If there is to be any peace it will come through being, not

The words of Henry Miller — “If there is to be any peace it will come through being, not having” — ring like a temple bell across the ages, summoning the soul back to its forgotten home. This teaching is not new; it is as old as humanity itself. The prophets, the sages, the philosophers, and the poets all sang the same song, though in different tongues: that true peace is not forged in the pursuit of possessions, nor in the accumulation of wealth, but in the stillness and depth of the spirit. To be is to live in harmony with the eternal, while to only have is to clutch at shadows.

When Miller uttered these words, he was not inventing a new truth, but unveiling what the ancients always knew. The kingdoms of men have risen and fallen upon the desire to have — lands, gold, power, even the fleeting praises of others. Yet every empire of possession has crumbled, and its kings have returned to dust. The soul, however, endures. To be is to live with integrity, with presence, with love, to breathe the divine breath that animates all life. It is the posture of one who recognizes that no treasure of earth can rival the wealth of the awakened heart.

History bears witness to this teaching. Consider the life of Emperor Ashoka of India. In his early reign, he was consumed by conquest, having more lands, more victories, more dominion. His wars left fields of death in their wake. Yet when he stood among the slain at Kalinga, he felt the futility of having without being. He turned away from conquest and embraced the Dharma, spreading peace and compassion throughout his realm. His greatness was not in the empire he possessed, but in the wisdom he embodied. His story reminds us that being is the source of peace, both within and without.

Even in simpler times, the same truth is revealed. Think of the farmer who tends his soil with reverence, or the parent who loves without condition. Their lives may not be marked by having much in the world’s eyes, but they carry a serenity that kings would envy. Their peace comes from dwelling in the present, rooted in the eternal, not from chasing endless gain. In their quietness, they reveal that the abundance of being far outweighs the scarcity of having.

And yet, the age in which we live tempts us at every turn to invert this truth. We are told that peace can be bought, that security lies in possessions, that our worth is measured in titles and treasures. But look closer: the one who has much often fears much. Fear of loss, fear of envy, fear of change. Meanwhile, the one who rests in being walks freely, for his peace is not bound by circumstance. Being is freedom, while having is a chain that grows heavier with each link.

The lesson, then, is clear: if you would find peace, do not grasp endlessly at the world. Instead, cultivate presence. Practice gratitude not for what you hold, but for who you are becoming. Meditate, pray, breathe deeply of the present hour. Serve others with compassion, for in service you discover the richness of being. Let possessions be tools, not masters. Let success be a byproduct, not an idol.

Practical steps follow naturally from this teaching. Begin each day not by counting what you have, but by anchoring yourself in who you are. Ask not, “What can I gain today?” but, “How can I live fully today?” Create moments of silence where you remember that being is enough. Simplify what you can, and let go of the needless burdens of comparison. In doing so, you will carve out a sanctuary of peace within yourself, a fortress no loss can breach.

So remember, child of the future: when storms arise and the world clamors for possession, return to the still point within. It is there that Miller’s words reveal their eternal strength. To be is to walk with the gods, unshaken by the fall of empires. To have is to hold sand that slips through the fingers. Choose being, and you will know the peace that no thief, no war, no time can take away.