The Naked Monk

Archive for March, 2010

It’s been in the air for a while now; for years, in fact, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it — until last week. I’d been scouring the past for landmarks, to the McCarthy era and a Europe divided. The prime emotion for so long was fear. Today I realized, it’s hatred.

I’m not talking of the simple, visceral, easily-targeted hatred of Hitler and the Nazis; that didn’t even provoke hatred in the allies so much as a cheerful determination to not stoop to their level. What’s happening today is more subtle, not ‘out there’ any more but an insidious division in our midst.

President Obama is not, as presidents once were, simply a political adversary to the republicans; to many of them he’s a liar, a communist and bent on the destruction of America as they know (or imagine) it.

Obscene comments have flooded lawmakers’ offices since the health care reform bill passed. Callers have made death threats against lawmakers and their children. Windows were shattered at four Democratic offices in New York, Arizona and Kansas. In Virginia, someone cut a propane line at a house believed to be owned by Rep. Tom Perriello. Sarah Palin’s Twitter page encouraged supporters: “Don’t retreat, instead – reload!” The former vice presidential candidate’s Facebook page also featured a map of the U.S. with circles and crosshairs over twenty districts.

Here in Canada, the rebuffal of Ann Coulter by students of Ottawa University turned quickly into a dialogue of hate about hate. This ‘republican firebrand,’ as the media loves to call her, saw her rejection as an opportunity, and played it to her advantage. “They hate me,” she said ingeniously; even critics fell into line.

Yesterday in Michigan, eight men and a woman were arrested for planning to kill a police officer and then ambush their colleagues at his funeral. They called them members of a Christian militia. Jeez—the things that go on in Christ’s name!

Osama bin Ladin must be delighted with the way things are going in North America.

My concern is to resist the tit-for-tat reactivity that turns disagreement into disgust into fear into my own hatred. Just because I practice mindful reflection doesn’t make me immune. As a tool it can help me resist the worst part of being human and to nurture the best, but only if I have the presence of mind to put it into practice.

Yesterday I spoke to a surprisingly shy lot of McGill students and afterwards had lunch with some of them and their Professor, Lara Braitstein. The class was on Tantric Buddhism, and they’d all been instructed to read my memoir (see right), which was on their reading list alongside bios of Marpa and Milarepa — two highly eccentric Tibetan mahasiddhas. There was a time when being elevated to the Buddhist big-leagues like that might have tempted my poor ego, but yesterday it just provoked a hearty laugh.

My, how things have changed! Dissent, doubt, questioning and criticism of teachers came so easily to them all that I had to remark on it at lunch afterwards: “You know, all this talk would have been seditious back in my day.” I recalled how nervous I’d been as a waning monk to speak my mind and transgress the unwritten rule that all things Tibetan were sacrosanct.

Tibetans are more accessible today; more of them speak English and more is known of their quirks. Also, far more is known of the grisly annals of Tibetan history, which have been excavated like never before in search of a rational explanation for the Dorje Shugden debacle. Nothing’s quite as healthy as the clear light of day. Still, I can’t help thinking that the colorful complexities of Tibetan Buddhism, quite apart from its potential for good and, dare I say it—evil, obscure the profound simplicity of what the Buddha taught. Whether you study the Mahayana (advanced) and Tantrayana (esoteric) teachings that have sprung up in the wake of the historical Buddha, there’s no substitute for, and no excuse for not, getting to the root of what he was all about.

Even studying the Pali Canon, championed by the Southern (Early) Schools of Buddhism, demands a critical eye, for it’s not always clear what the Buddha said and what others said for him (presumably but not necessarily in good faith). Just as the Hebrew and Christian Bibles must now suffer the forensic scrutiny of linguists and historians, Buddhist texts and dogmas too are coming under the spotlight. For those who feel threatened by all this, remember that the Buddha wasn’t teaching a belief system so much as a means of enquiry, and even though he used philosophy he wasn’t providing answers. His contribution to civilization was to pull the rug from under our feet and encourage us to let go, for nothing’s been more painful, destructive and futile for the human race than hanging on to our illusions of certainty, truth and righteousness.

Hello? Is anybody out there?

I was sure my blog post Spiritual Life would bring in a flood of comments; so was Caroline. True, it wasn’t that profound, but we thought it was at least provocative; while it did express some of my thoughts I was more interested in yours, dear reader. I guess mine just weren’t radical enough.

Or, could it be that I make so much sense that you all just agree with me? God, you’re not just being polite, are you? In either case, I feel that I’m preaching to the converted, and that’s too close to religious conformity for my liking.

In that post, I used a word that I usually avoid religiously: spirituality. Let’s face it, it’s a highly unspecific blanket term used more by those who want to believe what they want than by those genuinely investigating their own minds. I suspect that most of the latter, like me, don’t actually consider themselves religious at all. The best word I know to describe the decision to slow down, get to the root of consciousness and uproot stress, is practical.

This is what the Buddha was all about. He rejected the establishment of his day — the Vedic teaching that ritual, not self-development, was the way to salvation — and sat under a tree to see what he could figure out for himself. After he died, of course, Buddhist orthodoxy began to paint him as perfect. Most establishment Buddhists today are horrified by the suggestion that we might ourselves reach the same level of accomplishment as the Buddha himself — but clearly, they’ve got issues. If we’re to believe anything about the man Siddhartha Gotama, it’s that he taught so that others could find the same peace of mind as he. That was really, really nice of him; it’s just plain rude to suggest that we can’t do what he did.

Anyway, all this provocation is probably falling on deaf ears. None of you are hard-core Buddhists or you wouldn’t be reading The Naked Monk — unless my old teachers have set spies upon me — so you won’t take umbrage at my little sacrileges.

Hmm … how can I stir things up?

My friend Stephen Batchelor’s latest book was released just two weeks ago, and it’s already in its second printing. I tip my hat to him. He’s best known for Buddhism without Beliefs (1997), which once and for all branded him a renegade. In it, he called into question the two ‘key’ Buddhist teachings of karma and reincarnation, suggesting they weren’t key at all but cultural artifacts of the Buddha’s time and place.

It’s well worth taking the trouble to question beliefs — particularly Buddhist ones. I’ve always counted them as secondary to the practices anyway, but if Stephen’s ideas have pried open the eyes of one staunch believer, he’s done well. Buddhism’s often described as a belief system or a philosophy, but I think of it as a mode of inquiry; this blog is subtitled (above) to reflect that interpretation. I’m convinced that the Buddha was a hard-core empiricist, sanctified after his death mostly by men who never met him.

Anyway, Stephen’s done it again. In Confessions of a Buddhist Atheist he’s making committed Buddhists question the way they believe in Buddhism. We spent several years together back when we were monks in Switzerland, and exchanged lots of correspondence when we went our own ways; I suspect his book will chronicle similar disappointments to those I described in The Novice. Only today, I don’t count them as disappointment any more, but realizations. That’s a catchy word in Buddhism — especially for those who, naïve as I once was, think of realization as a mystical encounter with a blissfully hidden reality. Now, I’d describe it more as waking up to the facts of life, usually with a shudder. That might sound brutal, but if that’s what it takes to break down your illusions, it’s worth it. All you’re shedding is unnecessary baggage; it settles you down a little closer to the simple fact of being, and that beats anything.

So what’s wrong with the way people believe? Well, for example, as cool and sweet as the Dalai Lama might be, choosing him as your guru doesn’t increase your chances of enlightenment one iota. And yet people crowd around him as if he might put in a good word — but with whom? Buddhists don’t believe in God. And remember, the Buddha didn’t start out with the truth of bliss, but the truth of suffering. I don’t idealise him any more, but I do think he knew what he was doing.

Which brings me back to Stephen’s book. Why Buddhist Atheist? Buddhists are already atheists, aren’t they? Well, I’ll be getting a copy shortly, and will review it right here. I’m especially looking forward to his biography of the Buddha, which is one whole part of the book. I know that Stephen’s been carefully researching his life and times for years, and I’m hoping at long last to read a critical, humanistic account of Siddhartha Gotama — the great man who first snared my attention forty years ago, and who still has it. I may not call myself a Buddhist any more, but that’s no reflection on him.

Stay posted.