separated from her family's touch, Anna's condition worsens. William files a report to his paper in which he lays the blame for Anna's expected death on her family and the community.

Lib informs the council of her findings, but they refuse to believe her. Sister Michael states that she had found no evidence of Rosaleen feeding Anna. Members of the council question Anna, but she repeats that she is sustained solely by "manna from Heaven". Knowing that Anna will inevitably die unless she eats soon, Lib pleads for the family to take action, or at least for her mother to resume the kisses. Rosaleen refuses, saying that after Anna's sacred death, both her children will be in heaven. Lib persuades William to assist with a rescue plan. While the family are at mass, Lib brings Anna, now near death, to a nearby holy clootie well. She tells her that although "Anna" will die, she will be reborn as a new girl named "Nan". Anna closes her eyes and appears to die. When she revives, Lib is finally able to feed her. Lib returns to the house alone and sets it ablaze, at the same time deliberately destroying her laudanum bottle.

Lib tells the council that Anna died of natural causes, and that the fire was an accident. Concerned for their own possible culpability for Anna's death, and in the absence of a body within the charred remains of the house, they terminate her employment without pay. Sister Michael tells Lib that, after leaving mass early, she saw a vision of Anna and an angel leaving the area on horseback. She asks Lib to swear that Anna has gone to a better place.

In Dublin, Lib reunites with William and Nan, who has recovered her health. The three pose as a family named Cheshire and set sail for Sydney.


Production

On 28 April 2021, it was announced that Florence Pugh was set to star in Sebastián Lelio's adaptation of The Wonder.[3] Principal photography began in Ireland on 12 August 2021.[3][4][1] Accompanying the announcement of the start of production, it was reported that Tom BurkeNiamh AlgarElaine Cassidy, Kíla Lord Cassidy, Toby JonesCiarán HindsDermot CrowleyBrían F. O'Byrne, and David Wilmot had joined the cast.[1]

Release

The Wonder premiered at the Telluride Film Festival on 2 September 2022, followed by a screening at the 2022 Toronto International Film Festival on 13 September 2022.[5][6] Its European premiere was at the 70th San Sebastián International Film Festival on 21 September 2022.[7] It was released on Netflix on 16 November 2022, following a limited theatrical release on 2 November.[8]

ReceptionEdit

On the review aggregator website Rotten Tomatoes, 87% of 146 critics' reviews are positive, with an average rating of 7.2/10. The website's consensus reads, "The atmosphere's absorbing and the story is fascinating, but The Wonder of this period drama really lies in Florence Pugh's remarkable performance."[9] Metacritic, which uses a weighted average, assigned the film a score of 71 out of 100, based on 36 critics, indicating "generally favorable reviews".[10]

Reviewing the film following its premiere at Telluride, David Ehrlich of IndieWire called it a "sumptuous but slightly undercooked tale", praising Lelio's direction, the performances, the cinematography, and the score.[11] Peter Bruge praised the cast performances in his review for Variety but criticized the screenplay, summarizing it as an "evenhanded but ultimately preposterous adaptation".[12] The Hollywood Reporter’s Stephen Farber found it an "illuminating study of dark prejudices" and commended Pugh's performance and Lelio's direction, which he said represents perhaps his "finest achievement to date".[13]

The film has been likened to folk horror, with Meara Isenberg of CNET noting its "rural setting, religious foreboding and general sense of dread".[14] Ed Power of the Irish Examiner described it as "Famine trauma meets folk horror", calling it a "gripping film ... full of buried secrets and festering evil". [15]

Is Netflix's "The Wonder" Based On a True Story?



Is Netflix's "The Wonder" Based On a True Story?

Is Netflix's "The Wonder" a True Story?

Here's what we know about the events that inspired Florence Pugh's latest blockbuster.
BY SAMANTHA OLSON
PUBLISHED: NOV 23, 2022

Florence Pugh stans know that she brings magic to any project she's involved in (see: Don't Worry Darling and her upcoming flick, Dune 2). Over the years, the 26-year-old actress has brought a fresh perspective to the psychological thriller genre, and her latest movie, The Wonder, is no exception.

The Netflix film is set in 1862, 13 years after the real-life Great Famine in Ireland. Florence plays an English Nightingale Nurse named Lib Wright, who is called by a religious community to conduct a 2-week-long examination of an 11-year-old girl who hasn't eaten in four months. Without food, the patient claims she miraculously survives off of "manna from heaven," and as her health is put at risk, Nurse Lib plans to uncover the truth behind the young girl's illness — even if it means challenging the faith of the Catholic church.

The Wonder begins with a message that reads "The people you are about to meet, the characters, believe in their stories with complete devotion." This may not explicitly say it's "based on a true story," but the message is definitely enough to get viewers curious about the movie's plot and whether it has any historical accuracy.

So, is Netflix's The Wonder based on a true story? Here's what we know.

Is The Wonder based on a true story?
Netflix's latest flick is actually based on the novel of the same name by Emma Donoghue, which is loosely inspired by The Great Famine of Ireland (otherwise known as The Great Hunger) that happened in real life from 1845 to 1852.

According to U.K. Parliament, The Great Famine caused the country of Ireland to suffer "a period of starvation, disease, and emigration" because of a disease that affected the growth of potatoes. Parliament also reports that during the time, one-third of Ireland's population depended on potatoes for food, which resulted in most people starving and nearly 1 million lives lost.

While the characters of The Wonder aren't real people, the young patient, Anna, is based on the real concept of "fasting girls" during the Victorian era. Per The Daily Mail, fasting girls were "young women around the world [who] claimed to survive without any food or water." While some found fasting to be a religious gift, others believed it was linked to psychic powers. Ultimately, neither of these theories was proven to be true.

Author Emma Donoghue said that she learned about the fasting girls while conducting research for The Wonder and decided to include the 1800s phenomenon in her novel.

"When I came across these real fasting girl cases from the 16th century to the 20th, I thought, 'That's the freakiest thing' and then I thought, 'No, it's quite likely to be heard, isn't it?' It's quite like girls being terrified to become girls in a culture that sees them as sex objects," she told Newsweek before explaining that the past continuously stays connected to the present day. "I always found historical stories are totally connected to today, because of course, the questions you bring to them are the questions that the writer living in 2022 has."

Who is fasting girl Sarah Jacob?
Part of Donoghue's research included the case of Sarah Jacob, who became famous as the Welsh Fasting Girl. The Daily Mail reports that in the 1860s — nearly a decade after the Great Famine — Sarah fell ill at the age of nine and was instructed to take bed rest. She claimed that she never drank or ate any food, which caused people from across Britain to travel to her "tiny village" in Carmarthenshire to pay a fee and see Sarah in real life. We see similar events unravel in The Wonder when Anna's parents charge strangers to enter their home to see their daughter.

Suspicions around Sarah's habits grew, so a doctor from Guy's Hospital arranged for Sarah's claims to be tested. There were theories that one of Sarah's sisters had been sneaking her food or that she was eating and drinking in the middle of the night. Like Nurse Lib in The Watcher, there were six nurses who took different shifts to keep an eye on Sarah. Per New York University's Langone Health database, Sarah's experiment lasted for five days, as she starved to death on the nurses' watch.

Per the 1870 report of Sarah Jacob's trial, her parents were convicted of manslaughter for the negligence of their daughter. However, the doctors and nurses who conducted the experiment did not end up being prosecuted.

Headshot of Samantha Olson
SAMANTHA OLSON
EDITORIAL ASSISTANT

2022/11/29

Quaker Retreat Projects - Meeting for Learning 2211

 Quaker Retreat Projects - Meeting for Learning


Undertaking the Projects will be one of the main activities between the retreat weeks. We suggest that you aim for four projects. At least two of these should focus on your experiences of the spiritual life.


Projects can be short or long, written or created.

- Whatever they are, they need to be something that you find helpful in exploring your spiritual journey.

- Whatever you do, include some reflection on the process/and your learning.

- Trying to name what and how you are learning can help bring things to consciousness.



Where to begin

Work of sight is done.

Now do <heart work> on the pictures inside you.

Rilke



Choose a Project topic

- nearest to your heart, personal to you, your growth, your gift

- one where seeds of Light and Life might grow.



Between Retreat Resources


Building on your present life and ministry

You may be using this course to highlight some part of your present life and ministry. How are you doing this?


What do the facilitators and/or your support group need to know so that they can help?


Contact with others


Facilitator


You can of course talk to any of the facilitators between retreat weeks, but one will be your particular contact facilitator. You need to work out how you prefer to maintain contact. Some people like to connect by phone, others by email or letter, some can meet. Some people value regular contact, others prefer contact as needed.


Maintaining contact with others who have been on the retreat


Sometimes people find it helpful to talk to other people experiencing the retreat at the same time. It can feel hard to leave the closeness of the retreat week and return to 'normal' life. Talk to people about whether they are happy to be phoned or emailed between retreat weeks for mutual support, sharing

ideas.


Support Group


We would like you to have a support group in your own faith community. We hope you will feel you can ask people to share something of what you have experienced this week and what you hope for during the year. Make sure you have begun to think who you might ask and have raised any problems in your mind about the process. Do you want someone from outside your faith community? Have you thought about a family member or friend?


Try to choose people who will take participation seriously and who will be committed to meeting with you regularly, ideally about once a month.

Remember that the aim is to share about your experiences of the year and that the group is to offer you support in this.


People generally find the two retreat weeks very rewarding and the time between the two weeks can be enriched by having contact with a support group. Having a local support group has a number of benefits both for you and for the people you have asked to be part of the group.


The aims of having a support group are:


• to provide a group that you can use for exploring issues, reflecting, sharing your journey between the retreat weeks

• to have people to encourage you to keep working on projects during the

vear

• for any particular kind of support or challenge that you consider you need.


Quakers have a tradition of having support group. 

Quaker Faith and Practice says about Support Groups:


12.27 Friends sometimes undertake, or are asked to undertake, tasks which they find challenging, either on a single occasion or as a continuing commitment. Under these circumstances, they may value the support of a small group of Friends. This could be offered by the body requesting the service or it may be requested by the Friend concerned.


Membership of the group should reflect the preferences of the Friend to be supported. The group may need to remind itself that its job is not so much to judge the task as to support the Friend carrying it out.


People often feel hesitant about asking others to join their support group, feeling that people won't be interested, or have time or energy, or because they don't want so much focus on themselves. What we've found is that people appreciate being asked and often talk about how the experience of being on a support group has benefited them. Typical comments would be that they have felt their own spiritual journey has deepened or that they have felt humbled and rewarded by the depth of sharing in the group. Participants have said things like, for example, that the quality of listening in the group felt like a gift and that there was a gentle unfolding of trust and giving.


Common queries about support groups:


Who to ask?


Is useful to ask at least one or two people from your own faith community @s they will have an understanding of that area of your life. Past participants in the program have also asked people they knew from other faith communities that they felt would provide a useful perspective. Some people attend another faith community as wellas Quakers and so ask people from both. You may also want to ask a friend or family member or someone you work with. People often don't know each other beforehand, although they may.


How many people?


Ideally, four - six people. Some participants have had three but this can mean that if one person can't come to a meeting, it's a very small group. Sometimes participants, especially those in small Meetings, have had a member by mail or phone.


How often does the group meet?


It's up to you and the group. We'd suggest about monthly for continuity.

Groups have varied a lot in when and how they have met. Many would meet over a meal, others in the evening, some at weekends. Generally, they would meet for a couple of hours, but again it depends very much on you and the group.


When should you start?


It is good to start thinking about who you would want in your support group before you come on the retreat. If you have time you could start asking people whether they would be interested. You may get other ideas as the retreat week develops, partly from hearing from people who have already had a support group. Ideally, you would aim to have your first meeting within a month of returning home, so that you can talk to people about the retreat while the experience is still freshly in your mind.


We will talk about support groups and how to get started during the retreat week, so don't feel you need to be completely clear about this before you come. The experience of having a support group varies a lot and there is no one right way. People who are finishing the retreat will talk about their experience and we will also talk about the experiences of past participants.


Support group - Letter from Beryl Homes


Dear Frances

Today, with some sadness, I had my final meeting with my Support Group - although I will suggest a celebratory lunch meeting on my return from Meeting for Learning. My support group has been special, and although we have only met once a month (except on one extra occasion), we have had some 'quality' time together which I treasure, and hopefully there were benefits accruing to everyone in the group. ....


The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher's Life

The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher's Life: The Teacher Within   


The Teacher Within 
 
Encounters with mentors and subjects can awaken a sense of self and yield clues 
to who we are. But the call to teach does not come from external encounters 
alone—no outward teacher or teaching will have much effect until my soul as- 
sents. Any authentic call ultimately comes from the voice of the teacher within, the 
voice that invites me to honor the nature of my true self. 
 
By the voice of the inward teacher, I do not mean conscience or superego, moral ar- 
biter or internalized judge. In fact, conscience, as it is commonly understood, can 
get us into deep vocational trouble. 
 
When we listen primarily for what we “ought” to be doing with our lives, we may 
find ourselves hounded by external expectations that can distort our identity and 
integrity. There is much that I ought to be doing by some abstract moral calculus. 
But is it my vocation? Am I gifted and called to do it? Is this particular ought a 
place of intersection between my inner self and the outer world, or is it someone 
else's image of how my life should look? 
 
When I follow only the oughts, I may find myself doing work that is ethically laud- 
able but not mine to do. A vocation that is not mine, no matter how externally val- 
ued, does violence to the self—in the precise sense that it violates my identity and 
integrity on behalf of some abstract norm. When I violate myself, I invariably end 
up violating the people I work with. How many teachers inflict their own pain on 
their students, the pain that comes from doing what never was, or no longer is, 
their true work? 
 
In contrast to the strained and even violent concept of vocation as an ought, Fred- 
erick Buechner offers a more generous and humane image of vocation as “the 
place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet.”11 
 
In a culture that sometimes equates work with suffering, it is revolutionary to sug- 
gest that the best inward sign of vocation is deep gladness—revolutionary but 
true. If a work is mine to do, it will make me glad over the long haul, despite the 
difficult days. Even the difficult days will ultimately gladden me, because they pose 
the kinds of problems that can help me grow in a work if it is truly mine. 
 
If a work does not gladden me in these ways, I need to consider laying it down. 
When I devote myself to something that does not flow from my identity, that is 
not integral to my nature, I am most likely deepening the world's hunger rather 
than helping to alleviate it. 
 
There are times when we must work for money rather than meaning, and we may 
never have the luxury of quitting a job because it does not make us glad. But that 
does not release us from continually checking the violence we do to others and 
ourselves by working in ways that violate our souls. Nor does it relieve us from 
wondering whether preserving integrity is a luxury. What brings more security in 
the long run: holding this job or honoring my soul? 
 
The teacher within is not the voice of conscience but of identity and integrity. It 
speaks not of what ought to be but of what is real for us, of what is true. It says 
things like, “This is what fits you and this is what doesn't”; “This is who you are 
and this is who you are not”; “This is what gives you life and this is what kills your 
spirit—or makes you wish you were dead.” The teacher within stands guard at the 
gate of selfhood, warding off whatever insults our integrity and welcoming what- 
ever affirms it. The voice of the inward teacher reminds me of my truth as I nego- 
tiate the force field of my life. 
 
I realize that the idea of a teacher within strikes some academics as a romantic 
fantasy, but I cannot fathom why. If there is no such reality in our lives, centuries 
of Western discourse about the aims of education become so much lip-flapping. 
In classical understanding, education is the attempt to “lead out” from within the 
self a core of wisdom that has the power to resist falsehood and live in the light of 
truth, not by external norms but by reasoned and reflective self-determination. The 
inward teacher is the living core of our lives that is addressed and evoked by any 
education worthy of the name. 
 
Perhaps the idea is unpopular because it compels us to look at two of the most 
difficult truths about teaching. The first is that what we teach will never “take” un- 
less it connects with the inward, living core of our students' lives, with our stu- 
dents' inward teachers. 
 
We can, and do, make education an exclusively outward enterprise, forcing stu- 
dents to memorize and repeat facts without ever appealing to their inner truth— 
and we get predictable results: many students never want to read a challenging 
book or think a creative thought once they get out of school. The kind of teaching 
that transforms people does not happen if the student's inward teacher is ignored. 
 
The second truth is even more daunting: we can speak to the teacher within our 
students only when we are on speaking terms with the teacher within ourselves. 
 
The student who said that her bad teachers spoke like cartoon characters was de- 
scribing teachers who have grown deaf to their inner guide, who have so thor- 
oughly separated inner truth from outer actions that they have lost touch with a 
sense of self. Deep speaks to deep, and when we have not sounded our own 
depths, we cannot sound the depths of our students' lives. 
 
How does one attend to the voice of the teacher within? I have no particular meth- 
ods to suggest, other than the familiar ones: solitude and silence, meditative read- 
ing and walking in the woods, keeping a journal, finding a friend who will listen. I 
simply propose that we need to learn as many ways as we can of “talking to our- 
selves.” 
 
That phrase, of course, is one we normally use to name a symptom of mental 
imbalance—a clear sign of how our culture regards the idea of an inner voice! But 
people who learn to talk to themselves may soon delight in the discovery that the 
teacher within is the sanest conversation partner they have ever had. 
 
We need to find every possible way to listen to that voice and take its counsel seri- 
ously, not only for the sake of our work but for the sake of our own health as well. 
If someone in the outer world is trying to tell us something important and we ig- 
nore his or her presence, the person either gives up and stops speaking or be- 
comes more and more violent in attempting to get our attention. 
 
Similarly, if we do not respond to the voice of the inward teacher, it will either stop 
speaking or become violent: I am convinced that some forms of depression, of 
which I have personal experience, are induced by a long-ignored inner teacher try- 
ing desperately to get us to listen by threatening to destroy us. When we honor 
that voice with simple attention, it responds by speaking more gently and engag- 
ing us in a life-giving conversation of the soul. 
 
That conversation does not have to reach conclusions to be of value: we do not 
need to emerge from talking to ourselves with clear goals, objectives, and plans. 
Measuring the value of inner dialogue by its practical outcomes is like measuring 
the value of a friendship by the number of problems that are solved when friends 
get together. 
 
Conversation among friends has its own rewards: in the presence of our friends, 
we have the simple joy of feeling at ease, at home, trusted and able to trust. We at- 
tend to the inner teacher not to get fixed but to befriend the deeper self, to culti- 
vate a sense of identity and integrity that allows us to feel at home wherever we 
are. 
 
Listening to the inner teacher also offers an answer to one of the most basic ques- 
tions teachers face: How can I develop the authority to teach, the capacity to stand 
my ground in the midst of the complex forces of both the classroom and my own 
life? 
 
In a culture of technique, we often confuse authority with power, but the two are 
not the same. Power works from the outside in, but authority works from the in- 
side out. We are mistaken when we seek authority outside ourselves, in sources 
ranging from the subtle skills of group process to that less than subtle method of 
social control called grading. This view of teaching turns the teacher into the cop 
on the corner, trying to keep things moving amicably and by consent but always 
having recourse to the coercive power of the law. 
 
External tools of power have occasional utility in teaching, but they are no substi- 
tute for authority, the authority that comes from the teacher's inner life. The clue 
is in the word itself, which has author at its core. Authority is granted to people 
who are perceived as authoring their own words, their own actions, their own lives, 
rather than playing a scripted role at great remove from their own hearts. When 
teachers depend on the coercive powers of law or technique, they have no author- 
ity at all. 
 
I am painfully aware of the times in my own teaching when I lose touch with my 
inner teacher and therefore with my own authority. In those times I try to gain 
power by barricading myself behind the podium and my status while wielding the 
threat of grades. But when my teaching is authorized by the teacher within me, I 
need neither weapons nor armor to teach. 
 
Authority comes as I reclaim my identity and integrity, re-membering my selfhood 
and my sense of vocation. Then teaching can come from the depths of my own 
truth—and the truth that is within my students has a chance to respond in kind.

Notes 
 
1. May Sarton, in “Now I Become Myself,” Collected Poems, 1930–1973 (New 
York: Norton, 1974), p. 156. Copyright © 1993, 1988, 1984, 1947 by May Sar- 
ton. Reprinted by permission of W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. 
2. Mohandas K. Gandhi, An Autobiography, or the Story of My Experiments with 
Truth (Ahmedabad, India: Navajivan Press, 1927). 
3. Cited in Earl Schwartz, “Chronic Life,” Creative Nursing, Feb. 1992, p. 58. 
4. Václav Havel, speech delivered to joint meeting of the U.S. Congress, quoted 
in Time, Mar. 5, 1990, pp. 14–15. 
5. Alice Kaplan, French Lessons: A Memoir (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 
1993), p. 209. 
6. Kaplan, French Lessons, pp. 210–211. 
7. Ibid., p. 216. 
8. C. Wright Mills, The Sociological Imagination (New York: Oxford University 
Press, 1959). 
9. Jane Tompkins, “Pedagogy of the Distressed,” College English, 1991, 52(6). 
10. Florida Scott-Maxwell, The Measure of My Days (New York: Penguin Books, 
1983), p. 42. 
11. Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking: A Seeker's ABC (San Francisco: 
HarperSanFrancisco, 1993), p. 119.

The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher's Life

The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher's Life:


The Teacher Within 
 
Encounters with mentors and subjects can awaken a sense of self and yield clues 
to who we are. But the call to teach does not come from external encounters 
alone—no outward teacher or teaching will have much effect until my soul as- 
sents. Any authentic call ultimately comes from the voice of the teacher within, the 
voice that invites me to honor the nature of my true self. 
 
By the voice of the inward teacher, I do not mean conscience or superego, moral ar- 
biter or internalized judge. In fact, conscience, as it is commonly understood, can 
get us into deep vocational trouble. 
 
When we listen primarily for what we “ought” to be doing with our lives, we may 
find ourselves hounded by external expectations that can distort our identity and 
integrity. There is much that I ought to be doing by some abstract moral calculus. 
But is it my vocation? Am I gifted and called to do it? Is this particular ought a 
place of intersection between my inner self and the outer world, or is it someone 
else's image of how my life should look? 
 
When I follow only the oughts, I may find myself doing work that is ethically laud- 
able but not mine to do. A vocation that is not mine, no matter how externally val- 
ued, does violence to the self—in the precise sense that it violates my identity and 
integrity on behalf of some abstract norm. When I violate myself, I invariably end 
up violating the people I work with. How many teachers inflict their own pain on 
their students, the pain that comes from doing what never was, or no longer is, 
their true work? 
 
In contrast to the strained and even violent concept of vocation as an ought, Fred- 
erick Buechner offers a more generous and humane image of vocation as “the 
place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet.”11 
 
In a culture that sometimes equates work with suffering, it is revolutionary to sug- 
gest that the best inward sign of vocation is deep gladness—revolutionary but 
true. If a work is mine to do, it will make me glad over the long haul, despite the 
difficult days. Even the difficult days will ultimately gladden me, because they pose 
the kinds of problems that can help me grow in a work if it is truly mine. 
 
If a work does not gladden me in these ways, I need to consider laying it down. 
When I devote myself to something that does not flow from my identity, that is 
not integral to my nature, I am most likely deepening the world's hunger rather 
than helping to alleviate it. 
 
There are times when we must work for money rather than meaning, and we may 
never have the luxury of quitting a job because it does not make us glad. But that 
does not release us from continually checking the violence we do to others and 
ourselves by working in ways that violate our souls. Nor does it relieve us from 
wondering whether preserving integrity is a luxury. What brings more security in 
the long run: holding this job or honoring my soul? 
 
The teacher within is not the voice of conscience but of identity and integrity. It 
speaks not of what ought to be but of what is real for us, of what is true. It says 
things like, “This is what fits you and this is what doesn't”; “This is who you are 
and this is who you are not”; “This is what gives you life and this is what kills your 
spirit—or makes you wish you were dead.” The teacher within stands guard at the 
gate of selfhood, warding off whatever insults our integrity and welcoming what- 
ever affirms it. The voice of the inward teacher reminds me of my truth as I nego- 
tiate the force field of my life. 
 
I realize that the idea of a teacher within strikes some academics as a romantic 
fantasy, but I cannot fathom why. If there is no such reality in our lives, centuries 
of Western discourse about the aims of education become so much lip-flapping. 
In classical understanding, education is the attempt to “lead out” from within the 
self a core of wisdom that has the power to resist falsehood and live in the light of 
truth, not by external norms but by reasoned and reflective self-determination. The 
inward teacher is the living core of our lives that is addressed and evoked by any 
education worthy of the name. 
 
Perhaps the idea is unpopular because it compels us to look at two of the most 
difficult truths about teaching. The first is that what we teach will never “take” un- 
less it connects with the inward, living core of our students' lives, with our stu- 
dents' inward teachers. 
 
We can, and do, make education an exclusively outward enterprise, forcing stu- 
dents to memorize and repeat facts without ever appealing to their inner truth— 
and we get predictable results: many students never want to read a challenging 
book or think a creative thought once they get out of school. The kind of teaching 
that transforms people does not happen if the student's inward teacher is ignored. 
 
The second truth is even more daunting: we can speak to the teacher within our 
students only when we are on speaking terms with the teacher within ourselves. 
 
The student who said that her bad teachers spoke like cartoon characters was de- 
scribing teachers who have grown deaf to their inner guide, who have so thor- 
oughly separated inner truth from outer actions that they have lost touch with a 
sense of self. Deep speaks to deep, and when we have not sounded our own 
depths, we cannot sound the depths of our students' lives. 
 
How does one attend to the voice of the teacher within? I have no particular meth- 
ods to suggest, other than the familiar ones: solitude and silence, meditative read- 
ing and walking in the woods, keeping a journal, finding a friend who will listen. I 
simply propose that we need to learn as many ways as we can of “talking to our- 
selves.” 
 
That phrase, of course, is one we normally use to name a symptom of mental 
imbalance—a clear sign of how our culture regards the idea of an inner voice! But 
people who learn to talk to themselves may soon delight in the discovery that the 
teacher within is the sanest conversation partner they have ever had. 
 
We need to find every possible way to listen to that voice and take its counsel seri- 
ously, not only for the sake of our work but for the sake of our own health as well. 
If someone in the outer world is trying to tell us something important and we ig- 
nore his or her presence, the person either gives up and stops speaking or be- 
comes more and more violent in attempting to get our attention. 
 
Similarly, if we do not respond to the voice of the inward teacher, it will either stop 
speaking or become violent: I am convinced that some forms of depression, of 
which I have personal experience, are induced by a long-ignored inner teacher try- 
ing desperately to get us to listen by threatening to destroy us. When we honor 
that voice with simple attention, it responds by speaking more gently and engag- 
ing us in a life-giving conversation of the soul. 
 
That conversation does not have to reach conclusions to be of value: we do not 
need to emerge from talking to ourselves with clear goals, objectives, and plans. 
Measuring the value of inner dialogue by its practical outcomes is like measuring 
the value of a friendship by the number of problems that are solved when friends 
get together.