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My daughter delivers the Sun newspaper and this morning’s issue contained a long article about people who are better off collecting welfare than going after jobs. The reporter, posing as an unemployed labourer, was able to find no less that seven full time jobs. But he claimed to understand why many would prefer to stay on welfare. If one includes the benefits that one gets on welfare, he pointed out, the difference between welfare and a low wage is insignificant.

This simple equation between remuneration and work seems to me to obscure some of the most profound problems surrounding the conception and reality of work in the modern age. The reporter seemed not to appreciate the importance of the stand made by one individual that he described. This individual has back and kidney problems which leave him with few jobs to chose from. So he collects welfare. At the same time, he goes to Yonge and King every day with his dog Hobo and his guitar and sings. He treats it like a job although he only makes $25 a day.

How does one account for the number of people who avoid the contemporary workplace? And how does one begin to understand Hobo’s owner who is willing to put in long hours as a busker in order to earn a mere $25 dollars per day.

I think we need to take a quick trip back into history or into some accounts of modern day anthropologists to look at societies which functioned differently and which did not have a ‘work problem’. Peter Timmerman has already told you a little about this, so perhaps I can cut a bit to the chase. Medieval society divided its social order into those who pray, those who protect and those who work. The clerisy — those who prayed — were the first order. The aristocracy — those who protected were the second order. And everybody else — those who worked — were the third order. Now, while those who worked may have been at the bottom of the social order, this turned out to be no great problem for them. They learned something about work that too many of us have forgotten. They learned that it was a natural part of life, and they got satisfaction from the things that they produced — be they crops or crafts.

Preindustrial societies don’t have a work problem. In fact, their members get a deep sense of identity from the work that they do. In one sense, it was easier for them than us — despite our much higher standard of living — because the work that they did — and in some places still do — is closer to the rhythms of nature and life. Many of us work in large and complex bureaucracies or engage in a specialized division of labour which robs us of feelings of identity with what we do and the satisfaction that derives from the results. Some of us are deeply alienated from our work, and view ourselves in terms of our leisure activities, our home lives and our spiritual exercises rather than what we do in the increasingly abstract and alien world of work. Alienation is a fact of modern working life and helps to explain why — if given a choice — Hobo’s master might prefer to collect welfare and to sing on street corners. Singing on street corners is in a very real sense a more human and natural activity that working on a conveyor belt or accepting work that is degrading.

All of my commentary so far is the stock in trade of social historians, sociologists and cultural anthropologists — to which tribe I belong. My most recent job configuration is to help those same university professors and future university professors to teach as well as they can. I’m still a relative beginner as a Zen Buddhist but I do want to get closer to making what I think are some important connections.

Like many of my colleagues, I became a professor precisely because I didn’t want to be an alienated worker. I liked the more natural rhythms of student and academic life — which are task oriented rather than clock dominated. I loved the master-disciple relationship and aspired to become a master myself. I liked the entire set of medieval preindustrial values of university life and viewed them as ideals for preserving human curiosity and creativity and as a protection against the inexorable mechanization of human life. And I hoped that — even if the universities could not help to mould a more humane existence — I would at least be free to follow my own values and promote them among my students.

If you have been following what has been happening to the universities and colleges over the last decade, you may recognize that institutions of higher learning have been going through some very difficult times. They can no longer easily set themselves apart as ‘ivory towers’. They are beginning to be run much more like corporations and their administration keeps growing while the percentage of teachers is in steady decline. They are being forced by governments and by the electorate to be much more cost effective and accountable in what they do. And, typically, accountability is being measured in terms of creating individuals who fit into the requirements of the job market. This pattern is reflected in the attitudes and choices which are students make. More and more of our students are shunning personal development in favour of job certification.

Far from being a refuge and a corrective to alienating labour, the universities and colleges are becoming their handmaidens. In this environment, even those who love to teach and encourage students to explore their potential are becoming increasingly dispirited and, in some cases, even bitter. And its my job to rejuvenate them, to make them think of teaching as fun again, and to help them understand their students.

Zen Buddhism is helping me here — to do this job properly and to maintain my ethical underpinnings. I would not have been attracted to traditional Buddhism because it appeared to me to be too medieval in its emphasis on those who pursued the spiritual path. I would have found its definition of ‘right livelihood’ too limiting since I never had any intention of entering a harmful occupation and since I had a cultural historian’s understanding of the ’spiritual value’ of work in everyday life.

My personal definition of ‘right livelihood’ in my admittedly neophyte Zen Buddhist terms might be as follows:

• everyone needs to work, it is a fundamental component of human life
• meditation is a critical life affirming activity — it is not something which is confined to the mat, it is an integral part of practising one’s livelihood
• practising mindfulness in one’s work is personally rewarding and exhilarating
• practising mindfulness towards others helps create non-alienating workplaces and, ultimately, a harmonious social universe

The other speakers have told you something about the way that Buddhism helps them. I hope you will bear with me while I give you one simple example of the way in which Zen effects what I do. Sunim and Samso may not suspect this, but they have taught me to be much more disciplined and attentive to my environment than I was formerly and to begin to understand what it means to change behaviour that is not effective. A big part of my job is making people more comfortable and accepting of change. Now when individuals come to me for advice — who are frustrated about the increasing size of their university classrooms, and the lack of appreciation for what they do on the part of both students and the general public — I try to give back some of what I have learned. I ask my colleagues to put aside their fear of the changes that are taking place around them and to take charge of those things that they can control. Then I give them some very easy exercises for getting in touch with their students, understanding where their are coming from and what their needs and expectations might be.

I’m always surprised by the power of mindfulness and honest communication. It can be a powerful weapon for good teaching. When I talk to my colleagues later, they invariably have a much stronger connection with their students. That’s when they can begin to excite their curiosity and advance their learning in a relationship based on trust.

By accepting the inevitability of change, teachers can promote values which seem to me to be timeless. And they can discover ways to restore the entire personality of the teacher and the student to learning process.

Then all the arts of teaching can come into play, arts which the great Zen masters seem to have understood in very profound ways. We can try to relate to those beginning their intellectual journey by grounding our examples in concrete ‘real life’ experiences. We can encourage more sophisticated students to explore the different realms of meaning that allow them to free themselves of customary patterns and to begin to make intellectual choices. Finally, we can put them on the path to developing — for themselves and in their own way — higher order values. We may encourage, cajole and even trick them into taking any steps that they might be reluctant to take. And we will know that we are successful when they become autonomous agents and no longer require our help.

These lectures are based on Stephen Batchelor’s book ‘The Awakening of the West: The Encounter of Buddhism and Western Culture’.