Detachment, love, imperfection

Once, I told my Buddhist father that his non-attachment philosophy was senseless. I said, “Don’t you love Mom?” He carried on about the beauty of unencumbered clarity and the murder of the ego, making no counterpoint to my attack. Alas, I was left to wonder, what’s with this detachment mumbo-jumbo?

Reading Orwell’s essay, Reflections on Gandhi, I was struck by these remarks about the psychological roots of saintliness: “the main motive for ‘non-attachment’ is a desire to escape from the pain of living, and above all from love, which, sexual or non-sexual, is hard work.” I felt a small, less-than-holy, triumph over my father upon reading this. But then it occurred to me that I didn’t agree. Selfishness as the main motivation for saintliness? Um, no. While the essay’s argument is thorough, it still comes down to a rather moralistic attack on Gandhi. I like Gandhi. Non-violence, truth, simplicity… I still believe in spiritual heroes. And I believe in my dad, and he loves my mom, and kumbaya.

Of course, I couldn’t help cuddling up to this line: “No doubt alcohol, tobacco, and so forth, are things that a saint must avoid, but sainthood is also a thing that human beings must avoid.” Yes, Orwell, we are imperfect. Amen, it’s happy hour.