Squandering Life
At the end of our nightly “dharma talks” during the four day “Liberation Through Yoga and Buddhism” workshop I’m taking here in Santa Fe, the final admonition from the Buddhist teacher, Roshi Joan Halifax, in her rendering of the “four vows” (of Buddha, I guess) is something like “Let me respectfully remind you, life and death are of supreme importance. Do not squander your life.”
That advice creeps me out for a couple of reasons.
First, obviously, because I fear I might be doing just that with mine. All the time I spend getting high and riding bikes, for instance, I could be spending time alleviating suffering in the world—well, at least, suffering other than mine.
But second, the recommendation to not squander your life also seems sorta creepy to me because I’m not sure what it means or how you can tell if you are wasting your existence, anyway.
I suppose if I were a heroin addict who didn’t do anything but take drugs and steal to support his habit, that would be an example of a squandered life, but maybe even then, being an exemplar of an undesirable life would make mine worthwhile in a way.
I know I could be a much better person—why all it would take would be to be more conscientious about washing the dishes—but does not being all that I could be mean that I’m nothing?
Maybe it’s completely subjective and people can only judge for themselves whether their lives are being squandered. Maybe any time I pass up an opportunity for joy, that counts.
Or maybe it’s more objective: anytime I fail to end suffering that I could have, then I haven’t lived as I should have.
It’s certainly an open question whether I’m squandering my life in the hundreds of hours I’ve spent writing this blog.
And I suppose it’s an equally open question whether a few minutes of reading this counts as squandering life, as well.
That advice creeps me out for a couple of reasons.
First, obviously, because I fear I might be doing just that with mine. All the time I spend getting high and riding bikes, for instance, I could be spending time alleviating suffering in the world—well, at least, suffering other than mine.
But second, the recommendation to not squander your life also seems sorta creepy to me because I’m not sure what it means or how you can tell if you are wasting your existence, anyway.
I suppose if I were a heroin addict who didn’t do anything but take drugs and steal to support his habit, that would be an example of a squandered life, but maybe even then, being an exemplar of an undesirable life would make mine worthwhile in a way.
I know I could be a much better person—why all it would take would be to be more conscientious about washing the dishes—but does not being all that I could be mean that I’m nothing?
Maybe it’s completely subjective and people can only judge for themselves whether their lives are being squandered. Maybe any time I pass up an opportunity for joy, that counts.
Or maybe it’s more objective: anytime I fail to end suffering that I could have, then I haven’t lived as I should have.
It’s certainly an open question whether I’m squandering my life in the hundreds of hours I’ve spent writing this blog.
And I suppose it’s an equally open question whether a few minutes of reading this counts as squandering life, as well.
posted by Professor Dave at 9:58 AM
1 Comments:
“[B]ut does not being all that I could be mean that I’m nothing?”
No. It means you are not all that you could be, which in and of itself poses an unanswerable riddle. Clearly, as you suggest, the issue may best be answered from a relative viewpoint, not a merely subjective one. To your father who wanted you oh so badly to become a doctor you have squandered your life by becoming, say, a mere philosopher. To you, as a happy philosopher (pardon the pun), your life has been fairly constructive and far from squandered. But the fact is that you are both right, no? Or are you both wrong depending on who’s telling the tale? There are no measuring sticks for squandered lives.
Post a Comment
<< Home