THIS STRENUOUS LIFE

Evening Star, Issue 22685, 26 June 1937, Page 2

THIS STRENUOUS LIFE

[Written by Mart Scott, for the ' Evening Star.’]

I am tired of watching a busy world, very tired of being busy myself. Why must wo all work so hard, rush about hither and thither, spend our strength for nought? Above all, why are wo proud of being so busy ? What has bewitched our judgment that we find mere busyness a supreme virtue? Where are all the placid, leisured people of our grandmother’s day ? Vanished, you reply, with the good old days, driven away by the age of the machine, gone with the well-filled purses, tho amoothly-ruu houses, the quiet voices and gentle movements. To attribute all the change to strenuous economic conditions is, I fancy, a mistake. Then© are still plenty of people left with ample means, abundant opportunity to be at ease. And how do they employ those means? By rushing about harder than anyone else, partly because their cars are higherpowered, by dashing to bridge parties and cocktail gatherings, or by flinging themselves on to committees, immersing themselves with the loudest possible splash in good works of every kind. It seems a pity when they could be so much more gracefully employed by enjoying a little leisure; more profitably, too, for every sign of the times points to a future in which we shall all have a great deal more spare time. It would bo wise, then, to find out not only how to employ it but how to enjoy At the present moment the advent of the machine seems only to, have quickened the general ] nc: of living; the infection of streanousness has strayed from our work into our play, and, the more leisure we have, the less idea we possess of how to employ it Such is the irony of fate. I was commiserating the other day with a friend upon her weary look, adding consolingly, “But never mind; now that you nave only a 40-hour week, you will soon be.thoroughly rested.” Her reply was fretful, this wretchcKj 40-hour week that’s the trouble. We go like mad for five days so that we can have the other two free—and then we don’t know, what to do with our spare time.” Lord, what fools wo mortals be ! ” .... Yet I think a change of heart is needed to keep pace with the change of hours. We must learn that man does not necessarily acquire merit simply bv being busy, nor should he be classed as lazy and good for nothing because he appears to have plenty or leisure and enjoys it. Even to loaf is not always a sin, for, as, one American poet has put it, it is possible “to loaf and invite our souls.” It is probable that the verb to loaf will become in the future one of those stock examples of the grammarian’s text book. “ words which have improved in meaning,” and that a little homily will follow for the benefit of the jaded student, explaining that in the dark ages loafing was, considered a sin instead of an insignia of merit. We have become curiously attached to the idea that to be great it is necessary to he “ up and doing ” ; it is partly the fault of poets like Longfellow and writers like Carlyle, who preached the virtue of action in season and out season. Kipling, too, was inclined to be strenuous, but he exercised a little more judgment about it ; he knew that to take a large hoe and a shovel also and dig till we gently perspire was an excellent cure for the blues; he did not, however, attribute any subtle merit to the action otherwise. It was, I think. Longfellow who talked of great men toiling upwards in the night, while their companions slept; but here no was showing the great gogetting spirit of the American arid allowing it to run away with him. As a matter of fact, tho really great of this world have usually been its artists and philosophers, and they, have done very little rushing about either by day or by night. Not from America, home of the strenuous, 'but from the immemorial East there came a few years ago the talk of a new religion. It was called “ Seizaho,” or “ Quiet Sitting,” and was founded by a Japanese teacher called Okada Torojiro. When this philosopher died four or five years ago lie left behind him no written records of his cult, hut_his disciples have since expounded his doctrines at some length. Like various Eastern religions, Seizaho is passive rather than active, depending rather upon tho virtue of meditation than of action. The curious point about this particular cult is the immense importance attached to the centre of gravity; stabilise that, and all good things will he added unto you—will, in fact, come tumbling into your passively accepting lap. The idea of the thing is that you must sit for, as long as possible every day—beginning by two' sessions only of half an hour each on the hare floor with your legs a trifle bent and the instep of one foot fitted into the hollow of the other, the backbone straight, and the centre of gravity correctly disposed. The hands are to he lightly placed upon the knees and the thumbs crossed; breathing must be even, and the mind a vacuum. (This at least I find myself able to do at almost any moment). Do this, and you will be able to meditate with immense benefit not only to your spiritual core but to your bodily health. It has been vaunted as a cure for indigestion and asthma, as well as for innumerable nervous disorders. It may bo so, but it sounds somewhat of a strain, particularly when practised for as many as 18 hours a day, as,the founder of the cult succeeded in doing, with one body of followers relieving another all day long. Having road this, I felt no surprise that ho died before ho was 50. Most of iis, if required,to meditate for one-quarter of, that time, and especially in such a position, would not have lived half as long. Quito apart from the discomfort of the physical position—and personally I should hate that bare floor, that even breathing, and especially those crossed thumbs, which would almost, to a frivolous mind, reduce tho whole performance to the level of a game—apart from all this, we moderns have lost the habit of meditating at all. We have been strenuous for too long, have taken refuge, perhaps, in physical effort to dull minds afraid to look hack upon ,a troubled past or face an uncertain future. Let us then he up and doing —at least it will save us from tho misery of our own thoughts. And yet it is possibly only by thought that the troubles of the future can in any way be solved or healed; but for so long we have drowned thought in action that now we cannot at will revive the poor pale phantom. “ Let us then be up and doing” has been our slogan too long; now we must bo always doing, doing—anything rather than allow ourselves to be caught in the net of thought and meditation. (But, although abstract meditation achieved by the deliberate process of sitting on the floor with legs bent and thumbs crossed may he beyond tho reach of the average “ busy ” person in 1937, yet to most of us there come times of instinctive contact with the spiritual that brings us nearer ,to the essence of lifo than all the “ Seizaho ” in the East could manage if transplanted into our alien Western minds. Such moments come as wo watch a

line of hare poplars against a pale evening sky, a blue sea striped with the purple shadows of mid-afternoon; or perhaps when we listen to lovely music, look at some beautiful picture, immerse ourselves in the golden silence of early morning, gaze at the face of a sleeping child. The mood may last only a few minutes, for in this busy life, we have not enough time to stand and stare, but to the Western temperament it is probably worth more than the painful achievement of many hours of deliberate meditation.