I try to avoid using words like “believe” and “belief.” It’s not easy, though, especially in making statements like: “I believe that…” It’s the same as saying “I think that…” or “It’s my opinion that…” or “I have faith that…” They all mean the same thing. Troublesome to me are statements like: “I believe in…”

Not too long before my mother died we were talking about my Buddhist practice. “What about the faith you were raised with?” she asked. By faith she meant Catholicism. I told her it didn’t hold much for me and hadn’t for many years. Then came the kicker: “Do you believe in God?”

I simply could not be as blunt as I am capable. I went off on a tangent about how belief in something does not make it true, nor does disbelief in something make it false. I was evasive.

The Catholic Church contends that the sole purpose of humanity – what the Baltimore Catechism referred to (if my memory of first grade is correct) as the “end of man” – is to “know, love, and serve God.” Human beings are different from other creatures, the nuns explained, because they are endowed (by God) with the capacity to carry out those injunctions. This presupposes there is a god named God who made the demand some 5,000 years ago, give or take. I’ve heard the many arguments for and against the existence of God, and I really don’t want to get into that fray.

What I’m talking about here is belief. Some would argue that God exists whether I believe it or not (and woe be unto me if I don’t!). But as I told my mother, belief is irrelevant to truth.

But it isn’t irrelevant to life. What we believe in defines who we are, influences our behavior, and binds us into groups. However we acquired it, humans have the capacity to think, to wonder, to question. We also have the capacity – and the need – to explain things and find answers to our questions. I don’t know where this need comes from, but I do know it’s strong. Historically (pre-historically, too) answers and explanations came in the form of stories handed down through generations. Stories became truths, and truths are what religions are made of. Religions require that stories-as-truth be believed.

Coming up with explanations of why things are the way they are – whether it’s today or 10,000 years ago – is one thing. But another question lurks in the dank shadows of the human mind. What happens when I die?

Although it sounds simplistic, the purpose of religion is to prepare one for death. Religion regulates our behavior in part by establishing a set of beliefs about how things are now in relationship with how things will be then. The law of cause and effect is as much at the core of Christianity as it is is Buddhism. Make God mad today, burn in hell tomorrow. Make God happy today, come to the banquet tomorrow. So be good for goodness’ sake!

Buddhism is not a theistic religion. It’s not an atheistic religion either. The existence or non-existence of God does not factor into the equation. But cause and effect is at the core of the teaching. Good actions bring good results, bad actions bring bad results. This is demonstrable in the here and now and can be extrapolated into the future. Also at the core is conditionality. Everything that happens in the here and now does so as the result of the causes and conditions that preceded it. And – most important – everything that comes into existence passes out of existence as a result of the causes and conditions that precede it. Everything. This, too, is demonstrable in the here and now and can be extrapolated into the future. I don’t need to believe this for it to be true. Denying it does not make it false, either.

Even though God is not a factor in Buddhism, belief in a life after this one seems to be as much a part of Buddhism as it is in Christianity. It’s not uncommon to hear sentiments  such as: “If I can’t become enlightened in this lifetime then I’ll just work hard to make a lot of merit now so I can achieve enlightenment in a future lifetime.” This strategy requires a belief not only in the concept of a constant cycle of rebirths, but that there will be a continuing “I” who can accomplish the goal even eons from now. The bodhisattva vow would not be feasible without this belief. True, doing good works pays off now, but it is not demonstrable that it pays off in one’s own future lifetime (except through stories). One must take it on faith and faith alone. One must believe it to be true.

I’m not even close to being well versed on the Pali Canon, but I know there are passages where the Buddha says that worrying over metaphysical events is a futile path that leads only to more suffering. Instead, he said, focus on the physical and palpable events occurring within the body right now. There is nothing magical or mystical about it. Do this with diligence and you’ll see for yourself the truth of life for what it is: a stream of events.

If I must believe something to be true in order to make it true, then I am just taking a placebo. The placebo effect is demonstrably real. So too is its opposite, the nocebo effect. I’m not knocking it, but a placebo is not the real thing. The Buddha compared himself to a doctor. And his four noble truths are at once the diagnosis and prognosis of disease and the prescription for the cure. Did the Buddha teach placebo? I don’t think (believe?) so. He taught conditionality and mindfulness. He taught suffering and end of suffering.

Buddhist beliefs come from the same place Christian beliefs do – from the stories we tell, stories that eventually become truths to be accepted on faith. But Buddhist truth contradicts Christian truth, which contradicts Jewish truth, which contradicts Muslim truth, which… So what is true? What am I supposed to believe? It all depends on what group I belong to.

And yet, I am not supposed to believe anything. If a am supposed to believe one thing or another, it would mean there is some entity that would demand I do so (e.g., God or the Buddha). Buddhism – as far as I know – doesn’t have such and entity. Nor does it have something akin to the Apostles’ Creed, which lays out a specific set of Christian beliefs. I am free to believe anything I want without recrimination from a supernatural being.

To believe is to perform an act of intention. It is kamma. And every action of intention has a result. We all live in this huge river of causes and conditions. And each one of us is a stream unto itself of causes and conditions. Some of them we have no control over. But many of them we do, because they begin deep within the mind with the stories we tell. Be can believe them or not.

This I believe.

Isn’t that why we have the Christian metaphor of the Good Shepherd? Someone who will tell us right from wrong, who will keep us safe from harm, who will tuck us snugly in the warm blankets of heaven on that last and most frightening darkest night of the soul?

Not all people are like sheep, though. There are a few who prefer – or stumble into – the role of shepherd. They are smarter and more intelligent than the flock they aspire to lead. Some of them aspire to the role of shepherd out of love and compassion for the poor sheep, who, by their nature, are truly helpless. Others aspire to the role of shepherd out of the delusion they know what’s best – at least for themselves – and will take the flock by whatever means they can.

All shepherds and hopeful shepherds have a message for the flock. But the sheep have difficulty discerning among those who would help them from those who would harm them. After all, they are just sheep.

Many people, like sheep, don’t have – or don’t utilize – the capacity to discern the truth and make skillful decisions about what’s in their own long-term best interests and the best interests of those who share the pasture. Because, like sheep, they can only know what their immediate instincts tell them. And the instincts of sheep aren’t very good. Can a sheep tell when the butcher walks into the pen with a loaded rifle?

But we’re really not’t sheep. And it is possible to separate the good shepherds from the bad shepherds – if we’d really care to take a close look at them and listen carefully to their messages.

Is the message filled with compassion, hope, love, tolerance, and concern for the welfare of everyone in the flock? Or is the message filled with hatred of “the other,” fear that “the other” will take what’s “yours,” and intolerance of anyone who doesn’t accept the message? What’s the overall demeanor of those who would aspire to lead you? How do they live their lives – not just when they are in the spotlight, but when no one is looking? Are they kind, gentle and honest;  are they authoritarian, overbearing, and deceptive; are they generous, or greedy for money, fame, and power? Are they wise or deluded? Although it may take a long time and require some effort, it really isn’t so hard to discern the truth.

Providing truth is what you really want.

The photo collage is of some notable shepherds, some of whom are speaking to their flocks. Can you tell the good ones from the bad ones? In the picture are, in no particular order: the Buddha, Jerry Fallwell, Benazir Bhutto, Idi Amin, Sarah Palin, George W. Bush, Anwar Sadat, Jimmie Carter, Menachem Begin, Mother Teresa, Thomas Jefferson, Franklin Roosevelt, Rush Limbaugh, Nelson Mandela, Joseph Stalin, Pat Roberson, Dick Cheney, Aung San Suu Kyi, Benito Mussolini, Adolf Hitler, Martin Luther King, Mao Zedong, Mahatma Ghandi, Barack Obama, Saddam Hussein, Fidel Castro, Dorothy Day, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Jesus, who is shone once as the Good Shepherd and again preaching the Sermon on the Mount.

*This post was inspired by this story, sent to me by someone suggesting that Barack Obama is leading the United States down the same path as did Adolf Hitler lead Germany.

I’d always known from the way he lived he that he was religiously conservative. “Devout Catholic” is an apt description. But I was well into my adult life before I got a sense of where he was politically. He usually kept his political opinions to himself while I lived within his household – at least he didn’t discuss them much with his children. It surprised me to learn that his political views were so different from my own.

Perhaps my mother had something to do with this. Even though she also was steadfastly Catholic, there was never any doubt about her open-minded slant – however quietly she presented it. Maybe it was she who – in order to keep the peace – was responsible for the dearth of political discussion in the home.

Anyway, I’ve recently had a few conversations with my father about the political state of things. He’s as conservative in his political views as he is in his religious views. From our last talk I came away shaking my head in wonder: How can it be that he cannot see how wrong he is?

But wouldn’t he have similar thoughts of me? How is it, he must surely wonder, that my first-born son can be so wrong? How can he not see the danger in this liberal nonsense?

And then there are our divergent religious views. After he read my book, Mapping the Dharma, he said to me, “That Buddha was a pretty good psychologist.” Then he added, “I don’t agree with him, though.” Now there’s an understatement.

But this isn’t about me or my father, nor is it about politics or religion. It’s about being attached to views – any views. “A thicket of views, a contortion of views, a writhing of views,” is what the Buddha called this ocean of opinions we so enthusiastically – and often angrily – navigate every day.

It’s so easy to get caught up in what we believe to be right. And it’s easy to let everyone around us know, not  just how right we are, but how wrong they are if they don’t agree with us. We want the world to be a certain way and it’s difficult to accept that others see things differently. It churns and churns in the mind. If we’re not careful, agitation and anger are the results. Even the most superficial disagreement is stressful.

The Internet with its World Wide Web is an unimaginably vast Thicket of Views. It can be a very good – and even reliable – source of news and information as well as a means of personal communication and honest discourse. It’s also the prevailing medium of disinformation, propaganda, and a channel for outright hatred. Through the Internet I can find people who will agree and sympathize with me. And I can find people who despise me and my views.

My father gets his news and information much the same way most of us who use the Internet do. He reads from websites that suit his tastes. So do I. Each of us has our ideas, our points of view, reinforced daily. That’s a problem. Not just for my father and me, but for anyone who has a view to cling to.

One of the websites I looked at daily (that is, several times every day) was TruthOut. It’s a compendium of liberal news stories grabbed from diverse but mainstream sources. Many of the articles would stimulate mental debates with a stereotypical conservative. With these debates I would sharpen my views, refine my logic, and undermine the views of my imaginary opponent. A the the same time I would tighten the grip on my own political or spiritual views and on the view that I am so smart and so clever.

But that cleverness is all in my imagination. And my views have no more substance than the bits and bytes that form the letters on this screen. A few taps on the delete key and they disappear into nothingness. After that discussion with my father, I deleted the link to TruthOut. Not because I’m not interested or don’t want to be informed. But because I do not need that kind of mental agitation. The politicians will do what they do regardless of what I think about it, regardless of how irritated I get with one side or inspired by the other. This has helped me gradually loosen my grip on a particular political viewpoint.

There is no value in being enmeshed in a thicket of views. But there is lots of value in being free of its entanglements.

Ajahn Amaro

The Buddha, I’m told, gave some 84,000 talks during his 45 years of teaching. Also, I’m told, he had an uncanny ability to tailor his words to fit the minds and experiences of his listeners. One of the Buddha’s disciples, Ajahn Amaro, the co-abbot of Abhayagiri Buddhist Monastery, also seems to have this ability. This was true at least for me, who heard him speak this weekend at the meditation center Robin and I frequent.

In my previous post, I asked the question: What is Happiness? I described the sadness in our household that surrounded the discovery of a large abscess on the shoulder of Robin’s dog, Metta. Although he is healing, post surgery, we still don’t know whether or not he has cancer. Getting an answer to that question, which at this moment isn’t necessary, will require an outlay of an additional $150.

The question of happiness in the preceding post centers around our attachment to the people and things we love – in this case, a pet. Bluntly, without having the pets that bring so much happiness, one would not suffer the unhappiness of losing a pet. The temporary happiness we may perceive is not real happiness, but the beginnings of suffering. True happiness comes only when we’ve abandoned all that brings unhappiness.

On Friday, Ajahn Amaro looked around the crowded and sweltering room and said he would set the theme for the evening on the Piyajatika Sutta. The English title is “Born from Those Who Are Dear.”

In the story, a householder’s son has died. The man goes to the the Buddha. The story does not say why the man seeks out the Buddha, but the Enlightened One notices right away that the man is one “not in control of his own mind. Your faculties are deranged.”

The householder tells the Buddha, “How could my faculties not be deranged? Since he has died I have no more desire to work or to eat. I keep going to the charnel ground and crying: ‘My only son, where are you? My only son, where are you?’”

The Buddha responds heartily: “So it is, householder, so it is! Sorrow, lamentation, pain, grief and despair are born from those who are dear, arise from those who are dear.”

The man is irritated. “Venerable sir, who would ever think that sorrow, lamentation pain, grief and despair are born from those who are dear, arise from those who are dear? Venerable sir,” he argues, “happiness and joy are born from those who are dear, arise from those who are dear.” Displeased, he left the Buddha to find others who would agree with him that happiness – not suffering – comes from those who are dear.

The king and queen, having heard of the the man’s encounter with the Buddha, also are drawn into the story. The king agrees with the householder, the queen with her teacher, the Buddha. To make sure she understands the Buddha’s words correctly, she sends a brahmin to the Buddha to confirm that – indeed – pain, grief, lamentation, and despair are born from those who are dear to us.

To the brahmin the Buddha lays out many examples of how this is so. When the information is relayed to the queen, she convinces the king, who has to agree that if any of his own loved ones would die, he would suffer in many ways.

On Saturday afternoon, Robin told Ajahn about her dog, the prospect he may have cancer, and the decision she will have to make were that the case. “What can you say about this?” she asked.

Ajahn’s answer was not what one may expect. He made no judgments. He offered no guidance about what is “right” or what is “wrong.” He offered no advice on what course of action we could or should take. Instead, he said to be attuned to what is happening within each moment. Leave spaciousness for the answers to come, without interjecting concepts of “I, me, or mine.” See what happens then reassess. He explained that so often people hope that some authority will solve our problems by telling us what to do. Not so, he said. He pointed to his heart, saying, “The real authority is here.”

His answer, much longer than I’ve related here, was reassuring to me. Reassuring because of the affirmation that I can trust my own judgment about what is right and what is wrong. Of course, I knew that already.

Maybe.

Obama’s election was good for three reasons: First, it puts and end to an era of arrogance, contempt, and mismanagement in Washington.

Were I a political cartoonist, I would have portrayed George Bush as a little kid rushing into a kindergarten classroom where the other kids had built an array of block towers. And there is George, gleefully kicking blocks around the room.

Bush now is in time-out. Soon, Obama will have the opportunity to do his best to sweep up the mess.

The second reason – and perhaps the more important – is the election of a man whose skin color and ethic background does not match what some believe to be those of “real America.” Yet real American he is. This divisiveness from the McCain campaign troubled me more than anything. Divisiveness of any kind leads only to trouble and suffering.

I appreciate John McCain’s concession speech, which was sincere and statesman like:

These are difficult times for our country. And I pledge to [Obama] tonight to do all in my power to help him lead us through the many challenges we face.

I urge all Americans … I urge all Americans who supported me to join me in not just congratulating him, but offering our next president our good will and earnest effort to find ways to come together to find the necessary compromises to bridge our differences and help restore our prosperity, defend our security in a dangerous world, and leave our children and grandchildren a stronger, better country than we inherited.

Whatever our differences, we are fellow Americans. And please believe me when I say no association has ever meant more to me than that.

I hope those who found yesterday a disappointment will heed McCain’s words of unity and support and, at least, give Obama the opportunity to succeed rather than spend the next four years doing whatever they can to disrupt the process for no reason other than hatred.

Baseball didn’t come to an end when Jackie Robinson joined the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1947. Rather, it goes on and on. A well-played game still excites the crowds no matter what color the players.

The third reason Obama’s election is important is now that we’ve got a black man – indeed a black family – in the white house (or nearly so), we can continue the business of electing wise leaders – regardless of physical attributes – rather than greedy, self-indulgent, and deluded ones. Instead of seeing Obama as a man of color, I hope he will be seen as the man of wisdom he has shown himself to be during the campaign.

If anything will destroy this country, it will be a sustained run of unwise leaders.

]]> http://paulgerhards.com/blog_thisisthatis/2008/11/05/wisdom-comes-to-the-white-house/feed/ 2