Professional Documents
Culture Documents
SEAN SLAVIN
Body & Society © 2003 SAGE Publications (London, Thousand Oaks and New Delhi),
Vol. 9(3): 1–18
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Walking Reflexively
Walking is not taken for granted by the walker. Pilgrims arrive at the walk by
first unpacking other aspects of the pilgrimage, by critiquing traditional religious
assumptions and the obvious structure of the pilgrimage itself. It was the
pilgrims’ ability to think critically and reflexively about the journey that was
initially striking to me as an ethnographer in the field.
This reflexivity initially contains three aspects. The first is expressed doubt
about the presence of the body of Saint James in Santiago, regarded by most
pilgrims I spoke with as plain ‘common sense’. This doubt is bolstered by the
various pilgrimage guide books that refer to the transportation of the Saint’s
headless body from Palestine to Spain, in a stone boat blown by angels, as mytho-
logical rather than historical. The acceptance of this doubt as ‘common sense’
establishes the possibility of a metaphorical relationship between truth and the
pilgrim. Because something seems obviously untrue, in a literal or historical
sense, does not automatically make it false in a literary or metaphorical way. Such
a proposition initially bolsters rather than challenges the pilgrims’ modern,
rational standpoints. Such scepticism is a common starting point and one that
allows thinking around spirituality to occur separate from any need to engage
with organized religion on the journey.
This implies the second aspect of reflexivity – doubt about the effect or
outcome of the pilgrimage. Santiago is not a thaumaturgic centre as is Lourdes,
for example. It does not produce miracles. No pilgrims I met believed the act of
pilgrimage or arrival in Santiago would cause any kind of material change or
healing. Nor did they expect any sudden or dramatic spiritual change either, often
explicitly rejecting metaphors of salvation.
This leads to the third aspect of reflexivity. As a result of ambivalence about
the destination and its effects, pilgrims adjusted their aims in significant ways.
Rather than focusing on a material outcome or a concrete, spatial goal, pilgrims
turned to examine the very process of the pilgrimage, the journey. This invari-
ably involved an awareness of the embodied self in relation to the journey. The
following quote, from a Spanish pilgrim in his early 40s, reveals some of these
themes of reflexivity.
At the beginning I was only thinking about arriving either in Santiago or at the next tourist
monument. Then I started to find different spiritual themes and ideas surfacing. You start to
walk and as you do you look inside yourself . . . you do that and you realize the Camino is
teaching you spiritual things. Only when you take one day at a time do you start to realize
this. But I also saw that many people wanted to experience belief and contact with the spiritual.
I wanted to get away from that. I am not religious and I was suspicious of people who were.
(Alfredo)
Alfredo is reflecting here on a shift that occurred for him a few days into his trip.
He expresses a set of complex ideas coalescing around an inner/outer distinction
that is both deployed and unpacked.
He says his journey began with a focus on things of ‘significance’ that existed
in the future, both temporally and spatially: ‘Santiago or the next tourist
monument’. Monuments, objects that are limited in space but endure through
time, and monumentality are equated with significance. Soon, though, his focus
shifted from material things, particularly ‘significant’ things, towards spiritual
‘themes’ that came to the ‘surface’. A theme, in contrast to a monument, is non-
spatial as well as possibly extemporal. The metaphor of coming to the surface
implies that these themes pre-existed Alfredo’s awareness and possibly his self.
Walking is what revealed them. Overlaying this with a metaphor of sight, ‘you
look inside yourself’, he peers within from a particular vantage point. In this
reflexive moment he describes himself as subject and object, an agent and a thing.
This offers the conditions for attributing an external origin to spiritual themes.
He says they arise from the Camino – that it is the Camino teaching him.
Spirituality is thus both an aspect of the inner self and the journey, which is
neither material nor external. Rather than describe the Camino as an object,
Alfredo links it instead to the temporal order: ‘Only when you take one day at
a time do you start to realize this.’ By which, he implies a slowing of time, a
careful sequencing of things as opposed to the fast juggling common in everyday
life. To emphasize the overall point he then distinguishes this notion of spiritu-
ality from what he regards as the vulgar spirituality of others who desire a thing
they lack. As if spirituality were something that lay about on the Camino waiting
to be found.
In this statement Alfredo succinctly expresses a set of complex ideas common
among walking pilgrims. He captures the shift in focus away from the material,
spatial world towards a spiritual and non-spatial one. At the same time he
surmises that if the spiritual is qualitatively different to the material then perhaps
it shares something obscure with the temporal order. Paradoxically, it is precisely
the physical or material practice of walking that leads him to this realization.
The point is not to go to Santiago, the point is to be in the Camino. The Camino is . . . abstract.
You shouldn’t be too literal. Yes you walk across the earth but the earth walks itself across you.
[laughs] Don’t I know after a day like today.
Espé here expresses two important themes. She first reiterates the placement
of self outside conventional space. The self is in the Camino rather than in any
particular place or even oriented to a particular place such as Santiago. She also
stresses the temporal aspect of placing oneself outside linear time, ‘The point is
not to go . . . the point is to be. . . .’ She also clearly articulates an orientation to
the metaphorical pilgrimage as opposed to the literal journey, in a similar way to
Alfredo, across space and through time. Yet she similarly rejects the notion that
the Camino is a metaphorical lens through which to view the self in a kind of
therapeutic self-analysis. By asserting that the Camino works on the self, the
earth walking across you, she establishes a paradox that resonates with a different
possibility: the dis-placement of space and time themselves. She finally resolves
this in the joke about her physical exhaustion by acknowledging the importance
of the body as nexus, both of place and displacement. This is significant because
it refuses the simple explanation that the Camino is only an inner journey.
Place
Pilgrims I encountered rarely spoke of arrival in Santiago until the last couple of
days. It was almost considered bad luck to assume the destination would be
achieved before it was certain. This bordered on superstition at times and I was
frequently regaled with stories about pilgrims who came to sticky ends. The
message of these stories seemed to be again, not to get ahead of oneself. The only
certainty from one day to the next was the journey itself and the mode of that
journey, feet, legs and forward movement. This meant walking the journey, not
in the sense of getting somewhere but in being a walker, by concentrating on the
action and rhythm of the walk to the exclusion of all other thoughts.
This also allowed pilgrims to become aware of projection in the psychological
sense. Both Alfredo and Espé insist on the idea that spirituality arises from the
pilgrimage. Pilgrims are aware of this binary tension and when questioned about
it often refer to experience, in a phenomenological sense, as the bridge between
self and world where spirit is felt to arise through both. The dualism of
inner/outer is inadequate for describing a place of origin, so often pilgrims
displace the opposition, as well as the self in relation to the opposition. These
paradoxes point to another set of important distinctions between space, time and
place.
Displacement is a movement away from the spatial and temporal orders of the
everyday. In this sense Turner’s (1974: 96) notion of a space outside structure has
significance. Turner falls short, however, in his ability to then say what this place
is. He remains bound to its expression in the negative – as marginal or non-place.
The evocative work of Edward Casey (1993) is useful in trying to find a positive
expression of place as well as explaining more clearly the difference between place
and, space and time.
For Casey (1993: 13–16), place precedes both space and time as well as provid-
ing an intrinsic limit and possibility for them. Place is intrinsic to being and
without it there could be no being. Every specific combination of space and time
relies on it in order to create ‘this place’ and while space and time are dependent,
place can occur without either. It is the condition of all existing things and thus,
according to Casey, it is possible to conceptualize God as a place. In this sense,
the place that Alfredo and Espé point to precedes the space of social structure as
well as the time of social action.
Rhythm
Walking at about 5 kilometres per hour, an aerobic level of exercise is reached
after half an hour or so. The first half hour of the morning is often painful as stiff
joints, aggravated tendons and blisters all begin the day reluctantly, but, as
muscles warm up, the pain decreases. This feels both physical and psychological,
as the mind is often as reluctant as the body to arise from bed. Once beyond this
initial period it is quite easy to walk for hours at a time with only brief rests. The
walk becomes meditative as the body falls into a rhythm. José talks about this
directly:
Initially I didn’t do very well physically. I didn’t think I would be able to continue. But then
I learned to pace myself. I fell into a rhythm of walking. I found a good rhythm but I also
learned to have rests at regular intervals. That carried me along.
The rhythm. It’s like when you sing. The time passes more easily. (José)
The expression ‘fall into a rhythm’ reveals something important: that rhythm
is external to the body or mind and cannot be controlled. In falling we are subject
to gravity, released from the need or the possibility of control. The fall in Eden
was related to Eve’s humanity, and when we fall in love we do so on similar
grounds. In walking we give ourselves to a rhythm allowing it to control the body
like an involuntary movement. So, as the heart beats consistently and the breath
draws in and out, the legs take measured steps. Yet walking is not a naturally
involuntary act, it seems to lie halfway between what can be willed and what can
direct itself. We learn to walk but it also seems natural. People develop individual
and characteristic walks and manage to move about without conscious thought.
Yet the intermediate status of walking is affirmed when we need to mind our step
over rough or unfamiliar terrain. The walk may be familiar but new terrain must
be mapped.
This may be an unknown landscape or a new relationship with the body, as
José expresses. He says the journey presented physical difficulties but it was in
finding a rhythmical relationship to his body and the walk that it became
possible. To him it was like singing, suggesting the rhythm that suits the walk is
also harmonious. This rhythmical dimension is an important way of centring the
self during the pilgrimage, especially when confronted with many kilometres of
undistinguished track drawn straight across a plain. Rhythm is a process combin-
ing submission and control.
This became important for me on an especially desolate and hot section of the
route from Sahagun to León. On the one hand I tried to control thoughts that
continually drew me away from the present task of walking. I pulled myself back
from dissociated thoughts dancing around in the future, thoughts of a cool spot
in the shade near a spring with running water. One pilgrim advised me to gently
pull myself back to the rhythm when this occurred with the thought, ‘This is
what I have, now and forever. Only the walk.’ This simple exercise is a way of
overcoming dissociation and, in order to be oneself more fully in the present,
other selves imagined in the past and future must be put aside. Stabilization in
the present begins with a simple node of concentration, the rhythm. Rhythm also
announces something else, a kind of mediated mode of embodiment which is less
‘taken for granted’ than the everydayness of habit. Rhythm is more self-
consciously a practice.
Abraham (1995) suggests that the ‘rhythmising attitude’, one that is sensitive
to rhythm in the world, actually suspends the ‘positional act’. For him there is
not a perception of rhythm but a ‘rhythmisation of perception’. A sui generis
Sociality
Constantino, a Basque man in his late 20s, addressed the sociality of walking
directly.
You realize you can walk with an other but you can also be alone. You don’t have to talk. If
you do talk you can do so in a way that maintains this solitude. You don’t have to delve into
each other. You can talk about the flowers by the road, for example. (Constantino)
In one sense Constantino expresses the fact that solitude, as opposed to loneli-
ness, is predicated on sociality. This being with oneself while also walking beside
others was regarded by many pilgrims I spoke with as the ideal way to conduct
social relations on the pilgrimage. This kind of presence to oneself is complicated.
In the first instance it is socially established by delimiting borders. For example,
it was common to walk alone, physically distant from other pilgrims or, alterna-
tively, with other people in silence. It was also done through certain conversa-
tional styles. Constantino offers an example by suggesting topics located in the
environment. Pilgrims generally avoided talking about the future or the past
beyond the Camino itself. Specifically, despite pilgrims usually becoming very
sociable with each other, they rarely engaged in conversations where personal
histories were discussed. The only way they might was if they had some bearing
on the pilgrim’s motivation for doing the Camino. Conversations generally
avoided references to lives outside the journey. One of the most significant
mechanisms for maintaining these limits was the diversity of cultures and
languages. The most common languages among pilgrims were Spanish and
English, without a lot of proficiency by most non-native speakers. It was thus
linguistically easier to stick to concrete and present topics of conversation. This
was also a useful way of getting rid of chatty or annoying pilgrims: simply feign
a lack of language skills.
Before I worked out these rules, people seemed unduly reserved. Interview-
ing pilgrims about their lives prior to the Camino was often like talking about
distant places or memories. Sticking to concrete and shared experiences and ideas
in conversation came to make sense, in the light of Turner’s (1974) notions of
liminality and communitas, which he argues have the effect of diminishing differ-
ences between pilgrims’ status or class. While I do not claim to have observed
instances of communitas amongst pilgrims to Santiago, they did create common
ground with each other by sticking to simple conversations about present events.
They would commonly talk about the landscape, the day’s events, the history and
myths of the route and, sometimes, deeper issues of theology and philosophy. In
all of these conversations there was a tendency towards topics that could be
discussed impersonally and ex tempore. Not only was this a way of sidestepping
issues of status that might have come between people in other circumstances but
it was also a way of being inclusive. One did not need to have pre-existing friend-
ships or even foreknowledge of a topic in order to get involved in conversations.
It was a simple means of anchoring sociality in the shared present of the pilgrim-
age.
what to expect at the end, so the end was put aside. Instead pilgrims concentrated
on developing a simpler consciousness of presence to self, of mindfulness. With
hindsight, the journey becomes a metaphor with different stages, difficulties and
joys. Maria was a woman in her early 30s from Madrid who confided to me that
she had recently left a violent marriage. The Camino quite practically represented
a border or limin in her life.
The arrival in Santiago represents the end of a difficult stage in my life. The Camino itself
represents a stage in my life. Now I have to reinsert myself into the ‘normal’ way of doing
things.
Did you know the Camino would be like that when you started?
No, not at all. I just did it. I thought about the things I did each day . . . but . . . you really only
obtain a point of view when you look back over the journey as a whole. For me that was at
the end. (Maria)
Maria is here suggesting two things: that the Camino is distinct from everyday
life and that it is made into a journey in some way. First, the pilgrimage is actively
distinguished from everyday life in a variety of ways both individual and social.
For Maria this was centred on the possibility of entering into a journey where
she had previously associated everyday life with feelings of entrapment and stasis.
The act of walking through the countryside largely fulfilled this purpose for her.
For other pilgrims, distance from the everyday was created through an active
avoidance or rejection of certain things associated with modern life such as
commercialism, industrial landscapes, highways and noise. No one much enjoyed
the sections of the Camino where they were forced to walk on the roadside.
Despite numerous motorists waving and blowing their horns in gestures of
friendly encouragement, it was ultimately hard not to become annoyed by both
their cars and good cheer.
This attitude also explains why many pilgrims were apprehensive about arrival
in Santiago for, the closer they got to the destination the denser were the ubiqui-
tous signs of tourism. Such things as signs, advertisements and specially
constructed paths were mostly innocuous in themselves, but contributed to a
sense that the route was a tourism opportunity for local and provincial govern-
ments. Santiago, it was commonly feared, would be the culmination of all this
pernicious banality.
This did not prove the case for me. The cathedral of Santiago de Compostela
is one of the wonders of Romanesque art and architecture and little could have
diminished its impact. Other pilgrims I spoke with were sometimes disappointed;
many disliked the obvious power and symbolism of the Church as expressed in
the cathedral itself and the handling of pilgrims. I felt something like disappoint-
ment later, upon boarding the bus to leave the town. Seeing the landscape rush
by I had a strong feeling of poignant loss, one I often associate with travel. I now
conclude that travel is not the cause but the mode of it. Bus, train and aeroplane
trips are so banal these days they rarely appear to be journeys in themselves but
the means of getting somewhere else from which to begin a proper journey. Such
journeys, like the Camino are usually slower, more self-directed, sometimes diffi-
cult, and they subtly change the person who makes them.
In suggesting that the Camino is made into a journey Maria says, significantly,
that this capacity to narrate the whole comes from the perspective of the end, or
with a sense of an end. This points to a tension between narrating the journey as
a complete thing, with, in Aristotelian terms, a beginning, middle and end, and
the desire expressed by many pilgrims to exist in the moment within the journey,
without any particular consciousness beyond the moment.
does not get lost. This is necessarily crudely linear. Even if the guidebooks place
an emphasis on the spirituality of the journey, which few do, they tend to rely
on prescriptive forms of advice-giving. Added to this are frequent road signs that
give the distance to the next town to the nearest 100 metres, as though the only
thing that will keep a weary pilgrim going, is realizing s/he only has 3,800 metres
to go before lunch.
Time
This suggests a tension between this kind of narration, which is usually linear and
technical, and presence, which is neither. Many pilgrims resolve this quandary by
thinking of the narrative and the journey as whole, singular and present. This is
similar to the way that Augustine (1989) resolved the paradox of linear time,
presented as an apparent contradiction between the fact that the present is
singular, excluding both the past and the future, yet the past persists in memory
and the future is evoked in expectation. Augustine conjectured that it was his
mind that extended through time to encompass past, future and present. This also
evokes Casey’s (1996: 9) distinction between space and place. The difference,
however, is that Augustine proposes that time is an aspect of mind that can be
consciously directed (Lloyd, 1993). For Casey, place and time are sui generis
aspects of the world. This is an extrapolation of what Bergson (1924) calls
duration, a kind of coexistence of past, future and present in the way that
upstream and downstream are still a part of the singular thing we call a river. Such
a river is also marked by its flow, or becoming nature. In becoming there is per-
sistence within time, both of mind as well as the past itself. The past is not lost
or non-existent simply because it is past. Bergson (1970) argues that we mistake
the past’s lack of usefulness for its non-existence. The present is not that which
is, but rather that which is being made.
This issue is important because it goes to the heart of the paradox between the
Camino as a journey, something with a beginning, middle and end, and the
experience of presence in walking. In Bergsonian terms, presence becomes itself
in duration.
of the footholds were unstable. I was acutely aware of the danger of falling. The
care needed for each step allowed me to concentrate entirely on the task at hand,
to become completely absorbed in it and leave no other residue, physical or
mental. I was one with the task and thus entirely present in both the thing I was
doing and the moment in which I was doing it. Paradoxically, only in such
complete absorption in the present does a trace of history and thought remain. I
could now return to that place several years later and almost certainly retrace my
steps on the very same rocks I used before. Every metre of the way would be
familiar. This seems similar to the way in which musical instruments are learned
or perhaps even riding a bicycle, through the production of body memory that
does not easily get forgotten. In such action as leaping down the riverbed, the
landscape is mapped by becoming part of my inner landscape and it is through
presence of mind and self that I lay down such memory. When thoughts wander
into past or future the miles slip by without consequence, and thus the great
effort required to recover them, to notice the effervescence of things when all
there seemed to be was a dull horizon. There is one caveat; the mapping of a land-
scape is never complete. What is not occurring is the projection of self onto land-
scape; the self is not identified with the environment and is not commensurate
with it. Rather the radical otherness of the world is what impresses itself. Even
though I may dissolve myself in the act of walking, the landscape will always
remain other. The moment is both absolute and finite.
In walking I open myself to something within, which is also something in the
world – something that speaks of infinity, the Milky Way, the dreams of a single
night, the path unfolding past, out into the future. Still – in the moment. Yet each
moment, each present, comes and goes from one infinity into another and is
contained in that idea, infinity. This process reveals the importance of paying
attention to the immediate, to what is present to us at any given moment. When
the infinite, in all its intensity, can be apprehended then the finite nature of exist-
ence is revealed. The moment ‘is’ no more. The pilgrim is a walker walking, and
the landscape is no longer a path but truly ‘there’ as something entirely for itself.
The experience of walking to Santiago was, for many pilgrims as well as
myself, a significant spiritual and social experience. The practice of walking
allowed us to understand and explore a nexus between the body, self and the
world. It thus demonstrates the many complex ways in which the body, situated
within specific material circumstances, helps to produce experiences that are
profoundly spiritual. These experiences are not opposed to the body, nor do they
transcend the body. They respect its materiality and its presence, but also allude
to a mystery beyond.
This suggests some further implications for social science approaches to
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Ignacio Menes, Ann Daniel, Asha Persson, Jeanne Ellard and Gary Dowsett.
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Sean Slavin is an anthropologist working at the Australian Research Centre in Sex Health and Society,
La Trobe University. His current research interests include drug use and contemporary forms of
intimacy.