Dear Tiny Buddhas,

Thank you once again for your numerous replies, which I’d like te respond one by one. Even though I’d normally cling to the rules of etiquette and courtesy, I’ll occasionaly breach the rule of ‘ladies first’ and respond to Peter first, then turn to Anita and finally contemplate on Fern’s remarks.

I do not think that detachment would lead to indifference, and this for two reasons. First, even the most secluded hermit still needs to find shelter, cater for food (e.g. by farming or hunting on a very basic level) and do other things that are inherent to the human condition. Or to take an example from the other extreme pole: someone who just won the lottery and turns into a billionaire overnight, will also have worldy affairs to arrange, such as the administration of his assets. Cenobitic monks (those who live in a community) are definitely not spared from the mundane things of life either – it is in fact part and parcel of their very lifes and existence: brewing beer, cleaning guesthouses, doing some gardening, selling souvenirs to tourists and, yes, ultimately even paying bills; since most monasteries (at least in the Western world) are fully equiped with running water, electricity and in most cases even internet connections. Now I guess that those amenities are, despite their many prayers, not God-given and therefore need to be paid for? 🙂

Secondly, I certainly concur that one has to pay his dues as long as one is a full part of this world. When I worked in the insurance industry, for instance, I took it as both my moral and contractual obligation to make sure that any client who had concluded an insurance contract with our company would be reimbursed appropriately. I can assure you that this was definitely not an easy endeavour, as I encountered many obstacles during a reimbursement operation, especially at the level of the “corporate headquarters” where the bank transfers really took place – I was the ‘go-between’ who had to negotiate the deal on behalf of the client. I will refrain from giving the details (I am sure you can think of something vile and ugly when thinking about insurance companies?! :-)), but indeed, it did not leave me indifferent at all. It was in fact the reason why I, at first glance, did want to make a further advance in my career in the insurance industry since, given the technical knowledge I gained after nearly two years and my employer’s insufferable as-long-as-the-cat-catches-mice-it-doesn’t-matter-which-colour-it-has-mentality, as I felt it morally required to leave my job, and to either ‘fight or flight’. So at first, it became ‘fight’: try to find a new professional position, either as  independent insurance broker or as an employee for an independent broker, so that I could help the maximum number of people with their insurance-related files (which implied a tacit acknowledgement of utilitarianism, according to which an action is good if it fosters the good of a maximum number of persons).

However, I quickly noticed that I was adhering to a faulty or at least incomplete ethical framework. Whereas I think that the utility principle can be true under certain delineated circumstances, utilitarianism’s canonical definition betrays circular reasoning: goodness is defined in terms of a quantitative maximum that needs to be reached, which on its term is used to define the goodness of actions. But this leaves out a substantial definition of what ‘good’ is (its ‘essence’, to speak in Platonic terms), and utilitarianism cannot provide such an answer out of itself – save by relying on extremely dubious terms such as ‘happiness’ and/or ‘pleasure’. So speaking about Plato (whose metaphysics I would certainly endorse, albeit in a slightly modified form): whereas there are certainly actions that are just or morally good they do not exemplify justice or goodness as it is the form attached to matter (as Aristotle would hold). This discloses a transcendent definition of goodness according to which the definition exceeds any number of exemplars as well as the possibility of a hierarchy of goods (or a hierarchy of values) in which we can evaluate a certain action or state of affairs as better than another.

It is in the light of this insight, that struck me once again as I opened that carton box last year, that I came to see that whereas it is indeed better to be an insurance broker than an insurance agent; I would have just climbed one step on an infinitely high staircase by changing offices. And I felt I just want to reach out for the clouds and beyond, that is, toward the Idea of Goodness itself – even though not knowing exactly how or why (which is the reason why I started this topic). So in short, Peter, if I feel the need to live in seclusion (or something close to it) it definitely won’t be out of (moral) indifference – on the contrary. Nevertheless, I do think that there are certainly people who enter the monastery simply for the comfort of not having to care for paying the bills and stuff like that. But if this purely extrinsic motivation is the sole reason to enter a monastic community, I think one definitely should reconsider the choice on this point. I personally do confess that instrumental reasons as these play a role in my own discernment process, yet they are not the sole let alone most important reasons. As for Janwillem van de Wetering’s book, no, I haven’t read it, but I will definitely do when I got the opportunity… eh, when I got through the about 800 other volumes still waiting for me on my shelf… 🙂

Anita, I fully endorse your comment, but still want to leave an open question regarding the following: “after you graduate, then what”. I certainly admit that my intention to take up a new study is indeed a manoeuvre to procrastinate things further, but this comes out of my grievance that the “ordinary path” that most people take simply does not seem to work for me. Most people, including fellow students who enrolled in philosophy five/ten years ago, ultimately study or do something ‘practical’ in order to get paid for something. For instance, they follow some additional courses that enable them to start teaching (on non-academic levels, i.e. in secondary schools) or they ultimately get into the spiderweb of some corporation (as I did and still do). Whether they are happy with it is still the question: I recently encountered an acquaintance who majored in history, but who now is (reluctantly, I guess) studying architecture. But I could tell from her facial expression that she is pursuing that study not with the whole heart. So, she is heading straight to her first burn-out once she enters the labour market, I guess. Which turns your question upside-down: “then what…” What is the purpose of doing extensive (and expensive!) studies if it is not for the achievement for something that gives, in itself, a feeling of pure fulfillment? I do not really see the point of that. Nevertheless, your “then what…” question is certainly right, and the reason I opened this theme in the first place. There is no problem with living in the present, as the Buddha would have done, but this may not be an excuse for not taking care of the future. “Define, or be defined”, as the saying goes… 🙂

Fern, I am glad to read that my autobiography has been of interest to you. I also met a lot of people through the jobs I had by now, even though I regret that, so far, there are no meaningful relationships that arose out of my work experience. Personally, I always worked (deliberately) parttime up to now – just in order to keep some ‘sanity’ in my life – but have been granted the ‘luxury’ (read as: the ‘golden cage’) of a permanent contract which I, rather reluctantly but yet…, cherish since I know it is very hard to get such a type of contract these days. I could definitely switch job, but as this is already my third job so far, I am not sure – and even doubting – whether the game is worth the candle. Getting a job these days, even for low-skilled functions such as customer service agent, is a hard job in itself, meaning going through the whole process of writing applications, going to job interviews, impatiently checking one’s mailbox all the time for the recruiter’s final decision, and so on and so forth (things I need to do during my cherished yet scarce free time!). Up to now, it always took me about a year to change jobs, so I have had my part of the Ovidian Metamorphosis so far… 🙂

Just out of curiosity: why didn’t you want to pursue an academic career after you graduated in history? I thought that academia were still relatively unaffected by the increasing dominance of instrumental means-end reasoning back then in the 1970s? Or am I mistaken on this point?

Best regards (and if meanwhile someone of you has a broken dishwasher or wants to order a new vacuum cleaner, please call me in about eight hours! :-))

Plotinus