How can one live, and live happily and nobly, when confronted with turmoil within and without? How does one cope and even thrive in the face of evil, injustice, deception, cruelty, indifference to the sufferings of others? Or again, how does one live, what does one do, when one encounters overwhelming suffering?
Some persons find a crutch, or an imaginary island of safety, or some kind of mind-numbing drug to escape the sorrows of life. Some in our midst turn to nearly mindless television or video viewing, to alcohol or drug abuse, to escapes into fantasies, weird beliefs, illusions. Indeed, escapes from the sufferings of life are many. Some retreat into a Book, in which they claim to have “complete truth,” or into an institution—say, a government, or a church, or a fraternal organization—which can serve as a would-be god in an utterly disturbing, often frightening world. And some even escape from realities of this present life into an imagined future, in which there is no suffering—a utopian dream.
And I must ask, as the search for truth requires: When the Apostle Paul writes that “the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory to be revealed in us” (Romans 8), is he engaging in an imaginative flight out of reality into a desired future? I ask the question as duty demands, but for the present I shall suspend attempting an answer for a reason: My goal here and now is not to analyze all of the would-be escapes, but to answer the opening question: How can one live, and live happily and nobly, when confronted with turmoil within and without?
What we aim at is a present and true solution to the overshadowing, overwhelming burdens of human existence. What can you do, what can I do, here and now to decrease the power of evils and disturbances on our bodies and minds? For our bodies, we separate ourselves in time and space from what hurts them. In simple words, “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.” My present concern is with interior freedom for the mind, for human consciousness, from being over-burdened.
Two different body of teachings come immediately to mind: the way of the Buddha, and the way of Christian faith. Consider the words of the Apostle Paul: “Do not be conformed to the present age, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that you may know God’s will…” (Romans 12). In some passages he fleshes out what “renewal of the mind” looks like: “Do not be anxious or disturbed about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. And then the peace of God, which surpasses everything, will keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4). The Apostle recommends the way to interior peace through loving surrender to God.
Of the way of the Buddha, I should not say much, for I am not a Buddhist, and do not wish to misrepresent his teaching. What seems to be true is that the Buddha suspends all talk about gods and rituals, and directs his disciples to turn their full attention away from the fleeting world towards bliss (nibbana), away from all that suffers, and to rest in the peace of utter self-surrender. Not in the wants or aversions of the passing self, the ego, but in the indestructible peace of selflessness does one “cross over to the further shore.”
***
Here is my practical word for you, for me, now: I renounce all thoughts that agitate my mind. I choose to let go of all resentments, ill-will, and illusions. I choose neither this nor that, nor any thing, but simply to be attentive to the stillness that comes in quiet breathing.
I cannot change the world, I cannot perfect myself. The best that I can do here and now is not to do anything, not to try to accomplish anything, but to let “the peace of God that surpasses understanding” fill me with its presence. I cannot generate this peace, or even imagine it well. I can cease worrying and yielding to fleeting feelings, and acknowledge the presence of the real within reality, the presence in the midst of changing, the unmoved mover of all that is. I call it You, or God, or Christ, or Love, or Peace. The name does not matter. It may be no-God in the sense of no-thing. Surely it is not a thing into which the mind enters. As St. Thomas wrote about God, “One cannot say what God is, but only what God is not.” Into the nameless one enters, and finds peace.
Words. The reality is greater. Yield, and cease to strive, except for the peace which surpasses understanding. For what one enters is not fully understandable, but neither is it utterly foreign. Here all along, present, even when not sought or asked for. My body twitches. Air is cool, noise outside, automobile. None of these is it. Not this, not that. The ever-present buzzing in my ears or mind, or somewhere, like a vast army of crickets. They do not cease singing. They are not the peace into which the mind longs to enter.
Sheer quiet, stillness. Neither I nor You, but in-between. As in a pool without sides, or undiscovered walls, at least. Freely floating not in air or water, but in stillness. So relaxing, difficult not to sleep. Be alert, watchful.
Some persons find a crutch, or an imaginary island of safety, or some kind of mind-numbing drug to escape the sorrows of life. Some in our midst turn to nearly mindless television or video viewing, to alcohol or drug abuse, to escapes into fantasies, weird beliefs, illusions. Indeed, escapes from the sufferings of life are many. Some retreat into a Book, in which they claim to have “complete truth,” or into an institution—say, a government, or a church, or a fraternal organization—which can serve as a would-be god in an utterly disturbing, often frightening world. And some even escape from realities of this present life into an imagined future, in which there is no suffering—a utopian dream.
And I must ask, as the search for truth requires: When the Apostle Paul writes that “the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory to be revealed in us” (Romans 8), is he engaging in an imaginative flight out of reality into a desired future? I ask the question as duty demands, but for the present I shall suspend attempting an answer for a reason: My goal here and now is not to analyze all of the would-be escapes, but to answer the opening question: How can one live, and live happily and nobly, when confronted with turmoil within and without?
What we aim at is a present and true solution to the overshadowing, overwhelming burdens of human existence. What can you do, what can I do, here and now to decrease the power of evils and disturbances on our bodies and minds? For our bodies, we separate ourselves in time and space from what hurts them. In simple words, “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.” My present concern is with interior freedom for the mind, for human consciousness, from being over-burdened.
Two different body of teachings come immediately to mind: the way of the Buddha, and the way of Christian faith. Consider the words of the Apostle Paul: “Do not be conformed to the present age, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that you may know God’s will…” (Romans 12). In some passages he fleshes out what “renewal of the mind” looks like: “Do not be anxious or disturbed about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. And then the peace of God, which surpasses everything, will keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4). The Apostle recommends the way to interior peace through loving surrender to God.
Of the way of the Buddha, I should not say much, for I am not a Buddhist, and do not wish to misrepresent his teaching. What seems to be true is that the Buddha suspends all talk about gods and rituals, and directs his disciples to turn their full attention away from the fleeting world towards bliss (nibbana), away from all that suffers, and to rest in the peace of utter self-surrender. Not in the wants or aversions of the passing self, the ego, but in the indestructible peace of selflessness does one “cross over to the further shore.”
***
Here is my practical word for you, for me, now: I renounce all thoughts that agitate my mind. I choose to let go of all resentments, ill-will, and illusions. I choose neither this nor that, nor any thing, but simply to be attentive to the stillness that comes in quiet breathing.
I cannot change the world, I cannot perfect myself. The best that I can do here and now is not to do anything, not to try to accomplish anything, but to let “the peace of God that surpasses understanding” fill me with its presence. I cannot generate this peace, or even imagine it well. I can cease worrying and yielding to fleeting feelings, and acknowledge the presence of the real within reality, the presence in the midst of changing, the unmoved mover of all that is. I call it You, or God, or Christ, or Love, or Peace. The name does not matter. It may be no-God in the sense of no-thing. Surely it is not a thing into which the mind enters. As St. Thomas wrote about God, “One cannot say what God is, but only what God is not.” Into the nameless one enters, and finds peace.
Words. The reality is greater. Yield, and cease to strive, except for the peace which surpasses understanding. For what one enters is not fully understandable, but neither is it utterly foreign. Here all along, present, even when not sought or asked for. My body twitches. Air is cool, noise outside, automobile. None of these is it. Not this, not that. The ever-present buzzing in my ears or mind, or somewhere, like a vast army of crickets. They do not cease singing. They are not the peace into which the mind longs to enter.
Sheer quiet, stillness. Neither I nor You, but in-between. As in a pool without sides, or undiscovered walls, at least. Freely floating not in air or water, but in stillness. So relaxing, difficult not to sleep. Be alert, watchful.
