Motherhood as an Intellectual Vocation
The challenges and gifts of integrating motherhood and intellectual life
In his practical yet profound book The Intellectual Life, the French Dominican A.G. Sertillanges describes how the life of the mind can be lived out as a vocation. The intellectual vocation, like any other vocation, cannot be chosen; God calls, and it is to the one called to respond with generosity.1 The intellectual life is a vocation of service; the work must be done in response to some genuine human need.2 This sort of work should not, then, be confused with the contemplation which occurs during leisure, and is performed for its own sake. But intellectual work on its own can—and often must—be pursued regardless of whether one is called to the pure intellectual vocation or to some other area of service. This work, if performed well, can be both the fulfillment of responsibility and the source of great delight.
Motherhood, perhaps today more than ever, carries with it particular intellectual demands. Among her many duties, the mother normatively holds the primary responsibility for the education of her children. This responsibility confers on her a corresponding two-fold self-educational obligation: first, to acquire the knowledge and the mental powers required to fulfill her vocational duties, and second, to serve as a fitting example to her children as a learner and pursuer of truth. While she may not be chasing new scientific discoveries or philosophical propositions, the mother’s primary vocation has, nonetheless, a decidedly intellectual character.
The mother, then, will find herself facing many of the challenges that confront the intellectual worker in addition to the challenges that arise from the nature of her vocation as mother. But the mother will also discover, if she keeps her eyes open, that nature and vocation offer her some unique advantages and gifts to apply to her intellectual pursuits.
My intention in this work is to explore, first, the idea of motherhood as an intellectual vocation, and second, some of the more commonly encountered challenges that arise from the integration of motherhood and intellectual work, along with some associated tools and practices that the mother can employ in response to these challenges. Sertillanges addressed his work primarily to men with an intellectual vocation, and while much of his advice is equally relevant to today’s mother, I believe that there is more to be said. It is my hope that this essay can contribute something worthwhile to the conversation.
Motherhood as Intellectual Work
If asked to name an intellectual vocation, most people would bring to mind a professor, scientist, or other similar worker. Motherhood would not, for most of us, fit the description. Indeed, when it comes to raising children, there seem to be two prevailing—and nearly opposing—perspectives. On the one hand, there are those who insist that just about anyone can raise a child, especially when he is young, and imply that the mother does best to relieve herself of this burden as early as she can—whether by entrusting her child to the local teenager or immigrant woman, or by handing him off to a nearby daycare centre. The mother, meanwhile, can resume her real life, where she provides real value to some anonymous employer, doing her real work, whatever it may be (perhaps she’s the manager of a daycare centre?). On the other end of the spectrum are those who maintain that the work of raising a child is far too difficult and far too important to be left to just anyone, and, therefore, the parents owe it to the child and to society as a whole to give over as much of the work of child-rearing as possible to the qualified experts: the child educators, the child development specialists, the medical professionals, and the like. A woman should not dare to suppose that the mere fact of being this particular child’s mother makes her in any way fit for the task of raising and educating him!
True motherhood, as a lived vocation, encourages, and at times demands, deep and difficult intellectual work. This is the case regardless of the mother’s unique personal circumstances. One mother may have to choose the best caregiver for a child she cannot afford to stay home with herself; another may have to research the special diet her child’s illness requires; another may need to learn calculus in order to assist her home-educated adolescent. The work of motherhood will always require certain particular knowledge—and modern education seems to have done an especially poor job of preparing most of us for motherhood. It falls to us, then, to fill in the gaps—and, often, to figure out where these gaps lie. Indeed, the first and ongoing intellectual task of the mother is to identify the particular knowledge that she requires to fulfill her duties—now and in the future—and the best means, timing, and strategy she can use to learn what she currently does not know. The answer will be different for every mother, and it will be ever-changing for the same mother. No one else can do this work for her. It is hers alone, to accept or neglect.
A mother must also keep hold of the reality that her children will look to her, in all areas of life, as an example. This is no small thing when it comes to the matter of intellectual pursuits. Among the child’s primary responsibilities—and, it could easily be argued, his most fundamental task—is his own education. He enters the world knowing nothing; the hope is that when the time comes for him to leave his childhood home, he will have gained the skills and knowledge he needs to navigate competently that self-same world.
The child’s vision is clear and his ears are keen. His mother’s attitude toward learning, toward knowledge, toward the things of the mind, will be no mystery to him. He will see the books she chooses, or the mindless use of screens that takes their place. He will hear the delight in her voice when she narrates her favourite scene from Austen or when she recounts the latest celebrity scandal. When she stops to admire a newly-blooming rose, or to question why the ducks are so late this year in their migration, he will see for himself that the glories and mysteries of Creation point to a yet more glorious and more mysterious Creator—One Who can and must be known, worshipped, and—most astonishingly—loved. The child will model his posture toward knowledge on what he observes in his mother .
There is a final consideration, and it is perhaps the most important one, deceptive in its simplicity: knowledge—the expansion of the mind through its encounters with truth—is an end in itself, a basic good for all persons of all walks of life. We are made better when we wrestle with Truth. Knowledge is not just some external acquirement; true knowledge changes us on a fundamental level. For most of us, too, intellectual pursuits can become—if they are not already—a source of delight. It may take some time for this to be so, particularly if we have dulled our minds on the sorts of short-form content that the internet excels at providing, but human persons by nature seek to know, and the satisfaction of curiosity is no less a pleasure in adulthood than it was in our youth when we begged our our parents to explain “Why? Why? But why?”. We stand only to gain when we open our minds to new knowledge and clearer thought.
Time Constraints and Environmental Challenges
The scientist has his laboratory, the professor his office, but the mother has her piles of laundry, stacks of dirty dishes, and the occasional toddler clinging to one leg. How is the mother to lead an intellectual life when real life must be lived? One cannot reasonably deny that intellectual work requires time. Nor can the mother simply decide to abandon her very real obligations in favour of hours spent with her nose in a good book. But there are ways to structure daily rhythms and the home environment to promote the life of the mind. Some of the seemingly mundane duties of daily life may, in fact, prove to be great gifts to the mother-learner.
The obvious place to start is with the daily routine, provided such a routine exists. If no such routine exists, it is well worth the effort to establish one, for the well-being of the entire family. This needn’t be a minute-by-minute schedule, with every last detail accounted for, but a daily pattern can help us to use our time more intentionally while accomplishing all necessities.
Examine the routine. Is it possible to create, somewhere in the course of at least some days, protected time for intellectual development? Perhaps it is early in the morning before the children awake. Maybe it is more reasonable to put the younger children down for a nap and set up a quiet activity for the older ones before settling in for an afternoon cup of tea and a good book. This may mean embracing an early bedtime, but many of us can, indeed, carve out this time, if our desire is strong enough. If and when we have identified this time, we must guard it jealously, and with confidence—even if at first it is merely feigned confidence. This work is valuable; this work is necessary. The laundry can be folded later and the phone call delayed. Only true emergencies should be allowed to interfere. It can be helpful to keep a piece of paper and a pen nearby to record the thoughts and to-dos that tend to assail us the moment we are still. Write them down, and they can be safely forgotten, freeing the mind to return to higher things. A final piece of advice: keep screens, especially that pesky phone, out of sight and easy reach—if possible, in another location entirely. They will only distract and tempt.
Protected time, valuable as it is, is not the only time that can be put to good use. Look next for those tiny pockets of time, the five or ten minutes here or there that we tend to fritter away by scrolling or simply by not quite knowing what to do. They’re not suitable for heavy reading, it’s true, but with some planning, these small moments can serve us well. Perhaps a mother is trying to learn a new language? She could use those few moments to flip through a thoughtfully-placed stack of flashcards containing new vocabulary words. Perhaps she’s reading a difficult novel? She could use those few moments to run through a list—physical or mental—of the main characters and their relationships to one another. Or maybe she noticed that morning that her favourite pen is low on ink, or that she needs to dig out a new notebook because her current one is almost full. Performing these necessary tasks in the margins of her day prevents them from eating into protected time, those essential moments that she can dedicate to her most difficult intellectual work.
There is yet more to consider. Intellectual work consists of far more than simply reading a good book or listening to a lecture or podcast. Too many of us fill all of our learning time with noise, be it auditory or visual, forgetting that input of ideas—while certainly important—is only one of several elements of learning. If we truly wish to expand our minds and to become better thinkers, we must leave ample time to think. Passive exposure to information cannot change us. Ideas must be pondered, chewed on, questioned, and connected to our existing knowledge.
A mother’s life often seems to be filled with the mundane. We scrub toilets, wipe bums, sweep floors, fold laundry, and perform the many tiny tasks that make life possible. How much of this time could be used for thinking? How many of us instead choose to fill this time with input—music, podcasts, videos, and the like? There is nothing inherently wrong with using some of this time for consumption, but let us not forget that if we wish to think better, we must first think!
Perhaps the children are underfoot. Could they be an audience for the recitation of a poem or the retelling of a story? (Any homeschooling mother familiar with Charlotte Mason can attest to the value—and difficulty—of narrating what one is learning.) A carefully-chosen read-aloud book can also prove to be a source of wonder and intellectual stimulation to more than just the children—John Senior’s list of 1000 good books is a great resource for any mother who wants to develop her own mind alongside her children.
With a bit of observation, most of us will find that there is an ebb and flow to our days—moments in which we can enliven our minds by welcoming in new ideas, followed by moments in which we can reflect upon these ideas and begin to make them into something that is truly our own. The natural rhythms of motherhood, if approached with intention and a bit of imagination, can become the pattern of a truly intellectual way of life.
Physical Challenges
A mother seeking intellectual growth will face practical challenges beyond those of time and environment. At times, her own body may seem to be working against her. Human persons, male and female, are embodied creatures. Our minds operate through our bodies. When we think, we think with and through our bodies; whatever affects the body, therefore, will necessarily also affect our thinking.
This shouldn’t come as any great surprise. Anyone who has ever stumbled over her words after a poor night’s sleep or found herself rereading one sentence a dozen times with no increase in comprehension, having skipped her lunch in the name of productivity, can attest to the relationship between body and thinking. Yet in our day-to-day decisions, it is all too easy to ignore or downplay the impact that our physical choices have on our intellectual capabilities.
The obvious first response to this reality, provided we truly wish to have vibrant intellectual lives, is to endeavour, as much as is reasonable, to care for our physical health. This needn’t be a massive burden, nor may we permit it to become an idol in our lives, but as a general rule, it is appropriate and necessary that we make some effort to nourish our bodies well, to move them often, and to get an appropriate amount of sleep. This doesn’t mean that we refuse night feedings to our newborn or cuddles to our nightmare-haunted toddler, but it does oblige us to exercise the discipline required to put down a good novel—yes, even in the middle of a chapter!—if reason informs us that our proper bedtime has arrived. Besides—how clearly do we ever remember a story the next day when we read late into the night? We only harm ourselves, for no gain.
While we can and should promote our own physical well-being, it is nonetheless in the very nature of a woman, and even more so of a mother, to experience a bodily existence that is ever-changing. Our menstrual cycles are accompanied by fluctuations in strength and energy. Pregnancy reshapes our embodied selves in ways no other experience can. Our bodies, and our embodied lives, are seldom characterised by stability, nor are they meant to be. Our only constant is change—fortunately, however, we can at least plan for this change and work with it instead of fighting our way into frustration.
Many of the strategies that facilitate intellectual growth within time constraints and distracting environments apply equally well to making forward intellectual strides on days when our health or other bodily concerns make focused work unrealistic. There is often tangential work we can perform with lesser mental demand, such as tending to supplies, organising books, and filing notes. Our memories may be less sharp, but we are often still capable of reviewing previously-learned material and thereby reinforcing its retention.
It can be especially helpful, in light of our variable mental powers, to carefully and intentionally choose to have multiple books and learning projects underway. If we select these with consideration to the amount, and perhaps type, of mental effort they require, typically we will be able to match our ability to a suitable task. The key is to plan this in advance so we do not resort to time-wasting in our moments of greater struggle.
It is also worth considering that in some circumstances, the best choice to promote our intellectual lives may not be to perform any intellectual work at all. If we’ve had a rough night with a teething baby, it may be that the best thing we can do for our minds is to use our normal study time to nap. If we cannot focus because we skipped breakfast, taking the time to eat a snack might be the best way to boost our productivity. And if we just can’t wrap our minds around some new or difficult concept, a walk in fresh air may be just the thing that gives us new perspective and leads us to clearer understanding. For better and for worse, we can change our thinking by changing the state of our bodies.
Challenges of Depth and Focus
We have discussed challenges arising from time and environment, and challenges related to physical embodiment. The final area of struggle I wish to address is perhaps less obvious, but no less important: it is the challenge of maintaining a coherent course of study when new threads of interest present a regular temptation to scattered focus.
In her essays on the nature of woman, Carmelite martyr St. Edith Stein—known also as St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross—paints a portrait of womanhood that includes a natural tendency to be drawn towards that which is concrete, personal, and whole. Woman, she says, is specially tasked with assisting the development of persons, and her gifts and interests will, on the whole, be oriented towards this mission. While men (male) typically image God through pursuit of excellence in specialisation, women typically image God through the holistic development of their faculties. Neither approach is better than the other, and both are needed, but both tendencies also carry with them particular and different dangers. One such danger for women is the temptation to constantly chase new ideas, only ever engaging in shallow learning and superficial development.3
The challenge is amplified by the reality that many of us lack the proper educational formation that is due to persons. The new areas of interest tugging incessantly at our attention often represent very real gaps in the foundational knowledge that we ought to have. And indeed, without a broad base of knowledge, there is very little that we can truly understand in any sort of deep and meaningful way. So how do we gain breadth of knowledge without sacrificing depth or consigning ourselves to superficial development?
Let us return to the first intellectual task of the mother: the identification of the knowledge required for her vocation and of the disparities between this knowledge and the knowledge she already has. Once we have made our initial assessment, we can roughly prioritise, and perhaps classify (e.g., by type, difficulty, time required, etc.) the knowledge we need.
Next, we can plan a tentative course of study. This plan will be personal to each woman, but it could include of a list of particular books to read or courses to complete, approaches we will take to learning (such as note-taking, narration, etc.), any preparatory work that must be done, a list of required materials, a tentative timeline, and other practical details. The goal is to establish a concrete plan with tangible ways to measure progress (or lack thereof). We should also include a timeline for assessing effectiveness and outlining the next iteration of the plan. This could be once a year, once a quarter, or whatever other frequency seems appropriate—the point, again, is to have a plan; too much fuss over establishing the perfect plan—a mere pipe dream, anyhow—will only result in paralysis.
The final step, of course, is to execute the plan. We must remain thoughtful in how we do this. If something clearly is not working, we needn’t adhere to it slavishly; on the other hand, the purpose of the plan is to get us to our learning goals and to protect us from distraction. If we simply abandon the plan at the first sign of difficulty, we needn’t have bothered in the first place.
So what do we do, how do we proceed, when we inevitably cross paths with some new compelling idea, course of study, or book that is not part of the plan? We have several options to consider, some more protective against shallow work than others.
We can begin by assessing how, if at all, this new source of interest relates to our plan. Is this something that will allow us to enter more deeply into an area of learning that is already part of our plan? Is this knowledge that we have realised is actually a prerequisite to something in our plan? Is this new area of interest a response to some crisis or need in our family that has recently emerged, or recently been identified? Is it something loosely related or entirely unrelated to our plan, and simply a new diversion of interest? These sorts of questions can help us to assess whether there is any urgent need for us to pursue this knowledge, or if it is simply tempting us away from what we have previously identified as being good or necessary.
There is no universally-correct next choice, but having done our best to make an honest assessment of our personal circumstances, we can choose to stick to our established plan, alter our plan, or abandon our plan entirely. It may help us to simply record our new area of interest and let some time pass while continuing on as we have planned; often, a bit of time for reflection can make the best way forward more clear to us. And remember—this is almost certainly not a life-or-death decision, nor an irreversible commitment. The simple awareness that we may be at greater risk of intellectual dissipation could be enough to guide us in making more prudent decisions.
Finally, we may discover that our best defence against shallow work is to plan ahead for spontaneity—not quite as nonsensical an idea as it may initially appear. If, in our initial planning, we simply include options to be decided in the future—say, we leave room for two books that we do not name at the outset—we can balance the joy of pursuing new ideas with the need for intellectual discipline. Let us always leave room in our intellectual lives for delight!
Closing Thoughts
While Sertillanges may not have had the mother in mind when he penned his guide to the intellectual life, motherhood is very much an intellectual vocation. The challenges and joys of integrating motherhood and the life of the mind go far beyond these particular constraints of time, environment, body, and depth of focus, but with some creative thought and use of the gifts that accompany her vocation, a mother can establish a robust and rewarding intellectual life.
I would love to hear from you in the comments. How have you managed to integrate motherhood and intellectual work? What are your biggest challenges in your vocation as a mother? What are your biggest challenges in your intellectual life? What have been your greatest triumphs as mother and as thinker? Please leave your thoughts below!
I'll be back in two weeks with some thoughts on how my planned learning has been going so far this year. In the meantime, go read a good book!
A.G. Sertillanges, The Intellectual Life: Its Spirit, Conditions, Methods, trans. Mary Ryan (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1998), 3-4.
Ibid., 13.
Edith Stein, Essays on Woman, ed. Lucy Gelber and Romaeus Leuven, trans. Freda Mary Oben, Second edition, revised, vol. 2, The Collected Works of Edith Stein (Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 2017).