To live sustainably we need to change our lifestyles and that means changing our image of ‘the good life’ Where can we find values to support that?
Listen Here
At the start of the mindfulness courses I teach I lead the group through a simple exercise. Each person is given a raisin, and we slow down the process of eating it by noticing its shape and texture, and savouring its taste. Eating in this way, with full attention, the flavour floods the mouth as if it were an entire meal, and the experience of eating this humble piece of dried fruit turns out to have dimensions you’d never have imagined.
I thought of this exercise when I heard about the inter-governmental report on biodiversity loss this week. Having described the devastation we’re inflicting on the land, oceans and animals, Professor Sandra Diaz, commented: ‘We need to change the way we think about what a good life is. We need to change the social narrative that emphasises high consumption and quick disposal.’
It struck me that something important is happening when scientists start talking about the good life. In principle at least, science has left discussion of values to religion and the arts. But in the ecological crisis, the long-held distinction between facts and values is breaking down. The environment is seen as a vast feedback system that’s being reshaped by human behaviour. Our individual actions are magnified on a planetary scale and reflected back to us as environmental change.
As I understand it, that connection between actions and consequences is the heart of ethics, but it’s not the role of scientists to tell us what our values should be. So where can we find an alternative idea of the good life? And what social narrative offers an environmentally sustainable understanding of what makes us happy?
We can look to the research that tells us our happiness is affected by things like good relationships and a sense of connection and meaning; and the faith traditions, along with other sources like the arts, clearly have a renewed relevance. Buddhism, and practices deriving from it, bring a particular appreciation of the role of our minds, and our capacity to develop them. Simple as it is, the raisin exercise directs us towards the quality, as opposed to the quantity, of our experience and the difference we make by just stopping and noticing.
Eating raisins slowly won’t save the planet, but the capacity for contentment might. We can’t avoid the clamour of scientists telling us that we’re at a vital juncture in history. Reluctant prophets though they may be, they’re asking us, for our own sakes and the sake of the planet, to reflect not just on our actions, but on our values.
