When first proposed the idea of writing a piece on the influence of my Zen practice on my environmentalism, I thought it’d be a piece of cake. I never feel more present and spiritual than I do when hiking through the woods of New Hampshire or sitting to meditate to the crashing waves of the ocean. I imagined a long, flowery piece about interconnectedness of natural phenomena and the profound Buddhist love and respect for all sentient beings. But as I rollerbladed along the streets of Paris (the only hour of my day dedicated to non-school related thinking), I came to realize that the topic was more problematic that I had thought.

Two issues presented themselves. First, I am hardly a representative of the Zen, or Buddhist, community. Like many Westerners, I have essentially co-opted the philosophy to fit my own beliefs and critiques ofthe goal-driven capitalist mentality. Do I, a product of Western culture and language (and the Jewish tradition), actually know what Zen is? Debatable.

Secondly, and more importantly, I came to the realization that my personal spiritual beliefs have little to nothing to do with my environmental activism. Therein lays an issue that has been on my mind for quite some time. Should Buddhism-and spirituality in general-have a social aspect? I’ve read various arguments in favor of a “social Buddhism”. Yet the concepts of Buddhism that I find most appealing seem to be inherently non-social.

I told the editor of this publication that I couldn’t write the piece. “There is no connection for me. Even after a nuclear Holocaust, I could still sit and meditate and be joyful, “I joked. “Just write why you don’t feel a connection,” she said, “That’ll be interesting.” I guess the dossier wouldn’t be complete without at least one weird, hokey, non-Western piece-and so it goes.

The keystone of my spiritual practice is the unconditional acceptance of the impermanence and beauty of the present moment. To cling to the past or attempt to preserve the present is a waste of energy. The world is always in constant flux and change, and no vision or manifestation of reality is better than the next. Each moment is equally miraculous and beautiful, regardless of whether its rivers are more polluted or its forests more depleted. In this sense, if anything, my spirituality would serve as more of a deterrent than a catalyst for social action. In other words, my spirituality doesn’t explain what I do per se, but more how I do it.

There is no moral code or ideals of Zen; the idea is more to approach every new moment with a zealous yet tranquil love of living. The question I always get, after such an analysis of life, is “why be an activist in the first place?” The error lies within the question itself; in our utilitarian society, one automatically makes the assumption that there must be a reason for doing something. The truth is that I have no reasons for being an activist. I just am. And, when looked at in that light, I guess you could say that my activism couldn’t be more Zen.

Adam Sigelman ‘05 is a Romance Languages major. He’s currently in Paris struggling with a very unZen addiction to banana logs and chocolate.