JESUS OR BUDDHA? WHO'S 'BEST' FOR TODAY'S WORLD?

NOTE. It's not an easy life being a provocateur and controversialist. Since writing and uploading this blog a couple of indignant readers have accused me of religious bigotry (cf my earlier blog on 'Bigoted Buddhists') and have said that I have been too hard on Jesus, and that the New Testament accounts of the incidents regarding his destruction of both the fig tree and the pigs should be taken, not literally, but metaphorically or 'spiritually'. Sorry, folks, I won't buy that. Even if the incidents were so-called 'object lessons' - and I address that point, as well as many others, in the blog - any lessons taught come at too high a price, namely, wanton destruction of living things. Look, I love the man Jesus, and I also love the man Buddha. I do not accept that Jesus was God in any unique or exclusive sense, and I do not believe that he ever claimed to be God in any unique or exclusive sense (at least not in any New Testament passages that can truly be said to be 'authentic' as opposed to editorial interpolations and the like). Further, I do know Biblical Greek, and thus I cannot accept the assertion which has been made by one or two readers that Jesus' supposed words, as translated into English, do not for the most part faithfully represent what is otherwise recorded in the Greek manuscripts as words purportedly having been said by Jesus. No further correspondence will be entered into in respect of this matter. If any Christians are offended by anything I have written, my advice to them is ... get over it, and don't be so precious. Mindfully yours, IEJ.

The Venerable Shravasti Dhammika writes in The Buddha and His Disciples:

So extraordinary was the Buddha, so unerringly kind and wise and so positive was an encounter with him, that is would change people's lives. Even while he was alive legends were told about him. In the centuries after his final Nirvana it sometimes got to the stage that the legends and myths obscured the very real human being behind them and the Buddha came to be looked upon as a god. Actually the Buddha was a human being, not a 'mere human being' as is sometimes said, but a special class of human being called a complete person (mahapurisa). Such complete persons are born no different from others and indeed physically they always remain quite ordinary. But through their own efforts they bring to completion every human potential and their mental purity and understanding develop to the stage where they far exceed those of ordinary human beings. A Buddha, a complete person, is even higher than a god because he or she is even free from the jealousy, anger and favouritism that we are told a god is still capable of feeling.

I very much like the idea that Buddha Shakyamuni was a human being. I have often said and written that we human beings simply cannot follow a god or a demi-god or someone who is supposedly both god and man ... but only a human being. And, yes, gods - even the Judeo-Christian one - can be very jealous, angry and tribal. As the American Baptist preacher and writer Dr Harry Emerson Fosdick once said, 'Better believe in no God than to believe in a cruel God, a tribal God, a sectarian God. Belief in God is one of the most dangerous beliefs a person can cherish.'

Now, accordingly to orthodox Christian belief, Jesus is ‘truly God and truly man’, possessing two whole and perfect natures – the nature of God and the nature of man. A ‘real man’, but without sin. Really? Was Jesus truly perfect and without sin? I have spoken and written elsewhere on that topic area, and some of what follows comes from the copy of that public address.

To talk about any person as being ‘sinless’ or ‘without sin’ is a negative conception. Be that as it may, the Jesus of the Bible, contrary to his own teaching, did not always love his enemies and bless them. Indeed, Jesus would at times call down curses upon the heads of his enemies (see, eg, Lk 11:42-52), subjecting anyone who dared oppose him to abuse, curses of various kinds and threats of divine punishment and retribution. Jesus declared, 'Take my enemies, who would not have me rule over them, bring them here, and kill them before me' (Lk 19:27). Nice stuff.

Christians love to assert that Jesus' anger was 'righteous anger', and that he always kept his anger under control, but I beg to differ. It seems to me that Jesus had some real 'anger management' problems.

Are you familiar with the story of Jesus and the Gadarene swine (see Mt 8:28-34)? Jesus cast some ‘devils’ into a herd of pigs, and the pigs ran off into the sea and drowned. Whichever way you splice it, we here have Jesus being unnecessarily cruel to animals. These animals obviously belonged to someone, and their wanton destruction would have had adverse financial and other consequences for their owner. Now, if Jesus truly was omnipotent and omnibenevolent, he could easily have found a much more humane way to dispense with the devils - like just making them go away. Why be so unkind to the pigs? I am sorry, Jesus, but gratuitous cruelty to and suffering of animals is not a state of affairs that we human beings, of any persuasion, can accept nowadays, if we ever could.

Then there’s the story of Jesus cursing, and in the process destroying, a fig tree (see Mk 11:12-14, 20-22). Here we have Jesus causing wanton destruction to a tree. If someone did that in New South Wales today, they could be charged with contravening the local council’s tree preservation order, the maximum penalty being AUS$1,100,000.00. (In addition, where a person is guilty of an offence involving the destruction of or damage to a tree or vegetation, the court dealing with the offence may, in addition to or in substitution for any pecuniary penalty imposed or liable to be imposed, direct that person to plant new trees and vegetation and maintain those trees and vegetation to a mature growth.)

The story of Jesus’ cursing of the fig tree poses problems for Bible-believing Christians who are desperate to believe that Jesus was perfect, that is, ‘without sin’. (Of course, if the story didn't happen, or didn't happen as reported, then maybe the Bible can't be trusted. Shock, horror.) Now, you need to know this. According to the story, it was not the right time of the year for figs, so not surprisingly the tree had no figs ... but it was still leafy. The tree was simply fulfilling its nature. I ask you, what could be more intrinsically wonderful than that? Buddha Shakyamuni would have cherished such a tree. It was, after all, still a living thing that had a right to exist (irrespective of whether or not it was actually 'owned' by some farmer) and the tree might even have afforded some beauty as well as shade in the otherwise barren countryside.

Jesus, noticing that the tree bore no figs, immediately proceeded to pronounce a curse (that is, judgment) upon the tree with the result, we are told, that it simply ‘withered from the roots’. Again, nice stuff. Why blame the tree for not bearing figs? Even the most eminent of Christian Bible commentators have referred to Jesus as being ‘petulant’ and ‘ill-tempered’, 'venting', as he did, his ‘feelings of frustration and despair’ upon the fig tree.

Now, if, once again, Jesus truly was omnipotent and omnibenevolent, and if he really wanted to show his supposed ‘miraculous’ powers, why did he not command the fig tree to bring forth fruit? Instead, he chose to display his vindictiveness ... yes, vindictiveness ... and even childishness. Strong stuff? Maybe, but I am sticking to my guns as regards these two gospel stories  (being only two of many such unflattering stories which I could quote).

If any of my readers are Bible-believing Christians – which is not all that likely – please don’t tell me that this story is simply what Christians refer to as an ‘object lesson’ – in this case, a supposed ‘miracle of judgment’ performed on what one eminent Bible commentator refers to as an ‘inanimate [sic!] object’. Object lesson or not, the supposed moral lesson (presumably the futility of a religion that is all pretence) comes at far too high a price, namely, the destruction of an integral part of nature. And I don't want to hear from anyone what I have otherwise read all too often in many Christian publications, namely that, as the supposed Son of God, Jesus has the right to destroy vegetation ... or anything else for that matter. (Christians love to play that card in an attempt to explain away otherwise unacceptable behaviour on the part of the man Jesus.) As I have written before, if people are rewarded for believing such things, then I wouldn't want to believe in or worship such a god.

In today’s world especially (with global warming and so on), that sort of conduct - wanton destruction of trees and vegetation - is morally unacceptable, in the same way that we have now come to judge severely those in high places who appear to condone various forms of abuse against humans, especially minors. The incident regarding the fig tree is, in my opinion, a serious moral wrong, and I don’t think we should account it as being anything less than that.

I mentioned above that Jesus is recorded, time and time again, as hurling abuse at those who dared to disagree with him. Not so the Buddha. Now, according to Buddhist scriptures there were certainly plenty of people who disagreed with Buddha. What was the Buddha’s response? Well, it is reported, time and time again, that he would remain calm, unflustered and polite ... even to the point of smiling in the face of criticism. Indeed, he urged his disciples to do likewise. On other occasions, when he was rudely abused, the Buddha maintained a dignified silence.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love both Jesus and Buddha Shakyamuni - each is an important Way-Shower for me - and I am firmly of the view that, despite the horrible gross distortions of their respective teachings that have taken place over the centuries, both Jesus and the Buddha taught essentially the same message (namely, that the kingdom of heaven, or buddha nature, is within all of us, acceptance of which frees us from the bondage of self). Also, I am not that silly that I would assert that Buddha was a ‘better’ (whatever that means) person than Jesus.

What I do, however, assert is this – in all-important matters pertaining to the very survival of our planet, and as regards how we should behave toward the plant and animal kingdoms of the world and the natural environment as well as to our fellow human beings (especially when the latter criticise or abuse us), the life and teachings of the Buddha are, in my respectful opinion, much to be preferred to those of Jesus of Nazareth. The Buddha's all-embracing, all-inclusive philosophy of 'Do no harm' - whether to humans, plants, animals or anything else for that matter - is the answer to the problems of today.



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TEA AND MINDFULNESS

Whilst in Japan recently I was fortunate enough to be present at a Japanese tea ceremony (chanoyu, sado or simply ocha in Japanese).

Tea was originally brought to Japan in the 9th century by the Buddhist monk Eichū (743-816) who had returned to Japan from China.

The Japanese Tea Ceremony (also known as ‘the Way of Tea’) has its spiritual roots, at least in part, in Zen Buddhism as well as in Daoism, and especially in the Daoist influences upon Zen. The ceremony is a traditional and very beautiful Japanese choreographic ritual – one which is cultural, artistic (for the whole ceremony is viewed as a work of art) and spiritual – in which tea is prepared and served with careful attention to all details. It is a good example of what has been called ‘mindfulness through ritual’.

A lot of preparation goes into a Japanese tea ceremony. The host of the tea ceremony must give due consideration to all aspects of the ceremony including such matters as flower arranging, the kind of clothing (namely, kimono) to wear, appropriate art, special calligraphy [see below], and food. Traditionally, one to three (but sometimes more) guests are invited. The guests arrive and enter a special place for the tea ceremony.

Here are some photos of the tea house in which the ceremony which I attended was held.

The tea house is situated in a beautiful Japanese-style public garden, which, in its highly ordered and formal fashion, itself has its roots in Zen.

The sole purpose of a tea house, which is specially designed and designated ('consecrated', in a Western sense), is to serve as a retreat for the making and drinking of the tea and the associated food. The tea house is and becomes a sanctuary from the worries, hassles and vexations of the outer world. It is a special place where one can consecrate oneself to what has been called the 'undisturbed adoration of the beautiful'.

Both the exterior and interior of the tea house, as well as the path leading to the tea house, are important in helping to set the desired mood – one of order, balance (most notably between the yin of the water and the yang of the fire used to warm it [cf Daoism]), harmony, simplicity, freedom from vulgarity, tranquility and equanimity.

I mentioned above that the Japanese tea ceremony has spiritual roots in Daoism and Zen. (Ikkyu, who revitalized Zen in the 15th century, apparently had a profound influence on the ceremony.) Now, according to Zen the whole universe cen be experienced in the drinking of a single bowl of tea. The experience of making and drinking tea - like everything else for that matter - comes from giving oneself over totally to the here and now and fully participating in the activity with a heart free from selfish thoughts and desires.

As regards the actual conduct of the tea ceremony, the guests are ordinarily welcomed only with a bow. No words are spoken. After the guests are seated, the host makes the beverage. Powdered green tea (matcha), which was introduced into Japan by Eisai, another Buddhist monk returning from China, in the 12th century, and which sprouts from the same plant as black tea but is unfermented and ground, is placed in a tea bowl, hot water is added, and a bamboo whisk is used to stir the mixture into a frothy brew.

Thin tea is served to each guest in an individual ceramic bowl, while one bowl of thick tea is shared among several guests. A sweet dessert is served as well and is consumed more-or-less contemporaneously with the drinking of the tea (which, itself, can be a bit bitter).

The bowl is passed to the most important guest, who bows to the host upon receiving the tea, takes the bowl with their right hand, places the bowl in the palm of their left hand, looks at the bowl, holds and turns the bowl in the 'prescribed' manner (ordinarily thrice clockwise [cf the triple gem?, the three marks of existence?], but not uncommonly just once [i.e. 180 degrees] clockwise), and raises it up, being careful to observe the foot as well as the interior shape. This act is performed to pay homage to both the object and its maker. The guest drinks some tea and then wipes the rim of the bowl, turns the bowl counter-clockwise, and passes the bowl to the next guest (or, if there be no next guest, returns it to the host).

When all the guests have tasted the tea, the bowl is returned to the host who rinses it, and cleans the tea scoop and tea container. The host offers the cleaned tea scoop and tea container to the guests for examination. Afterwards, the group engages in conversation about the objects used in the tea ceremony and the presentation that took place.

The Japanese tea ceremony is a 'transformative practice' characterised by such qualities as humility, simplicity, restraint, purity, harmony ... and naturalism. (As regards the latter, the host tries to keep to the natural state of things as much as possible.) Every action is performed carefully, deliberately and consciously ... with alertness and awareness (that is, mindfully, for a wandering mind leads to mistakes in 'form' (kata)) ... and with that additional element of curiosity, even anticipation, as regards what is happening from one moment to the next.

What was especially beautiful about the ceremony I attended was the fact that, although there was careful attention to detail and form, every action appeared to be done with typically Buddhist lovingkindness and compassion. You see, the whole 'process' involved in the tea ceremony is not about drinking tea per se but aesthetics and spirituality ... and preparing a bowl of tea from one's heart. In that regard, the host of the ceremony always considers the guests ... with every gesture and movement.

I mentioned above the word 'harmony'. Yes, every element of the ceremony, and every movement in it, points to and elucidates the serenity of the whole. The ceremony is an object lesson and a living symbol, that is, it not only ‘symbolises’, ‘represents’ or ‘stands for’ something else (the ‘inner reality’), it actually is instrumental in bringing about that reality. It is what has been referred to as ‘concretized truth’. Powerful stuff.

The tea ceremony affords numerous opportunities for reflection and quiet contemplation, and is a virtual microcosm of the order that Japanese see in their world.

The Japanese are mindfully aware of the fact - so often overlooked by Westerners - that every human encounter is a singular occasion which will never recur in exactly the same way. Accordingly, every aspect of the tea ceremony - the spiritual world of tea - is savoured ... and mindfully experienced.

Ritual, if done the 'right' way and with the 'right' intent, can be very empowering, indeed transformative. Ritual can take us to a 'sacred' realm beyond time and space.

I was pleased to see some young Japanese women participating in the actual tea ceremony itself - a ceremony which has an ancient and almost otherworldly character about it. It is essential that rituals of this kind be preserved for future generations.

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JAPAN, THE DALAI LAMA, THE QUEEN MOTHER, A MOTOR VEHICLE ... AND MINDFULNESS

I have recently returned from 10 days in Japan. I had a wonderful time with some dear friends, making some new friends in the process.

For me, the trip to Japan had about it a deep sense of life fulfilling itself. My late father fought in the Australian Army in the Second World War. He lost several mates at the hands of the Japanese. Even though he later had respectful relations with many Japanese business leaders during the 1960s and '70s he never really forgave the Japanese for what he, and many other hundreds of Australians of his era, saw as their inexplicably unnecessary gross cruelty in wartime, particularly to women and those who were otherwise sick or injured.  I can only imagine what my father would have thought, but whilst in Tokyo I paid my respects to the Japanese war dead at the famous (or infamous) Yasukuni Shrine, which is dedicated to those who died fighting on behalf of the Emperor of Japan. It is a different world now.

Now, the people I met and otherwise travelled with in Japan were, without exception, kind and compassionate to me, and I felt enriched to be in their company. Special thanks are due to Yasushi and Akiko (who now live in Australia), Sonomi and her wonderful parents Isao and Takeko, Masaka, Akio and Arisa. Showered with gifts of all kinds, and taken to the most beautiful of places, I could not have been treated better by any other human beings. Arigatō gozaimasu. ありがとうございます

In a stream of consciousness style I recall azaleas and hydrangeas in full bloom, with a splendour that I had never encountered before in my life … giant bonsais of all kinds … crows with huge heads … hot springs and traditional Japanese baths … Japanese food of all kinds … beautiful rice paper ... Shinto shrines … Buddhist temples (in particular, those of Shinnyo-en, a Buddhist denomination of which I am a member) … Japanese women in colourful kimonos … crowded but ever-so-clean trains which run on time … mist over Mt Fuji … one thousand year old Samurai castles … and much, much more. I even found one of my recent books on the law in the foreign language section of a major Japanese book shop!

To understand the Japanese it seems to me that you have to know about kata (型 or 形, literally 'form'). There is, for Japanese, a right way to do almost anything, and that includes eating, bathing, dressing, laying out a garden, folding paper, doing martial arts, and so forth. At times it seems that for the Japanese doing things the right way is just as important as, if not more important than, doing the right things. Form has always had a reality in itself for Japanese – something which is slightly reminiscent of Plato’s theory of Forms.

I got to thinking about mindfulness. Form is important (see this blog as to one suggested 'form' with respect to the practice of mindfulness), but there must never be any triumph of form over substance. Form requires effort, and mindfulness only requires just that much effort as is necessary to remain present from moment to moment with bare attention, choiceless awareness and a certain amount of curiosity. 'Effortless effort', if you like.

The day after I returned to Sydney from my trip to Japan I travelled to Canberra to hear the Dalai Lama (pictured below) – one of the most inspiring and beloved persons in the world. He said nothing I hadn’t heard before, but it was still wonderful to see and listen to the great man.

His Holiness spoke of the importance of compassion, tolerance and forgiveness. He said that it was not all that important to be religious. What was important was being a 'good human being', and ethical conduct – with ‘ethical’ meaning what doesn’t harm others' experience or expectation of happiness. He also said that all religions were not the same - which was a good thing because we are not all the same - but all religions nevertheless emphasised love, compassion, patience, tolerance, forgiveness, contentment, harmony, responsibility, and so forth ... even if their respective adherents didn't always possess or display those inherent, objective spiritual values.

The Dalai Lama was asked whether, in his opinion, there was more compassion in the world today than in previous times. In his opinion, there was. His Holiness mentioned a meeting he had with the late Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother (pictured below) when she was 96. The latter was apparently asked by the Dalai Lama whether she thought the world had gotten ‘better’ over her long lifetime. Without any hesitation the Queen Mother apparently said, 'Yes,' pointing to the modern day concern with the importance of human rights, the refusal to no longer accept totalitarian regimes, and various other matters. The Dalai Lama said as much, as well, in Canberra the other day, also making reference to the fact that people are no longer prepared to uncritically and unconditionally wage war for their respective countries.

I think that His Holiness and the Queen Mother are both right ... despite terrorism, the rise of religious fundamentalism, increasing consumerism, global warming and other evils.

The Dalai Lama said nothing that was directly related to the practice of mindfulness but he did speak of the importance of the ‘gift’ of life itself … and of the need to accept those things which we simply cannot change.

One such thing occurred to my wife and I yesterday when, driving back to Sydney from Canberra, the engine of my motor vehicle ‘died’ on me whilst driving along a motorway. It seems the car is beyond repair. Such is life. The car, after all, is only a material thing. Ugh.


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THICH NHAT HANH ON MINDFULNESS

'Taking even one step in mindfulness can benefit all beings on Earth.'

- Thich Nhat Hanh.

This is one of my shortest blogs ... phew! I am about to leave for Tokyo, but I wanted to leave you with these wonderful words. They are written by that ever-so-inspiring Vietnamese Buddhist teacher, writer and peace activist Thich Nhat Hanh who often reminds his listeners and readers that to live mindfully is 'to keep our appointment with life' which is available only in the present moment:

‘A person who practises mindfulness can see things in a tangerine that others are unable to see. An aware person can see the tangerine tree, the tangerine blossoms in the spring, the sunlight and rain which nourished the tangerine. Looking deeply one can see the ten thousand things which have made the tangerine possible … and how all these things interact with each other.’

Yes, mindfulness enables us to ‘touch’, indeed penetrate, the core of reality – the very livingness of life itself – and, in so doing, we come to appreciate not just the innate beauty but also the interconnectedness of all living things ... something Hanh refers to as 'InterBeing.'

Hanh writes that we are 'mindful' when we are 'deeply in touch with the present moment'. It is only then that 'our understanding of what is going on deepens, and we begin to be filled with acceptance, joy, peace and love' ... which is a very good starting-point and foundation for, what for most of us is, the ultimate goal of world community with peace, liberty and justice for all.

See you in a couple of weeks.

Yours, in Gassho

IEJ

YOU ARE ON THE OTHER SIDE

Here’s an old Buddhist story.

A young man is on his way home. He comes to the banks of a wide, and very deep, river. He finds he is on the ‘wrong’ side of the river. The river is fast flowing, with numerous rapids. There is no bridge or other means available for crossing the river.

The young man sees an elderly Buddhist monk standing on the other side of the river, so he yells over to the monk, ‘Oh, wise one, can you tell me how to get to the other side of this river?’

The monk ponders for a moment, looks up and down the river, and yells back, ‘My son, you are on the other side.’

Like many such stories, there appears to be no one interpretation. Many see this simple story as a reminder that we must first see the other person’s point of view before we can effectively communicate our own.

That’s certainly one, and perhaps the most obvious, interpretation, but I think there are others as well. For some, the story may be saying that truth is relative, and that things are to you as they appear to you, and are to me as they appear to me. It all depends which side of the river you’re on.

Of course, if that be the case, there is no objective truth by virtue of which one of us must be right and the other wrong. I reject such subjectivism. It would result in epistemological anarchy and it's otherwise contrary to the 'logic of things'. Truth is not relative to persons. Truth is what is. Ignorance and mistaken beliefs do nothing to make truth relative. When any proposition is taken to its logical conclusion, a question of fact - truth or falsity - is always reached. One always can get back to the objective distinction between something being the case and not being the case. For example, if I say, quite subjectively, 'The sky is for me blue', you may think quite differently. However, once I ask, 'Is the sky blue for you?', an objective issue is immediately raised. The question is whether it is true that the sky is blue for you, not whether it is true for you that the sky is blue for you. Forget it. I'm sorry I started on that one!

Now, to me (ugh) the story is saying that wherever we want to 'go', we are already there. The young man wants to get to the other side of the river, only to be told that he is already on the other side of the river.

To reach the other side of the river is to see that this very side here is the other side. When there is no separation in our mind between one side and the other, then in that very moment we are one with the very livingness of life flowing through us and all things. There is no journey! You are already 'there'. Life is proceeding as it will. It is living itself. Be with it, from one moment to the next. In the beautiful words of Thich Nhat Hanh:

I have arrived.

I am home

In the here,

In the now.

I am solid.

I am free.

In the ultimate

I dwell.

When the Buddha woke up, he said, ‘Now all beings have woken up.’ Perhaps he was saying that, in truth, there is no difference between the so-called enlightened state and our ordinary life. We live our life as if we were unenlightened. We simply need to wake up, and we are on the other side.

There is no need to embark upon some 'spiritual journey' to supposedly 'find' yourself ... as if you had misplaced yourself somewhere. There is no journey required to 'reach' the present moment, which is all there is. You are already 'in' it, about to move into the next moment, and then the next, and so on. Life is all here and now - as the present moment - and all we have to do is to perceive it here and now. We need to see each thing for what it really is - a new moment, which just is. What could be more 'real' than that?

Life is not locked away from us. We are in direct 'contact' with it at all times. We need no guru, master or priest of any kind to 'unlock' the supposed inner mysteries of life for us. Life is all 'around' us, and within us. Life is all there is, and it is right here now, to be perceived and appreciated in its entirety. Everything that matters is right here and now - 'in' the here and now.

T S Eliot said it all with these oft-quoted words: ‘We shall not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started ... and know the place for the first time.’ So, forget about 'becoming'; instead, focus on simply be-ing ... and being is never 'there' - it is always here.

The regular practice of mindfulness enables us to open to life in the moment, just as it is. Living mindfully is being open to whatever is and to wherever life is proceeding.

There is nowhere to go. We are already there. We are on the other side.


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I have been re-reading some works of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry [pictured below], who has been one of my all-time favourite writers since I first studied his works in French in high school. Many of his books have, at least in part, a sort of existentialist flavour about them.

Saint-Exupéry, who was a Humanist, was a man of action. An aviator, he was one of the pioneers in exploring flight over the desert, the Andes, and at night. He was the prose poet of the skies, and his books are great examples of the genre of writing which I refer to as ‘literary mindfulness’.

His books remind us that we are alone – sometimes terribly alone – and that the only way we can give meaning to our lives is to join others who, like us, seriously accept a certain ‘discipline’ in a quest for a value greater than ourselves. In giving selflessly of ourselves to some great cause we are all born anew.

Saint-Exupéry says, in effect, ‘Why speculate about life, about whether it is useful or useless ... or simply absurd. Give a meaning to life. Do something useful – act – and then you will begin to exist.’ If we do that, we are then freed from the sensation of void which is otherwise all around us. Saint-Exupéry calls this le principe de l’action.

We have to be ‘born’ by means of some acte de naissance, which turns out to be an acte de déliverance, which is the beginning of true freedom. This occurs when, with effort, we focus on a goal outside of ourselves. However, in order to mould the future, we must focus attentively on our present ‘duty’. In Citadelle (The Wisdom of the Sands) Saint-Exupéry writes:

Construire l’avenir, c’est construire le présent. C’est créer un désir qui est pour aujourd’hui, qui est aujourd’hui vers demain.

In English, ‘To build the future is to build the present. It is to create a desire which is for today, which is today about tomorrow.’

Applying all of this to our mindfulness practice, we must always focus on the here and now – the only reality – without dwelling on the future. Yes, we should have goals –  Saint-Exupéry has much to say about them – but, in his words, ‘to build the future is, primarily and exclusively, to think the present. Even as the creating of the ship is exclusively the inculcating of a trend towards the sea.’

We often link the English word 'present' with that other English word 'moment'. However, the Shakyamuni Buddha is reported to have seen the present as being much wider than a mere moment in time. In the Buddhist concept of time, mindfulness may begin with this moment but it is cultivated through continuity through or over time.

Here is some more wisdom from Saint-Exupéry's Citadelle ... 'there is no progress without acceptance of that which is, the Here and Now  – that from which you are ever setting forth.' Also, 'my forest extends over several domains without, perhaps, covering the whole of any one of them; and, conversely, my domain includes several forests though, perhaps, none of them is wholly contained in it.' After all, is not the 'whole' just a word used to describe the sum total of the 'parts'? Is there really such a thing as the 'whole'?

‘The only course of action which has a meaning,’ writes Saint-Exupéry in Citadelle, ‘is a course of action leading you from God [in whom Saint-Exupéry had, at best, a weak belief], the fountainhead, to those objects of the visible world which have been given by Him a meaning, a colour and an inner life.’

In other words, we must focus our attention, not on the ‘world’ of supposedly transcendental ideas and values, but on the ordinary ‘things’ and objects of existence, the daily occurrences in space and time which comprise our earthly existence. It is there that we will find our true identity.

Yes, it is by means of those little things of our everyday existence that we are able to rise up to greater things, for they contain, in potentiality, those greater things. In the words of Saint-Exupéry, 'A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral,' and 'A single event can awaken within us a stranger totally unknown to us. To live is to be slowly born.'

Saint-Exupéry would agree with the view of Professor John Anderson that any talk of the so-called transcendental must be stated in terms of the common reality we all know. Indeed, it cannot be stated in any other way, there being only one way of being, and one order or level of reality. True pluralism necessitates a complete denial of any conception of a universe or totality or total collection. Totality is simply a relation between container and contained – between whole and part.

Saint-Exupéry disappeared on a reconnaissance flight over the Mediterranean in July 1944. He was never seen again after he took off. His plane simply disappeared. He left behind the unfinished manuscript of Citadelle and some notebooks, which were published posthumously.

In 1998 a fisherman found, east of Riou Island, south of Marseille, Saint-Exupéry’s silver identity bracelet. In 2000 the remains of Saint-Exupéry’s plane were discovered in the seabed off the coast of Marseille, near where the bracelet was found. In 2003 the remains of the plane were recovered. [See photos above.]

‘True love begins,’ he wrote, ‘when nothing is looked for in return.’

[For those who are interested, here is a copy of an address which I gave some years ago on Saint Exupéry's Le Petit Prince (The Little Prince), my all-time favourite book. I intend in due course to do a blog on The Little Prince and its relevance to our practice of mindfulness. Stay tuned.]