The Body as a House

Lately I keep coming back to the thought of the body as a house I've been given for a while.

A house can be let go. You can go years without cleaning it, piling junk into the corners, fixing nothing, and slowly get used to living in the mess. You can even start drinking every evening just so the mess bothers you less.

You can treat your own body in much the same way.

Overeat, drink, smoke, move too little, constantly indulge and relax yourself. At some point you grow so used to this state that you stop noticing how uncomfortable your own house has become.

But it turns out you can start tidying it up.

There's no need for some great spiritual feat. Eat less. Don't stuff yourself just because there's still food on the plate. Don't drink. Keep an eye on your physical shape. Dress properly. Take care of yourself. Watch what you say and how you say it. Read, learn to put your thoughts into words clearly.

And little by little, living in this house becomes more pleasant.

I like that Indian philosophy has a close concept for this — tapas. It's often translated as asceticism, though I find it closer to voluntary discipline. It isn't a war against your own body, and it isn't giving up pleasure for the sake of giving it up.

It's more the ability not to act on every desire automatically.

Wanting a drink doesn't mean you have to drink. Wanting to eat more doesn't mean you have to eat. Not feeling like exercising doesn't mean you shouldn't.

A space opens up between desire and action, and in that space, the decision is yours again.

I think an important line runs here — between control and stewardship. I can't control my own life. I can't forbid my body to age, guarantee myself health, or determine everything that will happen tomorrow.

But I can steward my life.

The way the owner of a house can't stop the rain, the winter, or the passage of time, but can fix the roof, clean the rooms, and keep the house warm.

At the same time, asceticism easily turns into another addiction of its own. You can be a slave to pleasure and then become a slave to discipline. You can hate yourself for an extra kilogram, forbid yourself anything enjoyable, and turn caring for your body into punishment.

I find the idea of upkeep much closer to the mark.

A good owner doesn't worship their house, and doesn't wage war on it either. They simply keep it in order.

And then good physical shape, being well-kept, a clear head, decent clothes, eloquence, education, and freedom from addictions stop being purely matters of vanity. They become a form of respect for the place you happen to be living this life in.

And then a question comes up that I don't yet have an answer to.

If the body is my house, then who is its owner?

We know that one day this house will have to be left behind. But we have no idea whether there's someone capable of existing without it.

Vedanta says there is. Buddhism goes further and questions whether a separate, permanent owner exists at all. Materialism would say the owner arises out of the house itself and disappears along with it.

I don't yet know which of these answers is right.

But I don't need to know that in order to keep my house in order.

A simpler thought is enough for me:

I don't know who I am beyond this house. But for as long as I've been given this dwelling, I want to keep it with dignity.