Avijit Pathak writes: Amid the tyranny of the clock time and calculation of ‘productivity’, he showed how to live in the here and now
“When we look at a chair, we see the wood, but we fail to observe the tree, the forest, the carpenter, or our own mind. When we meditate on it, we can see the entire universe in all its inter-woven and interdependent relations in the chair.”
— Thich Nhat Hanh
Am I capable of invoking Thich Nhat Hanh —the Buddhist monk, who died on January 22, and whose engaged religiosity sought to illumine our consciousness, and inspire us to live with mindfulness and the art of deep listening? I ask this question because I often fear that the age we live in — techno-capitalism with its unlimited greed, militant nationalism with its inherent brute instincts — has made me incapable of living with love, peace and meditative calmness. I never visited Plum Village in France — the illuminating space that used to attract many modernists so that they could heal their wounded selves through his lessons of wisdom. However, over the years, Thich Nhat Hanh’s books became my intimate companions. Neither Rene Descartes nor Karl Marx, neither Sigmund Freud nor Jean Paul Sartre could deprive me of the joy of his books. I forgot the “methodology” of social sciences, and I began to sing with him:
Breathing in, I know I am alive. Breathing out, I smile at life. Just sitting there and enjoying our in-breath and out-breath is already happiness. We are alive, and that is worthy of celebration.
This celebration does by no means indicate that we remain indifferent to the world — the violent world with hunger, malnutrition, war and terrorism. It would not be wrong to say that the monk who felt and experienced the violence of the Vietnam War gave us the lessons of engaged Buddhism — the quest for ending violence and moving towards a compassionate world. He was truly an apostle of peace. Was it, therefore, surprising that he always pleaded for mindful and compassionate listening? We must understand that most of us — mighty nation-states, or we with our inflated egos— have lost this art of communion and empathy. However, we should not forget that “the intention of deep listening and loving speech is to restore communication”; and once communication is restored “everything is possible, including peace and reconciliation”. Amid suicide bombers and carpet bombing, he could remind us that the foreign policy of the US is often characterised by the “lack of deep listening”. No wonder, he could say: “If I were given the opportunity to be face to face with Osama bin Laden, I would try to understand all the suffering that had led him to violence.” After all, peace is impossible without the redemptive power of love and communication. We cannot negate this truth simply because our army generals, foreign policy experts, security strategists and politicians do not understand it.
Thich Nhat Hanh was a great teacher. With the rhythmic flow of his enchanting words and art of using metaphor, he could make us understand the meaning of living with the realisation of “interbeing”. Nothing is discrete and insulated; everything is connected. For instance, the chair on which I am sitting is made of all “non-chair elements”; in a way, “the chair has no boundaries, no beginning, and no end”. With the realisation of the “interdependent nature of all things”, we could possibly overcome the violence implicit in our alienated, disenchanted and fragmented existence. Even though I live in a world that normalises violence, and separates one from others, I allow myself to be possessed by his prophetic wisdom. “If someday I have to kill a caterpillar”, I too might feel, “something of ourselves dies with the caterpillar”.
It is true that the discourse of scientism and secularism has not succeeded in eliminating religion from the world. At the same time, we also know the discontents of the politics of religion — the way even today the non-reflexive priests of organised religions perpetuate all sorts of obnoxious practices; or the way, the gross emotions are often used by the alliance of spiritually impoverished fundamentalists and militant nationalists. Furthermore, in the age of instantaneity and consumption, we are also aware of the proliferation of all sorts of “self- help books”. From life coaches to new-age gurus, the neoliberal industry is continually selling instant capsules of “enlightenment”. However, this critical consciousness, for me, is not cynicism. Even in a desert, the flower, I believe, still blooms; and Thich Nhat Hanh was like this flower. With him, I too could echo with Walt Whitman, and sing: “I am large, I contain multitudes”; and I could also understand why even physicist David Bohm could say that “science must start from the wholeness of the implicate order to be able to see the real nature of each phenomenon”.
As I write this piece, I begin to contemplate on the title of one of his books, Present Moment, Wonderful Moment. We know that we miss the moment. While the trauma of the past haunts us, the worry of the future causes stress. When we do not live “here and now”, or when we miss this very moment, how can it be wonderful? But Thich Nhat Hanh reminded us of the “miracle of mindfulness”. Amid the tyranny of the clock time and calculation of “productivity”, my restless soul is healed by his wisdom: “Don’t drink your tea like someone who gulps down a cup of coffee during a work break. Drink your tea slowly and reverently, as if it is the axis on which the whole earth revolves — slowly, evenly, without rushing toward the future.”
Yes, the monk has only changed his form: From a flowing river to floating monsoon clouds.
Written by Avijit Pathak
The writer taught sociology at JNU
Source: Indian Express, 27/01/22
