Joko Beck "Everyday zen- love and work"

Väga hea raamat.

Raamatud zen-budismi kohta

http://www.thezensite.com/MainPages/book_reviews.html

Alan Watts "The way of zen"

The reason why Taoism and Zen present, at .rst sight, such a
puzzle to the Western mind is that we have taken a restricted view
of human knowledge. For us, almost all knowledge is what a Taoist would call conventional knowledge, because we do not feel that we
really know anything unless we can represent it to ourselves in words, or in some other system of conventional signs such as the
notations of mathematics or music. Such knowledge is called
conventional because it is a matter of social agreement as to the
codes of communication. Just as peop

le speaking the same
language have tacit agreements as to what words shall stand for what things, so the members of every society and every culture are
united by bonds of communication resting upon all kinds ofunited by bonds of communication resting upon all kinds of
agreement as to the classi.cation and valuation of actions and
things.

Thus the task of education is to make children .t to live in a
society by persuading them to learn and accept its codes–the rules
and conventions of communication whereby the society holds itself
together. There is .rst the spoken language. The child is taught to
accept “tree” and not “boojum” as the agreed sign for that (pointing
to the object).

Besides language, the child has to accept many other forms of
code. For the necessities of living together require agreement as to
codes of law and ethics, of etiquette and art, of weights, measures,
and numbers, and, above all, of role. We have di4culty in
communicating with each other unless we can identify ourselves in
terms of roles–father, teacher, worker, artist, “regular guy,”
gentleman, sportsman, and so forth. To the extent that we identify
ourselves with these stereotypes and the rules of behavior
associated with them, we ourselves feel that we are someone
because our fellows have less di4culty in accepting us-that is, inbecause our fellows have less di4culty in accepting us-that is, in
identifying us and feeling that we are “under control.” A meeting of
two strangers at a party is always somewhat embarrassing when the
host has not identi.ed their roles in introducing them, for neither
knows what rules of conversation and action should be observed.

Once again, it is easy to see the conventional character of roles.
For a man who is a father may also be a doctor and an artist, as well as an employee and a brother. And it is obvious that even the
sum total of these role labels will be far from supplying an
adequate description of the man himself, even though it may place
him in certain general classi.cations. But the conventions which
govern human identity are more subtle and much less obvious than
these. We learn, very thoroughly though far less explicitly, to
identify ourselves with an equally conventional view of “myself.”
For the conventional “self” or “person” is composed mainly of a
history consisting of selected memories, and beginning from the moment of parturition. According to convention, I am not simply what I am doing now. I am also what I have done, and my
conventionally edited version of my past is made to seem almost more the real “me” than what I am at this moment. For what I am
seems so fleeting and intangible, but what I was is .xed and .nal. It
is the .rm basis for predictions of what I will be in the future, and
so it comes about that I am more closely identi.ed with what no
longer exists than with what actually is!

We are not suggesting that Westerners simply do not use the

“peripheral mind.” Being human, we use it all the time, and every

artist, every workman, every athlete calls into play some special

development of its powers. But it is not academically and

philosophically respectable. We have hardly begun to realize its

possibilities, and it seldom, if ever, occurs to us that one of its most

important uses is for that “knowledge of reality” which we try to

attain by the cumbersome calculations of theology, metaphysics,

and logical inference. 

Taoism, on the other hand, is generally a pursuit of older men,

and especially of men who are retiring from active life in the

community. Their retirement from society is a kind of outward

symbol of an inward liberation from the bounds of conventional

patterns of thought and conduct. For Taoism concerns itself with

unconventional knowledge, with the understanding of life directly,unconventional knowledge, with the understanding of life directly,

instead of in the abstract, linear terms of representational thinking.

Confucianism presides, then, over the socially necessary task of

forcing the original spontaneity of life into the rigid rules of

convention–a task which involves not only con1ict and pain, but

also the loss of that peculiar naturalness and un-self-consciousness

for which little children are so much loved, and which is sometimes

regained by saints and sages. The function of Taoism is to undo the

inevitable damage of this discipline, and not only to restore but also

to develop the original spontaneity, which is termed tzu-jan b or

“self-so-ness.” For the spontaneity of a child is still childish, like

everything else about him. His education fosters his rigidity but not

his spontaneity. In certain natures, the con1ict between social

convention and repressed spontaneity is so violent that it manifests

itself in crime, insanity, and neurosis, which are the prices we pay

for the otherwise undoubted benefits of order.

Things are produced around us, but no one knows the whence.

They issue forth, but no one sees the portal. Men one and all

value that part of knowledge which is known. They do not know

how to avail themselves of the Unknown in order to reach

knowledge. Is not this misguided?

In Chuangtzu’s words, “The perfect man
employs his mind as a mirror. It grasps nothing; it refuses nothing.
It receives, but does not keep.”

The idea is not to reduce the human mind to a moronic vacuity,
but to bring into play its innate and spontaneous intelligence by
using it without forcing it

The state of consciousness described sounds not unlike being
pleasantly drunk–though without the “morning after” e5ects of
alcohol! Chuang-tzu noticed the similarity, for he wrote:
A drunken man who falls out of a cart, though he may su5er,
does not die. His bones are the same as other people’s; but he meets the accident in a di5erent way. His spirit is in a condition
of security. He is not conscious of riding in the cart; neither is he
conscious of falling out of it. Ideas of life, death, fear, etc., cannot
penetrate his breast; and so he does not su5er from contact with
objective existences. And if such security is to be got from wine,
how much more is it to be got from Spontaneity. (19)10

Perhaps the special /avor of Zen is best described as a certain

directness. In other schools of Buddhism, awakening or bodhi seems

remote and almost superhuman, something to be reached only after many lives of patient e:ort. But in Zen there is always the feeling

that awakening is something quite natural, something startlingly

obvious, which may occur at any moment. If it involves a di;culty,

it is just that it is much too simple. Zen is also direct in its way of

teaching, for it points directly and openly to the truth, and does not

trifle with symbolism.

In other words, if nirvana is actually here and now so that

to seek it is to lose it, a realization through progressive stages is

hardly appropriate. One would have to see into it in the present moment, directly.

To the Taoist mentality, the aimless, empty life does not suggest

anything depressing. On the contrary, it suggests the freedom of

clouds and mountain streams, wandering nowhere, of Aowers in

impenetrable canyons, beautiful for no one to see, and of the ocean

surf forever washing the sand, to no end.

mplicity. While the Zen experience does not imply any speci>c course of

action, since it has no purpose, no motivation, it turns

unhesitatingly to anything that presents itself to be done. Mo chih

ch’u is the mind functioning without blocks, without “wobbling”

between alternatives, and much of Zen training consists in

confronting the student with dilemmas which he is expected to

handle without stopping to deliberate and “choose.” The response

to the situation must follow with the immediacy of sound issuing

from the hands when they are clapped, or sparks from a Aint when

struck. The student unaccustomed to this type of response will at

>rst be confused, but as he gains faith in his “original” or

spontaneous mind he will not only respond with ease, but the

responses themselves will acquire a startling appropriateness. This

is something like the professional comedian’s gift of unprepared wit which is equal to any situation

owever useful as a discipline for

inculcating patience and fortitude. Although the West has its own

contemplative tradition in the Catholic Church, the life of “sitting

and looking” has lost its appeal, for no religion is valued which

does not “improve the world,” and it is hard to see how the world

can be improved by keeping still.

There is, indeed, nothing unnatural in long periods of quiet

sitting. Cats do it; even dogs and other more nervous animals do it.

So-called primitive peoples do it–American Indians, and peasants of

almost all nations. The art is most di-cult for those who have

developed the sensitive intellect to such a point that they cannot

help making predictions about the future, and so must be kept in a

constant whirl of activity to forestall them. But it would seem that

to be incapable of sitting and watching with the mind completely at

rest is to be incapable of experiencing the world in which we live

to the full. For one does not know the world simply in thinking

about it and doing about it. One must 5rst experience it more

directly, and prolong the experience without jumping to

conclusions.

All time is here in this body, which is the body of Buddha. The past

exists in its memory and the future in its anticipation, and both of

these are now, for when the world is inspected directly and clearlythese are now, for when the world is inspected directly and clearly

past and future times are nowhere to be found.

Awakening almost necessarily involves a sense of relief because it

brings to an end the habitual psychological cramp of trying to grasp

the mind with the mind, which in turn generates the ego with all its

con4icts and defenses. In time, the sense of relief wears o<–but not

the awakening, unless one has confused it with the sense of relief

and has attempted to exploit it by indulging in ecstasy. Awakening

is thus only incidentally pleasant or ecstatic, only at 5rst an

experience of intense emotional release. But in itself it is just the

ending of an arti5cial and absurd use of the mind.

5/5

D.T. Suzuki- An introtuction to zen-buddhism

To meditate, a man has to fix his thought on something; for instance, on the oneness of God, or his infinite love, or on the impermanence of things. But this is the very thing Zen desires to avoid. If there is anything Zen strongly emphasizes it is the attainment of freedom; that is, freedom from all unnatural encumbrances. Meditation is something artificially put on; it does not belong to the native activity of the mind. Upon what do the fowls of the air meditate? Upon what do the fish in the water meditate? They fly; they swim. Is not that enough? Who wants to fix his mind on the unity of God and man, or on the nothingness of life? Who wants to be arrested in the daily manifestations of his life-activity by such meditations as the goodness of a divine being or the everlasting fire of hell?

The basic idea of Zen is to come in touch with the inner workings of our being, and to do so in the most direct way possible, without resorting to anything external or superadded. Therefore, anything that has the semblance of an external authority is rejected by Zen. Absolute faith is placed in a man's own inner being. For whatever authority there is in Zen, all comes from within. This is true in the strictest sense of the word. Even the reasoning faculty is not considered final or absolute. On the contrary, it hinders the mind from coming into the directest communication with itself. The intellect accomplishes its mission when it works as an intermediary, and Zen has nothing to do with the intermediary except when it desires to communicate itself to others. For this reason all the scriptures are merely tentative and provisory; there is in them no finality. The central fact of life as it is lived is what Zen aims to grasp, and this in the most direct and most vital manner. Zen professes itself to be the spirit of Buddhism, but in fact it is the spirit of all religions and philosophies. When Zen is thoroughly understood, absolute peace of mind is attained, and a man lives as he ought to live. What more may we hope?

For Zen reveals itself in the most uninteresting and uneventful life of a plain man of the street, recognizing the fact of living in the midst of life as it is lived. Zen systematically trains the mind to see this; it opens a man's eye to the greatest mystery as it is daily and hourly performed; it enlarges the heart to embrace eternity of time and infinity of space in its every palpitation; it makes us live in the world as if walking in the garden of Eden; and all this spiritual feats are accomplished without resorting to any doctrines but by simply asserting in the most direct way the truth that lies in our inner being.

Not a single idea will disturb your consciousness, when lo! all of a sudden you will come to realize the light abounding in full gladness. It is like coming across the light in thick darkness; it is like receiving treasure in poverty. The four elements and the five aggregates are no more felt as burdens; so light, so easy, so free you are. Your very existence has been delivered from all limitations; you have become open, light, and transparent. You gain an illuminating insight into the very nature of things, which now appear to you as so many fairylike flowers having no graspable realities. Here is manifested the unsophisticated self which is the original face of your being; here is shown all bare the most beautiful landscape of your birthplace. There is but one straight passage open and unobstructed through and through. This is so when you surrender all -- your body, your life, and all that belongs to your inmost self. This is where you gain peace, ease, non-doing, and inexpressible delight.

The idea of Zen is to catch life as it flows. There is nothing extraordinary or mysterious about Zen. I raise my hand; I take a book from the other side of this desk; I hear the boys playing ball outside my window; I see the clouds blown away beyond the neighbouring wood: -- in all these I am practising Zen, I am living Zen. No wordy discussions is necessary, nor any explanation. I do not know why -- and there is no need of explaining, but when the sun rises the whole world dances with joy and everybody's heart is filled with bliss. If Zen is at all conceivable, it must be taken hold of here.

The rapidity, however, does not constitute Zen; its naturalness, its freedom from artificialities, its being expressive of life itself, its originality -- these are the essential characteristics of Zen. Therefore, we have always to be on guard not to be carried away by outward signs when we really desire to get into the core of Zen. How difficult and misleading it would be to try and understand Zen literally and logically, depending on those statements which have been given above as answers to the question "What is Buddha?"

A Confucian scholar writes, "They seek the truth too far away from themselves, while it is right near them". The same thing may be said of Zen. We look for its secrets where they are most unlikely to be found, that is, in verbal abstractions and metaphysical subtleties, whereas the truth of Zen really lies in the concrete things of our daily life. 

The object of Zen discipline consists in acquiring a new viewpoint for looking into the essence of things. If you have been in the habit of thinking logically according to the rules of dualism, rid yourself of it and you may come around somewhat to the viewpoint of Zen. You and I are supposedly living in the same world, but who can tell that the thing we popularly call a stone that is lying before my window is the same to both of us? You and I sip a cup of tea. That act is apparently alike to us both, but who can tell what a wide gap there is subjectively between your drinking and my drinking? In your drinking there may be no Zen, while my is brim-full of it. The reason for it is: you move in a logical circle and I am out of it. Though there is in fact nothing new in the so-called new viewpoint of Zen, the term "new" is convenient to express the Zen way of viewing the world, but its use here is a condescension on the part of Zen.

"For instance, when you are hungry or thirsty, my eating of food or drinking will not fill your stomach; you must eat and drink for yourself. When you want to respond to the calls of nature you must take care of yourself, for I cannot be of any use to you. And then it will be nobody else but yourself that will carry your body along this highway". 

Without the attainment of *satori* no one can enter into the truth of Zen. *Satori* is the sudden flashing into consciousness of a new truth hitherto undreamed of. It is a sort of mental catastrophe taking place all at once, after much piling up of matters intellectual and demonstrative. The piling has reached a limit of stability and the whole edifice has come tumbling to the ground, when, behold, a new heaven is open to full survey. When the freezing point is reached, water suddenly turns into ice; the liquid has suddenly turned into a solid body and no more flows freely. *Satori* comes upon a man unawares, when he feels that he has exhausted his whole being. Religiously, it is a new birth; intellectually, it is the acquiring of a new viewpoint. The world now appears as if dressed in a new garment, which seems to cover up all the unsightliness of dualism, which is called delusion in Buddhist phraseology.

 As Joshu declared, "Zen is your everyday thought"; it all depends on the adjustment of the hinge whether the door opens in or opens out. Even in the twinkling of an eye the whole affair is changed and you have Zen, and you are as perfect and as normal as ever. More than that, you have acquired in the meantime something altogether new. All your mental activities will now be working to a different key, which will be more satisfying, more peaceful, and fuller of joy than anything you ever experienced before. The tone of life will be altered. There is something rejuvenating in the possession of Zen. The spring flowers look prettier, and the mountain stream runs cooler and more transparent. The subjective revolution that brings about this state of things cannot be called abnormal. When life becomes more enjoyable and its expense broadens to include the universe itself, there must be something in *satori* that is quite precious and well worth one's striving after.

Epicteteus

There is not in the scale of nature a more
inseparable connection of cause and effect than in
the case of happiness and virtue: nor anything that
more naturally produces the one, or more necessarily
presupposes the other. For what is it to be happy,
but for a man to content himself with his lot, in a
quiet and cheerful resignation to the appointments of
God?

 But if you do
not read for a month together, but do somewhat else,
you will see what will be the consequence. So after
sitting still for ten days, get up and attempt to
take a long walk, and you will find how your legs are
weakened. Upon the whole, then, whatever you would
make habitual, practice it; and, if you would not
make a thing habitual, do not practice it, but
habituate yourself to something else.

Now, the very nature of every one is to pursue

good, to avoid evil, to esteem him as an enemy and

betrayer who deprives us of the one, and involves us

in the other, though he be a brother, or a son, or

father. For nothing is more nearly related to us

than good.

If you would be well spoken of, learn to speak

well of others. And, when you have learned to speak

well of them, endeavor likewise to do well to them;

and thus you will reap the fruit of being well spoken

of by them.

Of things, some are in our power and others not.

In our power are opinion, pursuit, desire, aversion,

and, in one word, whatever are our own actions. Not

in our power are body, property, reputation, command,

and, in one word, whatever are not our own actions.

Remove aversion,

then, from all things that are not in our power, and

transfer it to things contrary to the nature of what

is in our power. But, for the present, totally

suppress desire: for, if you desire any of the things

not in our own power, you must necessarily be

disappointed; and of those which are, and which it

would be laudable to desire, nothing is yet in your

possession. Use only [the requisite acts] of pursuit

and avoidance; and even these lightly, and with

gentleness and reservation.

Men are disturbed, not by things, but by the

principles and notions which they form concerning

things. Death, for instance, is not terrible, else

it would have appeared so to Socrates. But the

terror consists in our notion of death that it is

terrible. When therefore we are hindered, or

disturbed, or grieved, let us never impute it to

others, but to ourselves; that is, to our own

principles. It is the action of an uninstructed

person to lay the fault of his own bad condition upon

others; of one entering upon instruction to lay the

fault on himself; and of one perfectly instructed,

neither on others nor on himself.

Require not things to happen as you wish, but

wish them to happen as they do happen, and you will

go on well.

Provide thing relating to the body no further than mere use; as meat, drink, clothing, house, family. But strike off and rejecte very things realtings to show wand delicacy.

Itisamarkofwantofgeniustospendmuch

timeinthingsrelatingtothebody,astobelongin

ourexercises,ineatinganddrinking,andinthe

dischargeofotheranimalfunctions.Theseshouldbe

doneincidentallyandslightly,andourwholeatten-tionbeengagedinthecareoftheunderstanding.

Seneca

There is not anything in this world, perhaps,
that is more talked of, and less understood, than the
business of a happy life. It is every man's wish and
design; and yet not one of a thousand that knows
wherein that happiness consists. We live, however,
in a blind and eager pursuit of it; and the more
haste we make in a wrong way, the further we are from
our j ourney's end.

The true felicity of life is to be free from

perturbations; to understand our duties toward God

and man; to enjoy the present without any anxious

dependence upon the future. Not to amuse ourselves

with either hopes or fears, but to rest satisfied

with what we have, which is abundantly sufficient;

for he that is so wants nothing. The great blessings

of mankind are within us, and within our reach; but

we shut our eyes and, like people in the dark, we

fall foul upon the very thing we search for without

finding it.

The joy of a wise man stands firm without

interruption. In all places, at all times and in all

conditions, his thoughts are cheerful and quiet. As

it never came in to him from without, so it will

never leave him; but it is born within him, and

inseparable from him. It is a solicitous life that

is egged on with the hope of anything, though never

so open and easy, nay, though a man should never

suffer any sort of disappointment. I do not speak

this either as a bar to the fair enjoyment of lawful

pleasures, or to the gentle flatteries of reasonable

expectations; but, on the contrary, I would have men

to be always in good humor, provided that it arises

from their own souls, and be cherished in their own

breasts. Other delights are trivial; they may smooth

the brow, but they do not fill and affect the heart.

One may be a good physician, a good grammarian,

without being a good man; so that all things from

without are only accessories: for the seat of it is a

pure and holy mind. It consists of a congruity of

actions which we can never expect so long as we are

distracted by our passions.

Nay, so powerful is virtue, and so gracious is

Providence, that every man has a light set up within

him for a guide; which we do all of us see and

acknowledge, though we do not pursue it. This is it

that makes the prisoner upon the torture happier than

the executioner, and sickness better than health, if

we bear it without yielding or repining: this is it

that overcomes ill fortune, and moderates good; for

it marches betwixt the one and the other with an

equal contempt of both. It turns like fire all

things into itself; our actions and our friendships

are tinctured with it, and whatever it touches

becomes amiable.

If a man does not live up to his own rules, it

is something yet to have virtuous meditations and

good purposes, even without acting. It is generous,

the very adventure of being good, and the bare

proposal of an eminent course of life, though beyond

the force of human frailty to accomplish. There is

something of honor yet in the miscarriage; nay, in

the naked contemplation of it. I would receive my

own death with as little trouble as I would hear of

another man's; I would bear the same mind whether I

be rich or poor, whether I get or lose in the world.

What I have, I will not either sordidly spare, or

prodigally squander away, and I will reckon upon

benefits well-placed as the fairest part of my

possession: not valuing them by number or weight, but

by profit and esteem of the receiver; accounting

myself never the poorer for that which I give to a

worthy person.

What I do shall be done for conscience, not

ostentation. I will eat and drink, not to gratify my

palate, or only to fill and empty, but to satisfy

nature. I will be cheerful to my friends, mild and

placable to my enemies. I will prevent an honest

request if I can foresee it, and I will grant it

without asking.

When a man comes once to stand in need of

fortune, his life is anxious, suspicious, timorous,

dependent upon every moment, and in fear of all

accidents. How can that man resign himself to God,

or bear his lot, whatever it be, without murmuring,

and cheerfully submit to Providence, that shrinks at

every motion of pleasure or pain? It is virtue alone

that raises us above griefs, hopes, fears, and

chances, and makes us not only patient, but willing,

as knowing that whatever we suffer is according to

the decree of Heaven.

Wealth, honor, and favor may come upon a man by

chance; nay, they may even be cast upon him without

so much as looking after them; and certainly it is

worth the while to purchase that good which brings

all others along with it.

Whenamancomesoncetostandinneedof

fortune,hislifeisanxious,suspicious,timorous,

dependentuponeverymoment,andinfearofall

accidents.HowcanthatmanresignhimselftoGod,

orbearhislot,whateveritbe,withoutmurmuring,

andcheerfullysubmittoProvidence,thatshrinksat

everymotionofpleasureorpain?Itisvirtuealone

thatraisesusabovegriefs,hopes,fears,and

chances,andmakesusnotonlypatient,butwilling,

asknowingthatwhateverwesufferisaccordingto

thedecreeofHeaven.

Honors, monuments, and all the works of vanity

and ambition,are demolished and destroyed by time;

but the reputation of wisdom is vener able to poster-ity;and those that were envied or neglected in their

lives are adored in their memories,and exempted from

the veryl aws of created nature,which has set bounds

to all other things.The very shadow of glory

carries aman of honor up on all dangers,to the

contempt offireandsword;and it were a shame if

right reason should not inspire as generous resolu-tions into a man of virtue.

It is philosophy that gives us aveneration for

God,acharity for our neighbor,that teaches us our

duty to Heaven,and exhortsus to an agreement with

one another.It unmasks things that are terrible to

us ,assuages our lusts,refutes our errors,restrains

our luxury,reproves our avarice,and works strangely

upon tender natures.

We take a great deal of pains totrace Ulysses

in his wanderings; but were it not time as well spent

to look to ourselves that we may not wander at all?

Are not we our selves tossed with tempestuous passions,

and assaulted by terrible monsters on the one hand,

and tempted by sirens on the other?

When 1 go to sleep, who knows whetherever1

shall wake again;and when I wake, whether I shall

ever sleep again? When I go abroad, whether ever 1

shall come home again; and when I return,whether

ever go abroad again?It is notatseaonlythat

lifeanddeatharewithinafewinchesoneofanother;

buttheyareasneareverywhereelsetoo,onlywedo

nottakesomuchnoticeofit.Whathavewetodo

withfrivolousandcaptiousquestions,andimpertin-entniceties?Letusratherstudyhowtodeliver

ourselvesfromsadness,fear,andtheburdenofall

oursecretlusts:letuspassoverallourmost

solemnlevities,andmakehastetoagoodlife,which

isathingthatpressesus.

Weareallslavestofortune:someonlyinloose

andgoldenchains,othersinstraitones,andcoarser:

nay,andtheythatbindusareslavestoothemselves,

sometohonor,otherstowealth;sometooffices,and

otherstocontempt;sometotheirsuperiors,others

tothemselves.Nay,lifeitselfisaservitude:let

usmakethebestofitthen,andwithourphilosophy

mendourfortunes.

Thebodyisbuttheclogandprisonerofthe

mind,tossedupanddown,andpersecutedwithpunish-ments,violences,anddiseases;buttheminditself

i ssacre dan deternal,an dexemptfromthedangerof

allactualimpression.

Hethatwouldperfectlyknowhimself,lethim

setasidehismoney,hisfortune,hisdignity,and

examinehimselfnaked,withoutbeingputtolearn

fromotherstheknowledgeofhimself

Itmustbethechangeofmind,notofthe

climate,thatwiLlremovetheheavinessoftheheart;

ourvoicesgoalongwithus ,andwecarryinour-selvesthecausesofourdisquiets.Thereisagreat

weightliesuponus ,andthebareshockingofit

makesitthemoreuneasy.Changingofcountries,in

thiscase,isnottravelling,butwandering

Wemustkeeponourcourse,ifwewouldgainour

journey'send.Hethatcannotlivehappilyanywhere,

willlivehappilynowhere.

Wedivideourlivesbetwixtadislikeofthe

presentandadesireofthefuture.Buthethat

livesasheshouldordershimselfsoasneitherto

fearnortowishfortomorrow:ifitcome,itis

welcome;butifnot,thereisnothinglost.Forthat

whichiscomeisbutthesameoveragainwithwhatis

past.

Therearesomethingswewouldbethoughtto

desire,whichwearesofarfromdesiringthatwe

dreadthem.WedonotdealcandidlyevenwithGod

himself.Weshouldsaytoourselvesinthesecases,

"ThisIhavedrawnuponmyself.Icouldneverbe

quietuntilIhadgottenthiswoman,thisplace,this

estate,thishonor,andnowseewhatiscomeofit."

Placemeamongprincesoramongbeggars,theone

shallnotmakemeproud,northeotherashamed.I

cantakeassoundasleepinabarnasinapalace,

andabundleofhaymakesmeasgoodalodgingasa

bedofdown.Shouldeverydaysucceedtomywish,it

shouldnottransportme;norwouldIthinkmyself

miserableifIshouldnothaveonequiethourinmy

life.Iwillnottransportmyselfwithpainor

pleasure.Butyetforallthat,IcouldwishthatI

hadaneasiergametoplay,andthatIwouldput

rathertomoderatemyjoysthanmysorrows.IfI

wereanimperialprince,Ihadrathertakethanbe

taken;andyetIwouldbearthesamemindunderthe

chariotofmyconquerorthatIhadinmyown.

Neverpronounceanymanhappythatdependsupon

fortuneforhishappiness;fornothingcanbemore

preposterousthantoplacethegoodofareasonable

creatureinunreasonablethings.

Whereforeletussetbeforeoureyesthewhole

conditionofhumannature,andconsideraswellwhat

mayhappenaswhatcommonlydoes.Thewaytomake

futurecalamitieseasytousinthesufferance,isto

makethemfamiliartousinthecontemplation.How

manycitiesinAsia,Achaia,Assyria,Macedonia,have

beenswallowedupbyearthquakes?Nay,wholecoun-triesarelost,andlargeprovinceslaidunderwater.

Buttimebringsallthingstoanend;forallthe

worksofmortalsaremortal?allpossessionsand

.theirpossessorsareuncertainandperishable;and

/whatwonderisittolos

Theythatdeliverthemselvesuptoluxuryare

stilleithertormentedwithtoolittle,oroppressed

withtoomuch;andequallymiserable.

Hethatlivesaccordingtoreasonshallneverbe

poor;andhethatgovernshislifebyopinionshall

neverberich.Ifnothingwillserveamanbutrich

clothesandfurniture,statuesandplate,anumerous

trainofservants,andtheraritiesofallnations,

itisnotfortune'sfault,buthisown,thatheis

notsatisfied.Forhisdesiresareinsatiable,and

thisisnotathirstbutadisease

Itisthemindthatmakesusrichandhappy,in

whatconditionwhatsoeverweare;andmoneysignifies

nomoretoitthanitdoestothegods.

Ofallfelicities,themostcharmingisthatof

afirmandgentlefriendship.Itsweetensallour

cares,dispelsoursorrows,andcounselsusinall

extremities.Nay,iftherewerenoothercomfortin

itthanthebareexerciseofsogenerousavirtue,

evenforthatsinglereasonamanwouldnotbe

withoutit.Besidesthat,itisasovereignantidote

againstallcalamities,evenagainstthefearof

deathitself.

Thefutureisuncertain;andIhadratherbegof

myselfnottodesireanything,thanoffortuneto

bestowit.

Now,iftheoutwardappearanceofangerbeso
foulandhideous,howdeformedmustthatmiserable
mindbethatisharrassedwithit.Foritleavesno
placeeitherforcounselorfriendship,honestyor
goodmanners;noplaceeitherfortheexerciseof
reason,orfortheofficesoflife.IfIwereto
describeit,Iwoulddrawatigerbathedinblood,
sharpset,andreadytotakealeapathisprey.Or,
dressitupasthepoetsrepresentthefuries,with
whips,snakes,andflames.

Agoodandwisemanisnott obeanenemyof
wickedmen,butareproverofthem.Andheist o
loo kuponallthedrunkards,th elustful,th ethank-less,covetous,andambitiousthathemeetswith,not
otherwisethanasaphysicianlooksuponhispatients.

Howproneandeagerareweinourhatred,and
howbackwardinourlove!Wereitnotmuchbetter
nowtobemakingoffriendships,pacifyingofenemies,
doingofgoodofficesbothprivateandpublic,than
tobestillmeditatingofmischief,anddesigninghow
towoundonemaninhisfame,anotherinhisfortune,
athirdinhisperson?Theonebeingsoinnocent,
andsafe,andtheothersodifficult,impious,and
hazardous.

owmiserable,aswellasshort,istheirlife,
thatcompasswithgreatlaborwhattheypossesswith
greater;

Wesetourheartsupontransitorythings,asifthey
themselveswereeverlasting;orwe ,ontheother
side,topossessthemforever.Whydowenotrather
advanceourthoughtstothingsthatareeternal,and
contemplatetheheavenlyoriginalofallbeings?Why
dowenot,bythedivinityofreason,triumphover
theweaknessoffleshandblood?

How miserable, as well as short, is their life,
that compass with great labor what they possess with
greater; and hold with anxiety what they acquire with
trouble!

Wild beasts, when

they see their dangers, fly from them: and when they

have escaped them they are quiet: but wretched man is

equally tormented, both with things past and to come;

for the memory brings back the anxiety of our past

fears, and our foresight anticipates the future;

whereas the present makes no man miserable. If we

fear all things that are possible, we live without

any bounds to our miseries.

On the shortness of life- Seneca

The majority of mortals, Paulinus, complain bitterly of the spitefulness of Nature, because we are born for a
brief span of life, because even this space that has been granted to us rushes by so speedily and so swiftly that
all save a very few find life at an end just when they are getting ready to live.

It is not that we have a short space of time, but that we waste much of it. Life is long enough, and it has 

been given in sufficiently generous measure to allow the accomplishment of the very greatest things if the 

whole of it is well invested. But when it is squandered in luxury and carelessness, when it is devoted to no 

good end, forced at last by the ultimate necessity we perceive that it has passed away before we were aware that 

it was passing. So it is—the life we receive is not short, but we make it so, nor do we have any lack of it, but are 

wasteful of it. Just as great and princely wealth is scattered in a moment when it comes into the hands of a bad 

owner, while wealth however limited, if it is entrusted to a good guardian, increases by use, so our life is amply 

long for him who orders it properly.

“The part of life we 

really live is small.” For all the rest of existence is not life, but merely time. 

How late it is to begin to live just when we must cease to live! What foolish forgetfulness of mortality to 

postpone wholesome plans to the fiftieth and sixtieth year, and to intend to begin life at a point to which 

few have attained!

It takes the whole of life to learn how to live, and—what will perhaps make you wonder 

more—it takes the whole of life to learn how to die. Many very great men, having laid aside all their 

encumbrances, having renounced riches, business, and pleasures, have made it their one aim up to the very end 

of life to know how to live; yet the greater number of them have departed from life confessing that they did not 

yet know—still less do those others know. Believe me, it takes a great man and one who has risen far above 

human weaknesses not to allow any of his time to be filched from him, and it follows that the life of such a man 

is very long because he has devoted wholly to himself whatever time he has had. None of it lay neglected and 

idle; none of it was under the control of another, for, guarding it most grudgingly, he found nothing that was 

worthy to be taken in exchange for his time. And so that man had time enough, but those who have been robbed 

of much of their life by the public, have necessarily had too little of it.

” Everyone hurries his life on and suffers from a 

yearning for the future and a weariness of the present. But he who bestows all of his time on his own needs, 

who plans out every day as if it were his last, neither longs for nor fears the morrow. For what new pleasure is 

there that any hour can now bring? They are all known, all have been enjoyed to the full. Mistress Fortune may 

deal out the rest as she likes; his life has already found safety. Something may be added to it, but nothing taken 

from it, and he will take any addition as the man who is satisfied and filled takes the food which he does not 

desire and yet can hold. And so there is no reason for you to think that any man has lived long because he has 

grey hairs or wrinkles; he has not lived long—he has existed long. For what if you should think that that man 

had had a long voyage who had been caught by a fierce storm as soon as he left harbour, and, swept hither and 

thither by a succession of winds that raged from different quarters, had been driven in a circle around the same 

course?

Can anything be sillier than the point of view of certain people—I mean those who boast of their 

foresight? They keep themselves very busily engaged in order that they may be able to live better; they 

spend life in making ready to live! They form their purposes with a view to the distant future; yet 

postponement is the greatest waste of life; it deprives them of each day as it comes, it snatches from them the 

present by promising something hereafter. The greatest hindrance to living is expectancy, which depends upon 

the morrow and wastes to-day

In a word, do you want to know how they do not “live long”? See how eager they are to live long! Decrepit old 

men beg in their prayers for the addition of a few more years; they pretend that they are younger than they are; 

they comfort themselves with a falsehood, and are as pleased to deceive themselves as if they deceived Fate at 

the same time. But when at last some infirmity has reminded them of their mortality, in what terror do they die, 

feeling that they are being dragged out of life, and not merely leaving it. They cry out that they have been fools, 

because they have not really lived, and that they will live henceforth in leisure if only they escape from this 

illness; then at last they reflect how uselessly they have striven for things which they did not enjoy, and how all 

their toil has gone for nothing.

Honours, monuments, all that ambition has commanded by decrees or reared in works of stone, 

quickly sink to ruin; there is nothing that the lapse of time does not tear down and remove. But the works which 

philosophy has consecrated cannot be harmed; no age will destroy them, no age reduce them; the following and 

each succeeding age will but increase the reverence for them, since envy works upon what is close at hand, and 

things that are far off we are more free to admire. 

But those who forget the past, neglect the present, and fear for the future have a life that is very brief and 

troubled; when they have reached the end of it, the poor wretches perceive too late that for such a long while 

they have been busied in doing nothing. Nor because they sometimes invoke death, have you any reason to 

think it any proof that they find life long. In their folly they are harassed by shifting emotions which rush them 

into the very things they dread; they often pray for death because they fear it. And, too, you have no reason to 

think that this is any proof that they are living a long time—the fact that the day often seems to them long, the 

fact that they complain that the hours pass slowly until the time set for dinner arrives; for, whenever their 

distractions fail them, they are restless because they are left with nothing to do, and they do not know how to 

dispose of their leisure or to drag out the time. And so they strive for something else to occupy them, and all the 

intervening time is irksome; exactly as they do when a gladiatorial exhibition is been announced, or when they 

are waiting for the appointed time of some other show or amusement, they want to skip over the days that lie 

between. All postponement of something they hope for seems long to them. Yet the time which they enjoy is 

short and swift, and it is made much shorter by their own fault; for they flee from one pleasure to another and 

cannot remain fixed in one desire. Their days are not long to them, but hateful; yet, on the other hand, how 

scanty seem the nights which they spend in the arms of a harlot or in wine! It is this also that accounts for the 

madness of poets in fostering human frailties by the tales in which they represent that Jupiter under the 

enticement of the pleasures of a lover doubled the length of the night. For what is it but to inflame our vices to inscribe the name of the gods as their sponsors, and to present the excused indulgence of divinity as an example 

to our own weakness? Can the nights which they pay for so dearly fail to seem all too short to these men? They 

lose the day in expectation of the night, and the night in fear of the dawn.

The very pleasures of such men are uneasy and disquieted by alarms of various sorts, a

Moreover, what is 

doomed to perish brings pleasure to no one; very wretched, therefore, and not merely short, must the life of 

those be who work hard to gain what they must work harder to keep. By great toil they attain what they 

wish, and with anxiety hold what they have attained; meanwhile they take no account of time that will 

never more return. New distractions take the place of the old, hope leads to new hope, ambition to new 

ambition. They do not seek an end of their wretchedness, but change the cause. Have we been tormented by our 

own public honours? Those of others take more of our time. 

We shall 

always pray for leisure, but never enjoy it.

And so when you see a man often wearing the robe of office, when you see one whose name is famous in the 

Forum, do not envy him; those things are bought at the price of life. They will waste all their years, in order that 

they may have one year reckoned by their name. Life has left some in the midst of their first struggles, before 

they could climb up to the height of their ambition; some, when they have crawled up through a thousand 

indignities to the crowning dignity, have been possessed by the unhappy thought that they have but toiled for an 

inscription on a tomb; some who have come to extreme old age, while they adjusted it to new hopes as if it were 

youth, have had it fail from sheer weakness in the midst of their great and shameless endeavours. Shameful is 

he whose breath leaves him in the midst of a trial when, advanced in years and still courting the applause of an 

ignorant circle, he is pleading for some litigant who is the veriest stranger; disgraceful is he who, exhausted 

more quickly by his mode of living than by his labour, collapses in the very midst of his duties; disgraceful is he 

who dies in the act of receiving payments on account, and draws a smile from his long delayed heir.