And Did Those Feet in Ancient Times, Walk upon Polished Marble?

Last November, President Obama and Hilary Clinton visited the Wat Pho monastery in Bangkok, Thailand.  Being respectful of the customs, they removed their shoes as they were guided past the reclining Buddha by head monk Chaokun Suthee Thammanuwat.  This photo shows the three of them.
The Buddhist Blog had a beautiful thing to say about the perspective lent by this photo:

The photo is [a] poignant reminder that regardless of our station in life, we are all sentient beings having the same worth and importance. If I didn't mention the names, we'd never know who those feet represent. In this angle, President Obama isn't the most powerful man in the world but simply another sentient walking the path of life.

The picture evokes letting go of our egos and the self-important images we sometimes display. This photo transcends their lofty titles of president, secretary and monk to expose them as being just like the rest of us. 

In examining this photo, I am also struck by the reflections on the floor.  Our egos are also simply reflections of our states of mind, our beliefs about ourselves, and the appearances we work so hard to maintain.  Yet the reflection of ego is shimmering and evanescent, whereas the feel of the cold, smooth marble underfoot is there for all three to experience.

Disturbing Meditation Biases

I had an interesting American Buddhist experience last night.  I am currently in Singapore, and went to a New Kadampa Tradition meditation center (or centre, in Singaporean spelling).  I had been there once for a day retreat, but this was just a normal evening meditation session, with two guided meditations and a talk on the purpose of meditation in-between.  Perhaps I was just jet-lagged, but I found the discussion to be quite disturbing.

The discussion focused on the five stages of meditation, which include preparatory practices, contemplation (or analytic meditation), single-pointed concentration meditation, dedication of merit, and subsequent practice.  I am not going to describe all of these steps (unless someone requests it), but these are traditional (at least within some Mahayana and Vajrayana traditions).  What I was disturbed by wasn't the meditation approach itself, but the cultural framework around it.

For example, here is some of the language used:

• The preparatory practices "prepare us for successful meditation by purifying hindrances caused by our previous negative actions, by accumulating merit (or good fortune), and by enabling us to receive the blessings of enlightened beings."   
• "Meditation is a mind that concentrates on a virtuous object, and that is the main cause of mental peace....When our mind is peaceful, we are free from worries and mental discomfort, and we experience true happiness."
• "If we train our mind to become peaceful we will be happy all the time, even in the most adverse conditions....Then day and night, in life after life, we will experience only peace and happiness."  (All quotes from The New Meditation Handbook, by Geshe Kelsang Gyatso)

As an American Buddhist not specifically tied to any one tradition, I have a hard time with some of the assumptions underlying these statements.  

First, Buddha made it clear that we should examine each proposition carefully and test its utility for ourselves, partly because everyone's path is unique.  "As the wise test gold by burning, cutting and rubbing it (on a piece of touchstone), so are you to accept my words after examining them and not merely out of regard for me," says Buddha in Jnanasara-samuccaya [Bht 285]. Therefore, I have a hard time with concepts that were discussed such as multiple lives, good fortune, good luck, and blessings of holy beings. These feel too much like superstition to me. I am not interested in getting more money, luck, or angels. Whether there are holy beings capable of bestowing blessings on me seems like exactly the kind of question that Buddha refused to answer in the Kalama Sutra (aka the Cula-Malunkyovada Sutta, Majjhima Nikaya, Sutta 63).  Whether or not such things exist are "not connected to the goal" of liberation from suffering, and therefore are distractions.

Second, I am uncomfortable with claiming that the goal of meditation is to be "happy all the time." I also dislike when someone says can experience "true" happiness with one approach, as if all of the happiness you normally experience isn't real and that only they have the "truth."  These ways of describing the goal seem to reinforce dualistic thinking - that things are good or bad, right or wrong, happy or distressing.  I don't want to be happy all the time!  Clinging to that goal will only cause me to suffer more.  If we believe the goal is to find some state of "true" happiness and to maintain it, then we will be greatly disappointed.  If we believe that only one person/religion/political party has Truth, we will enhance our suffering.

Ultimately, this approach to considering the benefits of meditation feels very selfish to me.  We want more blessings, more merit, more fortune, more happiness, etc.  These are just more of the same selfish goals that keep us unhappy!

I was quite aware, however, as I was having these uncomfortable feelings with the way meditation was being taught that my reaction demonstrated my own biases and limitations.  Why was I being so judgmental?  What are my assumptions that were being pushed against?  If I accepted what was being said rather than fighting it, could it give me a new insight?

I don't pretend to have any answers here.  The Buddha himself gave his teachings in what seem to be contradictory ways, based largely on understanding who his audience was.  Maybe we need to lure people into a regular meditation practice with thoughts of being happy all the time, because that's what will motivate them.  Maybe this approach was skillfully designed, because telling them that happiness and sadness are the same thing isn't really motivating.

Let's return to the question about what is American Buddhism?  In this case, it seems that my viewpoint has real trouble with things I can't see or test for myself (such as receiving blessings from enlightened extra-terrestrials), and that I don't want to escape from my situation to be in a state of constant bliss (there are drugs for that).  I don't want to be saved and I don't want my life to be different from how it is. Instead, I just want to accept it, feel it, and enjoy it (including the bad parts).  Nonetheless, I recognize that my biases are my biases, and they do not in any way diminish the validity of someone else's approach.

Ultimately, my discomfort with the meditation approach made it much more valuable.  I'll be going back.

What Does Meditation Do?

Western stereotypes about meditation are interesting.  People often initially come to meditation because they believe it will bring them bliss, or bring sudden enlightenment, or at least be a relaxing break from the stresses of the day. Yet, instead, it often feels really bad, and people then believe they're doing it wrong or that it doesn't work.  But what does meditation actually do?

There are many answers to this, at many different levels of analysis, but at least in the beginning stages for most new meditators, it allows us to see how the mind works.  It is constantly jumping -- emotions follow thoughts which follow emotions which follow thoughts and on and on ad nauseum.  Sometimes this is called "monkey mind," although I personally think that's somewhat unfair to monkeys.  By recognizing how easy it is to get trapped into this pattern of chasing every thought and feeling to the next, and how difficult it is to slow that pattern, it teaches us that we don't need to put quite so much faith in our thoughts and feelings.  They will all change, even if we try to hold on to them.

This can allow us to not react when under their influence.  We can refrain from automatically reacting.  We can pause briefly and add some space, and perhaps even relax to see what will happen naturally.  This can allow for a much gentler approach both to oneself and to others.

As an example, my girlfriend once told me that she didn't trust me entirely.  She wasn't being unkind or attacking me - it was simply true.  My immediate reaction was to feel hurt and I immediately thought of all sorts of angry things I could say in response or to make a pronouncement about how we couldn't be together then.  But it was bedtime, so instead I lay in bed and let my thoughts and feelings flow as they would until I finally slept (not particularly well).  The next day I was able to express my disappointment with her lack of complete trust, but I could also see how my behaviors had caused it.  She was right not to entirely trust me - I had told her not to in several small ways.  My disappointment was, in fact, equal to hers.  She was disappointed that she wasn't able to trust me completely and to always be feeling as though she might lose this relationship soon.

By recognizing that my immediate thoughts and feelings were not "truth," and indeed were limiting my view as long as I focused on them, I was able to not be trapped into believing I had to act on them at the minute I was thinking/feeling them.  Adding a pause allowed for a better view on the situation, and ultimately meant that we didn't even argue at all - instead, we had a good conversation and a better understanding of each other because of it.

If we consider the stereotypes about the outcomes of meditation, this example doesn't fit any of them.  At no point in this experience did it feel blissful, enlightened, or relaxing to me.  But meditation had allowed me to see the nature of mind, so that the thoughts and feelings didn't feel so solid or overwhelming that I had to do something at the minute I was caught in them.  If I had, it would invariably have been less than skillful and would likely have made the situation worse rather than using the opportunity to make our relationship better.

Buddhists and anime and ninjas, oh my!

Americans come to Buddhist practices for many reasons.  Tonight I got to learn a new one.

My experience is that most people who were not born into Buddhist families either begin to come to meditation groups or enter a more committed phase of practice when they are confronted with the truth of their suffering in a way that makes it unable to ignore.  Others recognize that they live in a way that feels unsettled or stressful, and they hope that mindfulness will teach them to get through the day in a calmer way.  For others (and this was more my approach), it is a gradual unfolding as the dharma becomes revealed over time, perhaps with moments of epiphany.

Tonight I was leading our Mindfulness and Meditation group, and we had some newer people there, one of whom was Chloe, a girl of about 8 or 9 who had come with her mother.  While I was setting up, I asked Chloe if she would like some crayons or something to do during the meditation.  She said, "Oh no, I like meditation!" I asked her if she thought she'd be more comfortable on a chair or on a cushion, and she thought she'd be more comfortable on a cushion.  So I took her to choose a zafu that she would like, and she helped her mother get set up.  She also informed me that she meditates in a different way than others, with her hands palms together, and first two fingers of each hand straight, and second two intertwined.

We began with a 10-minute settling meditation, then some open discussion about the book we're reading (Zen Heart), and then a longer guided meditation based on one of the practices.  During our discussion, I asked Chloe why she liked meditating.  She said because she likes the Japanese anime-style show, Naruto, in which some of the characters meditate.  Oh, and also there's a ninja.

Chloe had a difficult time with the longer meditation, and expressed the frustration many meditators feel at the difficulty of staying on the cushion.  She ultimately needed to leave a bit early.

Apparently we need more ninjas.

Going Out of Your Mind

Alan Watts liked to say, “By going out of your mind, you come to your senses.”

Our concepts are overlays on reality, although we usually confuse them for reality.

Consider constellations, for example.  We perceive and conceive of groups of stars as if they go together in a pattern, but that is not reality.  They do not intend to go together, neither do they go together the same way for everyone.  Different cultures have created different constellations out of the same stars.  In fact, the stars that we perceive as being close to each other are in fact nowhere near each other.  They exist at greatly different distances from earth, even though they look close together.  This is because we have only one point of view on them.

Here is where humans get into so much trouble in the world.  We confuse our limited points of view not only for reality, but with correctness.  We all believe that our point of view is right.  But, of course, it is tremendously limited and therefore wrong.  It is right only in the sense that if you feel cold it does not matter if I believe it is hot.  It is purely your perspective and your perception, and is therefore right only for you and only at that particular moment.

Two aspects serve to make these difficulties with believing our perceptions/conceptions even worse.  The first is the limitation of attention – attention is like a searchlight that can only see what is in its beam, and nothing outside of it.

The second is that we usually perceive only at one level.  If you were to look through a microscope at your body, you would see many different types of cells rushing about, exchanging proteins, and appearing to be constantly fighting or working with each other, all in a mess.  If you do not look through a microscope, but instead at a mirror, we perceive one separate being.  Which perspective is right?  

What is American Buddhism?

For many years I have avoided writing a blog.  My question has always been, "Why would anyone be interested in what I had for breakfast?"  Although editors sometimes had an answer (my favorite was simply, "You'd be surprised."), I didn't see any need to try to put either my personal or my professional opinions onto the Internet.

So what has changed?  I have been considering several questions about Buddhism, and writing them often helps me to structure them more thoughtfully.  A blog seems like an easy place to write and amend them over time.  Furthermore, it might get some responses that would be interesting and valuable, if anyone reads it and comments.

Although I have been a student of Buddhism (and Taoism) for almost 25 years, it is only fairly recently that I have been willing to call myself Buddhist.  For most of that time I generally refused to pidgeonhole myself, and if cornered, I would usually say that I was a devout agnostic.  It was only when I was travelling to work in another country and was required to fill in a form that included identifying a religion that I finally was forced to state publicly that I was Buddhist.  Although this ultimately has been helpful to me, as I embrace the dharma in a more personal way, it has also raised more questions.  People want to know what kind of Buddhist I am.  Am I Zen, Tibetan, Insight, Shambhala, etc?  I do not come from a single lineage, and my only response has been that I am an American Buddhist.  But what is an American Buddhist? 

Religions (like languages) are constantly transforming, especially as they come into contact with other cultures.  Buddhism has many traditions, largely centered around geography.  As Buddhism spread, it adapted to fit the existing cultures and continued to change as it flourished within those cultures.  For example, as it moved into China and came into contact with Taoist thought, it brought forth Chan Buddhism, which when it moved into Japan became Zen.  Buddhism moved into the English-speaking West over 100 years ago (for a fascinating semi-personal account, read Christian Humphreys' history of the Buddhist Society in London, in A Buddhist Students' Manual, 1956).  It moved into America in the 1950s, merging with the Beat culture of the times, then the hippy culture of the 60s, and is finally beginning to mature.  But what is it?

I don't have an answer, but I have several possible questions, based largely on my perception of American culture.

• Perhaps it is a straight-talking, and no-nonsense type of Buddhism - A practical Buddhism.
• Perhaps it is grounded in empiricism - a scientific style, stripped of mysticism.  Perhaps it is the opposite - highly magical and evangelical (or maybe it's one way for "red" states and the other for "blue" states).
• Maybe it is becoming more fundamentalist and outspoken.
• Maybe it is a melting pot of all of the various Buddhist traditions (e.g., Hinayana, Mahayana, Vajrayana), with less emphasis on transmission through a single lineage.
• Perhaps it is seen as the next new trendy thing to wear, or is a method for being perceived as novel and/or shocking.
• Maybe it rests on an assumption that ancient Eastern wisdom is somehow better or more relevant than modern wisdom traditions.
• Perhaps it provides a more healthy way to proclaim rebellion than smoking Marlboros.
• Maybe it is becoming more individualistic rather than communal.
• Maybe it is more arrogant than other forms of Buddhism, thinking that it alone has Truth.
• Maybe it is more aggressive or violent in its approach to solving problems.
• Maybe it is forgiving (or supportive) of shorter and shorter attention spans.
• Maybe it provides a sense of belonging - a type of ancestral home that most Americans lack because of our mixed race heritage and our general willingness to change where we live, our jobs, and our marriages.
• Maybe it is seen as the antidote to an increasingly complex and fast-paced environment?

The question of what is American Buddhism is, of course, a modern koan.  There is no single answer.  The answer is dependently arising within each individual and across time. 

I can only hope to give a sense of what I mean for myself when I define myself as an American Buddhist, rather than defining myself within a specific tradition.  My approach to Buddhism (at this particular point in my history) is that it is multiply determined - I draw from all traditions, seeking to find what works for me, knowing that my path may be different from someone else's, although both may be equally "true."  It is a philosophical Buddhism, rather than being mystical.  My Buddhism is very empirical in nature.  I am, by training and vocation, a scientist.  I often find deep parallels between what we are learning about scientific psychology, physical science, and Buddhist philosophy.  I expect I will write about these aspects quite a bit in the future.  Ultimately, it is very practical type of Buddhism. I find that it works, and that deepens my interest in studying and following the Dharma.

This is, of necessity, an incomplete answer.  What is American Buddhism to you?  Does it even exist?