Behind The Mask ~ TOILET-TRAINING
Sometimes,
convinced that certain ideas I’ve had for years
are my own—that is, are results of my own mentations
or insight—I have been somewhat chastened, when
re-reading a book I’d read long ago, to come
across one or more of ‘my’ ideas there!
They were not mine at all, and never had been; I had
merely picked up and absorbed them from somewhere
else. I now realize, however, that these ideas, whatever
they were, must have impressed me so much, struck
me with such force, gelled, had made so much sense
to me, that they had become an integral part of me
to such an extent that there was no space between
us. But isn’t this what teachers and writers
attempt and hope to bring about by their words: a
transmission of some knowledge or information that
will deeply touch the recipient?
Perhaps there are no original ideas; maybe
they have all been conceived before at some time or
other. Why should we always want to claim things as
our own, and make something egoistical of it? Is it
not enough for an idea to strike one and bring about
some transformation? If learning about life becomes
sufficiently important to us, we might discover that
we are living in a treasure-house of wisdom and always
have been; the world’s accumulated wisdom is
available to us all, to make use of in whatever way
we see fit.
The subject I am about to comment on is
not one that I’ve picked up from someone else,
but is something fairly obvious, which I’ve
thought about for some years already. And recently,
when I read Sangharakshita’s little book concerning
his ordination as a monk—Forty-three Years Ago—I
found the same idea expressed there, and will take
the liberty of reproducing it here (indeed, I would
recommend the whole book to anyone because, like all
Sangharakshita’s books, it has a rare depth
of objective perception and provides the reader with
many good and solid points to ponder on). But before
I do so, let me say that my purpose is not to criticize
for the sake of criticizing but to criticize constructively;
I feel there is great need for some critical thought
on this matter, as the whole thing has gotten quite
out of hand, and I’ve said and written before
that Buddhism has become too monkocentric—that
is, the monks have taken over the central place when
only Dharma, in the sense of Truth, merits this. Many
people have become ‘monk-addicts’ (with
just a little help from the monks), and feel that
they cannot do anything without monks, who, of course,
must always be on a pedestal; monks have, in fact,
become like the brahmin priests of the Buddha’s
time, and so we have come full-circle.
Sangharakshita says, on page 35: "During
my fourteen years as a bhikkhu (monk) in India, I
came to the conclusion that the extreme veneration
shown to bhikkhus by the Theravadin laity is really
quite a bad thing for them. I am not saying that respect
itself is a bad thing. Neither am I saying that the
showing of respect to others is bad for one. On the
contrary, I believe parents, teachers, elders, and
the truly great ought to be shown more respect than
is customary nowadays. What I am saying is that the
kind of veneration shown by the Theravadin laity to
bhikkhus by prostrating before them, seating them
on a higher level, serving them on bended knees, and
giving even the juniormost of them precedence over
the highest lay dignitaries, has a negative rather
than a positive psychological effect on them. The
effect is somewhat less negative in the case of a
few of the more conscientious bhikkhus, for whom such
veneration acts as an incentive so to live as to deserve
veneration. In the case of the majority the effect
is very bad indeed, serving as it does to reinforce
their sense of the superiority of the bhikkhu over
the layman, and giving them, in some instances, a
quite inflated idea of their own importance and even
of their own spiritual attainments. Indeed, bhikkhus
of long standing may have become so accustomed to
being treated with the kind of veneration I have described,
that they are unable to imagine being treated in any
other way and unable to relate to the laity except
on the basis of such veneration. Should Western converts
to Buddhism, for example, happen to treat them with
no more than ordinary politeness, they are liable
to become uneasy, disconcerted, or even annoyed. ‘These
people have no faith’, they have been known
to remark on such occasions, by ‘faith’
meaning faith in the superiority of bhikkhus.
"In making this criticism, as I am
afraid it is, I am referring specifically to Theravadin
bhikkhus. I am not referring to those Chinese or Tibetan
monks who follow one or another version of the Sravastivadin
Vinaya, a Vinaya [a system of discipline or training]
which is in substantial agreement with its Theravadin
counterpart. Tibetan monks, in particular, are far
less concerned to insist on the difference between
the monk and the layman. They have no hesitation,
for example, in returning the salutations of the laity,
which Theravadin bhikkhus rarely if ever do. The reason
for this difference may be that Tibetan monks are
psychologically and spiritually more sure of themselves,
or it may be that in Tibet the veneration that in
Theravadin countries is shown to bhikkhus is (or was)
directed towards the tulkus or ‘incarnate lamas’.
Most likely the main reason is that the monk and layman
alike accept the Bodhisattva ideal, which has been
described as the ‘Presiding Idea’ of Tibetan
Buddhism. Whatever the reason for it may be, the difference
undoubtedly exists, Theravadin bhikkhus being not
only more concerned to insist on the superiority of
the monk but also more concerned that the layman should
give practical recognition to that superiority by
supporting the monk and venerating him. Often, one
of the first things to be taught by Theravadin bhikkhus
working in India and the West is ‘how to pay
proper respect to bhikkhus’".
(Concerning the returning of salutations:
I have just read the Dalai Lama’s book, FREEDOM
IN EXILE, and on page 214, this is what he said on
the matter of monks returning the greetings of lay-people:
" .... there are certain rules of etiquette to
be observed in Thailand which I found distinctly difficult.
According to Thai custom, the laity should always
show respect for the Sangha, as Buddhist monasticism
is properly known. However, it is considered entirely
wrong for a monk to acknowledge such reverence, even
when a person prostrates him or herself. I found this
extremely hard to get used to. Under normal circumstances,
I always try to return greetings. And whilst I did
my best to restrain myself, I often found my hands
behaving independently!" Upon his third visit
to Thailand, the Dalai Lama decided to ignore this
Thai custom, and saluted people whenever they saluted
him; he said that while doing so, he could feel the
eyes of Thai monks looking at him disapprovingly.
The reason why Theravadin monks do not return
the greetings of the laity is because they say the
laity are saluting the robe as a symbol and not the
wearer of it. Yes, it’s good to keep this in
mind, as it helps to check the arising of pride; pride
easily arises when this is forgotten. But, since even
Theravadins acknowledge that everyone has the capacity
or potential to become enlightened, when or if a monk
returns people’s respectful greetings, he could
do so with the thought that they are saluting the
enlightenment-principle in him and he in them; it
would be much nearer to the friendliness, compassion
and humility as taught by the Buddha. It depends what
is in one’s mind when one does it).
Such respect is based upon custom rather
than upon understanding, and is bestowed instead of
being earned. Moreover, respect of this nature can
be, and often is, more intoxicating than whiskey.
Several times, I have known people who were friendly,
humble and easy-going as laymen but not long after
ordaining as monks have changed and become aloof,
proud, and condescending, ordering lay-people around,
treating them like servants, and referring to others
as their disciples; it is not nice to see, and is
surely a loss. In such cases, I think to myself that
they have not undergone proper toilet-training and
have forgotten or failed to understand that no matter
how high, famous, rich or powerful a person might
be, he still has to use the toilet every day, like
everyone else; he cannot pay or delegate someone—an
employee, servant, disciple, friend, child or slave—to
do it for him. If they were concerned about Dharma,
they would understand that a toilet is an ‘enlightenment
room’, not just in the sense that whoever goes
in comes out somewhat lighter physically, but in the
sense that what goes on there is a rather shameful
bodily function, reminding us that, though we like
to gather together to eat and enjoy the food, we perform
the other end of the process alone and in private.
A toilet is a good place to meditate and
remind ourselves that when we’ve got our head
in the clouds, our butt is still on the seat. Following
up this natural lead might well produce or give rise
to some enlightenment of the spiritual kind. And so,
toilet-training is not just something we undergo as
infants, but something that everyone, regardless of
age, needs to practice regularly.
Many people use the time spent in the toilet
to ponder on things, and many inspired ideas come
from there. Others smoke there, read books or magazines,
dream, fantasize, pick their nose, and so on. What
a versatile room is the toilet!
Monks should keep it in mind that if they
disrobe—as they may freely do anytime—people
will no longer respect them as they did before; they
would still be basically the same persons and might
continue to live virtuous lives, but the form would
have changed, and the form is very important to most
people. Actually, we pay too much attention to the
form and not enough—not nearly enough—to
the essence, and thereby deprive ourselves of so much.
There is absolutely nothing that a monk
can do that a lay-person (I feel uncomfortable about
this word; it has derogatory overtones; a ‘lay-man’
or family-person is also a human-being, is he not?)
cannot do, if he wants to, and I am speaking from
experience, with authority, as I’ve seen things
from both sides of the fence. If I were not a monk,
I could say exactly the same things that I say as
a monk, but few people would listen; by saying them
as a monk, they somehow have a greater impact, greater
weight; it’s silly, but so, and means that people
respect persons and appearance instead of what is
true; as I just said above: sadly, the form is more
important than the essence. Were it the other way
around, people would not be afraid to investigate
and question things; there would be no ‘sacred
cows’—no taboos—and everything would
be out in the open.
Observing the state of things in many temples,
we might be excused for thinking that pride, rather
than humility, is one of the results or effects of
living as a monk; it is so widespread—so widespread,
in fact, that when one has the good fortune to meet
a humble monk, it is remarkable and refreshing. I
regret having to say this, and I’ve not said
it from malice; it is a shame to say it, and I only
wish it were not true. But there are some people out
there who are ready for, and who deserve, something
more than just the name-and-form of things, and it
is for such people that I write and speak. There is
a price for everything, I know, and I am ready to
accept the consequences of speaking so—and there
probably will be consequences; no-one can please everyone,
and if we try to, we might end up by pleasing no-one,
and also losing our integrity. Evam: So. |