This June, I had the opportunity to spend just over a week at the Matthew Strother Center for the Examined Life in Catskill, New York. How can I explain the experience? “I just got back from a lovely trip along the Milky Way” is a lyric from “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” but it feels relevant after the time spent at this unique space. We were on a lovely property in the country, and I was part of a small cohort with five students. We practiced deep reading alongside an instructor and a teaching assistant. In addition to the seminars, we did chores around the farm, ate delicious meals together (prepared by a personal chef), enjoyed the scenery of upstate New York, and entertained each other in the evening during “salons.”
The Matthew Strother Center is “dedicated to the pursuit of learning and intellectual inquiry, without expectation for an end product.” The students need not be “students” anywhere else. The Center is built on the values held by Matthew Strother: intellectual rigor, humanistic study, self-reliance, practical labor, contemplation, and presence. People who affirm those values are a good fit, regardless of age, background, and occupation. Everything happens under the hospitality and guidance of Berta Willisch, the founder and president of the foundation, which is a 501(c)(3).
If you ever watched MTV back in the day, you remember the opening of The Real World, which always went something like this: “This is the true story…of seven strangers…picked to live in a house… and have their lives taped…to find out what happens…when people stop being polite…and start getting real.” Mostly, my time at the Matthew Strother Center was nothing like The Real World. We were strangers and we did live in a house, but that was about it. For one thing, it was a low technology environment. No one filmed us. All the students put their phones away the day we arrived, and we each received a disposable camera. There was no confessional room. We all shared deep conversations over meals and walks and dishes and chores around the farm. We actually never stopped being polite. People were kind and generous even while they were sincere and honest. It may sound overly earnest, so I’ll go ahead and tell you that we had two evenings that included sock puppetry.
The Matthew Strother Center is a beautiful escape from everyday life, but it is not about escapism. One of Matthew Strother’s favorite poems was “Archaic Torse of Apollo” by Rainer Maria Rilke. That poem ends with the sentence: “You must change your life.” All the parts of the experience which were a respite—the flowers on the table, the food from the property, the library, the curation of the Barn where we had our seminars—were also an opportunity to reflect on how we arrange and order our lives. The space to be sincere and earnest with others was an opportunity to realize what we might get if we risk that more often off the farm and at home. We were surrounded by great food and scenery and books, but the ethos was appreciation for all kinds of things, including cheap beer and car washes. Without our phones we wore watches, and the Casio wearers had a special bond.
In my cohort’s session, we read Notes from the Underground by Dostoevsky and A Country Doctor’s Notebook by Bulgakov. From roughly nine to noon, with a break, we read closely, asked questions, and reasoned together. Part of the process was developing a rich understanding of the texts. Part of the process was wrestling with the big questions and how they relate to us. My cohort was blessed to be guided by an ER doctor with a background in, and passion for, Russian literature. If you have not read A Country Doctor’s Notebook with a doctor, you should. Sipping tea or coffee during conversation is also recommended.
Great literature can speak to you in any setting, but there are distinct benefits to reading in community. Many of the immediately recognizable benefits of reading with others relate directly to understanding the text. Other people will notice something you missed. Someone will know more about the context. Someone might have an excellent reading voice. Very importantly, people may also interpret the text differently. A solipsistic reading experience is hard when you are sitting at a table with seven other people talking about the same book for a few hours. Reading with others also offers accountability. It would be awkward to skip or only skim the reading in a setting like that.
There are other, less obvious, benefits to reading with others. Something my cohort recognized in Notes from the Underground was the way in which the Underground Man had obsessed so much about books and engaged so little with people that he struggled to communicate with others and to find satisfaction in his life. Real life could not compare with Romantic literature and his own language with others was awkwardly “somehow like a book.” People who love books and learning often tend to think of books as objectively good, with few associated risks. The more time you spend reading good books, the better. But the Underground Man is a reminder of the importance of reading with others. He read books which inspired him and which gave him a desire to be noble and virtuous, but he was thwarted by his way of reading—always alone—and his inability to share. He failed to use books as a bridge to others. Instead, books became a barrier between him and reality, including real relationships.
The Underground Man tells us that he has “spoiled my life through morally rotting in my corner, through lack of fitting environment, through divorce from real life, and rankling spite in my underground world.” The Matthew Strother Center is essentially aiming for the opposite. Our seminar conversations confronted questions of morality with the goal of application. The Center provided a fitting environment for serious contemplation. The Underground Man used books to fuel a sense of personal superiority. We used books as a space in which to meet each other and to bring our experiences together. We carried our books around in matching tote bags, with that quote from Rilke: “Du musst dein Leben anderen.” You must change your life.
Perhaps it all sounds a little idyllic. A bunch of adults sitting around talking about Dostoevsky and Bulgakov all morning, eating freshly prepared meals that often involved produce from the property, and earnest conversations about obligations, legacy, and consciousness? All without phones and with disposable cameras? Well, it was not perfect. The chickens were disobedient and there are ticks on the property. But it was idyllic. It also closely approximates the idea of leisure we get from the ancients, which was space for philosophical reflection and time spent freely, away from labor and without expectation of production. It was the kind of thing Josef Pieper refers to in Leisure: The Basis of Culture.
The peonies are not the only incomparable thing about the Matthew Strother Center. There really are not many places like this. There are seminars and retreats and programming for young people, typically in or just out of college, and often very politically coded. There are religious retreats. And there are programs and retreats for people who are already successful creatives, often with an expectation of productivity. But where can people who are united by an interest in books and ideas and a full life, who are probably somewhat creative but are not full-time “creatives” go? Where can television people and arborists and poets, pet owners and parents, those who are secular-minded and those who are just living in a secular age, gather and read together and reflect on life? And once in a while recite poetry from memory? The Matthew Strother Center is a place where that can and does happen.
We need more spaces that foster that classical ideal of leisure. We do not need more thought leaders, but more thoughtful human beings. We do not need more literature experts, but even more people committed to the examined life. We do not need another degree-granting institution with prestigious alumni networks, but more people who can put their phones away and put the Oura ring down.
In our cohort, we talked a good deal about gifts and about legacy. The time spent at the center was a remarkable gift. If you knew how good the sourdough is and how great the views are, you would want in even if you hate books. The Matthew Strother Center is the legacy of a real man, Matthew Strother, who held the values that animate the foundation. Our cohort could have spoken more about blessings. The seminars and the conversations and the community reinforced the ways in which books can be a blessing that help us to better connect and to live fuller lives. The entire center calls to mind the Jewish saying, “may his memory be for a blessing.” There is no doubt that was already true for those who knew Matthew Strother personally, but through the center it has also become true for many who did not have the chance.
