Peaceful People Do Not Become Monks

How old were you when you first learned that becoming a monk was a thing?

I first encountered this during a primary school religious studies lesson. I was perhaps 8 years old. I can’t remember exactly what the teacher was talking about, but I distinctly recall seeing a picture of a monk in his robes.

He was sat in a beautiful spot of nature.

His legs crossed.

His eyes closed.

It seemed like he was existing in an entirely different world to the rest of us.

But as peaceful as his appearance seemed, the main thought that crossed my mind was this:

“Why?”

Why would this person need to escape society, shave his head, and live an ascetic lifestyle to achieve some so-called sense of ‘peace?’

As mentioned, I was a child at the time. And though there were some taxing aspects to my life, I felt like I already had what this monk went searching for, without even trying.

It is, for this reason, I found the phenomenon of monkhood so strange. Why bother going to such extremes to get something we already have? Aren’t we all already at so-called peace?

This is what I thought as a child, because, as children, we largely have peace. Even those of us who grew up in a turbulent home likely experienced more internal peace during those years than 99% of adults do on a daily basis.

Peace and bliss are not things children must strive to find. They are things given to them by default.

But something happens as children grow up.

And they lose what they will then spend the entirety of their life searching for. Only to seemingly never find it.

Of course, the life of a monk seems absurd to a child. It’s like an eagle watching a chicken attempt to fly. To the eagle, flying is so easy — so effortless. The eagle thinks: Why does this chicken have to struggle so much?

Our teacher told us that these monks go to such extremes — they try so hard — because they are desperate to find peace.

If someone is dedicating their life to something — and going to such extremes — one might be inclined to think they are succeeding in their endeavour. After all, if you’re trying so hard you must surely have something to show for it. Right?

And perhaps this monk that was pictured on the whiteboard in front of me had indeed found what he was looking for.

But something else struck me.

It is not a peaceful person that would be drawn towards becoming a monk. If a person already had internal peace, why would they drop everything and head for the mountains to live such a barebones existence?

A peaceful person does not look to become a monk. Only a deeply troubled one does.

The less we have of something we require, the more desperate we become to find it.

The person who is willing to leave all they know:

The company of their family,

The comforts of their home,

The taste of their favourite foods,

All in an attempt to find the cure to their internal turmoil,

Is not in a tranquil state. They are, instead, drowning in internal conflict.

They have probably read all the books,

Listened to all the podcasts,

And followed all the breathing and meditation techniques.

But, still, their mind continues to torment them.

This is the kind of person that is drawn towards becoming a monk.

But why would leaving the normal world and entering into a life of solitude be an apposite move for such a person?

Perhaps it is because the normal world is all this person has known their entire life. Indeed, is the normal world not the thing you have known your entire life?

The right jobs to chase. The right universities to go to. The right neighbourhoods to live in.

And where has living in this normal world gotten you? Are you at peace?

Perhaps, over the years, you’ll say at least you gained some knowledge and experience. You discovered how things work in this normal world. But, again, I ask:

Where has any of this gotten you? Is life better now than compared to when you were a child? If not, what was the value of all your knowledge and experience?

In some ways, monkhood could be considered a cheat code for life. The one who becomes a monk leaves the world he once knew. He leaves all its people, its culture, and its material obsessions.

Should this be considered a grand sacrifice? On this point, I am reminded of a story that details a conversation between a young travelling professional and a monk.

The traveller says to the monk:

“Dear monk, I am in awe of you. It is incredible that you have been able to sacrifice so much. The world has so many fine things to offer: People, possessions, experiences. How have you been able to give all this up?”

The monk responds:

“My dear friend, is it really me that has made the sacrifice? I once lived in your world — the world you claim to be full of so many fine things. And what sort of life did I live? Was it anything more than chasing the next shiny object? Was it anything more than trying to prove my worth to my peers? Was it anything more than a cycle of anxiety as I jumped from one pursuit to the next? My dear friend, I left that world and all its miseries. You are the one who remains in it. So, tell me, who is the one making the sacrifice: Is it me — or, is it you?”

Of course, being a monk doesn’t guarantee you anything. The path to the greatest things in life must always be forged by oneself. There are no quick hacks or how-to guides to get you there. And perhaps it is that makes human life special.

Monkhood won’t guarantee you anything, nor should you feel compelled to become a monk. But perhaps it is worth asking yourself: Does a monk really miss out by not having the things you have? What does a monk miss out on by not living in the normal world?

Who in the normal world has peace? Who in the normal world is satisfied?

What has living in the normal world brought you?