Discernment, wisdom and the Kalama Sutta

By Paul | Published: June 17, 2010

The Kalama Sutta is one of the more popular of the Buddha’s discourses, sometimes used by teachers to demonstrate a perceived “don’t take my word for it, see for yourself” aspect of his – the Buddha’s – teaching. Bhikkhu Bodhi  dispels that notion here. But I think the Kalama Sutta is well suited to address a contemporary phenomenon.

The sutta begins as the Kalamas, a group of people who live in Kesaputta, approach the Buddha and say:

Lord, there are some priests & contemplatives who come to Kesaputta. They expound & glorify their own doctrines, but as for the doctrines of others, they deprecate them, revile them, show contempt for them, & disparage them. And then other priests & contemplatives come to Kesaputta. They expound & glorify their own doctrines, but as for the doctrines of others, they deprecate them, revile them, show contempt for them, & disparage them. They leave us absolutely uncertain & in doubt: Which of these venerable priests & contemplatives are speaking the truth, and which ones are lying?

The Buddha replies, “Of course you are uncertain, Kalamas. Of course you are in doubt. When there are reasons for doubt, uncertainty is born.”

The Buddha proceeds with a lengthy answer that begins with a series of questions focusing on greed, hatred, and delusion. Is this teacher or that one governed by these three ignoble motivators? Does what they teach lead to harm or long-lasting happiness? The Buddha ends with some good advice on what qualities to look for in a good and noble teacher or disciple.

With this as background, I travel now from the small world of Kesaputta to the infinitely larger World Wide Web. It’s not a physical place, but a place nonetheless. Many of its inhabitants are like the Kalamas, full of questions and confusion. Many others are like the priests and contemplatives, full of knowledge and opinions and ideas about everything. Some of these “priests and contemplatives” are worth following, others, well…

Anyone with a net-connected computer has access to this world of seekers and sages and charlatans and crooks. Fifteen years ago – when the Web was not more than a few threads – I wanted to learn about meditation. I’d read that meditation may be helpful with managing depression. I wanted to find out if it were true. But I didn’t want to mess around with too much experimenting. I didn’t want to go down any blind alleys. I wanted to know the right way to meditate right now. I discovered, though, that there was a lot of nonsense out there and many blind alleys. A particular bit of nonsense involved sitting with my eyes closed, but moving my eyeballs up, down, right, left over and over and over. I tried it. Really. What did I know? Maybe it was the right way. It wasn’t.

I realized I was not going to find what I was looking through my explorations of the Web. I went to a bookstore and bought Mindfulness in Plain English instead. Even then I worried about getting the right advice.

But this is not about me or my practice. This is about information – particularly information about Buddhism that can be found on the Web. If I’m new to Buddhism, and I’m searching for information and answers about it, how do I know what’s reliable and what isn’t? Being ignorant of all things Buddhist, and I find myself on this blog or that website, for example, how do I know “Which of these venerable priests & contemplatives are speaking the truth, and which ones are lying?” How do I separate fact from truth from opinion from…

The answer, of course, is the same as the Buddha gave the Kalamas: study the teacher and the message in terms of greed, hatred, and delusion. But it’s not so easy, and may take a long time. Patience, after all, is an aspect of Buddhist practice. When the Buddha addressed the Kalamas he was talking about discernment. That is, seeing the difference between what is good and what is not, what is skillful and what is not, what is truth and what is not. Discernment is yet another important aspect of Buddhist practice. But I wouldn’t know that until I was well into it. It’s a quality worth cultivating, because without it wisdom is impossible.

Posted in Buddhism, Practice, wisdom | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

Reflections on rebirth, reincarnation, and belief

By Paul | Published: May 21, 2010

This post is inspired by Peter, over at the Buddha Diaries, where he discusses his objections to the concept of reincarnation and “why I have not been able to call myself a Buddhist.”

Maybe this topic has been discussed, debated, and deconstructed more than any other in Buddhism – who knows? But I feel compelled to add my own thoughts.

The Hindu idea of reincarnation and the Buddhist idea of rebirth are different. What’s more, the various Buddhist schools seem to disagree on what it’s all about, which adds to the confusion.

Reincarnation, as I understand it, is the transmigration of a soul (Sanskrit: atman) from one lifetime to another as it inhabits a different body each time. Over and over and over – the same “person” ends up in a different body and life circumstance according to deeds performed in the prior lifetime. An analogy is where a person passes through an infinitely long series of dressing rooms, changing from one costume to another. Same person, different costume.

Rebirth, as I understand it (from the Theravada position, anyway), is that at the moment of death one’s actions (i.e., thoughts) propel a particular kind of consciousness forward in a continuum of cause and effect called samsara, and a new being comes into existence. This consciousness is not one’s soul – there is none, according to the doctrine of anatta (Sanskrit: anatman): no-self, not-self, no-soul. So there is this perennial question: If there is no soul, then what goes from one life to the next?

This is a good point to suggest a mind-game. I present here a scenario, but only to stimulate your own imagination. As you may see, the possibilities are endless.

You are in a hospital room. You’ve had surgery to correct a progressive illness. But something went wrong, and you and your family have been informed you have only a day or two to live. Your family has gathered around – spouse, children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews. Your mind is flooded with thoughts and conflicted emotions. One of your older grandchildren comes to the bedside with a fat photo album. And there is your life before you. The birthdays, graduations, weddings, and dozens of other joyful events.

There is the picture of your first child at age three, playing in the backyard with the puppy. And your heart breaks again as you remember the day a year later when the dog returned but the child did not. The grief, the sorrow, the blame and self-recrimination, and arguments about who left the gate open.

Your wedding pictures show the two of you so obviously happy and in love, and now you can feel in your brittle bones that longing, that craving you had for one another. Especially the craving that seemed you couldn’t satisfy. Farther and farther back you turn the pages, viewing scenes from your own childhood. Your parents’ wedding picture. Isn’t it striking how much you look like them? You wonder about your father and why he left when you were seven. You wonder how your life would be different had he not slammed out of the house that night, leaving your mother crying in despair on the kitchen floor.

Your grandparents, too, are pictured in the album. You don’t remember much about them, but you know their lives were difficult. Again you are struck by how much you resemble them. And, as you look around the room, you see how much your children and grandchildren resemble them too.

It feels as though you can run your fingers over that coiled thread of DNA that links them with you and with your parents and grandparents and great grandparents – back and back. You see how that thread will go on and on into the future – without you. You understand how the specific actions of your forebears helped bring you to this very place. And you understand with frightening clarity how your own actions contributed to the lives of these people you love.

As you scan the faces around you can feel the quiet suffering. You know the lives of  your children are marked by one trial or another – divorce, debt, illness, trouble with the law, and of course your own imminent death. You wish there is something you can do to ease their pain. But you feel helpless.

And now something comes to mind and you realize you are not helpless. There is much you can do and there is plenty of time to do it. You open your heart to everyone gathered around you and tell them through quiet example that the secret to living well is knowing how to die well, without clinging, without remorse. And that’s just what you do.

Do I believe in rebirth? Do I believe in an afterlife? Does it matter? Try this statement on for size and see how it feels: “I don’t believe in DNA.” Of course you don’t have to believe in DNA for an aspect of your life to go on and on with infinite moments of joy and suffering. Belief in rebirth is not required either. That’s one of the interesting things about Buddhism. You don’t have to believe anything. There is no Creed and no judge to condemn you for not believing.

But there is the law of cause and effect, the law of kamma. Good actions bring good results, bad actions bring bad results. It’s inescapable. With a true understanding of the law of kamma and skillful action you can have a positive effect on the future – even if your not around to see it.

Posted in Anatta, Belief, Buddhism, Delusion, Desire, Dhamma, Dukkha, Fear, wisdom | 6 Comments

A Pacific Hermitage and what it means for the region

By Paul | Published: May 17, 2010

Ajahn Sudanto in front of Pacific Hermitage.

It was my good fortune Sunday to spend the day with two monks from Abhayagiri Buddhist Monastery and several lay followers who are eager for the establishment of a regional hermitage. Ajahns Sudanto and Karunadhammo and a steward spent the night at Pacific Hermitage, a log house on five mostly forested acres in the hills high above White Salmon, Washington, overlooking the Columbia Gorge.

Their stay is only a brief one, though, as the monks will not take up full-time residency until early July. Ajahn Sudanto, who will be the senior monk at the hermitage, has duties and projects to complete at Abhayagiri before it will be possible for him to relocate. Also, there is much to do yet to prepare the property for occupancy.

Still, it seemed an auspicious day as the monks approached the make-shift altar, lit candles and incense, bowed three times, and chanted a blessing for the first time in Abhayagiri’s branch monastery.

Ajahn Karunadhammo accepts meal offering at the home of a lay follower prior to his first visit to Pacific Hermitage.

The monks of Abhayagiri are of what is known as the Thai Forest Tradition of Theravada Buddhism. They are strict followers of the Vinaya, the monastic code of 227 precepts and training rules established by the Buddha. The code is very demanding, describing the precise ways monks are to behave within their own community as well as how they can relate to and interact with the lay community. It’s purpose is not to restrict and control, however. The monastic code provides an unambiguous structure in which a monk can live a holy and blameless life, keeping the Dhamma in mind every moment of the day.

The life of a forest monk is one of seclusion and contemplation. After all, the Buddha instructed his monks to seek solitude at the root of a tree, a cave, or an abandoned hut where they can focus their minds without the distractions of the worldly life. But the Buddha never intended for the sangha to be apart from the rest of humanity. Instead, he established a system whereby the monastic sangha is in complete dependence on the lay community.

Like everyone else, monks require four things: food, clothing, shelter, and medicine. But, because monks may not handle money, they cannot buy anything for themselves. Nor can they ask for anything. Everything a monk has must be offered. Every meal, every length of cloth for the robes, every shelter, every ibuprophen tablet must be offered (there are some exceptions surrounding severe medical needs).

If the community is providing all this support, what then does it get in return? On the surface it would appear that monks have it made, having everything just plopped in front of them. They do not have it made. Very few people can get up at 3:00 AM, chant and meditate for hours, work for several more hours, eat only one meal (even if it’s only a dollop of rice and beans) before noon, then meditate and teach and chant and meditate some more before laying on the floor or a wooden platform for a few hours of sleep. Why anyone would do this is understandable only to a relative few.

Ajahns consult with a lay supporter regarding needs for the hermitage.

But again the question is, what’s in it for the lay community? Two things come to my own mind. One is that I’m providing support to a group of individuals who are living an enviable life. Enviable? Really? Yes. As restrictive as it may seem, a monk’s life is free of just about everything that causes suffering and strife for the rest of us. A pleasurable life really is nothing but an illusion.

The other reason – and for me the more important one – is one of proximity to exemplary teachers. I can’t say too much about this. We’ve all heard the term “practice what you preach.” Anyone who has had a teacher who doesn’t practice what he preaches can appreciate the value in having one who does. So, in exchange for support, forest monks make themselves available to teach the Dhamma – not only through their words, but through the way they live their lives.

I should mention also that the current location is on a yearly lease and is only temporary. There is an ongoing quest for a larger piece of property that will meet more of the criteria of this small community of contemplative monks. Follow this link to another window in the happenings of Pacific Hermitage.

Posted in Buddhism, Pacific Hermitage | Tagged | 4 Comments

Part 13: Membranes

By Paul | Published: May 8, 2010

Note: For background on this series, please read the Introduction to the 32-Parts Project.

The diaphragm is the membrane separating the thoracic and abdominal cavities.

A membrane is a sheet-like structure that forms a boundary between one space and another. In addition, some membranes allow for passage of some things through it while excluding others. The human body has several different kinds of membranes. On a microscopic level, the contents of each cell is surrounded by a membrane called a phospholipid bilayer. Built into the cell wall are molecular gateways that control the passage of materials in and out.

I doubt, though, that the Buddha, even in his infinite wisdom, understood the mechanics of cellular biology when he recommended his monks contemplate on the 32 parts of the body as a means of overcoming sensual desire and attachment to one’s own body.

On a macroscopic level, the grosser membranes are more easily discernible. The heart, for example, is surrounded by a thin, shiny double-walled membrane called the pericardium. The visceral organs are covered in peritoneum. It also has two layers, with the outer layer serving as the lining of the abdominal cavity. The mesentery is the portion of the peritoneum that anchors the small intestine to the rear abdominal wall. The mesentery has a rich blood supply, which picks up digested food for circulation throughout the body. It is the selective nature of the peritoneum that allows for peritoneal dialysis, a process that keeps alive many people whose kidneys have failed.

We also have synovial membranes that line joint capsules and produce a lubricant called synovial fluid, and mucous membranes that line passages that connect internal organs to the external environment. Mucus secreted by the membrane traps foreign particles and aids in expelling them.

The most obvious membrane in the human body is the diaphragm. Unlike the other membranes, which are thin layers of specialized cells, the diaphragm is a muscle that separates the thoracic cavity (chest) from the abdominal cavity. It has several openings that allow for the passage of the esophagus, the inferior vena cava, the abdominal aorta, and other structures. The principle function of the diaphragm is breathing. When this muscle contracts, it pulls down on itself, increasing the volume in the thoracic cavity, thereby reducing the air pressure, which allows for the intake of air into the lungs.

This change in air pressure, which is essential to breathing, would not be possible without another membrane, the pleura. Like the pericardium and peritoneum, the pleura has two layers, one that covers the lungs and the other that lines the thoracic cavity. The two layers slide against one another, reducing friction. There is also a negative air pressure between the air-tight layers, which keeps the lungs in contact with the chest wall. If the outer membrane is torn, air will get between the layers and the lung will collapse.

Through breathing, oxygen and carbon dioxide are exchanged within body tissues. The simple act of breathing is one of the mechanisms that keeps the body alive. Mindfulness of in and out breathing is the simplest form of Buddhist meditation practice. When you train the mind to observe the breath you see that each breath is a microcosm of all that happens in the universe. What comes into existence must, eventually, go out of existence. Everything that comes into existence sets the conditions for what comes next. Change the conditions, change the outcome.

Note: For background on this series, please read the Introduction to the 32-Parts Project.

Posted in 32-Parts Project, Buddhism | Tagged | Leave a comment