Behind The Mask ~ NONZENSE
In our
haste or greed to get something, find something, or
learn something, we often block ourselves, fall over
our own feet, or overlook what is right in front of
us. Our looking prevents us from seeing, because we
always look with something in mind, with an idea of
what it is we are looking for.
Not long ago, someone told me that she wished
to make a trip to Taiwan in order to learn something
of Dharma there, and asked my advice. I encouraged
her to go but not to think about learning anything
there; just go and see what happens, I said, and you
will be sure to learn something; but if you go to
deliberately learn something you will be inviting
disappointment, because although you would probably
still learn something, it might not be what, or as
much as you expected.
As long as we have a basic understanding
of Dharma and, very importantly, are interested in
it—that is, take joy in understanding and discovering
things—learning more, or the arising of insight,
is assured; there is no need to constantly think about
learning; after all, Dharma—in the sense of
reality—is all around us and never absent for
a moment; all we have to do is turn to it and tune
into it; it is nothing special.
So, do not try to learn anything. By this,
I mean, forget about learning and you will learn.
But in case anyone misunderstands me here, I should
say that this is something quite different than trying
not to learn, which is a deliberate turning-away,
resisting, rejecting and refusing to acknowledge what
is here.
Because of our misguided efforts, we often
cheat or rob ourselves of their full effects. Take
the idea behind ‘making merit’, for example:
certainly, we need merit; it is the foundation of
our Dharma-life, and without it, we won’t get
very far. But to have merit constantly in mind and
to let it guide our actions, makes it into something
like a business-investment and only increases our
greed and attachment instead of reducing it.
Some people give things to others with the
idea of getting a ‘good return’, which
clearly reveals their motive; it is rather like buying
shares on the stock-market. It is a pity that our
actions are not better guided or rooted in clearer
understanding. Obviously, like this, we think that
merit is something that comes to us from outside,
from other people or things, when, in reality, it
comes—like enlightenment—from inside ourselves.
As a monk, I depend upon the support of
others (we all do, in various ways, either directly
or indirectly) and although I am grateful, of course,
for people’s kindness (without which I could
not live as I do), I must say that it is uncomfortable
to be seen as a ‘field of merit’ in which
to plant good seeds. Needless to say, I want to be
enlightened, but wanting to be enlightened and actually
being enlightened are two quite different things.
How far from enlightenment I am I cannot say, of course,
but I’m afraid that offerings made to me, as
a monk, will not produce great results, and I want
to warn people about this. If people like to support
me in my efforts to propagate Dharma, however, it
is another thing, especially if they themselves have
been able to learn something through me, but I don’t
like to be used as an investment. I would also like
to advise people to give for the joy of giving and
because they have the opportunity and capacity to
give, and not from thoughts of what they might get
in return.
Many years ago, a small group of people
supported me with the obvious aim of ‘making
merit’ thereby; they were obsessed with merit,
and treated me as their ‘pet monk’, more
like an object than a person, or as someone who should
obey them and live up to their expectations. It was
uncomfortable, and I felt sorry that they could/would
not see any further than this. When, in ‘76,
I changed robes from the Theravada to the Chinese
style, these people were most upset and behaved as
if I had betrayed them; they left me and ceased to
support me, but this was a relief to me rather than
a disappointment. They were so attached to the form
that they didn’t even bother to inquire why
I had changed robes, and didn’t see that I was
the same person as I was before, with the same ideas.
I never saw them again, but I hear they are still
hung-up with form and merit.
The Buddha once told Anathapindika—one
of His wealthy patrons, who offered the Jetavana garden
to Him and the Order—that alms given to the
Order of Monks, together with the Buddha, is meritorious;
more meritorious than such alms, however, is the building
of monasteries for the use of the Order; more meritorious
than the building of such monasteries is Taking Refuge
in the Three Jewels; more meritorious than Taking
Refuge in the Three Jewels is the observance of the
Five Precepts; more meritorious than observing the
Five Precepts is meditation on Loving-Kindness; and
most meritorious of all is the development of Insight
into the fleeting nature of things.
Venerable Narada, in his book, The Buddha
and His Teachings, says: "It is evident that
generosity is the first stage of the Buddhist way
of life. More important than generosity is the observance
of at least the Five Rules of regulated conduct, which
tends to the disciplining of words and deeds. Still
more important and beneficial is the cultivation of
such ennobling virtues as loving-kindness which lead
to self-development. Most important and most beneficial
of all self-discipline is the sincere effort to understand
things as they truly are".
Let’s examine the concept of generosity
a little here: Is it generosity to give something
in the hope of getting something in return or as a
result? That is really giving to oneself, not to others,
is it not? Should we not give from the joy of giving
and because we have the opportunity and capacity,
and not from what we might get in return? We have
already received so much from life; how can we—how
dare we—think of getting anything more, without
understanding what we already have? What we can give
or put back is very little compared with what we have
received. So, have we not, in our greed for results
and ‘merit’, forgotten the meaning of
generosity, and turned the very basis of our spiritual
discipline into a materialistic pursuit? I know, as
I say this, that I risk cutting the support away from
under me, but I would willingly make do with less
for the sake of helping people understand something
more of the great spiritual Way of the Buddha; it
pains me to observe the excessive emphasis on ‘making
merit’ nowadays, when there is just so much
to be discovered and so far to go, and I say this
out of appreciation for people’s kindness; I
don’t want their kindness to be wasted and in
vain.
I would like to quote here a short extract
from Sangharakshita’s recent book, Forty-three
Years Ago (page 26), where he speaks of the relationship
between monks and lay-people; he explains that many
people have fallen into the erroneous way of thinking
that the spiritual life is something reserved for
‘ordained people’, and therefore the layman
" .... does not seek liberation from mundane
existence. Instead, he seeks to attain a state of
greater happiness within mundane existence, both here
and hereafter. Such a state is not attained by means
of wisdom, but by means of merit. ‘Making merit’
thus comes to be the principle religious activity
of the Theravadin layman, and the best and easiest
way for him to make merit is by supporting the monks,
in the sense of providing them with food, clothing,
accommodation and medicine (the traditional ‘four
requisites’), and, in modern times, many other
things besides. Supporting the monks is the best and
easiest way of making merit because monks are leading
the spiritual life and because, according to tradition,
the more spiritually-developed the person is to whom
offerings are made the greater is the merit that accrues
therefrom".
In Thailand, where Buddhism has largely
degenerated into a thing of mere tradition, and is
no longer a thing to live by (of course, there are
people there who understand and live by it, but they
are in a minority, which is why I said largely), there
are about 300,000 monks; they can be seen everywhere,
in their distinctive saffron robes. Every day, most
of these monks go out with their alms-bowls to receive—not
beg for—the food that people have prepared to
offer them. But, because there are so many monks in
some areas, it is sometimes difficult for some of
them to obtain enough to eat. On the days of the new-moon
and full-moon, however—days which, according
to tradition, are considered special—so many
people wait to offer food to the monks that they receive
too much. Now, why this imbalance? Why, on most days,
do some monks get barely enough to eat, but on two
days of the month, they get too much? It is because
these days are considered special and that therefore
food offered then will produce more merit than food
offered on other days. It is not so, of course, but
that’s what people believe, and it is a clear
sign that greed for merit is behind their offerings
on these days; thus, monks are used as business-investments!
Since not everyone knows who Bodhidharma
was, I would like to introduce him somewhat, before
telling something of him that is relevant here. Bodhidharma
was an Indian Buddhist monk who lived in the 6th century
CE and was acknowledged to be the 28th patriarch of
a line of masters going back to one of the Buddha’s
chief disciples, Mahakasyapa. This lineage of teachers
had preserved a special kind of teaching on meditation.
When Bodhidharma went to China to propagate these
teachings he became the 1st Patriarch of the Ch’an
School of Buddhism there (which later became known
as Zen in Japan).
Not long after arriving in China, his fame
reached the ears of the Emperor, who was a good and
pious Buddhist, and he invited Bodhidharma to the
palace for an audience. When he came, the Emperor
received him respectfully, and told him of all the
good deeds he had done to help Buddhism flourish in
his realm. When he asked Bodhidharma how much merit
he had made from all his good deeds, however, he was
surprised when Bodhidharma bluntly replied: "None
whatsoever, your Majesty!" His further pronouncement
that Buddhism was "nothing holy, but pure emptiness",
confused the Emperor even more, and Bodhidharma left
without explaining what he meant.
This story has been told and retold countless
times over the centuries, and it has been accepted
that the Emperor was suffering from delusion and wrong
view; Bodhidharma’s manner is seldom if ever
questioned. It is generally assumed that he was enlightened
before he went to China, but if so, why would he need
to sit in a mountain-cave for nine years, seeing no-one
and saying nothing? And why, if Bodhidharma was so
wise—even before his complete enlightenment,
if that is what happened in the cave—and cared
enough about the propagation of Buddhism to go to
China in the first place, did he not explain his meaning
to the Emperor, who was not only a good man, but also
had tremendous capacity to lead many others to a better
understanding if he had understood better himself?
Surely, this was a mistake on the part of Bodhidharma.
Why did he speak so cryptically when a simple explanation
might have produced a much better result? (It is said
that, later on, when someone else explained Bodhidharma’s
meaning to him, the Emperor did understand, so why
didn’t Bodhidharma explain it himself?) Many
followers of Zen—especially Western Zen afficionados—are
guilty of this kind of thing, and it is done, in many
cases, to display their grasp of the subtleties of
things they think are beyond ‘lesser mortals’;
it is often just a game, a silly show.
Bodhidharma might have explained that actions
done with the aim of getting a return—as had
been the Emperor’s motive—will produce
corresponding results on the material level, but not
merit, which has the function of decreasing the defilements
of Greed, Hatred and Delusion; in fact, our greed
is only increased thereby. Merit is the result of
actions done through understanding, of actions done
knowing that they are the right things to do. And
the freer our actions are from the desire to get a
return, the greater will be the merit; conversely,
the more we act from the desire to get a return, the
less our merit will be therefrom. How we do things
is just as important as what we do.
In 1973, I used to visit someone who was
seriously ill in a small-town hospital in Malaysia.
My visits often used to coincide with those of the
patient’s younger brother, who was about thirteen
at that time.
One day, a prisoner from the local jail
was brought into the ward and handcuffed to the bed
he was to occupy. He was studiously avoided by the
other patients and their visitors and consequently
spent most of his time alone. I went over to speak
with him, but the language-barrier did not allow much
communication.
The younger brother of my patient must have
been thinking about this because, after a few days,
without any prompting from me, he went over to the
prisoner, removed the chain with his Buddha-pendant
from around his neck, and unspokenly offered it to
him.
This action, performed without any idea
of ‘merit’, touched the prisoner and brought
tears to his eyes. Later on, after he had served his
sentence and was released from jail, he went to visit
his young benefactor and kept in touch with his family
for quite a while; he had seen that someone—a
complete stranger—cared about him, a criminal.
To give with love, with no other motive,
is surely a real act of merit, regardless of who one
gives to. But if our giving becomes calculative—that
is, looking at the person to whom one is giving and
considering if he is worthy of our gift or not, or
wondering how productive of merit giving to someone
might be—can there be merit therefrom? This
is something to be pondered on. Merit, like enlightenment,
comes from inside, not from outside.
Why should we always worry and crave for
more when we have already got so much out of life?
This is low thinking, and demonstrates lack of insight.
Somewhat the same idea might at first seem
to be found in the words of Jesus: "Do not let
your left hand know what your right hand is doing";
however, the full text of the Christian admonition
changes the point of view, and we can see that there
is still an aim in mind:
"Beware of practicing your piety before
men in order to be seen by them, for then you will
have no reward from your Father who is in heaven.
Thus, when you give alms, sound no trumpet before
you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in
the streets, that they may be praised by men. Truly,
I say to you, they have their reward. But when you
give alms, do not let your left hand know what your
right hand is doing, so that your alms may be in secret,
and your Father who sees in secret will reward you".
(Matt 6:1-4). |