Without
wishing to belittle or denigrate but merely to see things as they are, I wish to
say that if we observe and examine our Buddhist establishments we will be forced
to conclude that most of them are not really Buddhist in the true sense of that
term—Budh being its root, meaning ‘awake’ or ‘enlightened’—but
simply ‘ethnic Buddhist’ centers, places more of national or racial culture
than of Universal Dharma.
If they are recognized as such,
there is no problem, of course, but they are often taken to be representative of
the whole instead of just a part. This causes misunderstandings.
As an example, take
Melbourne—not because it is outstanding in any way, but because I spent
several years there and so am more familiar with it. Melbourne now has numerous
Buddhist centers—monasteries, temples, societies and associations—as do most
big cities in Australia and other Western countries. Firstly, because it is the
oldest, there is the Buddhist Society of Victoria, with a mostly Western
membership; because of this, it is—or should be—more open and less
sectarian than any of the other groups, as most of its members have chosen to be
Buddhists rather than being born into Buddhist families and thus inheriting
Buddhism; it should be comparatively easy for such people to perceive Universal
Dharma, as they do not have to cut through the cultural accretions of centuries,
but many still allow themselves to be sidetracked and polarized by sectarian and
ethnic Buddhism, and this is very sad, of course. The Buddhist Society of
Victoria leans more towards Theravada Buddhism, and towards the Thai form of
Theravada in particular, probably because that is the form that has been most
active there in recent years.
Then, there are numerous
Vietnamese temples—ten or more of them—plus small groups of Vietnamese
Buddhists who meet regularly, but they are not very strongly linked to each
other. There are several large Tibetan centers which cater mostly for Westerners
who prefer the Tibetan cultural flavor and teaching style; there are four or
five Chinese temples (not on very close terms with each other), two or three
Thai temples, two Laotian temples, two Sri Lankan temples (also at odds with
each other), two Cambodian temples, and the ubiquitous Zen groups, with their
would-be-Japanese Western devotees, using Japanese Zen terminology, as if Dharma
can only be understood in Japanese.
All these centers provide
something for people, but I sometimes feel that instead of helping them to open
and broaden their minds, they only make them more narrow and sectarian, and in
this way, do them a disservice. Although most of these centers would probably
turn no-one away (and I say ‘most’ here rather than ‘all’, as an
Australian lady once told me of being turned away from one of the Sri Lankan
temples with the explanation that it was only for Sri Lankans! What kind of
Buddhism is that?), some make no attempt to cater for any-one other than their
own ethnic groups—most of the Vietnamese monks resident in Australia, for
example (according to my experience of them) seem unconcerned about the
necessity of opening their doors to non-Vietnamese, and I have spoken and
written about the vital importance of making things available in English as well
as in Vietnamese, not just for any non-Vietnamese who might be attracted to
their temples for whatever reasons, but also for their own young people whose
first language now, having grown up in the West, is English rather than
Vietnamese; if these people are not catered for in languages they understand, it
will be very difficult to reach them. Sadly, I foresee nationalistic and
cultural enclaves—which is what the Vietnamese temples in the West really
are—having little future and in danger of drying up at the roots and becoming
irrelevant. Moreover, most of them—and the Chinese temples, too—provide
little in the way of teaching and helping people to understand the Way of the
Buddha, but focus more on ceremonies and chanting. I have not met more than two
Vietnamese people who have ventured into forms of Buddhism different than the
several forms prevalent in Vietnam; countless Vietnamese—under various kinds
of pressure—have converted to Christianity, while many others have such a
shallow understanding of Buddhism that it really does not matter what—if
anything—they choose to call themselves. Many obviously think of Buddhism as
merely a matter of offering incense to an image twice a day!
Chinese temples in the West,
however, without knowing it or understanding the significance of it, have an
advantage over temples of other ethnic groups like the Vietnamese, Thais or Sri
Lankans—something consistent with the Bodhisattva ideal that is central to
their usually moribund form of Buddhism —in that there are no nationalistic
flags to be seen (except, perhaps, for that of their host country); the Chinese
people assemble in their temples from many countries; this is definitely a big
step in the right direction towards Universal Dharma, but is seldom—if
ever—seen as such, and is not used as a spring board for going further.
Now, why do I differentiate
between what I call ‘ethnic Buddhism’ (or ‘cultural Buddhism’) and
Universal Dharma? I must explain this again—hammer away at it—as it is of
paramount importance. Let me define the terms first. ‘Ethnic’ has to do with
racial divisions, but my use of this term here merely means I recognize that
differences exist between races; it does not and should not be taken to mean
that I am racist, although, as I have explained elsewhere, we all have some
racism in us (if only latent) by reason of our upbringing as members of one or
another of the various racial groups; belonging to such a group, however, does
not mean that we must automatically allow racist feelings towards others to
manifest in us; knowing something of how racism operates, we can be on guard
against partisan emotions flaring up in us and be more in control. Make no
mistake about it, though: every one of us is as capable of expressing racism as
we are of killing and stealing, even if we never do such things; there are
things inside us that we know nothing about.
Different races have different
cultures, traditions and ways of doing things. These things may be seen and
enjoyed by others if they are sympathetic (or at least, not unsympathetic), or
they may be seen as threats, merely because they are different. But whether it
is seen as positive or negative, culture is something that forms a division
between people and sets them apart from each other, unless and until they can
see through and beyond it.
Now, as Buddhism spread from its
native India it encountered different cultures and traditions, but being
flexible and tolerant as it always was, instead of conflicting and contending
with them for mastery it adapted to them and adopted elements of them, with the
result that it developed different forms. So now there are a dozen or more
forms, distinct from the original Indian Buddhism—Tibetan, Chinese, Mongolian,
Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese, Cambodian, Laotian, Thai, Burmese, Nepalese and
Sri Lankan, with subsects of these, too. Nor is this surprising, as different
people have different ways of looking at the same things.
The problem is, we are prone to
getting stuck on form, without seeing the essence. Most Buddhists (there’s no
need to mention people of other religions here, though they are—for the most
part—in a similar or even worse condition) accept, without question, the form
of Buddhism that they were born into and raised by, without investigating other
forms; it is part of their overall conditioning. Most conclude that their form
of Buddhism is either the totality of Buddhism or the purest and most complete
form, not realizing that the real Buddhism is far beyond any of its forms. Thus,
they overlook—and may not even be aware of—the treasures of the Dharma
within the form, but take the form for everything.
There is a little story to
illustrate how we become stuck on form: A certain monastery had a cat, which
used to come into the dining hall at mealtimes and make itself a nuisance by
jumping on the tables. So as to keep it away from the food, the abbot ordered it
to be tied to one of the posts. This solved the problem, and from then on the
cat was tied to the post at meal times. When it died some years later, the
ritual of tying up the cat had become such a part of daily life in the monastery
that another cat was acquired just so it could be tied up at meal times. The
original meaning of tying up the cat had been forgotten and had been superseded
by the ritual.
And there’s another funny little
story illustrating the difference between the form and the spirit, the letter
and the meaning:
While out in the African jungle
one day, a missionary was confronted by a ferocious lion. Unable to escape, he
fell to his knees and prayed: Oh, Lord, please give this wild beast just one
Christian thought”.
Thereupon, the lion fell to its
knees in imitation of the missionary, and said: “For what we are about to
receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen!”
Westerners, coming to Buddhism
from the ‘outside’, and finding all its forms Asian, usually adopt one of
them, though on what basis they choose one over the others is often not clear;
it is probably just a matter of following their preferences or taking the first
they come to. This is sad, as many of them, having become sufficiently
disentangled from their Judaeo-Christian background, are looking for something
more logical to replace it; many of them have an inbuilt understanding of
Universal Dharma—to some degree, anyway—but allow themselves to be drawn
into this or that form of ethnic Buddhism, and try to conform thereto; thus they
become sidetracked and polarized. I once saw a Western Zen follower bowing to
his meditation cushion as he had heard that such was done by meditators in Japan
as a way of showing respect to the support given by the cushion. But if we are
going to adopt such customs—tying the cat to the post, as it were—we should
be consistent and bow to the toilet-seat and the seat of the car and the
armchair, because they also provide valuable support and it is possible to
meditate while sitting on them, too. In fact, why let respect stop there, or
anywhere? We depend, vitally, upon so many things; respect should come from
understanding, and so infuse us that we become respectful. But were we to start
bowing to things both big and small from which we derive support, we would
constantly be bowing, and would—not without reason—be regarded as cranks!
I heard, not long ago, of monks in
England visiting one of their supporters for breakfast and insisting on their
toast being cut into bite-sized pieces and their coffee stirred before being
ritually offered to them! These particular monks follow the rules very
strictly—and even invent more—obviously believing that they are becoming
holy thereby, and not realizing that they are causing inconvenience for others
and making themselves look silly. The custom of food being formally offered is
only to make it quite clear that it is intended for the monk and that he has not
taken what was not given to him. When it is clear that the food is meant for the
monk, the rule has no significance. It would save a lot of time and trouble if
we would ask ourselves why are we doing what we are doing? Obviously, we expect
to get something from our practices and disciplines, otherwise we wouldn’t do
them. But what do we expect, and are our expectations realistic? It would pay
dividends to think carefully and examine things before beginning a spiritual
journey. Many of us are in a great hurry to achieve things, and do not seem to
be aware of the dangers thereof. Meditation may easily turn into maditation!
There is a Western form of
Buddhism now taking shape, shorn of Asian cultural trappings, and this will
probably be good, as long as the limitations of form—any form—are understood and not mistaken for the essence.
And the Essence, or Universal
Dharma—which applies to everyone and everything, in all times and
places—takes us far beyond name-and-form and frees us from narrow ideas and
beliefs pertaining to race, nationality, party politics, culture, creed and so
on, most of which are artificial and mind-made anyway. And most of all, it frees
us from the distorted, convoluted and deluded ideas about ourselves and others,
from the notion that we exist separately and independently from everything
else, apart from, instead of a part of. The Buddha said that He remained
unenlightened until He fully understood this and other things like Anicca and
Dukkha. Enlightenment comes about, therefore, by understanding things clearly
and deeply, and comes from inside—that is, from the mind—not from outside.
It is not true—as some people claim—that the Buddha received help from a
God, angel, spirit or divine being, etc; what He found came from within His own
mind.
And can this Essence be revealed
shorn of cultural and ethnic accretions? Yes, it can, insofar as it can be
revealed by one to another; ultimately, it must be experienced directly, by the
individual, and in no other way. No-one can eat or drink for another, can they?
It is just as intimate as that.
Wherever we were born, it was into
one or another of the various races that populate this planet; by birth, too, we
acquired nationality. Such things were coincidental upon our birth and not
accidents, as nothing happens accidentally, just by itself. But just why we
were born, we really don’t know, in spite of what various religions have said
about it—and I’m talking about something more than just the mating of our
parents, who provided merely the physical basis for our birth. Why were we born
where we were born? We must be honest and acknowledge our ignorance about this,
and not try to fill the gap with concepts, theories and fairy tales, for we
simply do not know! What we can see, however, is that it was not an accident but
a result of causes, and because it is a complex result rather than a simple one
it must have involved innumerable causes, conspiring to produce—in each
case—a unique being. There is no reason for a person to think and feel
superior to others just because he was born into a certain nation and race, for
his birth there was not a matter of his choice; in fact, there is not much about
us that is a result of our choice, for who would choose to be blind, deaf,
crippled, deformed, arthritic, diabetic, mentally retarded, etc.? We would all
choose to be good looking and healthy if we could, of course, but such things
are results of causes outside our choice and preference, and so far beyond our
comprehension that life seems to be unfair, cruel and arbitrary, producing—on
one hand—people who have everything going for them from birth, and—on the
other hand—people who seem doomed to suffer and to have no chance in life from
the start. No, it is not by choice that we are as we are, and if we understand
this we will walk carefully through life, more considerate of other people’s
rights and sensitivities. As far as possible, too, we will resist the
inclination to become proud about our well being and good fortune and not take
it for granted, as it can change, sometimes very quickly and suddenly, as did
the life of movie-star Christopher Reeve, famous for his role as Superman.
Thrown from a horse, he landed on his head and will probably be paralyzed from
his neck down for the rest of his life, trapped as a prisoner in his body, fully
aware of his condition.
We must be grateful to culture for
providing us with security when we need it most, with a framework or backdrop
for our lives. As we grow older and mature and become surer of ourselves,
however, we need such security less and less until finally, it can and should be
left behind, to the extent that we cease to identify exclusively with it and no
longer think of ‘our’ culture as superior to that of others; failure to drop
it and leave it behind when we no longer need it has a stultifying effect, like
insisting on forcing our feet into shoes we have outgrown; thus, what may have
served us well at a particular stage impedes us at a later stage and we become
victims of culture instead of beneficiaries.
But to leave behind one’s
cultural identity can be risky and scary, for it will often mean facing life
alone and accepting responsibility for oneself. Leaving the security of the
known, we proceed into the unknown, and this means insecurity and vulnerability;
there is little we can hold onto for support, and must acknowledge—honestly
and humbly—that there are many things we don’t know—that, in reality,
there is very little that we do know, by our own experience. I have noticed
that, as I grow older, it becomes less difficult to admit that I don’t know
things; when we are young, this is hard to do, as we are involved with
establishing our identity; this requires a certain feeling of security. As we
grow older, and learn more about life, we realize that security is an illusion;
the carpet can be pulled from under us at any moment; life is fragile and slips
from our grasp. Why be shy or embarrassed to admit that we don’t know? On the
contrary, we should be happy to admit it, as it opens us to the possibility of
learning.
Embarking upon this path many
years ago, I felt secure within the framework of Buddhism (it gave me an
identity and a sense of security that comes from knowing one is not alone), and
thought I knew quite well what Buddhism was/is. Some years ago, however, that
sense of security began to slip; perhaps I had reached a point where I could
stand on my own feet and didn’t need it any longer, so now, if someone asks me
what Buddhism is all about, I might answer—without shame—”I don’t really
know anymore”, as Buddhism is just so many things to so many people that it
would be impossible to adequately explain it in a way that would be acceptable
to everyone. I might say “It is this” or “It is that”, but would have
to qualify my statements by adding that this is my understanding of it and not
necessarily anyone else’s, and certainly not everyone else’s. Moreover,
Buddhism became so mixed up with Hinduism in the land of its birth that it would
be almost impossible to separate them.
No, I’m not ashamed to say I
don’t know what Buddhism is all about now, although I must and do gratefully
acknowledge my great debt to Buddhism—the organization, the religion, the
container—for having preserved and been the vehicle of the Buddha’s Teaching
for so long, just as I also acknowledge my lesser debt to Christianity for what
it gave me earlier on in my life. What is important to me now, however, is the
Contents rather than the Container, and if I seem to disregard the Container
there are plenty of other people who will continue to serve and take care of it,
even if they pay little attention to the Contents. But we must be very clear
about this: The Container—no matter how resplendent—exists for the Contents, not the other way around.
So, I will leave the explaining of
what Buddhism is and is not to others; to me, it is just one of the many
religions in the world which we may compare and contrast in an attempt to prove
that ‘ours’ is better than ‘yours’—is, in fact, the best—but still
it will be, at most, the best among many and not the totality. I am more
interested with that which embraces and involves everyone and everything, and
this is what we mean by the word Dharma (I realize that it is a culturally
loaded and religiously biased word, with a strong flavor of India,
but if we were to try to translate it we would need many words and would still
only get an approximate meaning; it is better, therefore, to leave it as it is
and try to feel its several meanings, the most important and broadest being
Cause-and-Effect); also, if we are open-minded, to the extent necessary for
following a spiritual path, we surely will not mind the use of this word; if we
are not so open-minded, no amount of words will suffice, and we will have to
wait. So, if we are really sincere in our desire to discover what is True, we
must see that Buddhism, in any or all of its forms, is not enough, and in going
beyond them would really demonstrate our respect and gratitude to them, while to
cling to them would mean that we have not understood and used them as far as
they can take us.
I would like to close here with a
quotation from WALK ON! By Christmas Humphries, the late founder-president of
the London Buddhist Society: “In the early stages we move, like cattle, in
herds; later, we congregate in religions, movements and societies; later, we
advance in groups, which grow ever smaller; finally, we advance alone”.
