The illusion of wealth and happiness

While going through a box of books I found a 1999 copy of the Kyoto Journal, a rather special issue with articles on Donald Ritchie, homelessness in Kobe, and Princess Mononoke. But what caught my attention was a long essay titled "Buddhism and Poverty," whose author argues that the developed world's poverty reduction efforts, carried out through such organizations as the World Bank, the UN, and numerous NGOs, are largely ineffective because they proceed from ignorance of the human condition.

We are at the most profound level, David R Loy believes, trapped by dualistic thinking. Developed socieities exist only in relation to undeveloped. Success to failure. Wealth to poverty. Neither can exist without the other.

The poverty of others is ... necessary because it is the benchmark by which we measure our own achievements. Unless there are losers, we cannot feel like winners. Unless the undeveloped are unhappy about their lot, we are unable to feel happy about what we have, unable to rationalize the things we have had to put up with in order to get there, unable to excuse the negative consequences of our economic development. In this fashion too what we perceive as a poverty problem is due to the tinted lenses of our wealth/poverty spectacles — and what is colored most of all by those lenses is our own self-appearance. To live in a commodified world is to recognise that we too are commodified, and as we know the value of commodities is determined by price comparison. Who earns more, you or me? We can rarely ask this question because it cuts too deeply, to the source of our self-esteem. This also applies collectively, to the way we see others.

The rest of the article is worth reading and can be found here, though you may have to enlarge the font in your browser to make for comfortable reading.

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Patacara

[I thought:]
"Plowing the field with plows,
sowing the ground with seed,
supporting their wives & children,
young men gather up wealth.

So why is it that I,
consummate in virtue,
a doer of the teacher's bidding,
don't gain Unbinding?
I'm not lazy or proud."

Washing my feet,
I noticed the water.
And in watching it flow
from high to low,
my heart was composed
like a fine thoroughbred steed.

Then taking a lamp, I entered the hut,
checked the bedding,
sat down on the bed.
And taking a pin, I pulled out the wick:
Like the flame's unbinding
was the liberation of awareness.

Thig 5.10

PTS: vv. 112-116

Patacara

translated from the Pali by

Thanissaro Bhikkhu

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Movie Review: Act Normal; Olaf de Fleur, dir; 2006

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Act Normal addresses questions faced by many young men who join a monastery at a young age: What is the “real” world like? What am I missing by not being in a relationship, by not having a family? How can I renounce what I haven't yet experienced? Shot over a decade in Iceland and Thailand, the film follows a young Englishman who after 16 years as a Buddhist monk puts aside his robes for a wife, a job, and a “normal” life.




In the early moments of the film Dhammanando (formerly Robert T. Edison) explains that while the monastic life may seem to be an escape from “real” life, it is in fact a direct confrontation of reality shorn of all distraction. It is the grand experiment in finding out what it is “to be.” Perhaps Dhammanando's renunciation of his renunciation was part of this journey of discovery, but the audience is never sure because the director never asks. To what degree did the ex-monk continue his practice while a layman? His wife suggests certain patterns of behavior continued – such as mindfulness and kindness – but when he set out to be a lay person, did he also set aside all he had learned, or was his journey into the “real” world a journey deliberately informed by Buddhist principles?




In his choice of title, director Olaf de Fleur may have been suggesting more about the film than its subject. His narrative sequence seems a bit contrived, with the first part of the film jumping back and forth across the span of Dhammanando's life, resolving into a mostly conventional narrative that preserves the dramatic disrobing for the latter third of the film. Along the way de Fleur mixes in high contrast, black and white, Dutch angles, and dramatic recreations of childhood, a hodge-podge of styles and effects that keep the viewer intrigued but never really suggest anything meaningful in the context of the story. The most notable aspect of the production is Barði Jóhannsson's lush music, written not for the film itself but taken from the artist's 1997 release Haxan, a neo-romantic score-without-a-film performed by the Bulgarian Symphony and nominated album of the year for the 2007 Icelandic Music Awards.




Perhaps if Dhammanando had been doing academic or intellectual work, instead of putting in hours as a security guard, he may have found “real” life a bit more challenging, a bit more worth the effort. In the end, he finds the commercial world contentious, competitive, and confusing. He seems genuinely happy to be back in the monastery, a safe environment for a retiring, self-absorbed lover of language and ancient Buddhist texts.




Dhammanando is currently living and translating in Thailand and is an active member of the online Buddhist community Dhamma Wheel.

Act Normal is available for rent as streaming video at Poppoli Pictures. You can watch several clips, as well as a 10-minute documentary on the Making of Act Normal.

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Book Review: Pain and It's Ending: The Four Noble Truths in the Theravada Buddhist Canon; Carol S. Anderson, 1999

In this exhaustive survey of canonical iterations of and scholastic research on Buddhism's central philosophical tenet, American scholar Carol S. Anderson concludes that the value of the Four Noble Truths lies not in being the subject of the Buddha's first teaching (which it most probably wasn't), nor in being a catalyst to stream entry or nibbana (which seems in the first case to have happened only to those who were taught directly by the Buddha, and the second to be a late addition to the canon). Its value, she claims, lies in the fact that the Theravada compilers in fact remember it in these two ways. In this sense the Four Noble Truths is more revealing of the compilers than of the Buddha himself.

As early as the 1930's Western scholars were questioning the historical accuracy of the Four Noble Truths as the subject of the Buddha's first discourse. One noted that the language appeared to be a gloss written for the monastic community, another that versions of the Four Noble Truths exist in other Indian religious texts that predate the Buddha (Yogabhasya and Nyayabhasya), still another that there may have been a mistaken conflation between the Four Worthy True Things (as one scholar translated the Four Noble Truths) and the Four Paths (magga) or the Four Stages of Mindfulness (sattipatthana). More modern linguistic analyses have revealed no single fixed grammatical form for the various iterations of Four Noble Truths. In fact the four propositions were in their earliest expression probably not known as “noble” nor as “truths,” and were most likely inserted into the Dhammacakkappavattana-sutta at some later date, but still prior to the final redactions of the Theravada cannon. To account for the similarity of redacted versions, one scholar has offered a principle of leveling, that where all known versions of a passage agree, this is probably the result of harmonizing of earlier traditions.

As logical propositions, Anderson finds the Four Noble Truths functioning in the Abhidhamma as denaturalized discourse, an abstraction in a net of abstractions and of no particular importance in and of itself. Within the structure of the Path, as found in the Vinaya and Sutta pitakas, she finds the proposition takes on two distinct transformative powers. In the Mahavagga's conversion stories of the first one thousand members of the sangha, the Four Noble Truths, as part of a graduated discourse by the Buddha, opens the dhamma eye and enables the practitioner to realize stream entry. In the Diga and Majjhima Nikayas, comprehension of the Four Noble Truths is the last step in a graduated practice leading to the destruction of the corruptions (desire, becoming, ignorance) and arahatship. Anderson cites research to suggest the placement of the Four Noble Truths at the end of the path, as found in the Sutta Pitakas, is probably a late addition by the Theravada compilers, and notes that the ability of the Four Noble Truths to open the dhamma eye is never related in an episode where the stream enterer was taught by someone other than the Buddha. Since his passing, the Four Noble Truths then have functioned within the path as a symbol of the enlightenment experience.

As the Four Noble Truths has no historical or propositional value, being perhaps not even the words of the Buddha himself and merely one proposition in a web of logical discourse, of what particular value is it? Anderson's conclusion is that its value lies in its uniqueness, in serving both symbolic and propositional functions, and in the fact that the Theravadan community regards it highly. Despite this rather weak conclusion, this is a commendable research effort, offering students of Buddhism in clear writing a concise summary of scholarship on the Four Noble Truths. Perhaps someday soon someone will pursue the questions that Anderson has left unconsidered. Why did the Theravada compilers need to put words into the mouth of the Buddha (when there were so many to begin with)? Are there not other propositions that could have served equally well as symbols of the enlightenment experience? What does this need to create symbols and to simplify the Buddha's message tell us about early Buddhist communities?

Buddhist scholar LS Cousins offers a more critical review on the book here, arguing that Anderson may have misinterpreted some of the research she reviews.

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Are Buddhists violent?

Lawrence Osborne, author of The Naked Tourist and a new book about Bangkok to be published next month, writes in Forbes about the incongruity of Western perceptions of Buddhism and the reality of modern Thailand:

Buddhist violence--or violence committed by Buddhists, more properly speaking--is a strained concept for us, to put it mildly. I can easily imagine being assaulted by an infuriated Christian or by a hysterically outraged jihadist, by a Zionist even, at a pinch--but by a Buddhist? What would you have to say to get him mad? Deny transmigration?

I confess that I rather like the idea of an ax-wielding Buddhist thug. It would prove, at least, that stereotypes are stereotypes. Ever since America switched on to Zen, that exceedingly odd variant of Buddhism propagated by the tireless and slightly loopy Japanese writer D. T. Suzuki, among others, we have thought of Buddhism as being inseparable from an exemplary nonviolence.

In some senses, the question is self-answering. If I had entitled this column "Are Baptists Violent?" I would receive 20,000 incoherently enraged rebuttals threatening to enslave my children and rearrange my anatomy within 10 minutes. But Buddhists, if they disagree with you, are more likely to write in with respect, manners and a sense of humor. Rage is not their thing.

The full essay is available here.

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The Butsuzo Girl

As we share an interest in Buddhist art, I've sent an email to Ikumi Hirose. I first learned about the 29-year old graduate of Tokyo's Sophia University last week in the English edition of the Yomiuri Shimbun. As a young woman working in a field commonly tended by balding, bespectacled scholars, she's something of a curiosity, and by coining a name for herself she helped the media sell her to the public. As a result she has become something of a minor celebrity, the Butsuzo Girl. The Buddhist Statue Girl.

Hirose's written a book about some of her favorite statues and while on her travels to learn more about Japan's art legacy gives talks or lectures discussing some of her interests. The media dutifully turn up to these events not so much because everyone is suddenly interested in Buddhist statuary as they are in catching a glimpse of the Butsuzo Girl.

I'd care not so much for a glimpse as for a chance to talk and maybe visit some temples or a museum together. I hope my message wasn't filtered into her spam folder.

For those that might be interested, you can check out Ms Hirose's website here. The Yomiuri article is linked above.

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The Buddha's Birthday at Full Henro

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08 April 2008 I set out from Koya-san to walk around the island of Shikoku. That day also happened to be Ohana Matsuri, the Buddha's birthday.

Yesterday, on the one year anniversary of that event, I did a one-day bicycle pilgrimage to the town of Sasaguri. I've written about it at Full Henro, which I've spruced up just a bit with a new header.

Lots of pictures to see. Go there by clicking here.

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When Less is More

While checking the news yesterday morning I came across a USA Today article marveling over Japan's underpaid CEOs, in particular Japan Airline President Haruka Nishimatsu, who after taking over the company following a series of accidents and scandals, cut his own salary to US$98,000, rode the bus to work, and ate in the company cafeteria.

The $98k figure probably represents Nishimatsu's base pay, which is substantially padded by numerous perks. Still, "according to the consultancy Towers Perrin, CEOs of big Japanese companies earned an average $809,000 in 2003 — chump change compared with the $11.4 million raked in by their average U.S. counterpart," notes USA Today.

The smirking tone of the article suggests that the Japanese are out of step, that society here undervalues corporate leadership. It seems though, Japan has a far healthier attitude toward compensation and social cohesion than the USA, where the underlying operating principle in business seems to be to get as much as you can as quick as you can by whatever means necessary and damn those around you who aren't strong enough or shrewd enough to compete.

Except for young executives with a foot already on the career ladder, or those making a living off investing, I can't see that the average American could take issue with executives making less and sharing more with those further down the chain of command. But somewhere along the way citizens have been trained to believe the economy and the entire world free enterprise structure would collapse if CEOs were offered less.

Perhaps they imagine these guys (and its still mostly guys) indignant at offers of 10million instead of 100million, leaving in an insulted huff to go fishing rather than squandering their talent for so little reward. But really, what else would they do? If the salary bar were lowered, most would go on doing the same and be happy because they would still be making more than anyone else, which is what the outrageous compensation packages seem to be all about.

Quite unintentionally, I found in the same day's news an essay first written in 1966 (recycled through a blog via Google News) positing a more rational approach to economics, specifically in our underlying assumptions of value.

[The modern economist] is used to measuring the "standard of living" by the amount of annual consumption, assuming all the time that a man who consumes more is "better off" than a man who consumes less. A Buddhist economist would consider this approach excessively irrational: since consumption is merely a means to human well-being, the aim should be to obtain the maximum of well-being with the minimum of consumption.

The optimal pattern of consumption, producing a high degree of human satisfaction by means of a relatively low rate of consumption, allows people to live without great pressure and strain and to fulfill the primary injunction of Buddhist teaching: “Cease to do evil; try to do good.” As physical resources are everywhere limited, people satisfying their needs by means of a modest use of resources are obviously less likely to be at each other’s throats than people depending upon a high rate of use.

Buddhist Economics
By E. F. Schumacher

What if those CEOs did leave and go fishing? We might miss out on a few innovations, but we'd survive just fine and perhaps in the process create a saner, healthier, happier living environment. And after a generation or two, no one would imagine that things could or should be any different.

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Book Review: Awakening the Buddha Within; Lama Surya Das; 1998

Buddhist practitioners can levitate. They can see the future. When they die, their bodies turn to light.

So claims Surya Das.

I genuinely enjoyed Awakening the Buddha Within. The book is a primer on Buddhism, with a chapter on the Four Noble Truths, and one each on the Eightfold Path, clearly explained and illustrated for the western reader making his or her first encounter with Buddhism. Surya Das' writing is breezy and conversational, an easy-to-read style that keeps you turning the pages. Das doesn't get bogged down in the minutiae of theology or philosophy and personalizes his teachings by relating relevant stories from his own life and his own search for meaning. As much "what is," the book also offers "how to" in the form of simple meditations and other exercises, such as keeping a dream journal or a creating a collection of favorite spiritual quotations, simple steps to for helping build new awareness.

As much as I liked the book, I also found some fairly outlandish claims within, such as the section on Lucid Dreaming, in which Das writes that we can multiply our bodies, travel to heavenly realms to receive special spiritual teachings, and that he himself was able through such practices to see into the future.

He sets us up early on by letting us know that such super human powers, while manifest among the Buddhist elite, are ultimately mere distractions along the path.

Seekers, curious about the unknown, might want to know more about levitation, conscious dying, lucid dreaming, astral travel, rainbow bodies, and clairvoyance. However, that's not finally what it's all about. The Buddha did perform certain miracles, but he always instructed his disciples not to demonstrate miraculous powers except to inspire faith in the skeptical. Lamas say the same thing. The magical, mysterious and occult are special effects that can be produced, but it's not the whole story. The miracle of Buddhism is a miracle of love, not levitation. [pp 12-13]

As we're only on page 12, it might be reasonable to expect some future explication of such feats, but the only thing I recall reading is a couple of paragraphs in the last quarter of the book, in the section on Lucid Dreaming.

By seizing a dream we can perform spiritual activities, multiply our bodies, as well as go to pure realms of existence to receive teachings and blessings from Buddhas, transcendent Bodhisattvas, and saintly sages. In this way we train to master altered states and different ways of being, including astral travel and other out-of-body experiences.... With guidance from my teachers, ... I was able to get some indication of future events and to understand certain signs, portents and omens. [pp 330-331]

Amazing.

Perhaps not so amazing for a Tibetan who's grown up listening to stories about such super-human feats. But Tibetans are not likely to be reading this book, at least not in large numbers. This book is for Europeans and North Americans, the people most likely on planet Earth to be skeptical - and curious - about such claims.

And yet Das provides no evidence, no proof, not even an accounting of what he experienced or what he witnessed. For over 300 pages he covers the Four Noble Truths and the Eight Fold Path, a topic that is covered by most authors in a few pages. Das' account is padded with quotations, examples, stories, and illustrations, from the lives of saints, from every day life, from his own life. But here - nothing. He falls strangely silent.

I do not claim that such feats are impossible. They certainly may be. But Das' refusal to engage the subject makes it seem he has something to hide, which in turn casts a shadow of doubt across the rest of what is a well-written introduction to Buddhism. If he can't talk to us honestly about this, then what else can't he discuss openly? What else might he be hiding?

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