Dear John,

You seem to mix a salad of the two issues we discussed:

1. About technology's benefits peaking.
2. About your generous "invitation to reconsider what reflection might look like when stillness becomes abundant".

Of my last 3 posts, the first two responded to #2 and the last one returned to #1.

On the new, second topic, I responded based on scripture that this idea of relieving everyone from their work, this tempting Lazy's Paradise, is not going to help purify people's minds and spiritual progress, but rather that work is essential for spiritual progress: proper and suitable work, which is not suffering.

On the original topic:
When you have a function over time of technological benefits minus ill side-effects, the returns eventually diminish and side-effects increase so at some point the first derivative turns negative. It may be difficult to compute the exact accurate point in time when that occurs, but then there's a peak and I consider myself fortunate to have lived during such a peak.

Now the function can have many peaks, and over an infinite span of time it could even have an infinite number of peaks. Indeed I idealise one such peak, but that peak was long ago, not during my lifetime or even within written history. That was a time, an era, when the great yogis and sages lived, when material technology was low but mental technology soared and peace and serenity reigned, not passive and dull laziness.

Yuyutsu,

I appreciate your effort to clarify the distinction between the two themes we’ve touched on. It’s a useful distinction, but not one that alters the deeper undercurrent.

You describe a vision of spiritual life where suitable work purifies the mind and brings one closer to stillness. I don’t disagree. But your definition of “suitable” work, and of “stillness,” seems to require such careful curation of era, context, and conditions that it becomes, ironically, fragile.

It’s as though serenity is a rare blossom - one that blooms only in the exact right climate, between the extremes of too much progress and too little. And yet, if serenity is so delicate, was it ever truly deep?

//...work is essential for spiritual progress.//

And yet, many great contemplatives - in temples, forests, and yes, in moments of quiet in the modern world - have found the opposite to be true: that progress often begins only when the compulsion to “do” is let go.

Of course, I recognise the scriptural grounding of your reply. But scripture, too, is a kind of technology - a conceptual tool, passed down and refined, built not of silicon but of symbol. And like all technologies, it can liberate, or it can bind. Sometimes it becomes a map we mistake for the terrain. Sometimes we reread its lines not to seek truth, but to protect what we already believe.

You see a great spiritual peak in an age long gone - one lost to history and memory. I see something else: the possibility that such a peak isn’t behind us, or ahead of us, but here - and only hidden by what we refuse to see clearly.

You are wise to recognise that not all movement is progress. But you have yet to see that not all stillness is retreat.

Dear John,

Certainly, scripture praises serenity, genuine serenity that is potent and content, not dullness, sloth and apathy masquerading as serenity.

«But your definition of “suitable” work, and of “stillness,” seems to require such careful curation of era, context, and conditions that it becomes, ironically, fragile.»

Obviously so, but I don't think that this task is required for the present discussion.

«It’s as though serenity is a rare blossom - one that blooms only in the exact right climate, between the extremes of too much progress and too little. And yet, if serenity is so delicate, was it ever truly deep?»

Serenity, once properly established is deep rooted and can withstand any weather, but while it is still only a seedling it can be delicate indeed.

«And yet, many great contemplatives - in temples, forests, and yes, in moments of quiet in the modern world - have found the opposite to be true: that progress often begins only when the compulsion to “do” is let go.»

Progress already began while they were making efforts, possibly without their knowing. Only then they can proceed to the next stage and let go - once they have what to let go of.

«I see something else: the possibility that such a peak isn’t behind us, or ahead of us, but here - and only hidden by what we refuse to see clearly.»

I cannot relate to this unless you reveal the mystery, but if this goes along the lines of Lazy's Paradise (and others' hell), where people are treated like hotel-guests by the machines and are not expected to do anything useful, then I will be glad to leave the world before seeing it.

Yuyutsu,

Thanks for your thoughtful reply. I’m glad we’ve reached a point where we can speak more openly and plainly.

You’re right in that serenity should endure once it takes root. But the question then becomes: if something so resilient begins so delicately, how many people ever get the chance to reach it?

If the conditions need to be just right (the era, the setting, the type of work) then perhaps what’s fragile isn’t serenity itself, but the assumptions we have about how to find it. That’s where my doubt lies - not with the goal, but with the path we think must be taken.

Maybe the flower is strong, but the garden we picture is far too narrow?

I also found your point about effort before surrender quite compelling. Some people do need years of discipline before they’re ready to let go - and others find something real in a moment of stillness. As you said, it’s not the time or toil that matters most, but sincerity.

When I spoke of the “peak” being here, I wasn’t picturing a machine-run utopia where no one ever works again. I was pointing to something quieter: the idea that even now - in the midst of all this noise and change - something still and luminous might already be available to us, if we’re willing to look past our preferences.

You say you would rather leave the world than see it descend into such a state. I understand. But what if the world isn’t descending? What if it’s preparing for ascent, quietly and awkwardly, through imperfect means?

We may yet find that the machines we fear are simply tools clearing the ground for a deeper kind of cultivation.

Dear John,

There was a sign on a church, reading:
"You don't need this church - you can pray and seek God anywhere and at any time... But do you?"

So yes:
«in the midst of all this noise and change - something still and luminous might already be available to us, if we’re willing to look past our preferences.»

Indeed, always available, but are we willing to look past our preferences?

I used to be in a group where we also sang this song, over and over:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8BWqo2BVn5M
- "We are opening up in sweet surrender to the luminous love light of the Lord".

It is a fond memory and it gave us a great warm glow, but were we actually surrendering then?

«if something so resilient begins so delicately, how many people ever get the chance to reach it?»

Everyone will, eventually, in one lifetime or another, but patience is a virtue.

But first we will only glimpse the spiritual perhaps for a second, then perhaps some months or years later for a couple of seconds, and then suddenly maybe without notice for a whole minute. This is called "frog leaps", spiritual progress is like that, where most of the time it seems dormant.

«But what if the world isn’t descending? What if it’s preparing for ascent, quietly and awkwardly, through imperfect means?»

The cycle of rise and fall never ends: have you any practical, concrete ideas at present, including what role can machines play in deeper cultivation which they cannot play already, or is the above presently only a vague idea for you?

Yuyutsu,

Thank you for this reply. There’s a warmth and sincerity in your words that’s deeply appreciated.

//It is a fond memory and it gave us a great warm glow, but were we actually surrendering then?//

The fact that you’re asking now may be more important than whatever the answer was then. Sometimes, we only begin to surrender once we question the sincerity of our earlier attempts.

As for the machines:
No, I don’t believe they will replace contemplation, or remove the need for practice. But perhaps they can remove some of the noise. They might do the washing, the scheduling, the counting, the remembering—leaving us fewer excuses to avoid silence.

A tool cannot cultivate the soul. But it can clear a path, so the soil can be worked more easily.

You’re right that progress can come in sudden frog-leaps, often unnoticed until afterwards. But the conditions that allow those leaps? Perhaps they don’t require a golden era or perfect outer conditions. Perhaps they arise when a person is simply ready—softened, open, sincere.

As you said: “Indeed, always available, but are we willing to look past our preferences?”

Sometimes that willingness arrives not through suffering, nor even through scripture—but quietly, in the middle of a conversation one didn’t expect would matter so much.

Let’s see where it leads.