THE GOLDEN MEAN

By Moin Qazi

Excessive sorrow laughs. Excessive joy weeps.

– William Blake

 

The great Buddha was born and grew up in a gilded world – a childhood with thirty-two nursemaids, a kingdom with seasonal palaces and private gardens, and his princess wife and their child. But he decided to pursue a strict asceticism after becoming distressed at the pain and agony he saw surrounding him. He felt his new chosen path would give him solve the mysteries of life, be free of suffering, and find peace.

However, this strict acetic path did not satisfy him either. Physically emaciated and torn with agony, the Buddha rested under the cool shadow of a Bodhi tree one day and pondered over the mysteries of creation, trying to unravel the mysteries of life. He sat reclined against the tree, deep in his meditation, when a group of dancing girls passed by singing a wonderful song:

“Do not stretch the strings of your instrument so much when you strike them for a musical note, they break; nor keep them so loose that when you seek to strike a note, they do not respond.” Buddha opened his eyes and, feeling excited at a great discovery, cried: “I have found the way to the good life—neither too much nor too little, in brief, the ‘middle path.” This simple message of the village girls provided the emollient salve to his restless mind seeking a vision of an ideal life. After that, the Buddha taught a path that was neither about the denial of pleasure nor its affirmation.

After that, the Buddha taught a path that was neither about the denial of pleasure nor its affirmation. Through his own actions, he showed the wisdom of moderation. He had been born into great luxury but soon got tired of it. Then he tried a life of excessive mortification, and before long, he grew weary of that, too. At last, he chose a middle course and found true happiness in the sensible doctrine of “nothing too much.”

He taught self-control against self-indulgence. He equally opposed the intoxication of lust, the intoxication of power, and the intoxication of conquest. All three alike lead to madness in the end, he believed.

Buddha explained the transience inherent in existence and the inevitability of ageing and death, but he did not stop there. Instead, he taught that since all things are constantly altering, man must exert his best efforts in every instant of life. Indeed, such striving lies at the heart of Buddha’s teaching, for knowing that all things are impermanent subdue the proud and give hope to the wretched, encouraging them both to make spiritual progress.

Through his action, Buddha showed the wisdom of moderation. He taught self-control against self-indulgence. He was equally opposed to the intoxication of lust, the intoxication of power, and the intoxication of conquest. He believed that obsession with physical pleasure is the sign of a diseased mind and its craving for mastery over the weak. However, we must understand that austerity doesn’t mean a negation of life or a dry creed that casts a baleful eye on joy and laughter but a way of holding our society together.

Buddha’s middle way is the way of one who views and experiences. It interacts with the world from a vantage point so central and self-mastered that all the colours of the rainbow are visible to be enjoyed simultaneously. The middle way of the Buddha can also be termed as the centre where all extremes are visual but none too distracting from the current situation—optimum enjoyment of this moment (and the next).

To define a personal axis of Buddha’s principle, we have to look for the centre inside ourselves and, after finding it, cling to it persistently and consistently. It should be not too fast, not too slow, not too aggressive, not too mealy-mouthed; not too passionate, not too dull; not too intoxicated, not too sober; not too yin and not too yang, but just right.

Buddha says: “In the end, only three things matter: how fully you have lived, how deeply you have loved, and how well you have learned to let go.” A brilliant elucidation of Buddha’s philosophy can be found in the analogies from the everyday occurrences in human life wrung out by the great Sufi, Jalaluddin Rumi. He takes the example of the village women who, when dawn strikes, begin drawing water from the streams for their homes. They carry on their heads pots of water placed over one another, and even as they discuss their family lives with each other, the mind never loses sight of the pots, which they perfectly balance. Similarly, man’s hands should be given to work, but the reason should be absorbed in the remembrance of God.

The second example is a ship, which moves with the support of water. This water gives it buoyancy and balance, but if it is allowed to enter the boat, the ship is bound to sink. Thus man should look to the world only for the necessary means of sustenance but should not allow himself to be attracted to it to an extent where he loses the thought of the Lord.

Buddha’s middle path is not exactly something that the Stoics practiced. A stoic is a person who remains unmoved by the sorrows and afflictions that distress the rest of humanity. This is the most straightforward definition of a Stoic ideal, but it must be placed in the context of a systematic approach to life. Plato held that human passions and physical desires need regulation by reason. The Stoics went further: they rejected passions altogether as a basis for deciding what is good or bad.

Other spiritual teachers have also emphasized the need to find equilibrium between the material and spiritual scales of life. The tremendous mystic Rumi gives an interesting analogy of village women:

In the early dawn, when nature lifts the veil of darkness, groups of women trudge down the hills carrying water in bronze pitchers on their heads. On their way, the women gaily engage in an endless tattle, talking about their homes, the village, and the weather. But, even while all this talking goes on, the bronze pitchers are balanced with perfect poise. The mind is engaged in the talk but never loses control of the pitcher on the head.

Like these village women, Rumi tells us, we should continue to perform all our worldly chores but should never remain unmindful of the spiritual reality above us.

In another analogy, Rumi likens the world to a river and the individual to a boat. To float, the boat needs the support of water, but that very same water can fill and sink the boat if a hole forms. Similarly, we need certain basic necessities for our daily sustenance, but once these material objects preoccupy our minds, they ruin us spiritually.

Sufis like Rumi consider the spirit and body to be one whole. They believe in integration, not dichotomies. In other words, what we do in our physical lives affects us spiritually and vice versa.

This integration extends beyond the individual as well. Still, we humans often forget that everything is part of a whole, interdependent network in which each element is vitally important to every other aspect, thus failing to appreciate that our very existence depends on the presence of all other things in the universe.

We would do well to remember this.

said, “Do for this world as if thou were to live a thousand years, and for the next as if thou were to die tomorrow.” He asked people to pursue a gainful living to meet their needs, but he warned that we should not become so deeply immersed in mundane chores that we are not prepared for death at any moment.

Therefore, even as we are bowed down in our daily work, we should keep our hearts tuned to our higher purpose so that when the end approaches, there is no trace of a wrench in our hearts and we won’t also be echoing Ware’s list of regrets. As the prophet repeatedly emphasized, “Be in this world as a stranger or passerby.”

Like Muhammad, the ancient Greek philosophers taught that while we strive toward fulfilling the body’s physical needs, we often let the soul starves. Conversely, others satisfy the soul but keep the body starved.

Aristotle’s ideal of “the golden mean” and “nothing in excess” is founded on this wisdom. Over-indulgence in worldly pleasures leads to an ennui and an emptiness of heart if we do not temper our earthly lives with the demands of their soul. Similarly, asceticism to the point of harshness deprives us of experiencing the subliminal beauty of life.

Following the middle path aids us in all of these things. It negotiates the extremes of harsh asceticism and sensual pleasure-seeking, between attachment and aversion, between being and non-being, between form and emptiness, between free will and determinism, and between hedonism and asceticism.

This approach to life gives us our best shot at not being filled with regret at the end, for life is not about endurance, nor about apathy— it is about balance.

The elements of a meaningful life may sound like a topic fit for philosophers to speculate on the range of imagination and understanding of human minds. But we can at least suggest that ordinary people can create meaning through forgiveness, empathy, kindness, and generosity.

Our sages have propounded their theories based on the wisdom they have gleaned from scriptural literature. But they don’t have a practical idea of how we could evolve a practical approach based on robust realities. The best way of exploring these phenomena is to spend time with those in distress in ways that will alleviate their suffering and enable them to share their feelings and sentiments. We have all the wisdom needed to live well and die peacefully but the collective wisdom of individuals who go through these ordeals could make the learning more relevant. The convergence of these types of knowledge can help everyone to develop a meaningful template for all of us in which we try to make sense of life and death.

The Greek ideal of “the golden mean” and “nothing in excess” is founded on this wisdom. Over-indulgence in worldly pleasures breeds dullness. Similarly, asceticism to the point of harshness deprives us of experiencing the sublime beauty of life. The Sufi mystic Sahi says, “A man should be in the marketplace while still working with true reality.” The Chinese philosopher Huang Po said: “Do not permit the events of your daily lives to bind you, but never withdraw yourselves from them. Only by acting thus, can you earn the title of ‘Liberated One.'”

We all spend years striving to achieve the “golden mean” or the “middle path” because everyone seeks the ever-elusive point of perfect harmony. It helps us negotiate the extremes of harsh asceticism and sensual pleasure-seeking between attachment and aversion, between being and non-being, form and emptiness, between free will and determinism, and between hedonism and asceticism. The great French artist, Montaigne, characterized life as an art. It’s a process of intuition, discovery, contemplation, and finding pleasure in the journey.