Dear Sergio,
This has been an enlightening week; I’m so glad we decided to have this semi-public conversation about minimalism. I feel like I’ve got a better idea of what those internet minimalists are up to and where their struggles match up with my own.
I’ve also confirmed my initial suspicion: that minimalism and spirituality are related around profound issues. Issues like simplicity, connection, and intentionality. As we wrap up our week I want to add another issue that I know is a spiritual one and see if you think it plays out in minimalism as well.
I’ve flirted with the idea of Sabbath for years now, though never been a true adherent. It’s a religious word, of course, but more and more people are coming to see Sabbath as a human practice rather than merely a religious one. I’ve had this book on my shelf for months now, and I know the author thinks Sabbath practice is for everyone—gentile, Jew, or secular humanist—though I haven’t read it yet. I keep pushing it off, which is probably significant.
The reason I love the idea of Sabbath and think it goes with the conversation we’ve been having this week is that it combines several of the major themes of our discussion while adding the notion of time. Sabbath is meant to strengthen our human connections, to lead us towards mindfulness, and to give us an experience of simplicity. It also teaches us about time—about the pace at which we choose to live, and about how quality is as significant as quantity. We can’t always live in Sabbath time, which is why they are traditionally just one day in seven, but that weekly retreat into a different time and space changes the rest of our time and space for the other six days.
I’ve had different Sabbath practices over the years, though mostly they’ve been pretty amateur dabbling. I currently have a Facebook and email Sabbath practice most Fridays (I’m cheating today, obviously) which lines right up with the digital vacation idea you pointed up Wednesday.
There’s more to Sabbath than not-doing though, or there should be. It really is an exercise in manipulating the human experience of time. My morning coffee reading the past couple weeks has been Slow Time by Waverly Fitzgerald. Though not specifically affiliated with any particular religion, it’s both a spiritual and practical look at our relationship with time. As far as time management books go, this one’s the best (and not coincidentally least ordinary) of those I’ve come across.
From what you’ve said, I think that being present in the moment is a product of minimalism. This is another deep concept that many wisdom and religious traditions share. The first breath prayer I ever learned was about presence in time. It was taught to me by the chaplain at summer camp I attended in high school. It’s easy. As you breath in, you say to yourself, “A Time.” As you breath back out, the words are, “To Embrace.” A deep breath—“A time to embrace”. To this day it is the most powerful prayer I know. It never fails to snap me back to the moment, to the present, even if—no, especially if—the present moment isn’t a good one.
So here’s to the pursuit of minimalism, spirituality, and a life lived well. There’s much we’ve left unsaid, and perhaps there’s room for a sequel somewhere down the line. I’ve enjoyed this so much, friend.
Peace be with you,
Ben.
• • • • •
Dear Ben,
What a pleasure it’s been to have this conversation with you over the course of the week. Although I imagined we would find a good deal of common ground between monasticism and minimalism, reading your thoughts certainly opened my eyes to new things. Anyone who’s known me for more than ten minutes, knows that I favor extremes and that I tend to jump headfirst into whatever thing or idea happens to strike my fancy.
I’ve made an effort this time around to practice moderation in hopes that this does not become simply another fleeting phase, but rather a lifestyle. Believe me, the temptation to get rid of everything but the clothes I’m wearing is strong and ever present. But realizing that there is something deeper and more meaningful to this than whatever may be the number of my possessions keeps me grounded.
Discovering how much ancient and current practices in monasticism and spirituality have in common with minimalism has been reassuring. It’s not that I was looking for validation, but knowing these things makes me think there is something truly worthy, fulfilling and sustainable about this pursuit. While I don’t consider myself a spiritual person, I appreciate the benefits spiritual practices and disciplines. I will be thinking about the things we’ve discussed for some time, and I will likely make them a part of my minimalist approach to life.
I’m pleased you have chosen to talk about Sabbath. This is a perfect example of the kind of spiritually-rooted practice even a humanist minimalist can greatly benefit from. I have experienced something powerful about purposefully setting apart a time to withdraw from quotidian life and do (or not do, as the case may be) something that slows us down. What I most look forward to in a Sabbath experience is stillness. It can be the stillness the psalmist refers to, “be still and know…” But as you’ve mentioned, Sabbath mustn’t be limited to Abrahamic expressions of faith. It doesn’t necessarily have to be spiritual at all, right?
Some of the best moments of stillness for me came many years ago as I meditated upon the Tao, of which my favorite proverb was (and still is), “the way to do is to be.” Later on, while practicing Shotokan Karate, our sensei exhorted us to find stillness in movement. Curiously enough, while practicing Bikram Yoga, we were instructed to find movement in stillness. I often experience this stillness during mass, or during a particularly moving concert at the symphony. What I haven’t done is to make a regular practice of it. But I’m going to look into the books you’ve mentioned and perhaps pursue that next.
In closing I would like to once again quote (you guessed it!) Thoreau, “To be a philosopher is not merely to have subtle thoughts, nor even to found a school, but so to love wisdom as to live according to its dictates, a life of simplicity, independence, magnanimity, and trust.” I wouldn’t call myself a philosopher, but this certainly describes the kind of life I want to live. As I see it, minimalism is not the end, but rather one of the means by which to reach this goal. It’s the means that happens to be working for me at the moment.
Thank you and thank you again for taking the time to engage in this dialog. I have rather enjoyed it and I have truly learned more than a few things. Talk to you soon, my friend.
Most sincerely,
-Sergio.
This has been an enlightening week; I’m so glad we decided to have this semi-public conversation about minimalism. I feel like I’ve got a better idea of what those internet minimalists are up to and where their struggles match up with my own.
I’ve also confirmed my initial suspicion: that minimalism and spirituality are related around profound issues. Issues like simplicity, connection, and intentionality. As we wrap up our week I want to add another issue that I know is a spiritual one and see if you think it plays out in minimalism as well.
I’ve flirted with the idea of Sabbath for years now, though never been a true adherent. It’s a religious word, of course, but more and more people are coming to see Sabbath as a human practice rather than merely a religious one. I’ve had this book on my shelf for months now, and I know the author thinks Sabbath practice is for everyone—gentile, Jew, or secular humanist—though I haven’t read it yet. I keep pushing it off, which is probably significant.
The reason I love the idea of Sabbath and think it goes with the conversation we’ve been having this week is that it combines several of the major themes of our discussion while adding the notion of time. Sabbath is meant to strengthen our human connections, to lead us towards mindfulness, and to give us an experience of simplicity. It also teaches us about time—about the pace at which we choose to live, and about how quality is as significant as quantity. We can’t always live in Sabbath time, which is why they are traditionally just one day in seven, but that weekly retreat into a different time and space changes the rest of our time and space for the other six days.
I’ve had different Sabbath practices over the years, though mostly they’ve been pretty amateur dabbling. I currently have a Facebook and email Sabbath practice most Fridays (I’m cheating today, obviously) which lines right up with the digital vacation idea you pointed up Wednesday.
There’s more to Sabbath than not-doing though, or there should be. It really is an exercise in manipulating the human experience of time. My morning coffee reading the past couple weeks has been Slow Time by Waverly Fitzgerald. Though not specifically affiliated with any particular religion, it’s both a spiritual and practical look at our relationship with time. As far as time management books go, this one’s the best (and not coincidentally least ordinary) of those I’ve come across.
From what you’ve said, I think that being present in the moment is a product of minimalism. This is another deep concept that many wisdom and religious traditions share. The first breath prayer I ever learned was about presence in time. It was taught to me by the chaplain at summer camp I attended in high school. It’s easy. As you breath in, you say to yourself, “A Time.” As you breath back out, the words are, “To Embrace.” A deep breath—“A time to embrace”. To this day it is the most powerful prayer I know. It never fails to snap me back to the moment, to the present, even if—no, especially if—the present moment isn’t a good one.
So here’s to the pursuit of minimalism, spirituality, and a life lived well. There’s much we’ve left unsaid, and perhaps there’s room for a sequel somewhere down the line. I’ve enjoyed this so much, friend.
Peace be with you,
Ben.
• • • • •
Dear Ben,
What a pleasure it’s been to have this conversation with you over the course of the week. Although I imagined we would find a good deal of common ground between monasticism and minimalism, reading your thoughts certainly opened my eyes to new things. Anyone who’s known me for more than ten minutes, knows that I favor extremes and that I tend to jump headfirst into whatever thing or idea happens to strike my fancy.
I’ve made an effort this time around to practice moderation in hopes that this does not become simply another fleeting phase, but rather a lifestyle. Believe me, the temptation to get rid of everything but the clothes I’m wearing is strong and ever present. But realizing that there is something deeper and more meaningful to this than whatever may be the number of my possessions keeps me grounded.
Discovering how much ancient and current practices in monasticism and spirituality have in common with minimalism has been reassuring. It’s not that I was looking for validation, but knowing these things makes me think there is something truly worthy, fulfilling and sustainable about this pursuit. While I don’t consider myself a spiritual person, I appreciate the benefits spiritual practices and disciplines. I will be thinking about the things we’ve discussed for some time, and I will likely make them a part of my minimalist approach to life.
I’m pleased you have chosen to talk about Sabbath. This is a perfect example of the kind of spiritually-rooted practice even a humanist minimalist can greatly benefit from. I have experienced something powerful about purposefully setting apart a time to withdraw from quotidian life and do (or not do, as the case may be) something that slows us down. What I most look forward to in a Sabbath experience is stillness. It can be the stillness the psalmist refers to, “be still and know…” But as you’ve mentioned, Sabbath mustn’t be limited to Abrahamic expressions of faith. It doesn’t necessarily have to be spiritual at all, right?
Some of the best moments of stillness for me came many years ago as I meditated upon the Tao, of which my favorite proverb was (and still is), “the way to do is to be.” Later on, while practicing Shotokan Karate, our sensei exhorted us to find stillness in movement. Curiously enough, while practicing Bikram Yoga, we were instructed to find movement in stillness. I often experience this stillness during mass, or during a particularly moving concert at the symphony. What I haven’t done is to make a regular practice of it. But I’m going to look into the books you’ve mentioned and perhaps pursue that next.
In closing I would like to once again quote (you guessed it!) Thoreau, “To be a philosopher is not merely to have subtle thoughts, nor even to found a school, but so to love wisdom as to live according to its dictates, a life of simplicity, independence, magnanimity, and trust.” I wouldn’t call myself a philosopher, but this certainly describes the kind of life I want to live. As I see it, minimalism is not the end, but rather one of the means by which to reach this goal. It’s the means that happens to be working for me at the moment.
Thank you and thank you again for taking the time to engage in this dialog. I have rather enjoyed it and I have truly learned more than a few things. Talk to you soon, my friend.
Most sincerely,
-Sergio.
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