Showing posts with label Interfaith Blog Event. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Interfaith Blog Event. Show all posts

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Interfaith Blog Event #8: Pantheism (Part 3: Comparison to Buddhism)

Welcome to the 8th Interfaith Blog Event! In this event, we'll be discussing Pantheistic religions. Jon, from Jesusfollowers Journal, will be joining me in this event. He will be writing from a Protestant Christian perspective.

My essay will be posted in 3 parts, as I have to develop a lot of background information before I can begin discussing Hinduism. This post is Part 3. The other posts are linked below:




(Links will be provided as they become available)
[Jon's Essay]


(Part 3)

Comparison to Buddhism

How does this ancient wisdom compare to the teachings of the Buddha? One way to answer this question is to trace, very briefly, Siddhartha Gautama’s early life through his enlightenment.

Siddhartha was born to King Suddhodana and Queen Maha Maya and, hence, raised as a Prince of his kingdom. However, at the time of his birth, a great seer predicted that Siddhartha would become either a great political leader or a great spiritual teacher. Siddhartha’s father wanted him to become the next great leader of his kingdom, so throughout Siddhartha’s life, the King ensured that his son was constantly surrounded by glamor and material wealth, hoping that he would never feel the pull of the spiritual life. However, around the age of 29, Siddhartha left the palace and, despite his father’s attempts to keep all sick, aged, and suffering people hidden, Siddhartha encountered the suffering that people experienced, things that had been hidden from him as a Prince in the palace. Seeing this suffering, his heart broke in compassion for these people. He also met an ascetic, and afterwards left the palace to find the solution to the suffering of the world.

Siddhartha devoted himself to his training under several great spiritual teachers of the time, all of whom practiced expressions of Indian Spirituality, as I previously discussed. Through his training, he mastered the skill of concentration (as I discussed previously) and achieved the deepest meditative states attainable (which Buddhism terms jhanas), bypassing several of his teachers. These were the states that Indian Spirituality said brought the awareness that the Atman is simply a reflection of Brahman and, hence, the attainment of Moksha and the ending of the cycle of rebirth.

However, Siddhartha was not satisfied for several reasons: (1) These miraculous states were temporary--they could not be maintained indefinitely in life (“But such pleasant feeling that arose in me did not invade my mind and remain” [Majjhima Nikaya 36; (MN 36)]); (2) Suffering was not ended by attainment of these jhanas; and (3) These concentrative attainments did not lead to the end of the cycle of rebirth (#3 is basically a subset of #2).

Therefore, Siddhartha left his final teacher and resolved with all his being to sit in meditation until he discovered the Truth. Finally, in a marathon overnight meditation session, Siddhartha attained enlightenment just before dawn, becoming the Buddha, the Awakened One, at the age of 35.

The obvious question is, “What prevented Siddhartha from attaining true enlightenment in his earlier practices?” Or, in other words, “How does Buddhism differ from Hinduism?” The primary factor that led to his enlightenment that was missing from his earlier practices was Wisdom. Buddhism acknowledges the vital importance of concentration: Right Concentration is one step on the Eightfold Path, the path toward ending suffering. However, it, alone, is insufficient; it must be tempered with Wisdom, which has several components that are encompassed on the Eightfold Path in the factors of Right View, Right Intention, and Right Mindfulness.

Wisdom is a very important aspect of the Buddhist path and, hence, is a very deep subject with many facets. For the purposes of this essay, a detailed exposition of these facets must be omitted (many of them are discussed in greater detail in other posts on my blog). In short, while the Buddha agreed with Hindu teachings on the importance of concentration, the practice of ethics, and some aspects of karma, he directly observed that such were insufficient to attain freedom from rebirth and, hence, the complete ending of dukkha (I use the Pali word dukkha here instead of the traditional English translation of “suffering” because the English word suffering is woefully inadequate and inaccurate in understanding the original idea of dukkha. [see Footnote 2 for a more thorough explanation of dukkha]).

Cosmologically, Buddhism retains a similar understanding of other realms of being (including heavenly realms) as Hinduism. However, whereas Hinduism views the realization of the oneness of the Atman with Brahman as moksha, Buddhism observes that moksha is only temporary; what Hindus interpret as the merging of Atman with Brahman after the body’s final death after attaining moksha, Buddhism states is really a rebirth into a heavenly realm. And while this is a rebirth filled with happiness that lasts 60,000 aeons [3], it is still temporary, and after the causes that have generated this rebirth have all been used up, another rebirth will occur.

Part of the discrepancy occurs due to each religion’s understanding of karma and rebirth. Hinduism posits that the Atman of a person, when it first separates from Brahman, will incarnate into a very simple form. As the Atman acquires knowledge and skills via different rebirths, it will incarnate into higher and higher forms (for example, from vegetable into animal into human), and once an Atman has achieved a certain level, it cannot revert to a lower level. Hinduism views the human level as the highest level of rebirth, and hence, the realization that the Atman is just a reflection of Brahman allows the Atman to rejoin Brahman after death, thus transcending the need for rebirth and coming full circle to one’s source. (Incidentally, this upward-spiraling path of the Atman is also one of the causes of the caste system in early Hinduism; lower castes are seen as “newer” humans whose Atman haven’t developed as far as those of the higher castes).

The Buddha, however, observed a very different system of karma operating in the universe. While Hindus acknowledge the cause-effect nature of karma, it appears that the Atman-Brahman link lies outside that system, since once an Atman has achieved a certain level, it cannot revert regardless of its thoughts and actions. Buddhism, however, sees Cause-Effect as operative in all things. In other words, everything that happens is a function of a complex of causes, and this includes rebirth. Hence, one’s rebirth is an effect of prior causes, so therefore, there cannot be a restraint on the form taken in rebirth. This immediately conflicts with the Hindu upward-spiraling Atman. To give an analogy, if I act very compassionate and loving to my wife one day, but then the next yell and scream at her in anger, that outburst will still have major consequences and effects that are not completely negated by the compassion and love I showed the prior day.

In his development of Wisdom, in addition to concentration, the Buddha directly observed that the Self, the Atman, is also a falsehood--in other words, one interprets the Atman’s existence due to one’s misleading belief that there is something within one that is permanent, everlasting, eternal, and not subject to change. One “regards material form thus: ‘This is mine, this I am, this is my self.’ He regards feeling thus: ‘This is mine, this I am, this is my self.’ He regards perception … mental formations … what is seen, heard, cognized, encountered, sought, mentally pondered … thus: ‘This is mine, this I am, this is my self.’ And this standpoint for views, namely, ‘That which is the self is the world; after death I shall be permanent, everlasting, eternal, not subject to change; I shall endure as long as eternity’--this too he regards thus: ‘This is mine, this I am, this is my self.’” (MN 22:15). The Buddha attributed these views to the untaught ordinary person, who is unskilled and undisciplined in their Dhamma. The final part--that which is the self is the world--comments directly upon the Hindu belief of the merging of the Atman with Brahman in moksha.

In contrast, the Buddha directly observed that the well-taught disciple, skilled and disciplined in their Dhamma, “regards material form ... feeling ... perception … mental formations … what is seen, heard, cognized, encountered, sought, mentally pondered … thus: ‘This is not mine, this I am not, this is not my self.’ And this standpoint for views, namely, ‘That which is the self is the world; after death I shall be permanent, everlasting, eternal, not subject to change; I shall endure as long as eternity’--this too he regards thus: ‘This is not mine, this I am not, this is not my self.’” (MN 22:16)

At this point, it is very important to note that the Buddha devoted few words to philosophical matters. As stated by Bhikkhu Bodhi in his translation of the The Middle Length Discourses of the Buddha (Majjhima Nikaya), “[T]he Buddha’s objective is the practical one of leading beings to release from suffering.” (pg. 32) Philosophy not only has no role in this process, but is also detrimental because it diverts one’s attention from the important matter of practice. Accordingly, the Buddha gave the Simile of the Raft, which I’ll summarize below.

“Suppose a man, in the course of a journey, saw a great expanse of water, whose near shore was dangerous and fearful and whose further shore was safe and free from fear, but there was no ferryboat or bridge for going to the far shore.” (MN 22:13) The man then collects grasses, twigs, branches, and leaves and builds himself a raft with his own hands. He then paddles across the water, safely reaching the far shore. The man might then think thus, “‘This raft has been very helpful to me, since supported by it and making an effort with my hands and feet, I got safely across to the far shore. Suppose I were to hoist it on my head or load it on my shoulder, and then go wherever I want.‘ By doing so, would that man be doing what should be done with that raft?” (MN 22:13)

No! “Suppose [the man] were to haul the raft onto the dry land or set it adrift in the water, then go wherever [he] wants. It is by so doing that the man would be doing what should be done with that raft. So I have shown you how the Dhamma is similar to a raft, being for the purpose of crossing over, not for the purpose of grasping.”(MN 22:13). The Buddha continued, “[W]hen you know the Dhamma to be similar to a raft, you should abandon even the teachings, how much more so things contrary to the teachings.”(MN 22:14).

What do we learn from this teaching? That the Dhamma itself is never to be taken as philosophical truth, but as skillful means to lead one to freedom, to wisdom, to enlightenment. The Buddha is most often heard teaching non-self, that there is no permanent, everlasting, eternal Self, not subject to change. However, note that the prevailing viewpoint of his day was that of traditional Indian Spirituality which embraced the idea of the Atman. Therefore, the Buddha’s teachings were meant to free the people from this delusion. In no way whatsoever was the Buddha preaching philosophical truth. He was using skillful means to bring his followers to enlightenment.

In MN 148, The Six Sets of Six sutra, the Buddha even demonstrated “by a reductio ad absurdum argument that impermanence implies non-self: when all the factors of being are clearly subject to rise and fall, to identify anything among them with self is to be left with the untenable thesis that self is subject to rise and fall.” (Bhikkhu Bodhi, pg. 29) However, the Buddha also gave the following teaching in MN 2:6-7: “What are the things unfit for attention that he attends to? … This is how he attends unwisely: ‘Was I in the past? Was I not in the past? What was I in the past? How was I in the past? … Shall I be in the future? Shall I not be in the future? What shall I be in the future? … Am I? Am I not? What am I? How am I? Where has this being come from? Where will it go?”

The Buddha continues, ”When he attends unwisely in this way … the view ‘self exists for me’ arises in him as true and established; or the view ‘no self exists for me’ arises in him as true and established; or the view ‘I perceive self with self’ … or ‘I perceive not-self with self’ … or ‘It is this self of mine that speaks and feels and experiences here and there the result of good and bad actions; but this self of mine is permanent, everlasting, eternal, not subject to change, and it will endure as long as eternity.’ This speculative view is called the thicket of views … the fetter of views.” (MN 2:8) In other words, this entire thicket of views of self versus non-self is ultimately to be abandoned. While realizing the truth of non-self acts as a raft to allow us to reach the other shore of enlightenment, once there, we must abandon even that view as a fetter!

Once you can understand the following statement, you understand the Buddha’s teaching:

“If someone should claim that the [Buddha] speaks of a view of a being, a view of a life, or a view of a soul, would such a claim be true? No, such a claim would not be true. When the [Buddha] speaks of a view of a self, the [Buddha] speaks of it as no view. Thus is it called ‘a view of a self.’ … those who set forth on the bodhisattva path know, see, and believe all dharmas but know, see, and believe them without being attached to the perception of a dharma. And why not? The perception of a dharma is said by the [Buddha] to be no perception. Thus is it called the ‘perception of a dharma.’” (Diamond Sutra. Red Pine. Pg 26-27)

You cannot understand this paragraph by mere logic. Logic brings knowledge; similarly, philosophy, which is the application of logical discourse to a topic, brings knowledge. Neither is capable of bringing wisdom. In many ways, philosophy is the absence of wisdom because time wasted on philosophizing is time that could have been spent on the development of wisdom, the practical application of skillful means to bring one closer to freedom.

I’d like to end this essay with a discussion of Nirvana, and how it compares to Hinduism’s Moksha. Both Hinduism and Buddhism designate Moksha and Nirvana, respectively, as the liberation from samsara (the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth) and, hence, the suffering involved in being subject to this cycle. Hinduism states that for such liberation to occur, the individual Self or Atman must be realized as one with the divine ground of all being, Brahman. As I stated above, in this training after leaving the palace, Siddhartha Gautama attained the states Hindus identify as the merging of Atman with Brahman, but Siddhartha directly observed that while these states were blissful and wondrous, they did not lead to the end of suffering, nor to liberation from samsara.

As I explained above, Buddhism denounces philosophy as a harmful distraction, and the Buddha’s teachings on Nirvana are no exception. In MN 26, The Noble Search sutra, he described Nirvana in verse 18 as the, “Unborn, … unageing, … unailing, … deathless, … sorrowless, … undefiled supreme security from bondage.” In verse 19, the Buddha indicated that attaining Nirvana implies a definite task, describing it as, “seeing this truth [of] dependent origination; stilling of all formations; relinquishing of all acquisitions; destruction of craving.”

However, it is important to note that Nirvana really cannot be “reached” or “entered.” Nirvana is not a place; as stated by Thanissaro Bhikkhu in A Verb for Nirvana [4], “[Nirvana] is realized only when the mind stops defining itself in terms of place: of here, or there, or between the two.” He explained that, “Samsara is a process of creating places, even whole worlds, (this is called becoming) and then wandering through them (this is called birth). Nirvana is the end of this process.” Thanissaro Bhikkhu very nicely describes the limitations of Samsara: ”Wherever there's attachment, that's where you get defined as a being. You create an identity there, and in so doing you're limited there. Even if the ‘there’ is an infinite sense of awareness grounding, surrounding, or permeating everything else, it's still limited, for ‘grounding’ and so forth are aspects of place. Wherever there's place, no matter how subtle, passion lies latent, looking for more food to feed on.” Notice that in addition to describing Samsara, he also describes the Hindu notion of Moksha and its inherent limitations.

I simply cannot explain how Nirvana can emerge from this situation better than Thanissaro Bhikkhu, from whom I will quote liberally as follows:

"If, however, the passion can be removed, there's no more "there" there. One sutta illustrates this with a simile: the sun shining through the eastern wall of a house and landing on the western wall. If the western wall, the ground beneath it, and the waters beneath the ground were all removed, the sunlight wouldn't land. In the same way, if passion for form, etc., could be removed, consciousness would have no "where" to land, and so would become unestablished. This doesn't mean that consciousness would be annihilated, simply that — like the sunlight — it would now have no locality. With no locality, it would no longer be defined."

"This is why the consciousness of nirvana is said to be "without surface" (anidassanam), for it doesn't land. Because the consciousness-aggregate covers only consciousness that is near or far, past, present, or future — i.e., in connection with space and time — consciousness without surface is not included in the aggregates. It's not eternal because eternity is a function of time. And because non-local also means undefined, the Buddha insisted that an awakened person — unlike ordinary people — can't be located or defined in any relation to the aggregates in this life; after death, he/she can't be described as existing, not existing, neither, or both, because descriptions can apply only to definable things."
[4]

In MN 26:19, the Buddha described Nirvana as, “profound, hard to see and understand, peaceful and sublime, unattainable by mere reasoning, subtle, to be experienced by the wise.” In the same way that Nirvana cannot be philosophized, non-self cannot be philosophized, nor can impermanence be philosophized. They must be experienced directly, and once they are, it is as the Buddha described, “My deliverance is unshakeable.” (MN 26:19)


[2] Old age, sickness, death, and physical pain are not dukkha or suffering. Dukkha, or suffering, is our mental response to such experiences. We cause ourselves to suffer because of our response to our life experiences. For example, if we stub our toe, it is not the physical pain that Buddhism calls suffering or dukkha, it is our mental response that may be called suffering. Do we dwell on the pain, curse ourselves, or curse the object on which we stubbed our toe (suffering)? Or do we acknowledge the injury and immediately work to reduce the pain without anger or other emotional response? (not-suffering). Buddhism teaches that pain, old age, sickness, and death are unavoidable. But suffering can be completely ended.

[3] Just like the Bible, Buddhist scriptures utilize large numbers to signify “a great deal of time,” not numerically accurate renderings of exact time periods.

[4] http://www.accesstoinsight.org/lib/authors/thanissaro/nirvanaverb.html

Monday, March 15, 2010

Interfaith Blog Event #8: Pantheism (Part 2)

Welcome to the 8th Interfaith Blog Event! In this event, we'll be discussing Pantheistic religions. Jon, from Jesusfollowers Journal, will be joining me in this event. He will be writing from a Protestant Christian perspective.

My essay will be posted in 3 parts, as I have to develop a lot of background information before I can begin discussing Hinduism. This post is Part 2. The other posts are linked below:




(Links will be provided as they become available)
[Jon's Essay]


(Part 2)

Encountering the Self

We still haven’t discussed how control of the mind, senses, emotions, and desires leads toward discovery of the Self. We have shown the importance of this control, that without it our vehicles run rampant anywhere they want. We have shown that in each moment, we can choose to follow either of two paths: the senses or the Self. But how does this lead us to discover the Self? The answer lies in CHOICE. Easwaran stated, “When the senses are trained, you can go anywhere and never lose your capacity to choose.” In order to know our True Self, we have to be able to see it, feel it, hear it. At each moment, our Self tries to make its choice known to our discriminating intellect, but without this control, our discriminating intellect will not hear it and will follow the senses along the path of Preya. When we start to hear the Self, we can start choosing Shreya. The more we choose Shreya, the more we get to know the Self. It’s like getting to know a new friend: you have to listen to her, learn what she enjoys, wants, and what is best for her. If you ignore her, you won’t learn anything about her. If you always choose things that she dislikes, she’ll stop making her opinions known.

The next obvious question is: How can this control be accomplished? The answer is twofold: concentration and slowing down. Everyone has had the experience of knowing they “should” do something, but then they find it exceedingly hard to actually do it (such as going to the gym to exercise, or not grabbing a bag of chips to eat while watching TV knowing that you’re not really hungry). Stop reading for a moment and think of an example in your own life where you knew you should do something, but you encountered strong resistance to doing it. Your example behavior should have occurred at least twice; in one of the instances, you succeeded in overruling your senses and doing the “right thing,” in the other instance, your senses won the day. Ideally, the surrounding circumstances should be as similar as possible between the two instances.

If you carefully compare your two examples, you’ll notice that your greatest enemy in the failed instance was “quick thinking” or “fast thought.” When you’re thinking, analyzing, and acting quickly, you don’t have the time to delve down and truly examine the options and differentiate Preya from Shreya; at this pace of activity, you’re just reacting based on your past experiences (which, as we’ve already seen, are usually based on your senses running your life). Hence, in your failed instance, you did not consciously slow down and give your discriminating intellect a chance to examine the choices.

However, just slowing down is not enough. Maybe in your failed example, you did slow down and deeply examine the options, but you chose Preya anyway. The second necessary ingredient is concentration. Without concentration, you’re incapable of burning through the smokescreen presented by your desires, your emotions, and your senses. The amazing thing that people don’t realize is that the level of concentration we are capable of is nothing less than miraculous! To give you an experience of the level of concentration we can attain, imagine a time when you were under the spell of a very strong primary need (such as you were starving because you hadn’t eaten in 18 hours, or you were parched, or were so angry you were “seeing red”). Imagine yourself back in that situation and try to relive the experience. Remember how all-encompassing that need was? Remember how that desire completely monopolized your thoughts, and that the only thing you could focus on was the need? Well, imagine if, while engrossed in the maelstrom of that need, you could simply turn your mind to a game of tic-tac-toe, and the need was out of your mind as easily as you can clap your hands. This capability represents just the very beginning of developing strong concentration. If you are incapable of this type of mental control (99% of us are), then your concentration skills are lacking.

Combining the tools of slowing down and concentration, a person becomes capable of ascertaining and choosing Shreya at every opportunity. Said another way, if you are missing either of these tools, you either won’t give yourself the time and space to see that your senses are leading you down the path of Preya, or you won’t have the mental wherewithal to see through these lies. Two very important things to note: (1) Every single person on this planet is capable of developing this miraculous level of concentration, without exception; and (2) Without this miraculous level of concentration, any understanding you have of your true Self will be false in some way.

We’re finally at a place where we can discuss the ultimate reason why all of these steps are necessary on the path. It’s self-evident, with just a little observation of our own lives, that we have a choice in every single moment between Preya and Shreya. It’s also self-evident that choosing Shreya at every opportunity is beneficial, while choosing Preya is detrimental. But are there any other benefits to these practices? Hinduism answers an emphatic, “Yes!”

In Hinduism, we are seen as having two selves: (1) Ego, and (2) Atman, or our True Self. Returning to the chariot analogy, the passenger in the chariot that I referred to as our Self is our True Self, the Atman. The Ego is a product of the mind (hence it lives in the reins). We usually interpret our self to be the Ego, but in reality, the Ego is simply a tool of the True Self that the Discriminating Intellect needs to learn to use to make proper use of the senses. We can start to see our Atman trying to lead the way once we develop our concentration to these amazing levels, giving our discriminating intellect total control over the reins of our mind, emotions, and desires, and, hence, over the horses that are our senses.

There is, though, another benefit to these levels of concentration that we have developed. When we apply these miraculous levels of concentration toward looking directly at the True Self in meditation, we notice that the Self is but one reflection of Brahman, “The unchanging, infinite, immanent, and transcendent reality which is the Divine Ground of all matter, energy, time, space, being, and everything beyond in this Universe” [Wikipedia: Brahman]. Hence, through our concentration in meditation, we observe that the Self, Atman, is identical to Brahman. This realization is the essence of Awakening in Hinduism. [1]

Hindus call this Awakening moksha, the complete freedom from the conditioning of time, space, and circumstance. According to Easwaran, “Those rare few who discover the Self see the same Self in every other creature. In this sense, life is a kind of cosmic condominium with billions of apartments, each with a different name on the door yet each with the same occupant. This is not mere metaphor. If you knock on twelve doors in a real condominium, the people who greet you are not twelve separate people. They are all the same Self, casting twelve different [ego]-shadows. Only because of our physical orientation do we believe that because these shadows are separate, the inner person must be different too.” (pg. 183-4)


(Part 3 will be posted in the next few weeks)



[1] Interestingly, the nature of Brahman is described as transpersonal, personal, and impersonal by different philosophical schools; hence my statement at the very beginning of this essay that Hinduism is less a monolithic religion than a system of varied beliefs and practices based around similar world views and understandings of the universe.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Interfaith Blog Event #8: Pantheism

Welcome to the 8th Interfaith Blog Event! In this event, we'll be discussing Pantheistic religions. Jon, from Jesusfollowers Journal, will be joining me in this event. He will be writing from a Protestant Christian perspective.

My essay will be posted in 3 parts, as I have to develop a lot of background information before I can begin discussing Hinduism. This post is Part 1. The other posts are linked below:

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]



(Links will be provided as they become available)
[Jon's Essay]


Caveats
First, I would like to note that while I am very well versed in Buddhism, I am very newly introduced to Hindu spirituality. Therefore, for the purposes of this essay, I am relying on Essence of the Upanishads by Eknath Easwaran. Any mis-statements about Hinduism I make in this essay are solely my fault, and I welcome corrections from those with greater experience in the topic.

Second, in my research for this essay, I have learned that Hindu spirituality encompasses a vast array of different beliefs and practices (for example, while some Hindus are pantheistic in their understanding of the universe, others are monotheistic and still others are polytheistic). Therefore, my treatment in this essay may embrace slightly different viewpoints throughout, and is not meant to be a complete--or even adequate--treatment of the religious spectrum of Hinduism.

Introduction

Hindu spirituality is incredibly old and is less a monolithic religion than a system of varied beliefs and practices based around similar world views and understandings of the universe in which we live (something one could call “Indian Spirituality,” which is, incidentally, part of the subtitle of Easwaran’s work). This Indian Spirituality also forms the basis for Buddhism, a religion that both shares much with, and yet differs in very fundamental ways from, Hinduism. In this essay, I hope to present the reader with a comparison of the many similarities between these two great Indian religions, as well as clearly identify where they diverge.

The Chariot Analogy

In his work, Easwaran presents a beautiful and enlightening analogy that clearly describes the basis of Indian Spirituality. Traveling the roads of life are numerous horse-drawn chariots. Just like in a satellite view of a major metropolis like San Francisco, roads snake in all different directions, full of chariots. These chariots represent the vehicle we’re all given, the body, which helps transport us through life. Every chariot needs a driver, which represents the Discriminating Intellect or Judgment. The Discriminating Intellect holds the reins—the Mind, Emotions, and Desires—which are attached to the horses: the Five Senses. Our chariot is transporting a very specific passenger along these roads of life: the Self, the very nature of each of us.

Let’s dissect this analogy to gain a better understanding of the Hindu view of our purpose in life. The first observation to glean from this analogy, as well as probably the most important, is that we are not our bodies, we are not our minds, we are not our discriminating intellects, nor are we our five senses. All of these things are just the means by which Self moves through life. That being said, let’s describe how the vehicle functions for 98% of us.

It’s a little past noon, and you haven’t eaten since 7:30 this morning. Your Self indicates, “I’m hungry.” Immediately your horses (senses) start rearing, itching to pull you to the nearest diner where you can get bacon, eggs, and buttered toast. Your driver (discriminating intellect), through years of disuse, doesn’t even examine the health implications of the meal the senses want. The horses bolt, carrying the vehicle toward the diner for the breakfast that will satisfy them. For some of us, the discriminating intellect may kick in briefly, noting the health implications of the meal the senses suggested, and may even decide that that’s not a good option. But again through years of disuse, the discriminating intellect has no control over the reins (mind, emotions, desires), and so is unable to override the sense’s decision, and you end up eating the unhealthy meal anyway.

Try applying this same analytical tool to your own life and your own particular circumstances. Maybe you know that you should exercise more, that you’d feel better and be more effective at everything you do. But exercise is unpleasant in the short-term, and your senses don’t like unpleasant things—this is their nature. The problem here is that while your discriminating intellect may understand all the long-term benefits of exercise, if it doesn’t have control of the reins (mind, emotions, desires), you won’t be able to control where your horses take you, and that place will not be the gym. Maybe you really want to go to the gym, but your mind keeps coming up with excuses, other things you “just have to do.” Maybe your mind unconsciously sabotages your plan of going to the gym by causing “accidents” such as spilling something on your shirt (hence you just have to wash this now before it stains). Maybe you can logically bring yourself to the decision to go work out, but you just can’t muster the energy to get yourself off the couch; the inertia is just too great.

Here’s one more example, just to show how this lack of control penetrates everything we do. You’re cleaning your house, vacuuming and dusting. You don’t enjoy cleaning, but you’ve put it off long enough and so you know you have to do it, despite its unpleasantness. But while you’re working, your mind is off thinking of the next things you’re going to do, daydreaming of the things you could be doing. Because you’re not paying close attention to your current task, you accidentally knock a collectible you own to the ground, breaking it. In this example, your senses are going to try to do what is in their nature, chase after pleasurable experiences and avoid unpleasant experiences. If you haven’t trained them to obey the discriminating intellect, then you won’t have the ability to stop them when they start to follow their nature. The same goes for your emotions and desires. Because of this lack of training, you can’t hold your attention on your current task and you break the object.

Even while reading this essay, your mind has probably wandered to something else; or maybe you shifted in your chair. Think about it: what is a shifting of your position? It’s your body’s response to an unpleasant sensation; you are getting uncomfortable and your body shifts. This process happens so frequently that while you may remember shifting position now, you probably did it unconsciously at the time. And you’ll do so again before the end of this essay.

The next obvious question becomes: So what? The answer is that without training your discriminating intellect to use the tools of the mind, emotions, and desires to control the senses, you’re basically living a lie. Everything you think, everything you do, everything you believe, will be based on chasing immediate pleasantness and avoiding short-term unpleasantness. The problem is that your Self is a very quiet individual. He or she is completely drowned out by the overpowering nature of the senses. So if you lack control over the senses and your mind and emotions, then you are completely unable to hear your Self with any regularity. The only way to discover your True Self is to gain that perfect control over your mind, emotions, desires, and senses, using your discriminating intellect. Please note the converse implications of this: as long as you lack this control, any understanding you have of your True Self is false in some way.

How does this control allow you to recognize your true Self? At every single moment in life, we have a choice of actions, thoughts, emotions, and desires. All of these choices will follow one of two paths, called Preya and Shreya. Preya describes a choice that pleases our senses; it is pleasant immediately and usually tickles the ego. The problem is that it is often not beneficial in the long term. Shreya has no reference to pleasing/displeasing. It is simply what benefits us in the long term. Sometimes Shreya choices are very pleasing right away, but most of the time Shreya choices cannot compete in the short term with Preya choices. But beyond the immediate present, the benefit and pleasantness of Shreya will catapult it past Preya every time.

I hope the connection of these two paths to the chariot analogy is clear. For people who have no control over their senses, their vehicle will choose Preya every time, even though their Self will want them to choose Shreya every time. These paths don’t exist only in monumental moments, they occur during every individual millisecond of your life. You go to the movies and you want popcorn, but you’re not actually hungry. What do you choose, Preya or Shreya? Let’s say you choose to order the popcorn. Do you drench it in butter and salt (Preya), or do you forego both (Shreya)? Maybe you opt to use just a little butter and salt. Do you eat the entire bag, or do you stop when you start to feel full? Try applying Preya/Shreya to you own life; you’ll see their truth is self-evident.


Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Interfaith Blog Event #7: Gender in Divinity


Welcome to the seventh Interfaith Blog Event! In each installment of this series, which we're hoping to do on a regular basis, we'll explore a single topic across five different religious traditions. I am writing from the Mahayana Buddhist tradition. Jon, from Jesusfollowers Journal, will be writing from a Protestant Christian perspective, and Sojourner from A Pagan Sojourn, will be writing from a Pagan/UU perspective. Jeff joins us from Druid Journal, and Matt joins us from Journeys In Between as an Evangelical Christian who borrows from esoteric movements like Wicca, Neo-Gnosticism, Yoga and Zen.

The topic we'll be discussing today is the following:
What does gender have to do with divinity?
(Links will be provided as they become available)
[Jon's Essay] [Sojourner's Essay] [Jeff's Essay] [Matt's Essay]



Before we dive into the role of gender in divinity, we need to understand divinity itself in Buddhism -- a religion without a creator god. When this life ends, our Karma conditions our next rebirth in one of six realms. The middle realm is the human realm, considered to be the most fortunate rebirth because it is especially suited for spiritual practice due to (1) human life is wonderful and happy, (2) we have the awareness and capacity to practice, and (3) we suffer, which motivates us to practice, giving us an experiential reason to practice.

The three lower levels (realms of animals, hungry ghosts, and hell beings) are less conducive to spiritual practice due to reduced mental capacity to practice and the constant bombardment of suffering. The two fortunate levels above the human realm, while realms of beauty, bliss, happiness, and long life, are also less conducive to practice because there is little motivation without suffering. These two realms are called the realm of the gods and the realm of the demigods (or devas).

These gods, goddesses, and devas -- what one might consider divinity -- deserve respect and love, just as do all other beings in all the realms of existence. In this context, gender is meaningless. Men and women can both achieve rebirth in a heavenly realm, and such rebirth can result in male or female manifestation. Gender does not convey any greater or lesser importance in the heavenly realms, just as it does not convey any greater or lesser importance here on earth, where we're all equal.

Closer to the Western mind's understanding of divinity are the numerous buddhas and bodhisattvas. Buddhas are people -- just like the historical Shakyamuni Buddha -- who attained enlightenment. There are countless such buddhas and bodhisattvas who continue to take rebirth to fulfill their vow to liberate all beings. Just like the innumerable gods and devas who, despite their fortunate lives, are still subject to the wheel of rebirth, the countless buddhas and bodhisattvas deserve our respect, compassion, and honor too. However, these buddhas, having attained the ineffable ultimate, also act as models for us to follow on our spiritual path, and we offer to them our humble thankfulness for their generosity, compassion, and wisdom.

While all buddhas have attained complete enlightenment in that they have perfected the wondrous qualities of generosity, compassion, wisdom, and love, there are several buddhas to whom we give special significance as manifestations of particular qualities of buddhahood. Of these manifestations, some are male, some are female. In that sense, gender is again meaningless in divinity in Buddhism.

In Buddhism, gender is simply a result of Karmic propensity toward a rebirth subject to the differences in gender that have evolved over the billions of years this universe has been in existence. There is no spiritual difference between man and woman. Both have, in their heart, perfect Buddha-nature, and both sexes can attain enlightenment using the gifts inherent in the evolved male and female gender dispositions.

I'd like to end this essay with a story. In an earlier universe, many billions of years ago, there lived a princess named Yeshe Dawa. Through her own personal experience, she became a devoted practitioner who took complete refuge in the Three Jewels: the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha. Through her practice, Yeshe Dawa developed perfect love and compassion for every single being in existence, without bias. Rather than being consumed by the luxuries of her royal family, she vowed to devote every single minute of her current and future lives toward a single goal -- the liberation of all beings. It is said that she vowed to liberate millions of beings each day before breakfast, millions more before lunch, and an additional million before going to sleep at night. Because of this life mission and the devotion with which she pursued her mission, she was called Arya Tara, which means “noble liberator.” When several religious authorities suggested to Yeshe Dawa that she work toward a male rebirth in the future, she refused. She noted that many Buddhas had already manifested as males, so she vowed to attain Buddhahood in a woman's body, and then to continuously return as a female in her quest to liberate all beings.

Through her exalted practice, Princess Yeshe Dawa became Tara, the Buddha who symbolizes enlightened activity. May we all follow in Tara's footsteps and vow to help everyone see the untainted, unsullied perfection that lies at the heart of their very being.



References
Thubten Chodron. How to Free Your Mind: Tara the Liberator. Snow Lion Publications. Ithaca, New York. 2005.

Monday, May 14, 2007

Interfaith Blog Event #6: Role of Faith



Welcome to the sixth Interfaith Blog Event! In each installment of this series, which we're hoping to do on a monthly basis, we'll explore a single topic across three different religious traditions. I am writing from the Mahayana Buddhist tradition. Jon, from Jesusfollowers Journal, will be writing from a Protestant Christian perspective, and Sojourner from A Pagan Sojourn, will be writing from a Pagan/UU perspective. And as a special treat, we've added two new bloggers to our event! Jeff joins us from Druid Journal, and Matt joins us from Journeys In Between. Jeff, as I'm sure you can tell from the title of his blog, writes from a Druidic perspective, while Matt has the following to say about his perspective (copied from his blog): "[I am an] Evangelical Christian asking what I can learn from esoteric movements like Wicca, NeoGnosticism, Yoga and Zen - and what spirited wisdom Jesus may have to offer in response."

The topic we'll be discussing today is the following:
What is your view regarding the meaning and the role of faith? What importance does it play in your community and in your daily life?
(Links will be provided as they become available)
[Jon's Essay] [Sojourner's Essay] [Jeff's Essay] [Matt's Essay]



The English language is a curious thing. In this question, what do we mean by “faith?” We can speak of faith as a noun, as a synonym for religion itself. We can also consider this question in terms of the verb faith, as in “to have faith” in something. I am going to focus on the verb interpretation, and will touch on aspects of the noun interpretation.

Faith has a mixed reputation in Buddhism. It is common for Western Buddhists to eschew faith, to say that Buddhism transcends faith through critical analysis, direct observation, and testing. In the East, however, many Buddhists are falling into the same trap as many Western Christians, that of relying 100% on faith for their beliefs. Stated another way, many Eastern Buddhists (and Western Christians) are raised by their parents in a certain religion, and they are remaining in that religion throughout their lives without ever actually critically examining the beliefs that they have been effectively brainwashed with in their youth.

I argue, however, that these Eastern Buddhists have fallen away from the Buddha's true message, and that these Western Buddhists are trying to separate themselves so completely from their predominantly Christian roots that they have overshot the Buddha's true teaching and landed at the extreme of faithlessness. Buddhism truly does incorporate faith in its practice, but it is a particular kind of “deserved” faith that the Buddha taught.

The Buddha's primary teaching on faith was presented in the Kalama Sutra. In this Sutra, the Buddha said to the Kalamas, the residents of the town of Kesaputta:
So, as I said, Kalamas: 'Don't go by reports, by legends, by traditions, by scripture, by logical conjecture, by inference, by analogies, by agreement through pondering views, by probability, or by the thought, "This contemplative is our teacher." When you know for yourselves that, "These qualities are unskillful; these qualities are blameworthy; these qualities are criticized by the wise; these qualities, when adopted & carried out, lead to harm & to suffering" -- then you should abandon them.'

Now, Kalamas, don't go by reports, by legends, by traditions, by scripture, by logical conjecture, by inference, by analogies, by agreement through pondering views, by probability, or by the thought, 'This contemplative is our teacher.' When you know for yourselves that, 'These qualities are skillful; these qualities are blameless; these qualities are praised by the wise; these qualities, when adopted & carried out, lead to welfare & to happiness' — then you should enter & remain in them.

Without understanding the context of the Buddha's teaching, it is easy to see how Western Buddhists can interpret this teaching as an endorsement of faithlessness. However, as I've stated many times in my essays, the Buddha always taught through the use of “Skillful Means,” meaning that he did not “preach” the exact truth (which is actually an impossible act given the conceptual nature of words and thoughts), but rather taught such that his message could be understood and implemented by his specific audience, bringing them closer to true realization. As an example, it would have been pointless to discuss the deeper nature of Dependent Arising when his audience did not yet understand or skillfully practice fundamental mindfulness. So in order to put the Buddha's teachings into context, we have to understand the Kalamas. In this Sutra, the Kalamas ask the Buddha:
Lord, there are some priests & contemplatives who come to Kesaputta. They expound & glorify their own doctrines, but as for the doctrines of others, they deprecate them, revile them, show contempt for them, & disparage them. And then other priests & contemplatives come to Kesaputta. They expound & glorify their own doctrines, but as for the doctrines of others, they deprecate them, revile them, show contempt for them, & disparage them. They leave us absolutely uncertain & in doubt: Which of these venerable priests & contemplatives are speaking the truth, and which ones are lying?

The Kalamas have been told too many “truths” and are confused as to who to believe and what to follow. Therefore, given their particular situation, the exact teaching they require to help them on the Buddhist path is to emphasize the role of personal testing of all such teachings.

In other Sutras, the Buddha spoke of the Five Spiritual Faculties, which are the primary virtues that arise as spiritual training is undertaken: faith, vigor, mindfulness, concentration, and wisdom. Given the well-known importance Buddhism places on mindfulness and wisdom, to put faith in the same list as these two “powerhouse” virtues really emphasizes its importance in Buddhist training.

Ultimately, what this tells us is that faith is an important practice in Buddhism, but for it to have any value, it must be applied skillfully, in conjunction with constant testing and questioning, and not unskillfully as in blind faith. All this being said, what is a skillful use of faith?

Let's consider the first Paramita (Perfection) of generosity. There are many examples of the Buddha's emphasis on the value of generosity. However, in Buddhism, one should not take these teachings as Gospel. Instead, one should initially have enough faith in the Dharma to undertake the practice of generosity for oneself. Here is where the unique approach of Buddhism really shines. If one had had complete faith in the Buddha as some divine, infallible deity, then he would be biased in his interpretation of the results of his practice of generosity, and he could never learn for himself whether generosity was truly beneficial or detrimental. But if he approaches the practice of generosity with a Beginner's Mind, open to all experiences without reservation or bias, then he can critically examine the causes and results of generosity, and can come to his own direct experience of the wisdom of generosity on the Buddhist path. At this point, faith is no longer required, as one knows for oneself the truth of the matter.

Let's take another example--the Precept (ethic) of not lying. Again, this is not a teaching we should take as infallible truth as uttered by the Awakened One. Instead, we have enough faith to test the precept for ourselves. If we had treated such a teaching as Gospel, we would be unable to see the true causes, conditions, and results of lying, due to our blind faith. Is this bad? Yes, it is, because with such faith, we will be blind to the situation in which lying is actually the least harmful, most skillful response. But in our unskewed, critical examination (approached with Beginner's Mind), we will be open to the conditions surrounding this precept, and will be better able to apply our wisdom in life situations.

I've discussed faith as an “early prerequisite” of practice, but does faith play any other role in Buddhism? Yes, it does.

Consider that Buddhism is a complete system of total life training. Particularly in our earlier stages of training, we are incapable of attending to all aspects of the path at once. Faith thus plays an important role in the aspects of the path in which we have not yet accumulated enough wisdom to act naturally out of love, compassion, and nonviolence.

As an example, you wake up one morning, walk into your living room, and notice a spider on the wall. To your eye, that's one BIG spider, and you're scared. You start to panic--you need to get that spider out of your home, fast! Your first instinct is to kill the spider. As this is your first instinct, you likely have not yet awakened to the wisdom in the Buddhist practice of nonaggression and not harming other beings. But before you smash it with your shoe, you recall the first Precept: “Do not harm, but cherish all life.” Here faith comes into play. You haven't yet attained a level of wisdom through testing that tells you in your heart that killing this creature would be an unskillful response. However, your faith in the Buddha's teaching gives you the strength to “try out” his teaching and follow his advice of non-harm, even though you don't truly know for yourself that this is the better course of action. So you capture the spider in a cup and release him outside in the grass.

In this example, faith has led you to a skillful response in a situation in which you were not yet able to foresee the best course of action for yourself. Ultimately, the purpose of Buddhist training is to point toward your true nature, and the true nature of everyone and everything around you. When you waver, Buddhist training gently guides you back onto the path of practice. Blind faith has no value in Buddhism, as it harms your practice by dulling your testing, questioning mind. Skillful faith, however, helps guide you along the path and gives you the strength to test and question and observe.

Sunday, April 15, 2007

Interfaith Event Question Re: Forgiveness


Jon wrote in a comment:
I am particularly curious why forgiveness is seen as so important to Buddhists when it is peripheral (at best) philosophically to them.


I consider the answer to this question in the second half of my essay, but in short, Buddhism is a path, not a doctrinal religion. As such, it is only the benefits of a practice that define its importance to any one person, not its philosophical ground. A good example are the various kinds of meditation practice existing in Buddhist traditions. There is concentration on the breath, contemplation of koans, contemplation of hwadu, loving-kindness meditation, mindfulness meditation, meditation upon death, etc. There is no universal doctrine that says, "You must meditate on loving-kindness in order to progress spiritually." Rather, we must use the practices that work the best for us on the path. I might already exhibit a strong degree of loving-kindness in my life, but maybe I lack focus, so concentration is the ideal practice for me. For someone who struggles with showing compassion, perhaps contemplation of loving-kindness is a better primary practice.

And here is where the strength of a path becomes evident. Practices that otherwise have zero philosophical basis in a tradition may still be beneficial for other reasons to a practitioner. Consider prayer. In Buddhism, we have no creator god to which to pray. However, prayer is a practice that can still be beneficial to Buddhists. A wonderful example in the May 2007 issue of Shambhala Sun magazine instructs that before opening a new email, one can center oneself by pausing, and reciting a gatha, such as, "May I open this email and respond for the benefit of myself and for all beings." We are not asking for divine assistance in this action--there is none to be had. Rather, we are opening our hearts and our minds to loving-kindness and compassion. Through such, we can ensure that we will read and respond to this person with a mind steeped in compassion and love rather than the scattered, unfocused mindset that is often the result of the rush of everyday life. Prayer has no philosophical ground in Buddhism, as Western apologetics would say. But it has a solid ground on Eastern religious paths in that its practice results in many effects that are easily seen to be beneficial to the path we follow.

Monday, April 02, 2007

Interfaith Blog Event #5: The Role of Forgiveness



Welcome to the fifth Interfaith Blog Event! In each installment of this series, which we're hoping to do on a monthly basis, we'll explore a single topic across three different religious traditions. I am, obviously, writing from the Mahayana Buddhist tradition. Jon, from Jesusfollowers Journal, will be writing from a Protestant Christian perspective, and Sojourner from A Pagan Sojourn, will be writing from a Pagan perspective.

The topic we'll be discussing today is the following:
What role does the concept and application of interpersonal forgiveness play in your spiritual tradition?
(Links will be provided as they become available)
[Jon's Essay] [Sojourner's Essay]



At one time, in a life prior to that in which he became the Enlightened One, the soon-to-be-Buddha was a Bodhisattva named Khantivadi. One day, he visited the city of Benares and sat to meditate under a tree. While he was meditating, the King passed him with his harem and, having seen the Bodhisattva, interrupted his meditation to ask him what virtue he was practicing. The Bodhisattva replied that his practice was that of forbearance. The King, of the opinion that virtuous practice was worthless and a weakness, summoned his executioner and instructed him to cut off the hands and feet of the Bodhisattva. As the executioner did so, the King asked the Bodhisattva what value his practice of forbearance was now that his limbs were being cut off. The Bodhisattva replied that his forbearance and other virtues were not in his limbs but in his mind. He extended his loving-kindness to the King. The King, angered by his failure to upset the Bodhisattva, kicked him in the stomach and left him lying, without hands and feet, on the forest floor.

Soon thereafter, the King's minister heard of the King's cruel actions and hurried to the side of the Bodhisattva. Seeing him lying in the dirt, dying, the minister bowed deeply and said to him, "Venerable one, none of us agreed to this cruel act of the King and we are all sorrowing over what has been done to you by that devilish man. We ask you to curse the King but not us." The Bodhisattva responded, "May that king who has caused my hands and feet to be cut off, as well as you, live long in happiness." Having spoken thus, he died.

(The Elimination of Anger. Ven. K. Piyatissa Thera.)


According to the New Oxford American Dictionary, the verb "to forgive" has the following definition: "Stop feeling angry or resentful toward someone for an offense, flaw, or mistake." In the story I related above about one of the Buddha's past lives, we saw a most extreme example of cruelty toward the then-Bodhisattva. Such cruelty easily qualifies as an "offense, flaw, or mistake." And yet, the Bodhisattva did not respond in anger, nor experience any resentfulness. Therefore, in an ultimate sense, forgiveness plays no role in Buddhism, as anger or resentfulness toward someone for an offense does not occur.

Through observation of ourselves and our true nature, we learn that anger is solely the result of deluded thinking. Why do we feel anger or resentfulness when someone offends us? We experience such feelings because we think some combination of the following: "How dare they do that to me," "They should know better," and "Why me?" Slowing down and looking deeply at your anger will reveal the obvious truth that anger arises based on these factors. But it's not just the arising of these causes, but our attachment to them, that causes anger to escalate. Let's examine what happens when we get really angry. A person does something, and immediately our minds respond by flooding our system with adrenaline and thinking, "How DARE he do that to ME!" That thought consumes our minds--we become attached. We think it over and over, which stokes the flames of our anger. Soon we are white-hot. When our practice is strong, we can notice the initial cause of anger as it arises, and immediately douse the embers, as we know through our experience and deep looking that the only result of anger is to cause harm to us and harm to others. As we perfect our wisdom, anger and resentfulness do not arise at all, as in the case of the Bodhisattva above. Therefore, without the arising of anger or resentfulness, forgiveness has no relevance, as is clear from its definition.

All that being said, however, interpersonal forgiveness plays a very important role in Buddhism. The vast majority of us still become angry or resentful of others when we are wronged. In Buddhism, we speak of the three defilements of anger, greed, and delusion. These three defilements poison our minds and are the underlying causes of all suffering and the primary impediments to true love and compassion. Therefore, it is our primary practice as Buddhists to eradicate these defilements from our minds.

Since Buddhism is a path, not a dogmatic religion, it values any practice that will help one proceed along the path toward eliminating suffering and perfecting wisdom and compassion--even if that practice must ultimately be let go of after achieving its relative purpose. Forgiveness is such a practice. Even though, as I've explained above, forgiveness has no absolute relevance (i.e. after anger and resentfulness have been eliminated from the mind), it carries extreme importance on the Buddhist path in that it helps us eliminate suffering and perfect our wisdom and compassion. In Buddhism, we use the analogy of "seeds" being planted in the mind. We respond in anger because seeds of anger have been planted by our past actions (karma). For example, as children we watch our parents respond to certain things in anger. We love and respect our parents, and thereby we plant a seed of anger in our minds. Perhaps we try responding angrily ourselves, and thereby plant another seed. Each and every time we allow a seed of anger to sprout, we also plant another seed. The further we allow anger to escalate when it does sprout, the more seeds are planted. Hence, any practice that will help us to recognize anger early in the process and arrest its escalation will help us plant fewer and fewer seeds of anger in our unconscious. Forgiveness is such a practice.

Let's examine why this is so. Let's say our spouse forgets to pay an important bill. We notice the unpaid bill on the desk two days after it is due, and anger arises because we connect the unpaid bill to a worsening of our credit rating, a late payment fee, and our spouse's irresponsibility. A seed of anger planted previously has sprouted, and we now have two choices. We can choose to attach to the "results" of the unpaid bill, and let them stew in our minds, which will escalate our anger. We will eventually confront our spouse, and our anger will make such confrontation hostile and hurtful, in addition to planting further seeds of anger that will sprout in the future. We have a second choice of response, however. We can choose to forgive our spouse for this mistake, recognizing that she did not forget on purpose, but due to stress at work or some other similar cause. When we truly forgive our spouse, our anger immediately ceases. Then when we confront our spouse, we do so out of love and compassion, rather than anger. Forgiveness, therefore, is a beautiful Buddhist practice with many wonderful results: it stops the poison of anger in its tracks; it stops the personal suffering anger causes us; it protects us from causing harm to others when we act out of anger; it trains us to recognize and transcend anger earlier and earlier in the process; it prevents us from planting additional seeds of anger; and it teaches us how to act out of pure compassion and love.

Therefore, interpersonal forgiveness is a practice with a very important role in practical Buddhism. Eventually we will reach the point at which we have eliminated anger and, hence, the need for forgiveness. But until that time, forgiveness is a spiritual practice with innumerable benefits to all beings.

Friday, January 05, 2007

Interfaith Blog Event #4: The Role of Justice



Welcome to the fourth Interfaith Blog Event! In each installment of this series, which we're hoping to do on a monthly basis, we'll explore a single topic across three different religious traditions. I am, obviously, writing from the Mahayana Buddhist tradition. Jon, from Jesusfollowers Journal, will be writing from a Protestant Christian perspective, and Sojourner from A Pagan Sojourn, will be writing from a Pagan perspective.

The topic we'll be discussing today is the following:
What role does justice play in the universe?

[Jon's Essay] [Sojourner's Essay]


Justice is a flawed concept. Before we can examine why this is the case, we must first understand the depth of this word.

The word "justice" derives from the Latin word justus which, in turn, is based on the word jus, meaning "law, right." (New Oxford American Dictionary). From this etymology, the concept of jus and, therefore, justice, clearly has two underlying premises: (1) A law exists; and (2) Actions can be right (further implying that they can be wrong). For our purposes, "laws" include both societal laws (e.g. Speed limits) and moral laws (e.g. "Do not murder" and "Do not gossip"). Justice, then, is really the administration of the law.

More importantly, however, how do we intuitively view justice? To gain some insight into this question, let's step away from our wordplay for a moment. The Qabalah, more explicitly the Tree of Life, gives us a wonderful tool for this analysis. The Tree of Life is a pictorial representation of the universe that consists of three pillars, the middle of which is a melding of the two extremes of the outer pillars. These outer two pillars are named Severity and Mercy. In other words, according to this model, a continuum exists that spans the entire range between the two poles of Severity and Mercy, perfectly balanced in the Middle Pillar, the Pillar of Mildness. It seems to me that the manner in which we intuitively view and apply justice lies on this Severity/Mercy continuum. When a law is broken (or we are wronged), we view this offense with a backdrop of Severity and Mercy. Maybe we want to effect justice, which connotes punishment; or maybe we forgive the offender, showing him/her mercy. Most often, our response lies somewhere in the middle, in a merging of these two poles such that we punish the offender, but reduce our planned sentence due to some special (merciful) consideration of his circumstance.

Note that we equally apply this approach to justice in our everyday lives as well as in our social justice system. If somebody says something that offends you, what is your most probable response? Generally speaking, people respond initially with anger or defiance, and then either punish the offender in some manner ("How dare you say that to me, you *$%@!"), or forgive him, or some combination of both. Sometimes our applied punishment is even more insidious, like the dreaded silent treatment. Regardless, the common element is the backdrop of Severity/Mercy -- how severely should we punish somebody who has broken "a law," and how merciful should we be?

The debate over capital punishment is a great example of this dualistic approach. Proponents of capital punishment argue that a person who so hideously harms another as to deserve this punishment has given up his right to life. They deem that the punishment be Severe to the utmost degree. However, note that Mercy has begun to show its face in recent history, as we try to make the death as painless as possible. On the contrary, opponents of capital punishment say that we do not have the right to take life in this manner. However, most of these people still view the situation in terms of "sentencing" the criminal with the punishment he deserves. Herein lies the problem with justice.

In our dualistic manner, we see how one person harms another and therefore think he "deserves" some kind of punishment. This is a clear example of wrong view, with ego as its fundamental cause. Any time we think along the lines of "deserving," it is our ego speaking. "I deserve to be treated better" is your ego exerting its self-importance. "He deserves to sit in prison for 10 years" is solely an ego-trip--how do you know exactly what he deserves? "He murdered his neighbor, therefore he deserves to spend his life in prison" is still an ego judgment on another being. Extending this to the sphere of moral law, any God who administers justice or mercifully forgives is acting out of his/her own ego. Of course, such personification of God is inherently limited. But I feel the truth behind the wisdom still holds--applying justice and, therefore, allowing for forgiveness, is wrong view.

Right view, in contrast, consists of compassionate action and directly observable truth. In right view, we recognize that when one man has murdered another, he must be secluded from society for the safety of all. We attempt to rehabilitate the offender because all beings have the right to such fair treatment. Perhaps it will be unsuccessful, in which case that man never gets to leave prison. Perhaps it will be successful, in which case that man is released to rejoin society. In right view, we see that causes conditioned the murderer's actions and, while his actions are not condoned, there is zero judgmentalism. The murderer does not "deserve" to be punished any more than we deserve to die at the end of our lives or to be born at the beginning.

As another example, instead of applying the silent treatment when a loved one does something to us that we interpret as hurtful, right view is recognizing that the other person's actions are based on a complex of causes, which can only warrant a compassionate response. Even if they did the hurtful action "on purpose," causes and conditions in their past are still the only true offender.

Notice the difference in underlying attitude between right view and wrong view. In right view, all response is based in compassion, recognizing the true causes of all behavior. In wrong view, the dualities of Severity and Mercy, or similarly, Justice and Forgiveness, are employed by the ego in judging another's behavior. Therefore, justice is a flawed concept that only perpetuates wrong views of self, wrong views of other, and wrong views of the world in which we live. It seems logical to our minds, and does get criminals off the street, but it's really like a band-aid applied to a deep puncture wound--while the wound may seem to have been treated from the outside, deep within infection festers.

Compassionate action and right view, however, are the medicines for this wound. They treat directly the source of the problem. Instead of succumbing to ego, we ask, "What can I do to help others?" Then we go out of our way to do it. And we do it without thought of ourselves, but only of others. In the case of a dangerous criminal, we seclude them in prison for the sake of protecting others, which seems very similar to the Justice approach. But there truly is a major difference in the underlying attitude behind the same physical act of imprisoning a criminal. And this is where the strength of right view lies: in fertilizing the seeds of compassion and love in the mind, engendering true wisdom and unfettered love of others. Right View is admittedly difficult to develop, especially in our culture, but the results are worth the effort and are necessary to live a life of wisdom.

Monday, November 27, 2006

Interfaith Blog Event #3: Religious Traditions and Community


Welcome to the third Interfaith Blog Event! In each installment of this series, which we're hoping to do on a monthly basis, we'll explore a single topic across three different religious traditions. I am, obviously, writing from the Mahayana Buddhist tradition. Jon, from Jesusfollowers Journal, will be writing from a Protestant Christian perspective, and Sojourner from A Pagan Sojourn, will be writing from a Pagan perspective.

The topic we'll be discussing today is the following:
Within your religious traditions, what rituals and/or traditions give you a sense of connection to your fellow congregants, beliefs, and communities? What actions do you take to ensure the stability of those connections? Do you feel that the connections that have been made are sufficient for your spiritual and/or religious needs?

[Jon's Essay] [Sojourner's Essay]



In the 4th century CE, Buddhism was introduced to Korea by a Chinese monk. Buddhism quickly flourished in Korea, and traditions quickly developed, some dating back to the inception of Buddhism in the 5th century BCE. These traditions still live in our temples today, thanks to the line of teachers that has ensured their continuity.

Every Sunday, my temple hosts two services, one in the morning and one in the late afternoon. During our standard Sunday morning service, we sit in seated meditation, followed by a short session of chanting and recitation in which we mindfully take refuge in the Three Jewels of the Buddha (our perfect inner nature), the Dharma (the teaching and path to recognizing our true nature), and the Sangha (the community of beings with whom we live). The recitation is followed by another seated meditation, after which we listen to a Dharma talk by one of our priests.

Our Sunday afternoon service is different. It begins with a seated meditation, followed by a recitation in which we take refuge in the Three Jewels. We then mindfully chant & sing a very simple verse, "Ma-Um," which means, "My mind is Buddha." Singing is followed by a question and answer session.

While these two services have very different atmospheres, two commonalities emerge--the taking of refuge in the Three Jewels, and meditation. I believe these two "rituals" give the primary sense of connection among our congregants.

Meditation has many different flavors. Some methods focus on concentration through counting the breath. Other methods are more analytical, examining such topics as emptiness, impermanence, or any number of other areas. Still other methods are based on generating and sustaining loving-kindness and compassion. Meditation is a very personal endeavor, with each person working on the aspect of the path that he or she needs to at that time. How, then, can the practice of meditation function as the primary means of community and connectedness?

The answer lies in the depth of wisdom contained in the seemingly simple formula of taking refuge in the Three Jewels. We say, "I go for refuge to the Buddha. I go for refuge to the Dharma. I go for refuge to the Sangha." Each of the refuges is simultaneously operative on several levels. When I take refuge in the Sangha, at the most basic level I acknowledge the shelter and protective value of community. Slightly deeper, I remind myself that my temple's community is there for me. Deeper still, I recognize that the entire world of beings is my protector because each plays a vital role in my life--family and friends nurture, protect, and love me; strangers and other "neutral" beings serve to educate me and provide me with opportunities to meet new people and act compassionately, lovingly, and mindfully; enemies challenge me to overcome my anger, greed, and hatred, giving me the opportunity to learn patience, love, and compassion for all. Thus all beings deserve my utmost respect, compassion, thanks, and blessing.

At the deepest level, that simple sentence, "I take refuge in the Sangha," represents the truth that my community is not different from me--I am not fundamentally different, or separate, from other beings, sentient or insentient, in the world. We are all of the same basic nature, Buddha-nature. One person may understand this truth intellectually. Another person may argue against it ontologically. But once a person personally experiences this truth, it is clear and authentic. The experience is intimate, immediate, spontaneous, and obvious, like feeling a sneeze coming on--you just KNOW when you're going to have to sneeze, there is no doubt about it, and nobody can really explain to you the feeling of having to sneeze. You have to experience it for yourself to know it.

This truth of inter-being, expressed in the third refuge, is the reason why group meditation is such a powerful communal practice. In row upon row of cushions, we sit, meditating on the aspect of the path that is right for us at that very moment, and the energy of the community truly unites us into a congregation, as we all share a common goal: to develop altruism and wisdom to the utmost degree.

The truest experience and development of community paradoxically occurs on retreat. I say paradoxically because our Buddhist retreats are marked by silence. Shorter retreats are comprised of intensive, repeated meditation sittings and walking meditation, interspersed with silent meal preparation and mindful eating. Longer retreats include silent work practice, such as mindful cleaning, gardening, and sewing, and interviews with the head priest. (Yes, you do get to speak during interviews. :) ) Retreats provide the ideal mixture of solitary and communal meditation--you sit in communal meditation like during services, but the intensive repeated sessions and silence often lead you toward much-improved mindfulness and invaluable insight. And the feeling of unity, of inner connection, of true inter-being, of the congregants is unmistakable.

In order to ensure the stability of these connections, we need only to practice in a group setting. Group meditation can never, and is not meant to, replace solitary practice. However, when performed in conjunction with a regular solitary meditation practice, group services and retreats not only develop our capacity for altruism and insight, but also foster the deepest levels of community and oneness among the congregants. The connections I have established in this way are more than sufficient for my spiritual needs, and in speaking to my fellow temple members, that feeling is nearly universal. I have heard story after story at my temple from members who had struggled spiritually, physically, and emotionally under other religions, who have since found in Buddhism the spiritual connectedness of community, discipline, happiness, and emotional and physical health that they could not find anywhere else. Therefore, it is my fervent wish that more people begin Buddhist practice and personally experience the truths that become self-evident in such practice, bringing a level of true happiness, mindfulness, and peace to this country that has been eroding for years.



Monday, October 23, 2006

Interfaith Blog Event #2: Ethics, Intrinsic or Relative?


Welcome to the second Interfaith Blog Event! In each installment of this series, which we're hoping to do on a monthly basis, we'll explore a single topic across three different religious traditions. I am, obviously, writing from the Mahayana Buddhist tradition. Jon, from Jesusfollowers Journal, will be writing from a Protestant Christian perspective, and Sojourner from A Pagan Sojourn, will be writing from a Pagan perspective.

The topic we'll be discussing today is the following:
Is there anything you consider to be intrinsically right or wrong? What grounds do you have for that conclusion? How does the concept of morality impact your everyday life?

[Jon's Essay] [Sojourner's Essay]


Back in the 5th century BCE, Siddhartha Gautama was born in a country immersed in Hindu spirituality. B.K.S. Iyengar states, "In Indian thought, everything is permeated by the Supreme Universal Spirit (Paramatma or God) of which the individual human spirit (jivatma) is a part." [1] Later, he continues, "By profound meditation, the knower, the knowledge, and the known become one. The seer, the sight and the seen have no separate existence from each other. It is like a great musician becoming one with his instrument and the music that comes from it. Then, the yogi stands in his own nature and realizes his self (Atman), the part of the Supreme Soul within himself." [2]

As a prince, Siddhartha's education included detailed study of the Vedas, the sacred scriptures of Hinduism as revealed by the Supreme Being. But after having renounced his royal lineage to pursue the life of a monk, and training with the greatest spiritual teachers of his day, Siddhartha found that such training was highly beneficial, but it did not lead to the highest attainment--ultimate peace, Enlightenment. Specifically, Siddhartha could find nothing within that corresponded to the Atman. Rather, on the night of his Awakening, he personally experienced the emptiness of all things, that everything, and everyone, existed based upon the cumulative effect of other existing causal factors and the proper conditions within which such causal factors may operate. Hence, the animating principle of the Atman was illusory--we existed not because a piece of the great Brahma, the Creator, was injected into us by said Supreme Being, giving us a fully independent existence, but solely based on the existence of other causes.

After his enlightenment, the Buddha met up with some old friends with whom he had practiced for years. As his first teaching as the Awakened One, he taught that, as we observe the world, one thing is obvious: Suffering exists. This teaching had two components. First, it implied that because we were born, we would experience disease, old age, and death, as well as personal hardship. These "unavoidables" often lead us to experience the second component of this Truth--mental suffering. This second component of the First Noble Truth explains that these unavoidables are not suffering; suffering is our mental response to such experiences. We cause ourselves to suffer because of our response to our life experiences.

In his practice, as the Buddha removed the causes of suffering--the mental poisons of greed, hatred, and ignorance--he noticed that genuine, perfect happiness arose naturally, replacing the suffering that had existed previously. As a young prince, he had experienced the pinnacle of worldly pleasures. But this new, genuine happiness completely transcended such worldly happiness. It is "The joy which is beyond the pale of the senses which reason cannot grasp." It is "The treasure above all others. There is nothing higher than this." [3] Furthermore, the Buddha observed that all beings desire happiness and avoid suffering. Therefore, combining these two insights, it was clear to the Buddha that the attainment of genuine happiness for all beings, and the removal of their suffering, was the ultimate spiritual aim.

Before examining how this aim determines Buddhist ethics, let's examine happiness. The Buddha observed that happiness comes in two forms, relative and genuine. As he experienced as a Prince, worldly happiness is relative--what makes one person happy may cause suffering to another. Consider a person out on a hot day. If the person enjoys hot weather, he will be happy. But if he does not like hot weather, then such temperatures will cause him to suffer. Continuing this example, if the person does not like hot weather and hence enters a cool bath, this will please him. But relative (worldly) happiness is also transient--if he stays in the cool water too long, he will become cold, and hence will begin to suffer.

Contrary to relative happiness, genuine happiness does not fluctuate wildly. Genuine happiness is absolute--genuine happiness to one person is genuine happiness to all people. The principle characteristic of genuine happiness is inner peace [4]. "[If] we can develop this quality of inner peace, no matter what difficulties we meet with in life, our basic sense of well-being will not be undermined." [5] No external factor can create such peace. But how can it be developed? Like everything else in life, it is dependent on causes and conditions. Hence, we must identify its causes and conditions and then cultivate said causes to bring about genuine happiness.

In the 2,500 years since the Buddha first explained these teachings, it has been experienced over and over by Buddhists that altruism is an essential ingredient of genuine happiness. For thousands of years, Buddhists have written of their experiences with altruism--that not only do altruistic actions cause others happiness and reduce their suffering, they also make the altruistic person's life meaningful and happy, and reduces that person's suffering. In summary, therefore, we have discussed the following:

  1. We have observed that all beings desire happiness and avoid suffering.
  2. The Buddha experienced genuine happiness and gave us the path to attain such happiness ourselves.
  3. Altruism is an essential ingredient of genuine happiness.

By merging these three observed truths, we can develop a statement of Buddhist ethics: "An ethical act is one which does not harm others' experience or expectation of happiness." [6]

This definition raises an obvious concern: how does one determine whether an act will harm another's experience or expectation of happiness? Before we consider this question, however, let's apply this definition to isolated examples of the Five Precepts, the traditional guidelines of Buddhist ethics, to gain a better understanding of how to make practical use of this definition. The first precept is "Do not kill." Obviously, killing another being harms that being's experience of happiness and its desire to avoid suffering. Furthermore, it harms the killer's experience of happiness because, regardless of the worldly feelings of exhilaration that the killer may experience, penetrating insight always discovers the ultimate suffering to one's self that killing causes1. The second precept is "Do not lie." If a person needs to know the truth about something, a lie prevents them from knowing that truth and, hence, they suffer (albeit potentially unknowingly). Lies also harm the liar because he can begin to become entangled in his web of lies, and hence he suffers. The third precept is "Do not steal." Stealing inflicts suffering on another due to their loss. It increases suffering for the thief as well because it enhances the growth of the seed of greed in the thief's mind. The fourth precept is "Do not engage in sexual misconduct." The emotional damage of adultery and other such liaisons is well documented. The fifth precept is "Do not take intoxicants, or engage in their production, nor in the productions of weapons and poisons." One might not be able to stop the production of weapons in the world, but one need not exert one's own effort in their production, whose use ultimately harms many beings. Taking intoxicants is more of a preventative measure in that such use can increase the likelihood of acting unethically.

Therefore, it seems clear that the definition provided by the Dalai Lama provides an effective measure of ethical action in these "ideal" instances. However, life is much more complex than these idealized circumstances. Hence, one must ask how one can determine whether an act will harm another's happiness. Buddhism answers this question through the development of skillful means. The Dalai Lama writes,
We find that in practice, if we are not able to connect with others to some extent, if we cannot at least imagine the potential impact of our actions on others, then we have no means to discriminate between right and wrong, between what is appropriate and what is not, between harming and non-harming. It follows, therefore, that the more we could enhance our sensitivity toward others' suffering, the less we could tolerate seeing others' pain and the more we would be concerned to ensure that no action of ours caused harm to others. [7]

Therefore, it is through the development of compassion that genuine ethical conduct arises. Compassion provides the motivation for ethical conduct, as one cannot bear to harm another. But to what degree can compassion be developed? Buddhism has taught for millenia, and countless examples are described, of people developing compassion to the utmost degree, where their every act is based on their love for others. The Buddha and Jesus are probably the two greatest examples in recorded history.

If compassion provides the motivation, from where, specifically, does the ability to discern harming from non-harming actions come? Every aspect of Buddhist training leads one toward the development of correct discernment. Buddhist meditation develops concentration, which is necessary to be able to penetrate through the illusory surface of experience to know its true nature. Without highly developed concentration skills, our mind gets distracted and, hence, never reaches the true nature of phenomena. Through concentration and mindfulness, wisdom arises. This critical faculty is the key component to determining ethical from unethical actions. Buddhism also focuses on the removal of afflictive emotions such as anger, greed, and laziness, because such emotions obscure one's critical faculties, thereby reducing one's ability to discern harming from non-harming acts. (Recall how clearly you were thinking the last time you were really angry. How many times have you hurt someone through your words when seized by anger?)

Therefore, we must constantly check all of our actions and employ our critical faculties, ensuring that our actions are motivated by compassion. As stated so eloquently by the Dalai Lama,
[Have we] asked ourselves whether we are being broad-minded or narrow minded? Have we taken into account the overall situation or are we considering only specifics? Is our view short-term or long-term? Are we being short-sighted or clear-eyed? Is our motive genuinely compassionate when considered in relation to the totality of all beings? Or is our compassion limited just to our families, our friends, and those we identify with closely? [8]

He continues by admitting that, given the complex nature of our world, all possible alternatives may appear to harm somebody. "Under such circumstances, we must use our intelligence to judge which course of action will be least harmful in the long run" to the greatest number of beings. [9]

He summarizes this train of thought as follows:
The moral value of a given act is to be judged in relation both to time, place, and circumstance and to the interests of the totality of all others in the future as well as now. But while it is conceivable that a given act is ethically sound under one particular set of circumstances, the same act at another time and place and under a different set of circumstances may not be. [10]

Therefore, returning to the question posed at the beginning of this essay, there is nothing I can consider to be intrinsically right or wrong. Because of the infinite variety of situations, causes, and conditions, it seems intractable to consider any act as having inherent value that is not determined, to some degree, by surrounding circumstances. Furthermore, as the ethical system as described herein is not based on decree from a godhead, there is no ground from which to state that any action is intrinsically right or wrong.

Transitioning to the final aspect of the question that began this essay, I refer to the following statement by the Dalai Lama:
It may be worth reviewing the grounds for defining ethical conduct in terms of non-harming. As we have seen, given the complex nature of reality, it is very difficult to say that a particular act or type of act is right or wrong in itself. Ethical conduct is thus not something we engage in because it is somehow right in itself. We do so because we recognize that just as I desire to be happy and to avoid suffering, so do all others. For this reason, a meaningful ethical system divorced from the question of our experience of suffering and happiness is hard to envisage. [11]

In this passage, the Dalai Lama appears to agree with my conclusion regarding the relative nature of ethical conduct. He also makes clear the impact morality has on our everyday lives. Each and every day we attempt to act in a way that increases our happiness and decreases our suffering. Little do we realize, however, that the worldly happiness we chase paradoxically INCREASES our suffering due to its transient nature and long-term effects. Therefore, the better we learn to discern harming from non-harming actions, the happier those around us become, and the happier we become. Buddhism teaches that such training in discernment and compassion comprises the basis for all our true happiness in the world. As such, they comprise practices that we endeavor to employ in every moment of our lives. For Buddhists, therefore, there is never a single moment in time in which morality does not impact our daily lives.




Footnotes:
1This is a topic for another essay.

References:
[1] Light on Yoga. B.K.S. Iyengar. 1979. Pg. 19.
[2] Ibid. Pg. 22.
[3] Ibid. Pg 19.
[4] Ethics for the New Millenium, His Holiness the Dalai Lama. 1999. Pg. 55.
[5] Ibid. Pg. 56.
[6] Ibid. Pg. 49.
[7] Ibid. Pgs. 72-73.
[8] Ibid. Pgs. 149-150.
[9] Ibid. Pg. 152.
[10] Ibid. Pg. 153.
[11] Ibid. Pg. 147.