Morrie borrowed freely from all religions. He was born Jewish, but became an agnostic when he was a teenager,
partly because of all that had happened to him as a child.
He enjoyed some of the philosophies of Buddhism and Christianity, and he still felt at home, culturally, in Judaism.
He was a religious mutt, which made him even more open to the students he taught over the years.
And the things he was saying in his final months on earth seemed to transcend all religious differences.
Death has a way of doing that.The truth is, Mitch,” he said, “once you learn how to die, you learn how to live.
I nodded.I’m going to say it again,” he said. “Once you learn how to die, you learn how to live.
He smiled, and I realized what he was doing. He was making sure I absorbed this point, without embarrassing me by asking.
It was part of what made him a good teacher. “Did you think much about death before you got sick?” I asked. “No.”
Morrie smiled. “I was like everyone else. I once told a friend of mine, in a moment of exuberance, ‘I’m gonna be the healthiest old man you ever met!’”
“How old were you?” “In my sixties.” “So you were optimistic.” “Why not? Like I said, no one really believes they’re going to die.”
“But everyone knows someone who has died,” I said. “Why is it so hard to think about dying?”
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색